#mom is absent and stand-in mom not very attentive

[gettingnowherefaster]

Man the hide and seek scene in Hades 2 was soooo cute. Someone is actually being parented in this game?? So happy for her

[handful0fteeth]

i was made for lovin' you, baby

chapter 2 of my Funny How Love Is series. read chapter 1 here summary: following the success of your first date, you and Steve catch a movie together. or, at least, that's the plan - before Steve discovers you've shown up to the date with no panties.

pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: smut, minors DNI, (light) exhibitionism, dirty talk (a lot of it), steve harrington has a big ole monsterc*ck, tooth rotting fluff, multiple orgasms

words: 16.3k

Miraculously, you survive.

Not without a thorough verbal lashing, but that was to be expected. The moment you walk through your front door, you’re bombarded with questions, and your outfit is fussed with – you don’t think you’ve ever experienced more blind panic in your life than when you have to snatch your skirt out of your mother’s prying hands before you accidentally flash her. 

She yells. A lot. You endure it only because the fearful tremor of her voice makes your stomach churn with guilt. You're silent when she demands to know what was so goddamned important you couldn’t bother to pick up a phone to call home, because you can’t very well tell her the actual reason, that you were pretty preoccupied with your longtime crush sucking your soul out of your pussy and so time just sort of…slipped away.

After forty-five minutes, your mother finally quiets and slumps into her recliner, exhausted. You are sent upstairs with a, “If you ever scare me like that again, I will chain you to the foundation of this house. Do you understand me?” You promise you’ll never be out this late without a courtesy call back home explaining your absence, and she waves you away, satisfied for the moment. 

You jump in the shower, not because you’re eager to wash Steve’s lingering scent off your skin, but because you’re uncomfortably sticky from the slick smeared between your thighs and the sweat cooling beneath your clothes. Your body is pleasantly warm, even without the water cascading over it, and remnants of that dreamlike serenity you experienced while straddling Steve’s lap swirls around your brain like mist. It enables your thoughts to wander as you scrub shampoo into your scalp.

You imagine Steve in here with you, hair slicked out of his face and soap lingering on his skin, bending down to kiss you while his hands roam the expanse of your body. You didn’t see him naked tonight, but God, you want to. It’s so easy to picture droplets of water clinging to the thatch of dark hair between his hips, and easier still to envision yourself following the thin trail above it with your tongue as you sink to your knees. 

 After a while, you aren’t even focused on getting clean anymore. You’re just tilted against the slippery tile wall, hands dancing idly over your wet skin as you lose yourself in your fantasies. You forget the amount of attention your pussy’s been shown tonight until you absently reach down to massage your clit, and the ache that bounces up into your stomach makes you hiss through your clenched teeth. Okay, you think, twisting the faucet off and peeling back the shower curtain. Definitely no more of that tonight.

Exhaustion hits the moment you cross the threshold into your bedroom. You toss your towel over the back of a chair and dive beneath your covers, resolving to call Kelsey in the morning and rub in her face just how proficient Steve Harrington is at eating pussy. 

It seems like you’ve just shut your eyes when your mother’s voice rouses you from slumber. You can barely make out the vague syllables of your name as you pry one open and holler back, “Yeah?”

“You have a phone call!”

“Tell Kelsey I’ll be there in a second!” You sit up slowly, scrubbing your eyes and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. There’s no helping the low groan that slips past your lips as you stand. You’re sore – your thighs burn with every step you take to grab a robe off the back of your door, and your jaw clicks as you loose a yawn.

“It’s not Kelsey!” Mom shouts. “It’s that Harrington boy you went out with last night!”

That was fast. Delicious memories from the night before flood your brain, and your cheeks burn as you knot the belt on your robe and burst into the hallway. You descend the steps two at a time, and in your haste, you nearly tackle your mother as you rip the phone from her.

“Ow, Jesus! Bent my goddamn fingers back, Y/N!” she snaps, shaking out her hand and retreating to the living room with a sour look on her face.

You mouth a silent apology at her back before inhaling deeply through your nose and rolling your shoulders. There isn’t time to practice your best “nonchalant” voice, so you hope for the best as you bring the phone’s receiver to your lips.

“Hello?” Your voice cracks. Of course it does. 

Steve doesn’t seem to notice, thank God. “Good morning, beautiful. How’d you sleep?” 

You tangle your fingers within the curls of the phone cord and lean against the wall, butterflies fluttering their wings against the inside of your ribcage. That smooth, carefree confidence drips from his voice like honey, and you can’t even see him, but you know he’s smiling, so the corners of your mouth twitch upward in return.

“Wonderfully. You?”

“Like a baby. I was just about to head off to work, but I wanted to call to check in about last night, make sure you were…yanno, still okay with everything.”

“I’m still very, very okay, Steve,” you promise. You scan the kitchen and poke your head around the wall to peer into the living room, ensuring your mother isn’t secretly eavesdropping. She’s taking sips of coffee between glances at her magazine and the morning news, but you still lower your voice and turn your face tighter toward the phone when you respond.

“I think the evidence of how okay I am is staining your backseat.”

Steve chuckles, and you bite your bottom lip as your face flushes. 

“Good point,” he says. “I also was wondering if, maybe, possibly…you were free again tonight?”

You’re sure you'd spit your heart onto the floor if it bounced harder into your throat. Is he asking you out again? Two days in a row? You knot the phone cord so tightly around your fist that the flesh starts to go white.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely, I’m free,” you say, forcing yourself to sound normal and not like an overexcited middle schooler. “Did you, uh, have something in mind?”

“Well, I get off work early tonight, so if you’re interested…I was wondering if you wanted to catch a movie?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. You catch your mother giving you an odd look over the lip of her mug before you turn your back to her. “Y-Yeah, absolutely, I’d love to catch a movie.”

“Sweet. I’ll be done at five. I can pick you up after?”

“I’ll just meet you,” you counter, “Family Video’s not that far from my house.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

It’s not that you don’t want Steve to pick you up – it’s moreso that you know your mother will want to talk to him, and you aren’t ready to subject him to her well-intentioned interrogations just yet, not when she’s likely still a little hot about your late arrival last night. 

“Alright, you’ll meet me at five, then,” Steve concedes.

“Sounds like a plan. Mind telling me what we’re seeing?”

“Back to the Future.”

You furrow your brow a bit. You thought everyone in Hawkins had seen that movie by now since it came out three months ago, and had assumed it’d already trickled out of the theaters in favor of being burned onto DVDs.

“I didn’t peg you as a sci-fi nerd,” you admonish playfully, and Steve huffs in amusement.

“I tried to watch it when it first came out but, uh…well, I had stuff going on that night, and then Starcourt burnt down….” He trails off, but you nod and suck your teeth in acknowledgment. 

You remember the news about the mall burning down the morning after it happened – the police surmised a couple of dumb kids snuck into the building after it had closed and decided it would be a good idea to set off fireworks on the Fourth. Your mother shook her head at the newspaper that day, steaming mug abandoned on the table in front of her and hand pressed mournfully to her mouth. You’d snuck a peek over her shoulder, and Detective Jim Hopper had stared reproachfully back at you, beneath a headline announcing his untimely demise as a hero. His and Heather Holloway’s names were the only ones you’d really recognized in the expansive list of casualties, and you weren’t even close to Heather. You’d had one meaningless conversation with her during one of her shifts at the pool because Kelsey mentioned a band she was traveling to see, and Heather overheard and announced her plans to go to that very same concert – one in Indianapolis, in August. Needless to say, Kelsey was the only one who made that trip.

The second-only movie theater in Hawkins burned with Starcourt, and now all that’s left is The Hawk downtown, in all its crumbling, dusty glory.

“Yeah, I guess scooping ice cream waits for no man, huh?” you ask slyly. You’d never gone to Scoops Ahoy when it existed, mainly because you didn’t trust yourself to not sound like a stuttering idiot if you tried to order from Steve, but you’d never deny yourself the indulgent glances you’d steal from across the food court at him. He was the only man you’d ever seen make sailor shorts and a dixie-cup hat look sexy.

“Hey, I was doin’ much more than scooping ice cream.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Just, yanno…helping some friends with some…stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Stuff.”

You snort.

“Important stuff,” he adds, and you nod.

“Is there any other kind?”

“None that I know of. See you in a few hours?”

“Definitely,” you say.

“Awesome. I gotta go, I have to pick up my friend so we can carpool. I’ll see you later, baby.”

The line clicks dead, and you’re left standing against the wall, wrapped up in the phone cord and blushing bright scarlet as the dial tone groans at you. 

Baby. 

If Steve never uses your real name again and exclusively calls you “baby” forever, you’ll die a happy woman. You spin around to disentangle yourself and slam the receiver back down on the hook, clasping the front of your robe shut as you hurry back up the stairs.

“I’m going out again tonight!” you call over your shoulder. “With Steve!”

“And what will happen if you’re out past curfew again without calling home?” your mother yells back. You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, chain me to the foundation, I heard you!”

“Just checking! Oh, and Y/N?”

You pause in your bedroom doorway, robe already halfway shucked off. “Yes?”

“When do I get to meet this Harrington boy?”

“Oh, uh, you know…!” You shut your door quickly.

~~~

You have too many clothes.

You come to this conclusion as you’re standing naked in front of your closet, half of its contents belched out into a pile on the floor, hair and makeup already over an hour old. You’ve never thought so hard about what to put on your body in your entire life. The cold air dribbling through your cracked window suggests that you wear pants. But you hate all the clean options in your drawers, so maybe a skirt with some leggings? But then what do you wear on top – something dressy, casual, or a little bit of both? 

You blow out a harsh puff of air and flop unceremoniously to the floor, landing on your ass with a thud. Maybe you’ll just go naked. That’ll go off without a hitch, right?

Ultimately, you build your outfit around a plaid skirt you haven’t worn since the previous year's winter. It’s snug on your hips, almost too snug, and as you bend to slip some plain white Keds on, you feel the waistline dig into the soft skin of your belly. The feeling isn’t unbearable, and the skirt makes your ass look stellar, so you decide it’ll be worth the discomfort and the slight waddle you must walk with. Only after you’ve shrugged a denim jacket over a well-loved Heart t-shirt and have your hand on the doorknob to leave do you consider something: your panties.

They’re cute and simple, and you’re sure Steve would praise your choice of undergarment even if they were beige granny panties, but…wouldn’t he be far more surprised if he hiked your skirt up and found no panties at all? You bite your lip.

Well…if last night is anything to go by, he’d just steal these panties, too, right? And then you’d be down two pairs, and you aren’t made of money. You can’t just replace the pairs he tucks away as memorabilia continuously, can you? It’s a smarter, more fiscally responsible decision to go commando, you reason.

Stomach flipping and cheeks burning red hot, you shimmy your underwear down your legs and kick them toward the hamper in the corner of the room. 

~~~

You can’t pry your thoughts away from the breeze tickling between your thighs the entire walk to Family Video. 

You’d intended to drive the family car here, but your mother was already clutching the keys and shrugging her jacket on as you plodded down the stairs, citing that she’d had plans to meet some girlfriends for a drink, so you’d have to figure out different transportation. You were only sort of pouty about it, but mostly very brave – if you consider loudly complaining at your mother’s back that she must hate you and want you to get kidnapped as she scurried out the front door as “brave,” that is. Luckily, Family Video is a relatively brief walk if you navigate the forest behind your neighborhood as opposed to trying to follow the main road through town.

Before last night, you had never even considered going anywhere without panties – it seemed like a thing women only did in pornos. But now, here you are, out and about in the middle of the woods, pussy completely exposed beneath a skirt that’s barely long enough to cover the swell of your ass. It’s…oddly invigorating. And far more arousing than you would’ve imagined. 

The autumnal chill of October seeps through your jacket, sending chills up and down your bare legs, and you wrap the sides tighter around your waist to preserve what little warmth you still have. A few older couples, folks out for an evening walk, you gather, eye you up and down in confusion – or pity – as you shiver past them, and you can’t help but be a little envious of their thick woolen coats and long knitted pants. But the thought of Steve realizing you’ve shown up for your date without panties, and his eyes darkening with arousal as he hitches your legs up to your chest, hot breath ghosting over your exposed flesh as he gazes at you in the way that makes you feel like the single most desirable thing on the planet…

It’s more than worth being a little chilly.

The dark green exterior of the Family Video is almost entirely blocked by a swarm of patrons when you reach the parking lot. You should’ve expected this, seeing as the weekend has just begun, but the sight makes you swallow hard and self-consciously smooth a hand over the front of your skirt. A majority of the clientele for the evening seems to be rowdy teenage boys who raucously mill about the parking lot, some smoking cigarettes, others performing tricks on their skateboards. Shit.

You take a deep, steadying breath and lift your chin as you cut through the drifting crowds filtering in and out of the store. You tuck your hands behind your back as you walk, trying to appear casual as you slide them down over your butt and pin the fabric of your skirt in place. A giggling teenage girl blows a pink bubble with her gum as she holds the door open for you, and you flash her a thankful smile. 

The air in the store is warm and a little stuffy, the smell of dust, candy, and stale popcorn hanging like fog between the doorway and the checkout counter. People amble around, most chattering with friends as they bemusedly pick up DVDs and scan the front and back covers for something that piques their interest. An unsupervised little girl shrieks as she darts past you, clenching The Care Bears Movie against her chest as she begs her mom to buy it. 

A lithe, busy-looking girl paces behind the counter, wearing a green vest with Family Video emblazoned in bright orange lettering on the lapel. Her hair is a dirty, warm blonde and curls softly just beneath her chin, and her angular features are pinched together in apparent dismay as she worries a chipped blue thumbnail between her teeth. You progress toward her slowly, tapping on the counter’s surface to gain her attention. Despite what you thought was a markedly careful and delicate approach, the girl almost flings herself over the counter’s edge, gasping and exclaiming in surprise.

“Sorry! Sorry, um, hi, I’m Y/N, I’m supposed to be meeting Steve here?” you say hurriedly, and the girl blinks her round blue eyes at you. Silence falls gracelessly between the two of you, and you’re sure it only lasts a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity lapses in the seconds the girl’s unblinking gaze is fixed on your face. 

It’s…a little unnerving, you’ll admit. 

She squints, like she’s trying to glean more information from the nervous smile you’ve pasted on your lips, then snaps her fingers and points in your direction as a sudden realization dawns on her.

“I sat on your underwear!” she announces, loud enough for a father and young child to turn their heads and stare at you both in confusion. If you weren’t trying to conceal your ass from what feels like the entirety of Hawkins right now, you’d bury your face in your hands. The girl, to her credit, instantly realizes her mistake (and her volume) and claps a hand over her mouth.

“I am so sorry,” she says, voice muffled from behind her multi-ringed fingers. “That was…I meant…”

She sticks a hand out before her, offering you an apologetic smile along with the handshake. “I’m Robin. Steve’s told me a lot about you.”

Ohhhh. Robin. She was a key character in many of the stories Steve told you last night, and from the way he described her, her frenetic energy suddenly makes a lot more sense. You return her smile and shake her hand, but Robin doesn’t let go immediately. Instead, she grips you tight while waving your interlocked arms up and down repeatedly as she talks, almost like she’s unaware she’s doing it.

“I wasn’t, like, seeking out your underwear or anything, by the way. I just, like – well, Steve and I drove to work together this morning, and when I sat down, I felt something weird bunched up under me, and I was like, ‘Huh, wonder what that is,’ so I pulled it out and lo and behold,” she mouths the word “panties” silently, laughing a bit awkwardly around it, “and I was like ‘Woah! What the hell!’ and then Steve told me to put them down, and I was like, ‘Whose are these?’ and then he told me about your date and….” She trails off and lets go of your hand once she recognizes she’s been flapping it for about thirty seconds. 

“Sorry. I…talk a lot,” she says sheepishly, but you just laugh and shake your head. 

“It’s alright. It’s nice to meet you, too, by the way.”

She grins so wide you worry it’ll split her slim face right down the middle. “So, Steve told me you guys have a second date tonight?” she asks.

You nod. “Yep! We’re gonna go see Back to the Future.”

“Ohh, I remember that movie! Michael J. Fox wants to, like, bang his mom, right?”

You giggle and shrug. “Something like that, yeah. Do you know where Steve is, by the way?”

Robin nods and slides out from behind the counter. “Yep, I’ll go grab him. Be right back!”

She flits off, disappearing behind rows of DVDs and throngs of idle customers. You turn, keeping your back pointed at the counter for safety, and lean against it. Oddly, you feel compelled to greet people when they walk in since you’re standing right at the front; you get a few curious looks thrown your way as you wave and welcome people inside the store, clearly not in uniform and rather done up for a supposed Family Video employee.

A minute passes, and while you don’t see Steve emerge with Robin, you certainly hear him.

A display of chocolate bars flies off the counter behind you, clattering to the floor with a loud, metallic clang that makes everyone stop what they’re doing and look. Candy spills across the floor, and Steve stoops to the ground to collect the fallen sweets and discarded metal rack, mumbling apologies at startled customers all the while. He cradles the chocolate in his arms and lets the rack dangle off one crooked finger as he straightens and smiles at you.

“Smooth move, dingus,” Robin teases, patting Steve’s shoulder and resuming her post behind the counter. He shoots her a look and swings the display rack back on the counter. He sloppily dumps the bars next to it before wiping his palms on his jeans and stepping closer to you. 

He’s sporting the same Family Video vest as Robin, a slightly baggy yellow sweatshirt, and blue jeans. The yellow makes the greenish flecks in his eyes pop, and the moles along his cheeks stand out even brighter. Once again, Steve Harrington is the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen, and he doesn’t even have to try.

“You look gorgeous,” he murmurs. A hand slides around your waist and rests on the small of your back, pressing you close enough that he can stamp a chaste kiss on your cheek. His lips are warm against your chilled skin, and after a moment, he pulls back with a concerned look.

“Jesus, you’re freezing. Did you walk here?”

“Oh, yeah, uh. Mom had to take the car to a thing, so….” You shrug, trying to appear apathetic, but a shiver slithers up your spine as the front door swings open and a gust of frigid air nips at your heels. Steve hugs you closer, fingers squeezing and sliding up your hip and waist to warm you up.

“Next time, just call me. I’ll gladly pick you up so you don’t have to freeze your cute little ass off,” he mumbles against the shell of your ear. Before you can reply – not that you had anything remotely intelligent to say anyway – he turns both of your bodies so they’re angled at Robin.

“You two have been introduced, right?”

“Yep. I told her all of your embarrassing secrets before I went and got you,” Robin says flatly, shuffling candy bars in her hands like playing cards and slotting them into their original spaces on the display.

“Awesome, that means I’ll have plenty of time to tell her all of yours in the car,” Steve retorts. Robin rolls her eyes and holds a chocolate bar above her head threateningly.

“I am not afraid to use this.”

“You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.”

Steve yanks you to the right as the bar soars past your head, pinwheeling onto the floor and almost knocking against the ankles of two teenage girls by the front door. They both look up sourly, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed in displeasure, and Robin squeaks out an apology before they strut away.

“Good one,” Steve taunts, slipping his work vest off and dropping it on the counter behind him in a heap. Robin swipes it away with narrowed eyes, chastising Steve about not being his mother as she folds the fabric into a neat, green square. He slings an arm over your shoulder and starts to guide you out of the store, calling out to Robin over his shoulder.

“Don’t forget to lock the front door when you leave!”

“One time, Steve. It was one time!”

~~~

The drive to the theater is a pleasant blur of conversation. 

The smell of Steve’s cologne envelops you the second the passenger-side door shuts, woody and sweet and perfectly him. As you toss your purse into the backseat, you find yourself staring intently at the upholstery. It doesn’t appear that your previous escapades have actually maimed the leather.

At one point, as Steve talks about a particularly belligerent customer he had to deal with earlier in the day, he reaches over and rests his hand on your thigh. It’s not an insinuation or expectation – he hardly even applies pressure, just idly rubs his pinky back and forth over your skin while he continues his story. His ministrations do slightly disturb the hem of your skirt, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

You entertain the idea of just guiding his fingers between your legs, allowing him to feel you entirely, letting him play with your cunt while he drives, but just as you’ve built up the necessary courage, the car is pulling into the parking lot behind The Hawk. 

He squeezes your leg before hopping out of the car, and you’ve barely gathered your purse strings in your fist before he swings your door open for you and extends a hand down to help you out.

“Madame,” he says, bowing his head slightly. You giggle and take his hand.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, and as you step onto the cracked asphalt below, Steve shuts the door and crowds you up against the side of his car. 

His lips are instantly on yours, warm, soft, and hungry, and you can’t help but sigh against his mouth. You didn’t know how addictive kissing Steve Harrington would be until you went without it; now that you’re here, you’re tempted to forego the movie entirely so you don’t have to stop making out with him. He nudges his knee between your legs, and you tense up involuntarily, inhaling sharply through your nose. You feel him start to pull away, having noticed your apparent hesitance, but you remedy that quickly by bringing a hand up to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck and locking your right ankle around his calf. You lick at his lips, and he parts them readily, excitedly. He tastes minty, something you weren’t expecting but aren’t displeased with.

“You smell good,” Steve mumbles, kissing a trail down your neck and tugging the collar of your shirt to one side so he can better access the skin beneath. He hums approvingly before latching onto a pre-existing hickey, suckling and nipping at his handiwork. 

“If you do that, they’re never gonna go away,” you breathe. He chuckles.

“Good. They look so pretty on you.” His hands glide down your waist and settle on your hips, kneading circles into your flesh and pulling you flush against his body. You notice how comfortably you fit together, like pieces of a puzzle clicking into place for the first time. When he straightens, you find yourself tilting your head to meet his eyes.

“You have the softest mouth,” he says quietly, raising his hand and ghosting it along your jaw. His curled pointer finger settles beneath your chin, and his thumb presses into the center of your lower lip. “I could kiss you all day.”

“We’d miss the movie,” you warn, words slurred slightly by the presence of his thumb. You have to admit, though, that spending an entire day holed up with Steve, doing nothing but making out and allowing his hands to roam wherever they pleased on your body sounds like heaven on earth. He smiles at you, that perfect crooked smile, and gives you one last peck on the lips before stepping back.

“Better get a move on, then,” he says, sweeping his arm out and moving to the side. Cold air rushes to fill the space his body occupied a moment ago, and you shiver. You smooth the front of your skirt with one hand and slot the other inside his, keeping in step as you both navigate the alleyway next to the theater.

Empty cardboard boxes loom above your head, stacked haphazardly and tilted into the walkway. Puddles of opaque liquid splash beneath your shoes as you walk through them. A rumor Kelsey whispered to you ages ago floats to the forefront of your mind.

“Hey…didn’t Jonathan Byers kick your ass back here a few years ago?” you ask. The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches. Then, he smacks his lips and walks ahead, tugging on your arm and dragging you through the alley.

“So, what size popcorn did you want? I was thinking we’d get a large to share!”

~~~

Your sneakers stick noisily to the floor as you and Steve slither through the narrow rows of the mostly empty theater. You’re clutching the large Coke you’re going to share and the box of Sour Patch Kids Steve insisted upon while he’s balancing the unnecessarily massive bucket of popcorn on the tips of his fingers. You eye it cautiously, ready to leap to catch it if it pitches forward.

The seats you’ve picked in the top middle row, away from what little crowd is scattered about the theater, creak as you sit down, and the decrepit padding sags under your weight. You’ve missed the previews but are just in time to watch Marty McFly hitching a ride on the back of a truck to get to school. You pass Steve his candy and take a sip of your drink as he settles in and sticks the popcorn bucket between his knees.

“So, what’s happening?” Steve whispers, leaning down to your ear.

“Hardly anything yet. He’s on his way to school from Doc Brown’s house.”

“He who? And who’s Doc Brown?”

“He is Michael J. Fox,” you murmur, pointing at Marty as Principal Strickland berates him. “Doc Brown is Christopher Lloyd, the crazy scientist.”

“Ohh. Wait, isn’t he the One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest guy?”

You lean back in your seat enough to give Steve an incredulous look.

“You’ve seen One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?”

He shrugs, ripping the cardboard lip of the Sour Patch box open and spilling a few multi-colored gummies into his palm. “Robin and I have movie nights every Sunday. She chooses artsy shit on her turns. My last pick was Gremlins. You should come this weekend, but I can’t promise she’ll give up her turn for you. She’s suuuuper anal about that stuff.”

You smile and relax into his side. “As long as she’s cool with me bringing hot chips, she can pick whatever she wants.” This date isn’t over yet, and he’s already talking about seeing you again. If it weren’t the least cool thing you could do right now, you’d squeal over it.

Steve silently holds a blue Sour Patch beneath your nose as an offer, pinched between thumb and forefinger. You take it, gently pulling with your front teeth, and before he can retract his hand, you surge forward. Your tongue laps at the sticky sugar left over on the pads of his fingers, and in the flickering light of the film, you catch Steve staring at you, surprised. 

He bites the inside of his cheek when you draw his thumb inside your mouth and give a tentative suck. His gaze darkens as you blink up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence. As you start to pull away, he presses a finger beneath your chin and hooks his thumb downward against the backs of your bottom teeth, locking you in place. He leans toward you, mouth so close to your cheek that you feel the rumble of his voice across your heating skin.

“Do you really think it’s smart to tease me like that in public, baby?”

It is by the grace of God you don’t moan in the middle of the theater. 

You shift in your seat, trying to discreetly cross one leg over the other to squeeze your thighs together. His tone, the unrelenting grip on your jaw, and the change in his body language make you want to challenge him. You want to nod in agreement, to meet his gaze defiantly, do something that’ll make his eyes flash. But someone a few rows down from you loudly clears their throat, and Steve’s eyes dart toward the noise. 

You bite back the disappointed whine that builds in your throat as Steve slowly pulls his thumb from your mouth, eyeing the thin string of glittering saliva that keeps it briefly connected to your bottom lip before snapping. A beat passes where you both stare at each other, your lips barely parted, ready to welcome anything Steve deigns to slide past them again, but he rests that hand in his lap instead. 

“Watch the movie,” he murmurs, smirking at your open-mouthed and dazed expression.

Yeah, like that’s possible.

You swallow hard, uncrossing your legs and squirming. He hasn’t even done anything, not really, but your pussy is throbbing right now, and you’re genuinely concerned you’re going to start leaking all over the cushion below your ass. The potential embarrassment of standing up and discovering the shiny wet spot, a definitive indication of your arousal, thrills as much as it fills you with dread.

Steve seems to get absorbed into the movie rather quickly, mindlessly alternating between popping gummies and kernels of popcorn in his mouth, but your brain is buzzing, making it impossible to focus. When Steve places the popcorn bucket in the empty seat next to him, you can’t help yourself – you glance down at his empty lap, staring at his dick through his jeans like a fucking pervert. You gnaw the edges of your fingers, which doesn’t come close to sating the desire to have anything of Steve’s back inside your mouth..

The 1950s version of Marty’s father has just knocked Biff Tannen unconscious when Steve leans over the armrest between you again, and his voice is light with amusement when he asks, “What’s got you squirming so much?”

You breathe out sharply through your nose.

“I thought you wanted us to watch the movie,” you snark. Steve’s smile widens.

“I told you to watch the movie,” he corrects. His elbow nudges into your side slightly as he bends toward you. “But it seems like you’re havin’ a hard time with that. I’m just curious as to why.”

“You know why.”

“Mmm, no, I don’t.” Smug motherfucker.

Your hands rest on your thighs, clenching and unclenching as you contemplate your next move. He watches you intently, eyes roaming from your undoubtedly flushed face to where your hands are fidgeting in your lap. 

You won’t tell him why you can’t sit still – you’ll show him.

Wordlessly, you slide your fingers down the sleeve of his sweatshirt until you’re grasping his hand and guiding it toward your skirt. His fingers are cold as they brush against the soft, warm flesh of your inner thighs, and you grin as a gasp flutters past his lips.

“Fuck,” he growls. He pulls his hand back, and before you can whine at the loss, he adjusts himself in his seat so he’s angled toward you and reaches between your legs with his other hand, the one that offers better leverage. You duck your face into the crook of his neck as his two fingers slide up the length of your slit, collecting the slick that’s puddled near your hole and smearing it up your lips. You can’t part your legs any further, or you’ll rip your skirt right up the seam, but that doesn’t stop you from trying. You whimper softly as Steve crowds you up against the back of your seat. 

“I can’t believe you went out with no panties on,” he breathes raggedly. That same fervent, desperate arousal he displayed last night while nose-deep in your pussy bleeds into his voice, making it husky as it washes over your ear, and you shiver. 

Steve dips the tips of his fingers inside you, a groan stifled against the back of his teeth, and you suck in a breath. Is he really going to finger you here, in the theater? You’re not exactly sure what you were expecting, but knowing that anyone could turn around and see you both right now makes you simultaneously nervous and stupidly horny.

“God, you’re already so wet,” Steve rasps, fingers nudging deeper inside of you. “Have you been thinking about this the whole movie? Teasing me ‘til I played with your pussy?”

“M-Maybe,” you whimper. “I didn’t…have a concrete plan…oh, fuck–”

Steve claps his free hand over your mouth before you can loose the moan bubbling up your throat, snickering as his two fingers slide inside you. They curl as he drags them almost entirely out of your hole, leaving only the tips inside before slowly stuffing you full again. He keeps this devastatingly slow pace, fucking his fingers in so deep you ache, only to leave you mostly empty, again and again. You pant and whine against his palm, hips bucking off the seat to try and make him go faster, God, you need him to fuck you properly, but he won’t be swayed.

“You should see yourself right now,” he says against your ear. His fingers still inside you, the tips rubbing against your g-spot so that despite the people around you, you’re confident you’ll scream in frustration if he doesn’t start fucking you the way you want, the way you need. “Your cunt is drooling all over the seat, baby.”

He removes his hand from between your thighs, smirking at how you fuss and strain in an attempt to coax him back inside you. He frees your mouth, but only briefly, as his slick-soaked digits push past your lips the second you open them to protest. They don’t stop, either, sliding across your tongue and toward the back of your throat. He presses down, nearly activating your gag reflex. 

Steve watches hungrily as you hollow your cheeks and suck on his fingers, swirling your tongue over and between them to clean what remains of your slick off. The subtle way he shifts his weight catches your attention, and your gaze drifts down to his lap again.

He’s hard, you can tell, even with the inconsistent light the movie affords you. 

Embarrassingly, your mouth floods with saliva at the thought of kneeling on the sticky theater floor and swallowing Steve Harrington’s cock while the people around you innocently watch Back to the Future.

“Please,” you mewl once Steve pulls his fingers from your mouth. He hums inquisitively, tracing your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

You straighten and push yourself into Steve’s space, crushing your mouths together as you reach into his lap and stroke the bulge in his jeans. A shudder ripples through his body as your fingers squeeze and rub insistently, and it only spurs you on. You deftly unhook the button on his pants and drag the zipper down as Steve explores your mouth with his tongue, hands curling around your jaw and holding you in place.

“You gonna stroke my cock in front of all these people, baby?” Steve chides playfully, nipping your bottom lip. 

“If you’ll let me.” 

He seems a bit taken aback by your answer, enough to where his mouth hovers above yours, and his dark eyes blink open. Steve examines your face, almost as if he’s trying to discern if you’re serious or just so mind-bogglingly horny that you’ll agree to anything.

You sink your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and grasp his cock, too eager to let the cogs finish turning in his head. His flesh is burning hot to the touch, and as you swipe your thumb over the swollen, thick head, you smear a pearl of precum down his shaft. 

The sound he makes once he captures your lips in a kiss again is sinful.

If it weren’t for the armrest, you’re sure he’d be pulling you into his lap right about now. Steve’s breath comes in shallow bursts as you stroke him, slow and deliberate, mimicking the pace at which he fingered you. He reaches for you, wrenching your shirt from where it’s tucked into your skirt and sliding a hand up your stomach. When he cups that hand around your breast, you gasp, and he swallows the sound greedily before pushing your bra down and out of the way.

Two things happen just as Steve brings his other hand down between your legs again: lightning crashes into the clocktower on the screen, and someone unleashes a sustained, phlegmy round of coughing. 

Steve jerks back from you, panting, pink high on his cheeks and his hair dangling in his face. He looks around, tongue darting out to wet his red, swollen lips. After a moment, he laughs and leans back, closing a hand over the one you still have jammed down his pants.

“Why’d you stop?” you ask.

“'Cause if I don’t, I’m gonna fuck your brains out in front of all these people,” he admits, eyes shining mischievously. 

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you purr, squeezing the base of his cock. He twitches but gently wraps his fingers around your wrist, guiding it out of his underwear. 

“You say that until Chief Powell locks us both up for public indecency,” he laughs. “Do you wanna come back to my place, baby? It’s a lot more comfortable and…private.”

You start nodding before he’s even got the whole sentence out. He smiles, popping a quick kiss on the tip of your nose before reclining in his seat to tuck his dick away and do his pants back up. You have to do a bit of awkward twisting and shuffling to get your bra back into place without accidentally flashing the whole room, and Steve grabs your hand before carefully leading you down the steps and toward the theater door.

“So, uh, just in case I don’t get to see it ‘til it comes out on DVD,” he whispers over his shoulder, “how’s the movie end?”

“Uh, Marty hooks his mom and dad back up, and they all end up better off in the future. His dad’s some hotshot author and makes Biff chauffeur him everywhere.”

“Good for George!”

“Oh, and Doc lives.”

Steve stops cold, holding the door halfway open before turning to face you with a puzzled expression.

“Wait, what, how’d he-”

“Steve, do you wanna stand here talking about it, or do you wanna go have sex?” you ask, patting his chest and urging him out the door.

“Right, right, sorry, just – tell me later!”

~~~

Steve’s mouth finds yours the moment his front door shuts behind the both of you.

His hand slides behind your head, partially to tangle in your hair and keep you where he wants, but also so you don’t smack it against the wall as he pins you there. A few picture frames dotted along the entryway rattle from the force, and the sound stirs a thought.

“Wait, Steve, your parents…” Your protest is weak and breathless, swallowed by a gasp as Steve kisses a trail down your neck and laves his tongue over a healing hickey. 

“Not home,” he breathes.

“Are you sure?”

“They never are,” he murmurs into your skin. 

Paranoia still flickers dimly in the back of your mind, so you crack your eyes open to look around. The oak floors beneath you gleam as if freshly polished, and the cream walls you’re pressed against are stippled with a few small pieces of geometric art. There’s a side table just beyond Steve’s back, shiny and black and dimly illuminated by a single lamp, and while you don’t spot the glint of anyone’s keys on it right away, you still aren’t convinced that means no one’s home. Stairs are crushed against the furthest wall, thick ivory fabric carpeting each step, flowing upstairs into a rectangle of darkness on the top landing.

Steve sinks his teeth into the flesh above your pulse point, ripping your attention away from the decor. You moan louder than you intended and tip your head further to the side to give him better access.

“Such a little fuckin’ tease,” Steve growls against your throat. His fingers clench, tugging your hair by the root. The pain stings sweetly across your scalp, and you suck in a breath. “You have no fucking idea how much self-control it took to not bend you over in that theater, Y/N, Jesus Christ.”

You whimper, snaking your hands up under the back of his sweatshirt. He radiates heat, and the sensation of his smooth, unblemished skin beneath your fingers makes you want to scratch grooves into it. You won’t, not yet – you don’t have a read quite yet on how much pain Steve likes intermingled with his pleasure, if any. 

His free hand glides down your thigh before hitching itself behind your knee, and you gasp as Steve hikes your leg up and over his hip, leaving you suddenly exposed. Steve’s warm, solid body swiftly replaces the cool air that tickles between your thighs as he presses himself flush against you, his bulge straining against your bare pussy in a way that makes you shiver.

“God, I could fuck you right here,” he breathes, and you’re grateful for his iron grip because, without it, your buckling knees would’ve sent you straight to the floor. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, baby. Y’know how bad I wanted to drag you back inside my car last night? Keep you all to myself?”

“Fuck, Steve,” you whine, voice muffled against his soft, sweet-smelling hair. Arousal sinks itself between your hips like lead, hot and insistent, and you grind against Steve’s denim-clad cock desperately. You’ll let him fuck you anywhere he likes – against the wall, on the floor, bent over the railing of the stairs. A perverse thrill rushes through you at the thought, and you’re about to open your mouth to beg Steve for just that when he releases his grip on your hair and leg. 

By the time you realize what’s happening, Steve’s knees have already hit the dark blue rug below you, and his fingers are squeezing your skirt over your hips. He tilts your lower half away from the wall, toward his face, by grabbing a greedy handful of your ass and pulling; you stumble a little and have to tangle both hands in his hair to keep from falling over his shoulder. He peppers kisses along your inner thigh, turning his face into the soft, malleable flesh, and you see the flash of his teeth before you feel them, nipping the juncture where your pelvis and leg meet. 

“Let’s see if I still remember our lesson,” he murmurs, a sound that vibrates up into your core and shakes a moan from your lips. His voice, though faint between your legs, is dark and strained, as if he’s barely holding himself back from ravaging you right where you stand. You don’t know how to verbalize quite yet that you want, more than anything, for Steve to just fucking take you already. You worry the wicked thoughts swirling around in your head right now, tapping their claws against your skull and whispering encouragement to you, will freak him out if you dump all of them on him at once.

Steve’s tongue flattens against your cunt, and the noise he makes as he licks up to your clit makes you shudder. He crushes you closer to him, so close you can feel the tip of his nose bumping between your folds as he gets right to work eating your pussy with the fervor of a starving man. 

“Still so fucking wet,” he mumbles. He pulls away, just far enough to spread you open with two fingers, and teases the tips around the rim of your hole. You whimper, hips bucking involuntarily, your grip tightening in Steve’s hair to keep yourself steady. His dark eyes flicker to your face; his swollen pupils eclipse the color in his irises, leaving them almost black in the dim light of the entryway. 

“You want my fingers, baby?” he asks. You nod, breathless.

“Y-Yes.”

“Yes, what?” He traces around your twitching entrance, gaze unwaveringly intense. You swallow hard and swear you see the corner of his mouth tic amusedly when he catches how your throat bobs with the effort.

“Yes, please, Steve,” you offer, and he sucks his teeth in admonishment. 

“C’mon, pretty girl, I thought you learned how to beg for me properly last night,” he chastises, and your stomach flips. The high, squeaky sound that ekes out of your mouth is wholly unintentional, but how the fuck are you supposed to be quiet when he’s talking like that, looking at you like that, touching you like that?

“P-Please, please, Steve, I need your fingers inside me, please,” you mewl, and Steve makes a satisfied noise low in his throat. He places an approving kiss right above your clit, and if the thought of falling directly on top of him wasn’t mortifying, you’re sure you’d collapse.

“Do you wanna take my cock tonight baby?” he asks. He pushes his two fingers inside you just as your mouth drops open to answer, and you suck in a breath sharply as they curl and brush over that spot inside you. 

“God, fuck, yes, I do, please. I want your cock,” you babble.

“Are you sure? You’re not too sore?” It’s a sincere question. Truthfully, you are still sore – not terribly, not the way you were in the shower last night, but the ache pulsing in your muscles as Steve slowly, so fucking slowly, draws his fingers in and out of your pussy, is inescapable. Admittedly, though, it doesn’t discourage your arousal even one bit – you want him to fuck you until you can’t walk, to have that dull pain twinge throughout your body for days as a reminder. 

And considering how big he is, you don’t think that’ll be hard to accomplish.

“No, I’m okay, not too sore,” you assure him. 

“Yeah? You’ll let me know if it hurts too much, won’t you, pretty girl?” 

You nod, breath hitching as the pads of his fingers rub gentle circles over your g-spot. “I can take it, Steve.”

He smiles, sweet and innocent, his sunshine yellow sweatshirt rumpled and perfect hair ruffled across his forehead. He kisses your thigh again and pulls his fingers almost all the way out.

“You’ll need to take more than two fingers if you wanna fit my cock inside you,” he says simply, and plunges three fingers inside you up to the knuckle while latching his mouth over your clit.

The only reason you don’t scream is because all the oxygen has been sucked from your lungs. 

Steve drives his fingers home again and again, spreading them apart inside you while his tongue swirls over your throbbing clit. Your fingers claw at the smooth wall behind you, desperate for anything that might aid you in remaining upright, and when you can’t find it and the tremoring in your thighs threatens to overtake you, you thrust your hands into Steve’s hair, pushing it away from his face. It gives you an unencumbered view of his dark, thick eyelashes fluttering over his cheekbones as he focuses on your slit and the faint flush hueing his tanned skin. 

When your head falls back against the wall, and you moan, high and desperate, you unthinkingly ball your hands into fists. The strands of Steve’s hair go taut in your grip, and just as you’re about to whisper an apology, he groans into you. 

“Harder,” he says, breathless, a gleaming string of saliva tenuously connecting his bottom lip to your cunt. 

“Wha…” You’re borderline delirious from pleasure, which makes forming an intelligible sentence very difficult. Sensing this, Steve lifts the hand not buried knuckles deep inside you and rests it over yours, squeezing gently.

“Pull harder, baby.” 

You swallow hard. His eyes are wide open now, staring directly at your face, bright and blazing. When you oblige him, clench your fingers and tug at the root of Steve’s hair with both hands, hard enough to make his head tip back, his lids flicker, and a smirk sprawls across his reddened lips. The gasp that passes through them clenches your stomach, and his approval inspires you to pull his head back further.

“Fuck,” he growls. 

“That feel nice?” you ask, and Steve nods as best he can. He looks fucking divine like this; slick lips parted to allow shallow breaths, gazing up at you like you’re the only person in the universe who matters. You wonder if he’ll ever let you take the reins, if he’d let you pluck him apart, piece by piece, just as he’s done to you, only to paste him back together at your leisure.

The thought makes you shiver, and you gush a bit around his fingers.

He’s broken free of your grasp just as quickly as he invited it, however, and when he dives back into your cunt, he’s abandoned all pretense. He laps at your clit with long, flat strokes of his tongue and purposefully thrusts his three fingers against your g-spot, curling them tight and pumping so fast you can see the veins twitching in his bicep. Your pussy makes wet, obscene sounds as he fucks into it, and the embarrassment that tinges the edge of your arousal at that fact brings you closer to orgasm than you were expecting.

“S-Steve, Steve, God, fuck, I’m gonna cum, please, I wanna cum,” you blurt out, and he hums affirmatively. Without warning, you feel the tip of his pinky finger nudging against your hole.

“Cum for me,” he says – rather, he demands it of you. “Cum on my fingers if you wanna earn my cock, baby.”

Earn it. That thought, and the sweet, burning stretch of his four fingers inside your spasming pussy send you tumbling over the edge. You scream so loud you worry any neighbor Steve has will think he’s trying to kill you. In all fairness, he may be – you cum so hard that once your scream fizzles out, it’s impossible to draw in an adequate breath, so you’re just left paralyzed, choking on your own tongue, trembling on Steve’s deft fingers and mouth.

He milks it for as long as he can, chuckling against your folds when you finally gather the wherewithal to whine and push weakly at his forehead after your pleasure ripens into pain. When he pulls his fingers out, all four shimmer with slick, and it takes you a beat to realize your thighs are warm and wet from your orgasm, all the way down to your knees. The small puddle of your own cum that’s collected between your shoes glistens mockingly up at you. 

“Okay…you have to at least let me clean that up,” you pant, jutting your chin toward your mess. Steve laughs and sucks a kiss into one of the few unblemished areas of your inner thigh you have left.

“It’ll dry, don’t worry about it. You can clean this for me, though.”

Steve reaches up and presses all four fingers into your mouth. You moan, a wholly compulsory sound, but obediently twirl your tongue over the digits, doing precisely as he asked and cleaning your cum from his skin. As you do, Steve murmurs praise into your flesh between featherlight kisses, trailing them across both thighs and either side of your hips as he raises himself higher on his knees. 

“Good girl,” he purrs, retrieving his fingers from your mouth. You’re about to thank him when he presses you flush against the wall again. You find yourself upside down before you can ask what he’s doing.

Steve has hoisted you up and over his shoulder, not unlike a literal sack of potatoes, and you’re now completely inverted, blood rushing to your head but enjoying an eyeful of Steve’s ass in his jeans. The fabric of your skirt is still bunched up around your hips, leaving your bare ass fully exposed, and you reflexively reach back to cover it as Steve darts up the staircase. Your body bounces on the rounded edge of his shoulder, which digs a bit unpleasantly into the soft pouch of your stomach, but you find yourself giggling uncontrollably all the same. His strength impresses and arouses you all over again.

“Sorry, baby, I just don’t fully trust you to walk all the way to my room on those shaky legs,” Steve says, mirth belying his apology. You’d like to argue, but he isn’t wrong. Even as they dangle uselessly across Steve’s torso, your thighs tremble. At this rate, you would’ve been lucky if they cooperated enough to let you crawl after Steve to his bedroom.

Although…

Before you can entertain that thought, you’re flying through the air. The springs of Steve’s bed shriek as you land atop it in a heap, making you wonder if they always squeak like that. 

“Sorry about the mess,” Steve says, arms crossed over his torso and hands gripping the hem of his sweatshirt. You look around – aside from a few crumpled pieces of paper on a desk and a moderate pile of rumpled clothes in one corner, the room is spotless. The walls and curtains are matching shades of plaid, and more oak furniture crowds the corners. You take a deep breath, expecting Steve’s cologne to waft sweetly up your nose, but instead, you inhale the scent of dust. There isn’t much here to denote that the room belongs to a college-aged man, let alone that he spends any meaningful amount of time in it. It looks more like a well-used guest room, aside from the forest green sleeve of Steve’s varsity jacket peeking out from the cracked closet door and a singular framed picture on his desk. The features of the two figures are bathed in shadow, but you can tell by the exaggerated swoop of hair on the taller one that it’s Steve with…someone.

It makes you sad, Steve’s room.

You sit on your knees and shuffle toward him as he peels off his shirt, laying your hands over his to stop him.

“Let me,” you whisper. 

He pauses, a sliver of smooth skin visible through the gap he’s made in his clothes, and you catch a glimpse of his happy trail just above his belt buckle. One hand drifts downward, and your fingers press tentatively into that thatch of hair. Steve’s stomach is a hard wall of muscle protected by soft flesh that pudges out around your fingertips slightly, and the way he tenses beneath your touch doesn’t escape your notice. His eyes glitter in the room's dim light, flickering over your face, searching. 

“Please?” you add, and he smiles.

He drops both arms to his sides, allowing you to slide your palms along his waist and lift the sweatshirt from his body. Dark, coarse hair swirls across his chest, dipping between his pectorals in a thin line before reappearing above the waistband of his jeans; beneath the sparse edges of his body hair, you’re able to pick out dozens of freckles and beauty marks dappled along the lean, tan expanse of his torso. The sleeves of his sweatshirt flip inside out and cling to his wrists as you tug the last of it off, and you both giggle when the neckline snags on the tip of his nose before snapping over his forehead. 

You sit back on your haunches, hands hovering above his body, unsure of where to settle first. He’s so fucking pretty, you want to touch everywhere at once, from the broad line of his shoulders to the divots along his pelvis.

You don’t have long to think about it. Steve slips both hands behind your knees and pulls; your back hits the bed in a squeal of springs and a whoosh of air, and as your thighs spread instinctively, the riiiiip of your skirt splitting clean up the seams catches his attention.

“Oh, shit. Sorry,” Steve chuckles, pinching a jagged flap of fabric between his fingers. It’s unsalvageable, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You squeeze what remains of the waistband down your hips and drop the scraps off the edge of his bed, giggling.

“You’re gonna owe me a whole new wardrobe at this rate,” you say, and Steve presses an apologetic kiss to the bridge of your nose.

“I’ll get you the best a Family Video salary can buy,” he promises. Then, two fingers are buried inside of you to the knuckles, and any witty retort you had loaded up for him dissipates on the breath that hisses out through your teeth.

“Fucking – oh, my God,” you groan, stretching out the last word as Steve plunges his fingers in and out of your cunt. He tilts his hand slightly so that he’s brushing up against your g-spot every time, and you would be embarrassed about the pathetic little whimpers tumbling from your lips if you had the wherewithal for shame at this juncture. Your back arches, driving your head into the pillow, but Steve’s free hand tangles itself in your hair and forces you into a semi-sitting position.

“I want you to watch, baby,” he murmurs. “Watch how you take me.” 

“Please, Steve, more, please, I can take it,” you pant, eyelashes fluttering as you watch Steve’s glistening fingers vanish and reappear rhythmically. He laughs against the shell of your ear before kissing your temple.

“I know you can take more of my fingers, pretty girl. I watched you do that,” he coos, voice rife with singsongy condescension. “Unless that’s not what you mean.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” you whine, and you don’t think you’ve ever sounded so petulant in your entire life. Steve’s fingers still, and he makes a quizzical Hm? sound high in his throat before deliberately dragging tight, fast circles around your g-spot. The veins in his forearm pulse and bulge with the effort, and he’s gone and sucked all the air out of your lungs, so you can’t even answer him when he says, “Then use your words and tell me what you need.”

For a few seconds, your brain goes blank. Pleasure thrums through every nerve in your body until your skin is prickling with heat, gooseflesh rising on your thighs despite the sweat beading at your hairline, and the realization that you’re already close again cracks through your skull like lightning. You grab Steve’s wrist, though you’re torn on if you want to push him away or pull him in deeper. It’s too much, it’s far too much and yet it’s not nearly enough at the same time because it’s not his cock, and you need his cock, so finally, you draw in a shallow breath, swallow what little saliva remains in your mouth, and you tell him.

“I need your cock, please, Steve. I need your fucking cock so badly, please just give it to me.”

“That’s my girl.”

Steve crawls between your legs, aptly slipping his belt out of his jeans and whipping it to the other end of the room. As he strips his pants off – you bite back a laugh, watching him struggle to rip his foot out of one of the legs – you sit forward slightly and peel off your Heart T-shirt. Fresh air cools your flushed skin while you reach behind yourself, awkwardly attempting to unclasp your bra and still look sexy, a feat you don’t think has ever been accomplished.

“I got it,” Steve says, and as he presses himself against you, head hanging over your shoulder and fingers adeptly unhooking the tiny metal hoops, something hot and hard rubs between your legs. You look down and realize he’s already stripped himself of his briefs, and once your bra falls away, discarded alongside your shirt, you see the flushed length of his cock bobbing slightly between his hips. 

Your mouth fills with saliva. It’s like you can still taste him, heady and salty and perfect, on the back of your tongue, and for a moment, you want to beg him to fill your throat over and over again. 

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” Steve murmurs, lips trailing down the side of your neck, then your collarbone, before both hands rise to cup your now bare tits, and his mouth glides along your heated flesh. When he closes it around a nipple and laves his tongue around it in slow circles, you arch your back, moaning with abandon; Steve inches closer, the head of his cock nudging more insistently against your cunt. He repeats his ministrations on the other nipple, hands kneading and squeezing the pliant skin of your chest gently until you’re whining and bucking against him.

“You ready, baby?” he purrs. He lifts his eyes to yours, pupils blown so wide and black within his dark irises that it’s like staring into twin pools of ink. You open your mouth to respond just as Steve grips himself by the base of his cock and grinds the shaft against your soaked slit, up and down, up and down, grazing your clit with every stroke. If you weren’t so smitten by him, you’d fucking kill him.

Growling, you plunge both hands into his hair, tugging hard at the locks by his temples as you did before, and Steve’s shocked gasp skitters across your face. 

“Fuck me before I lose my goddamned mind,” you pant, voice much less authoritative than you’d like it to be. You compensate by jerking Steve’s head back, punctuating your demand, and he laughs. 

“If you insist.”

Both of your wrists are swept up in one of his hands and pinned above your head so fast you don’t have time to react. The head of his cock presses against your hole, thick and hot. Despite his thorough prep work, you can tell this will still be quite the stretch. You hitch your legs up over his hips as he prods further, keening and squirming as your pussy struggles to accommodate the sheer girth of him – it fucking burns, but the pain doesn’t discourage you in the slightest. Still, you can’t help the pitiful mewls that fall from your lips, nor the way your body thrashes against Steve’s iron grip.

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, voice rough with arousal. “You can take it. I know you can. Just relax. Does it hurt?”

“K-Kinda.”

“Do you need me to stop?”

“Fuck no, please don’t stop,” you plead, and Steve huffs out a laugh. 

When the head finally pops inside you, you reflexively bear down on it and release a broken moan through gritted teeth, and Steve’s low groan reverberates through your body. “So fucking tight, fuck baby,” he moans, and just as your lips part to beg him to keep going, he thrusts in another inch. Steve pushes inside of you slowly and steadily, sucking air through his teeth and screwing his eyes shut so tight you wonder if he’s consciously keeping himself from cumming already.

Then – he pulls out.

Fuck it. You’re gonna kill him and kill him slowly.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he wheezes, scrambling off the bed and leaving you with a spasming, achingly empty hole and questions on your tongue. The low lighting doesn’t afford you much clarity on what Steve is doing. Under normal circumstances, you’d probably find the way he’s frenziedly flitting about the room, naked as the day he was born, funny, but you are legs akimbo on his bed, alone, with nary an explanation as to why he pulled his dick out of you in the first place.

It dawns on you when he finds what he’s looking for and kneels on the bed again, and the slim plastic wrapper in his hand gleams in the lamplight.

Duh.

“I completely forgot,” he says, smiling bashfully as he frees the condom from its wrapper and rolls it down over his flushed cock. You can’t help it – you’re disappointed he’s not gonna be fucking you raw tonight. You understand why he can’t, why you can’t let him, of course, and if you’d had your wits about you, you’d have reminded him about it yourself. But still. 

Steve kisses your forehead as he lines himself up with your cunt again, and this time, he doesn’t make you beg at all – he thrusts almost half his length inside of you in one go, and you forget all about the condom for the moment.

“Fuck, fuck, yes, Steve!” You twist his sheets up into your fists, shocked you don’t tear a hole clean through the fabric, and your mouth hangs open as Steve bullies his cock deeper inside you. Pleasure rumbles through him, something you feel rather than hear at first because he leans over you, one hand supporting the small of your back, lifting you partially off the bed, and presses your bodies together. He plants wet kisses along the side of your neck and down your chest, breath washing over your skin as he pants raggedly. 

“You have no idea how hard it was to not just fuck you raw, baby,” he murmurs. A shiver ripples down your back and you moan, the sound swinging high and cracking in your throat because that is maybe the hottest thing he could have said in this moment. 

“I would’ve let you,” you admit, the words slipping from your mouth without much thought given to them, and perhaps you’d be embarrassed at your stark honesty, or how desperate you sound if Steve didn’t groan so deliciously in your ear afterward and start snapping his hips forward faster.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, breathless. With every thrust, he buries himself just a bit deeper inside you, and the ever-increasing fullness makes it hard to think, let alone maintain any sort of filter on your words. It still burns just that little bit, enough to remind you that you’ve never had anything – or anyone – this big inside of you before, and it just makes this sweeter. 

“God, yes, absolutely,” you huff, because it’s true – you’d never admit it to him, would never tell a single soul or even pen it in the margins of your diary, but you have spent more than one sleepless night in your life with your hand jammed down the front of your underwear, fantasizing about Steve Harrington filling your pussy with load after load until his cum dribbled steadily out of your thoroughly used hole. You’d always flush with embarrassment afterward, when the warm glow of your orgasm had faded and you had to deal with your soaked sheets before they went cold under your ass, mostly because, at that point, you’d hardly said five words to the guy. 

Steve adjusts his grip, hands sliding from your back to behind both knees before he pushes them toward your chest. When he bucks against you next, it’s all you can do not to scream. He can get so fucking deep at this angle, with your hips tilted up and Steve looming over you, and you’re positively flabbergasted when you look down between your bodies and realize he hasn’t even pushed his entire length inside of you yet. You’re brimming with him, entirely full, you don’t think you could take another inch, but still you whine and look up at him through your lashes.

“Deeper,” you plead, weakly gripping his elbows for purchase. “P-Please, deeper…more…”

 He chuckles, a low sound that rolls like thunder through your body and makes gooseflesh prickle across your skin, and when he pushes a sweat-damp clump of hair from his eyes, you realize just how bright they are. The way they flash at you, coupled with the sheen of sweat glistening off his pinked cheeks and the parting of his red, swollen lips to allow passage for his heaving breaths makes you wish you had a camera. You’d live in this moment forever if you could, Steve pounding you into the mattress and gazing at you like this, like you’re the only thing in the world he cares about.

“You’re fuckin’ twitching around me, baby, are you gonna cum already?” he asks, and the question drops you back into your body at once, though you weren’t aware you’d been floating out of it in the first place. He’s right – without having even acknowledged your clit the entire time Steve’s had his cock inside of you, you’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm, your cunt fluttering sporadically around his length. You open your mouth to reply, but no sound beyond gasping breath comes out, and this is apparently greatly amusing to Steve.

“Oh, you are, aren’t you? My pretty girl’s gonna cum all over my cock and I’ve barely even started, huh?” 

His words are like a crank winding an invisible cord that stretches from your core to your clit, one that has already been pulled so taut that you don’t think it’ll withstand his mouth much longer. You want to cum so fucking badly, but you also don’t want to be finished yet, and before you can verbalize any of that to Steve, he’s bearing down on you and pushing your thighs even further back. You’re not sure how you manage it, because you could’ve sworn you were not this flexible before tonight, but Steve forces your legs almost flush against your shoulders and slots both arms behind your knees, so you can’t close them even if you wanted to; he crowds against you, the full weight of his body now accompanying each thrust as he obliges your earlier request and sinks deeper into your drooling pussy than you thought possible.

Your mind goes blissfully blank. The tether in your belly snaps, and you start cumming so hard on Steve’s cock that you can’t even manage a scream – your mouth opens, a perfectly rounded O as your eyes screw themselves shut, and your back arches off his bed, your orgasm igniting every nerve in your body until you’re little more than a writhing live wire. It’s intense – that’s the only word you have for it, understatement of the century though it may be. You clench so tight around Steve that you’re shocked you don’t force him out of you, and he just keeps fucking you through it.

“That’s it, baby,” he croons, swiping the hair from your face with one hand and holding you in place. “That’s it, good girl, keep cumming for me, fuck, I can feel you soaking my cock–” 

“Steve, fuck, fuck, God, don’t stop, please,” you wheeze, your pleasure ebbing just enough for you to draw a small breath and find your voice again. You reach up, fingers shaking before settling in his hair, and tug the locks at the nape of his neck as your body trembles uncontrollably. Though he does moan in that way you’re rapidly becoming addicted to as you pull his hair, he slows his pace to a devastatingly slow grind and releases your legs. They flop uselessly down onto the bed, tingling with pins and needles, and you whimper pitifully as Steve takes this moment to sit up on his heels.

“Steve–”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby, it’s okay,” he assures you, resting both hands on your aching hips and kneading small circles into the soft flesh with his thumbs. “I’m here.”

“Did you…?” You glance down at where your bodies are still joined, and Steve snorts.

“Almost. That’s why I had to stop for a sec. You just feel too fucking good.”

You can’t help the smug grin that creeps across your lips. You’re tempted to rock against him anyway, or perhaps even knock him backward and ride him until he can’t take it anymore, but your leaden limbs forbid you from making any significant strides toward either option. Steve pants above you, hands slowly migrating up the squishy expanse of your stomach, past your breasts, and finally landing on either side of your jaw before he licks his lips and bends toward you. He kisses you, chaste and gentle, a featherlight brush of his mouth against yours, and his thumbs press somewhat insistently at your temples.

“You’re crying,” he informs you, and again, it’s Steve’s observation that brings you back to your body – the sides of your face are wet, and if you turn your head at all, you can feel your damp hair sliding around on the pillow. “Are you okay?”

“Mmhmm…very, very okay,” you purr. “Jus’ felt good, that’s all…”

If your orgasm was like a firework shooting off and exploding inside of you, the afterglow you’re nestled in is like a warm bath, with every inch of you buzzing pleasantly in sluggish pleasure. Steve kisses you again, trailing his lips up past your cheekbone so he can plant them square in the middle of your sweaty forehead. The juxtaposition of this tenderness, the capacity he has to be so gentle with you after he just had you bent in half and seemed hellbent on fucking you through the bed, makes your stomach flutter with the kind of girlish giddiness only Steve can bring out of you. 

“Do you want me to keep going?” he asks. His cock throbs inside of you, but when he pulls back far enough to flash you that sweet, lopsided smile of his you know he’d roll off in a heartbeat if you asked him to. But you do not want him to do that, not even slightly, so you find the strength to lift your thighs and wrap them around his hips before you nod, grinning dopily, and say, “Please keep fucking me, Steve.”

His mouth is on yours before you’re finished saying his name. His movements have slowed, from the glide of his tongue past your lips to the roll of his hips, and he greedily swallows the keening whines that bubble up from your throat as his cock drags along your oversensitive walls. Your breath hitches every time he pushes himself as deep as he can go, something he makes a note of with a laugh and a playful nip to your bottom lip.

“You like being full of my cock, huh, beautiful?” he murmurs, ducking his head. He’s seemingly decided you need more hickeys, as evidenced by the way he starts sucking on a patch of flesh just beneath your ear like he’s trying to draw blood from the thumping veins below. 

“S-So much, yeah.”

“Yeah? That’s not even all of it, baby.”

“It’s not?” you whine, incredulous, and Steve snickers against your skin, shaking his head. 

“No, but I think it’d hurt if I tried to fit it all inside of you,” he says, and there’s something sharp in his voice – something mocking. 

“You don’t know that,” you huff, and Steve hums against your throat. 

He takes one of your hands in his, guiding it toward where he’s buried inside you, and says, “Feel that? Feel how nice and full you are now?”

You nod. Steve drops your hand. “Now feel how much of me is still left,” he says.

You do, fingers twitching along the length that remains outside of you, and you’re shocked. There must be at least two inches that Steve has yet to stuff you with, or perhaps that he physically can’t stuff you with, and while you want so badly for him to just shove the rest of it inside, you consider he may be right. His thick cockhead pulses where it’s resting inside your pussy, nestled against the very back of you; any deeper, he’d certainly hit your cervix, something you’ve experienced before with other (clumsy, inconsiderate, douchey) partners and would very much so like to never experience again. Still, your pride weathers this slight blow, and you compensate by wrapping your fingers around the bit of Steve’s cock that you can’t accommodate.

“Fuck,” he moans, drawing the word out nice and long as you start to jerk him off. He lifts his head from your throat, mouth curling into a shocked smile as he rocks his hips into your fist and, consequently, your cunt. “That’s…fuck, that’s really hot, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” Your voice is breathy, and pleasure sparks anew throughout your core. You have to twist your wrist at a slightly odd angle to get a grip on him with both of your bodies in the way, and your fingers keep slipping in the ample lubrication your pussy supplies, so it’s perhaps the clumsiest handjob you’ve ever given, but Steve doesn’t seem to care. He thrusts into you messily, brows pinched and swollen mouth dropped open as he chases his peak inside you, and your free hand raises to cup the side of his face.

“Cum in me,” you whisper, and the broken sound that tumbles from Steve’s lips spurs you on. You push back against him and bear down on his cock at the same time you squeeze your fist, the rubber rim of the condom skidding beneath your fingers. He slumps forward, pressing his cheek into your palm, hands shooting out to catch himself before he falls headlong into your chest. Sweat beads at his hairline and trickles down the long column of his throat before pooling in the hollow at the base, and the sight is so tempting you sit up and lave your tongue over his salty skin. 

“Cum in me,” you say again, “please, Steve. I need it, please, please.” 

“God-fucking-dammit,” he growls, his hips stuttering, chest heaving, and not a second later, he’s cumming. You can’t feel his load inside you – a fact that inspires a non-zero amount of disappointment that hasn’t abated since the second he slid the condom on – but watching him cum is enough to make that disappointment vanish. He goes silent for a beat as his peak overwhelms him, but when his cock starts to pulse inside your cunt and within your loose fist, fresh moans rip themselves from his throat, and you are so fucking thankful that Steve Harrington is not afraid to be loud for you. His body tenses and shudders as he pumps into you erratically. 

Just as you think he’s finished, and you’ve begun to take your cramping hand back, Steve stops you. He’s panting, gasping for air like he’s just finished a marathon, and his eyes are positively sparkling. He places your hand back on your pussy, and when you don’t move, he nods his head.

“Make yourself cum for me again,” he says simply, and it’s all you can do not to balk at him.

“But you just–”

“Don’t care. You can give me one more, baby.” 

Of all the things you’ve done tonight – in the last 48 hours, really – touching yourself in full view of Steve is the thing that makes you blush the deepest. You swallow thickly, fingers hesitating over your admittedly swollen clit, and Steve chuckles. He’s not as hard as he was moments ago, and you can feel him softening the longer he remains inside you, but that doesn’t stop him from jerking his hips forward harder in encouragement.

“C’mon, you’re gonna give me one more,” he insists. “Touch that pretty pussy for me, show me how you do it when you’re all by yourself.”

Well, when he says it like that.

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth and make quick work of your clit, rubbing circles around the throbbing bud as Steve fucks you fast and sloppy. You really didn’t think you had it in you at first, but once again, your body seems to have an endless capacity for orgasms when you’re around Steve – the coil in your belly winds itself quickly this time, burning blood-hot between your hips and readying itself to snap faster than you’ve ever experienced before. A wicked thought crosses your mind then, one that involves Steve testing just how quickly he can make you cum, and how many times he can replicate that speed, and you resolve to bring it up to him at a later date as your pussy spasms and Steve moans above you.

“Fuck yes, I can feel you getting close, that’s it,” he babbles, breathy laughter carrying his reassurance, and with one last well-placed thrust, you’re cumming on his cock again. God help you, there’s a splash, and wet heat soaks between your fingers as Steve fucks you through your orgasm, audibly impressed with how much you cum this time.

“Good fucking girl, I knew you had it in you. Shoulda put a towel down.”

You’d shush him if you had any air in your lungs. 

He pulls out and delicately unwinds your trembling thighs from his hips, beaming at you the whole time he peels the condom off his dick and disposes of it in a small wastebasket. When he returns to the bed, he scoops you up and rolls you over, placing himself in the wet spot you’ve created and dragging you on top of him so all you can feel is his solid warmth. He peppers kisses along your dampened hairline and gently strokes both hands up and down the length of your spine, pausing above the swell of your ass to knead his fingers into your heated flesh a few times. Your hearts are pounding, and for a moment, you swear they beat in sync. You tell yourself it must be the post-orgasm endorphin drop making the world a little rosier than it truly is.

“I’m so proud of you, pretty girl,” Steve murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead and tilting your face toward his. His cheeks still have an adorable flush to them, and his hair is slicked away from his face with sweat. You note the twin moles stamped on the left side of his face, right on the apple of his cheek, and surge forward on your elbow to capture them in a kiss. 

“You feel okay?” he asks. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head. “Not at all. I kinda wanted you to, but–”

“Oh?”

Motherfuck. You and your big mouth. 

“Uh…” Steve stares at you, eyes bright and curious, and the corner of his mouth flirts with a grin. He looks…intrigued? You don’t know why that’s so shocking, considering you’ve yanked on his hair like they were a horse’s reins multiple times tonight and he nearly melted in your hands, but you blush all the same under his gaze and chew your bottom lip.

“We can definitely talk about that,” he says, and his voice is surprisingly soft given the mischievous look on his handsome face. 

“Really?”

“Well, I mean, kinda depends on what you mean by “hurt” you,” he adds, raising two fingers to twitch around the word “hurt.” “D’you mean, like, get a lil’ rough with you, or…like, stick you with a cattle prod?”

“Cattle prod,” you deadpan, and in the beat of silence that follows, genuine fear flashes across Steve’s face. You snort, smacking him lightly in the center of his chest, and his abdominal muscles relax noticeably beneath you. 

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t thoroughly enjoy everything that you just did, by the way,” you clarify, flattening your palm between his pecs and idly mussing his chest hair. “‘Cause I did. I just…like it a little rougher, sometimes, too.”

“I can do rougher,” Steve asserts, pinching a lock of your hair between thumb and forefinger and delicately tucking it behind your ear. Your belly flutters at the prospect, and though you already have suggestions bubbling up your throat, your tongue feels too thick in your mouth to adequately communicate any of them. In fact, the more Steve caresses your body, the heavier you feel, and it’s only after his face begins to blur that you realize that your eyelids are drooping.

“Tired?” he laughs as you blink a few times.

“Mmm,” you mumble, noncommittal, even as your head comes down to nuzzle into his neck and your thoughts go fuzzy at the edges. “Can’t sleep…curfew…”

“I’ll wake you up,” he promises. “Just nap, baby, it’s okay. I got you.”

You grumble again, a piss-poor argument that Steve does not heed. Instead, he drags his fingers through the hair on the side of your head, careful not to snag on any tangles, his touch so light it makes you shiver. It is impossible to ignore the pull of unconsciousness when someone is playing with your hair, that’s just an objective fact, and so you sigh, limbs loosening and body going slack on top of Steve’s as he lulls you deeper into darkness.

~~~

Turns out, Steve’s sweatpants fit you.

Well, maybe “fit” is being generous – you had to knot the drawstrings as tight as they would go to keep the waistband above your hips, and it still slings well below the curve of your pelvis if you don’t bunch the front up in your fist and manually hold it up. They’re also comically long, and you’ve had to cuff the legs three times over just to make sure you don’t trip over the fabric that otherwise puddles around your feet.

The heater purrs as it drools warmth into the interior of Steve’s car, a welcome reprieve from the freezing October air that presses against the windows. They’re fogged, and you absently draw little doodles on the misty glass with one finger. Queen’s second self-titled album plays faintly, a throbbing bassline and Freddie Mercury’s crooning vocals filling the narrow space between you and Steve.

“I didn’t peg you as a Queen guy,” you say, gesturing in the direction of his cassette deck, your hand interlocked with his and beside the gear shift. He scoffs.

“You kidding? I love Queen,” he says emphatically and takes his hand off the steering wheel for a moment to spin the volume dial. As he does, the song changes, bleeding seamlessly into the next one; Freddie’s voice reaches its peak just as a few bright notes are plunked on a piano, and a beat is thudded out on the drums. Steve sings along, loudly, and though you can tell he’s not being serious about it, his voice is smooth and clear. You’re so enamored by the sight of him that the lyrics don’t register right away, not until he leans into your space, eyes pinned fastidiously to the darkened road ahead, and sings at you.

“Funny how love is everywhere, just look and see.”

They’re just words, not even Steve’s words, but your cheeks color nonetheless.

“Funny how love is anywhere you’re bound to be.” His gaze flickers from the road for a moment, one singular moment, and he looks right at you. Your belly flips, and the heat in your face burns all the way down your neck. If it were anyone else, literally any other human being on the planet, you’d be tucking and rolling out of the car the moment they started serenading you, even as a joke – but this is Steve, and he’s smiling so wide, and he’s fucking harmonizing with Freddie Mercury, and he shakes your intertwined hands to the beat as he does it, so you’re content to sit here and let him give you a rendition of the entire rest of the album if he wants to. 

You definitely don’t get hung up on the fact that he looked you in the eye while he sang about love. Nope. Not at all.

The song peters out just as Steve pulls up to your house, and he checks his watch as he puts the car in park, nodding at the glowing numbers proudly.

“Back, and with five minutes to spare this time,” he announces.

“I’ll have to tip you for the excellent service,” you tease.

“I accept cash, credit, or a kiss on the lips,” Steve shoots back, already dragging you toward him and leaning his body over the gear shift. You giggle, and he swallows the sound, pressing his warm mouth against yours so tenderly you’d hardly believe the filth it’s capable of if you weren’t a firsthand witness.

He helps you shrug your jacket on before you step out of the car, and the chill of the night gusts against you so intently you can’t help but shudder. You stoop down as he rolls the passenger side window down for you, just as you had the night before.

“You comin’ to movie night on Sunday?” he asks.

“Wouldn’t miss it. D’you think Robin will let me pick if it’s my first time? And I ask her so nicely?”

“I think you’d have a better shot at winning the lottery and getting struck by lightning on the same day,” Steve estimates, “but I can check. Who knows, maybe she’ll be feeling generous.”

“Tell her I’ll bring extra hot chips if she is.”

Steve laughs, and both hands come up to cup the sides of your face. He kisses you again, and this time it’s slower, languid, a purposeful prolonging of your departure. You gladly accept it, and again, there’s a pang in your stomach, a desperate want to hop back in the car with him and not let the night end. When he pulls away from you, playfully nipping your bottom lip, Steve murmurs something against your lips that makes you feel like Earth has stopped spinning.

“D’you wanna be my girlfriend, Y/N?”

The innocence, the painful earnestness of the question strikes you, makes the breath catch in your throat, and Steve’s eyes glitter with starlight as he looks up at you. “It’s probably kinda silly, considering…well, considering, but, I mean, I wanted to…yanno, ask, formally…I know it’s only been two dates, but, I just, I really like you, and I wanna keep doing this, seeing you, and I wanna be the only one seeing you –”

“Like there could be anyone else,” you breathe, and this time it’s your own words that shock you. You could see the whirlwind beginning in his head, the anxious avalanche of words to defend himself from potential humiliation, so you just blurted that out because, well, duh, of course there isn’t anyone else you’d want to be with. You knew that from the second he picked you up with flowers in his hand last night.

He perks visibly. “Is that a yes?”

“Of course, it’s a yes.” 

You hear the door whoosh open, slam shut, and gravel crunching underfoot before you register that Steve has gotten out of the car and is rounding on you. When he grabs you, one hand supporting the small of your back, the other plunging into your hair, and dips you backward to plant a kiss on your mouth, you try your damndest not to focus on the fact that not only is he not wearing shoes, but his socks are mismatched – one white tube sock, one black with green swirls. You mostly succeed, and you think the giggle that tickles against his lips passes as one of shock. 

As he tips you upright, something out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. A light is flickering from your house, and as you squint against it, you realize it’s not the flicker of an old bulb fizzling out. It’s measured, a steady pattern, and the reason for this is quickly made apparent as the dark shape of your mother floats in front of the curtains. She’s flicking the porch light on and off, signaling for you to hurry it up, and you’re torn on whether you wanna die right on the spot, or march up the driveway and throttle her.

“That’s my cue,” you sigh, but when you turn to look at Steve, there’s something odd about his expression. He’s fixated on the light, which casts scattered shadows across the angles of his face, and his eyes are sort of…glazed. There’s a faraway look to them, as though he’s gone somewhere in his head that you can’t reach.

“Steve?” You thump his chest once, not too hard, and he inhales sharply through his nose. He blinks a few times before shaking his head, like he’s physically shucking whatever unpleasantness was burdening him off, and just like that, he’s himself again.

“I’ll pick you up Sunday afternoon,” he says, kissing you one last time on the forehead before allowing you to step out of his embrace. You want to ask what that was, where he went just now, why his eyes keep flitting almost nervously between you and your porch light – perhaps the threat of your mother scares him that much? – but you don’t have time. You both part from each other slowly, him walking backward toward his car, you retreating up your driveway.

“I’ll pick something good!” you holler, and Steve nods.

“See you then, baby.” 

You’re backing up against the front steps of your house as Steve disappears into his front seat, and the sound of your front door opening is muted by the revv of his engine.

“Right on time,” your mother says from behind you, shadow obstructing the yellowy light that spills onto the porch. You look over your shoulder at her, eyes narrowed.

“You know, I’m legally an adult,” you point out, “I shouldn’t have a curfew.”

“He’s got a nice car,” Mom says, craning her neck to look around you and tucking the fuzzy blue halves of her robe tighter against her body. “Does he drive like a maniac?”

“Yes, he’s like Dale Earnhardt but worse,” you snark, eyes glued to the glittering shell of Steve’s BMW as it curves down the street and into the yawning mouth of the night.

He does have a nice car…your boyfriend has a nice car. The word is like helium, lifting you off the ground and floating you inside the house.

“Wait…weren’t you wearing a skirt when you left?” Mom asks as you glide past her. “Where did you get those sweats from?”

Oops.

taglist: @celestialwaavelength , @bornslippys , @silky-luxe , @pettydonuts , @littlered000 . interact with this post if you'd like to be added to my taglist!

[leona-hawthorne]

AHHH IM SO EXCITED FOR YOU!!!! OKAY OKAY I WANTED TO BE ONE OF THE FIRST REQUESTS SO....

Can I have book browsing, trope is Friends to Lovers, with Theodore Nott, quotes/scenarios being: “say we’re just friends one more time. i dare you.”

“you’re so cute.” “what?” “i said you look like shit. bye!”

random people thinking you’re a couple when you’re supposed to be just “friends”

I'm so excited girl obviously no rush or obligation to write this but yeah love you

And I might have ideas for at least 2 more for the other two tropes I'm in love with (GrumpyxSunshine and fake dating)

I FEEL LIKE A PROUD MOM!! CONGRATS!!

HIIII I LOVE YOU THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING BB!!! and you can send in as many requests as you want, i LOVE fake dating 🤭 i haven't written a cute little friends to lovers in a VERY long time so this was so much fun for me, hope you like it :) also i love how i said these were gonna be drabbles and now this is over 2k 🧍🏽‍♀️(ps there was a position that i really struggled to describe so i hope the pic on the left helps you imagine it)

1k celebration navigation

JUST FRIENDS… book browsing

ミ★ THEODORE NOTT

The smell of old parchment and polished wood filled the little record store in Hogsmeade, the familiar scent settling around you like a cozy blanket. It was one of those shops you and Theo always managed to stumble into, especially on days when you both needed a break from the endless demands of exams and essays. 

Theo was flipping through a stack of records, eyebrows knit in concentration, while you stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder, sharing amused little glances every time he pulled out a particularly dusty one. When he found an album cover featuring a hilariously dramatic wizard band—complete with glittering robes and exaggerated makeup—he held it up for you to see, lips twitching as he tried to hold back a laugh.

"Could be your new look," you teased, nudging him lightly.

He rolled his eyes, but there was a glint of mischief in them. "Think I could pull it off?"

"Not in a million years," you said, grinning, and he chuckled, the sound sweet and warm, and somehow just for you.

Moments later, he glanced at the clock on the wall. "Stay here," he said, brushing a loose strand behind your ear in an almost absent gesture, one that had become so natural you barely noticed it anymore. "I’m leaving and getting us butterbeers before you can insult my taste any further."

Before you could respond, he was off, slipping out of the shop and leaving you alone with the smell of old records and a contented smile you couldn’t quite shake. 

You let your gaze wander across the store, admiring the walls plastered with concert posters and slightly faded album covers. It was then that the shopkeeper—a kind-eyed woman who looked as if she'd seen more than her fair share of young love—caught your attention. She was watching you with a soft, approving smile, and before you could say anything, she leaned in conspiratorially.

“You two make a beautiful couple, you know,” she said, her voice low but warm, as if she was sharing a delightful little secret.

Your mind stumbled over the words. “Oh! Um,” you stammered, your cheeks warming under her steady, amused gaze. “Actually, we’re not—uh, we’re just friends.”

The woman’s smile widened knowingly, her eyes twinkling. “Sure, sweetheart. Friends. I’ve seen enough ‘friends’ like you two in my day to last me a lifetime.” 

She left you standing there, words caught in your throat, while you tried to brush off the fluttering in your chest, and by the time Theo returned with your butterbeers, you were still blushing furiously, trying to process the shopkeeper's words. Her knowing smile lingered in your mind, making you acutely aware of the way your body seemed to hum in content whenever Theo was near.

“What’s with you?” he asked, handing you your drink.

You hesitated, searching his face for any hint of awareness, but his expression was relaxed, oblivious. “Nothing,” you muttered, taking a sip and forcing yourself to meet his eyes. But the word “couple” echoed in your mind, and for the first time, you weren’t so sure you could ignore it.

You knew she wasn't the only one to have thought you and Theo were dating. You weren't stupid nor oblivious; you'd both known about the rumors floating around Hogwarts. The ones that said you and Theo were boyfriend and girlfriend, the ones that said you were in love with each other, even the ones that said you had to have fucked at least once (which, no, you hadn't!).

Though, you couldn’t blame people for thinking that way. With the way Theo would always brush a strand of hair behind your ear, spoil you with gifts, bury his face in your neck when you hugged, even casually kiss your cheek when he bid you goodbye—it made sense people assumed such things. But still, all of it was just platonic, right?

As you sipped your butterbeer, trying to calm the strange mix of emotions swirling inside you, Theo picked up where he'd left off, flipping through records again. His fingers brushed against yours as he handed you another one to examine, and the brief contact sent a jolt of electricity through you.

"You should get this one," he said, pointing to a cover adorned with a dragon riding a broomstick. "It's got some decent tracks."

You took the record, trying to focus on the music instead of the warmth of his hand against yours. "Yeah, maybe," you replied, pretending to study the cover intently.

"Maybe?" Theo repeated, a teasing lilt in his voice. "Come on, don't leave me hanging. You've gotta have an opinion." He leaned in closer, his breath tickling your ear as he spoke, "Besides, I think the dragon looks adorable on that broom."

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the closeness, his warm breath sending tingles across your skin. It took all your willpower not to lean into him, to savor the intimacy of the moment. "Alright, alright," you relented with a chuckle, holding up the record. "I'll take it. For you."

Theo grinned, satisfaction etched on his features. "Excellent choice. Now, let's pay for these and get out of here before you embarrass me further with your doubting of my impeccable taste."

Theo led you to the counter, setting the record upon the counter. The shopkeeper, who had returned to arranging a display of limited edition CDs, looked up and smiled. 

"This looks like a treasure, you two," she said, ringing up the item with practiced efficiency. "The young wizard definitely has good taste."

She nodded towards you, winking, and for a moment, you wondered if she would bring up your earlier exchange. But instead, she wrapped your selection in a brown paper bag and slid it across the counter. "Enjoy!"

Theo reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, dropping a few galleons onto the counter. "Here you go," he said to the shopkeeper, an easy, charismatic smile playing on his lips.

"Wait, Theo," you interjected, reaching for your own purse. "I can pay for myself. You don't need to buy my record."

But Theo waved you off dismissively. "Nah, don't worry about it. Consider it a gift from me to you." He winked playfully, flashing you a crooked grin. "Besides, I'm the one who insisted you get it, remember? It's only fair I foot the bill."

Your heart fluttered traitorously at his words, at the easy affection in his tone. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through your chest. "Well...thank you then," you managed, ducking your head shyly. "That's really sweet of you."

Theo shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a pleased gleam in his eye. “It’s what I’m here for.”

As you stepped out of the shop and back onto the cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade, Theo draped an arm casually around your shoulders. "So, where to now?" he asked, guiding you down the road. "We could head over to Zonko's, see if they have anything new and ridiculous... And potentially dangerous." 

You hesitated, feeling the weight of Theo's arm around your shoulders, the warmth seeping through your robes. Normally, you'd be all for exploring Zonko's, reveling in their eccentric and often hazardous products. But tonight, everything felt different.

"I don't know, Theo," you mumbled, glancing around at the deepening shadows. "It's getting pretty late. Maybe we should just head back to the castle?"

There was a flicker of disappointment in Theo's eyes, but he nodded understandingly. "Yeah, okay." He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze before releasing you, then holding out his hand, offering you a way to apparate together. "Ready?" 

You nodded, placing your hand in his. His grip was firm yet gentle, his palm slightly rough against your softer skin. With a twist of his wrist, Theo activated the apparition charm, and suddenly the world blurred around you.

When the colors settled, you found yourself standing in front of the Hogwarts gates, Theo still holding your hand. He let go slowly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Made it in one piece," he said, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips.

He fell into step beside you as you walked towards the girls' dormitories, his long legs easily keeping pace with your shorter strides. The silence between you was comfortable, the kind that came from years of friendship and shared experiences.

As you approached the door to your dormitory, Theo halted abruptly. 

"Well, until next time, princess," he quipped, giving you a mock salute. "Try not to dream too much about me, hmm?"

A playful smirk danced on his lips, and you couldn't help but return it, your heart skipping a beat at the flirty remark. "I make no promises," you retorted sarcastically, reaching for the doorknob.

Theo chuckled, the sound low and rich. He opened his mouth, seemed to ponder something for a moment, then spoke with exaggerated gravity, “I must bid you adieu, my trusty companion! Until the morrow!" 

He clasped his hands together dramatically, as if holding an invisible cane, complete with an imaginary top hat on his head.

Your laughter bubbled up unexpectedly, a sudden burst of joy at his antics. "You're so cute," you managed to gasp out between giggles, still grinning widely.

Theo froze mid-dramatic pose, his eyes widening. "What?" he sputtered.

Before he could react further, you added hastily, "Uh, I said you look like shit. Bye!" With that, you yanked open the dormitory door and practically dove inside, slamming it shut behind you.

The next day, you somehow found yourself in his room. You'd contemplated avoiding him altogether until you figured out your feelings, but who were you kidding? You could never say no to him when he asked you to hang out.

Theo sat by the windowsill, staring out at the sprawling grounds below. The setting sunlight cast a warm glow across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the slight scruff on his chin.

As he lost himself in thought, he became vaguely aware of movement from the corner of his eye. Glancing over, he stared at you, sprawled out on his bed flat on your back, a book propped up above your head as you read lazily.

Theo pushed the window open wider, allowing the evening breeze to carry in the scent of damp earth and rain. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, taking a slow drag as he gazed out at the sky. He exhaled slowly, watching the wisps dissipate into the evening air.

As you paused your reading for a moment, your gaze drifted over to Theo's silhouette by the window, the glow of his cigarette bright against the dim light. A familiar annoyance stirred within you, and you closed the book with a soft thud.

"Teddy, you know I hate it when you smoke around me," you said, trying to keep your tone light even as you wrinkled your nose in distaste. The acrid smell always lingered, clinging to his clothes and hair. You knew it wasn't fair to nag him, but old habits died hard.

Theo turned to face you fully, blowing out a stream of smoke before flicking the ash onto the windowsill. “I suppose I'm just a terrible friend then, aren't I?” he drawled, though there was no real bite to his words. “But tell me, Y/N, what would you prefer I do instead? Sit here and watch you sprawl across my bed like a lazy house cat all afternoon?”

You remained perfectly still, arms draped by your sides, book forgotten on your stomach. "Sounds like a plan to me," you replied nonchalantly, closing your eyes as if settling in for a nice nap.

The tension in the room seemed to shift, the air growing heavier with unspoken things. You could sense Theo's gaze on you, but you refused to acknowledge it, pretending you hadn't noticed the subtle change in his demeanor. Maybe if you acted like nothing was amiss, he would too.

Theo took another slow drag from his cigarette as he studied your profile, noting the slight furrowing of your brow as you pretended to drift off to sleep. After a moment, he stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray and leaned against the windowsill, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I have a better idea," he said, his voice low and thoughtful. "How about you tell me now why you were acting so weird yesterday when I came back to the record store?"

You felt your cheeks flush slightly at Theo's question, memories of the shopkeeper's words flashing through your mind unbidden. "I don't know what you're talking about," you mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. "I wasn't acting weird."

Even as the denial left your lips, you knew Theo could see right through it. He always had, ever since you'd first met him all those years ago. That uncanny ability to read you like an open book was part of what made him such an incredible friend...and lately, maybe something more.

Theo raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "Save it, Y/N. I can practically hear the gears turning in that head of yours from here. Why are you dodging the question? Just tell me what happened."

A deep breath escaped you as you finally surrendered to the truth, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Okay, fine. It was just...that lady behind the counter. When you left to go get us butterbeers, she told me you and I make a beautiful couple... and I guess it shook me a little."

Theo fell silent for a long moment, his gaze searching yours intently. When he spoke, his voice was carefully neutral. "A beautiful couple, huh?" He let out a short, humorless laugh. "And this bothers you because...?"

Still staring up at the ceiling, you felt heat rise to your cheeks as you tried to articulate your feelings. "Because! We're friends! And everyone keeps assuming that... you know. That there's something more between us."

Theo pushed himself away from the window, moving closer to where you lay across his bed. He sat down beside you, his fingers brushing against your arm as he rested his hand on the mattress.

"Well, maybe they're not wrong," he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. "Maybe there is something more between us."

Your heart began to race as Theo invaded your personal space, the warmth radiating from his body making you suddenly hyperaware of every inch of skin that brushed against yours. You swallowed hard, struggling to maintain a facade of calm.

"Teddy..." you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Don't be ridiculous. It's not... We... We're friends, right?" Even as the words left your mouth, you couldn't help but wonder if they were true anymore.

In a swift motion, Theo leaned down above you, bringing his face mere inches from yours as you lay flat on your back, giving you an upside-down view of his face looming over you. His hands found purchase on the mattress, holding himself aloft without touching you, and in that moment, you could've sworn your heart stopped beating. 

"Say we're just friends one more time," he challenged. "I dare you." 

As Theo's challenge hung heavy in the air, you found yourself unable to speak. Finally, after what felt like ages of silence, you managed to whisper, "I... What are we then, Theo?"

Your voice wavered slightly, betraying your nervousness. But there was something else there too – curiosity, perhaps? Or maybe hope? Whatever it was, it was clear that you weren't going to back down this time.

"More," Theo breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. And then, slowly, tentatively, he closed the remaining distance between you, pressing his lips softly against yours in a gentle, exploratory kiss.

It was chaste, almost innocent—but it sent sparks racing through your veins nonetheless. Your heart hammered wildly in your chest as you returned the kiss, marveling at the way Theo's lips moved against yours with such tender precision. This was new territory for both of you, and yet somehow, it felt so incredibly right.

Theo held the position, hovering above you with his hands gripping the mattress, his nose lightly brushing against your chin. He didn't deepen the kiss or try to pull you closer; instead, he simply lingered, savoring the feeling of your lips meeting his for the very first time.

As Theo pulled away from the kiss, you found yourself staring up at him, wide-eyed and breathless. "Wow, I, um— you—" you stammered, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you.

But before you could finish your sentence, Theo cut you off with a soft chuckle. "Shut up, Y/N," he murmured, his fingers grazing your cheek as he leaned in once more.

[whimsyfinny]

He’s a Winchester

Chapter 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.

Slow burn (ish), mom!reader

Warnings: language, anxious Dean, anxious Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2683

MDNI 18+

A/N: another slightly shorter chapter (sorry). Idk why but I rewrote this chapter so many times to try and get it right, so fingers crossed it’s not awful. But the encounter finally happens! Not long now until we get to see Dean doing dad things, and tbh, I’m living for it. Feedback is always appreciated! Love you all

A/N2: GUYS IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING but PLEEEEASE provide your age if you want to be added to the taglist and it isn’t in your blog. This story is tame now but it’s gonna get spicy, and my blog is strictly 18+. So pleeeeease save be a very long job and help a gal out.

Photos from Pinterest

New Readers Start Here: Chapter 1

Previous Chapter: Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Spilling the truth took a lot less time than I'd anticipated, so after a quick update texted to Kat and the much needed coffees, Dean and I decided to head over to the track. Dean himself was feeling every emotion under the sun. He expressed a constant string of heartfelt apologies for nearly the whole walk from Jolenes’ Café back to where we'd parked, despite me constantly reminding him that he has nothing to apologise for. He's here now, and that's what matters. The phrases ‘I have a son,’ and ‘I’m a dad’ seemed to intertwine with the ‘I’m sorry’s’ like a mantra, to the point where I had to stop him in his tracks and refocus his attention before his head got lost in the clouds.

“I get it, Dean. This is so much to absorb right now, and I can't imagine what is going on in that crazy brain of yours. You don't have to come with me right now, we can meet tomorrow if you want-”

“No, absolutely not. I've been absent for too long and I'll be damned if I waste another minute,” he nervously wiped his hands over his face as we approached my truck. I couldn't help but smile. “I mean, what if he doesn't like me?”

I couldn't stop the chuckle from escaping my mouth, earning a raised eyebrow from the man who was working himself into an anxious sweat.

“Dean, trust me, he's going to want to be your best friend. Especially when he knows that’s your car,” I nodded my head to the impala a few spaces away, recalling Levi's excitement when he saw it in town yesterday.

“Really?”

“Really. Plus…” I hesitated, unsure what emotion my next statement was going to stir within Dean, “he's been bullied for not having a dad around, and I think he'll be grateful for that to stop.”

Deans’ brows furrowed as he leant on the side of my truck, dropping his head and muttering a few curses.

“He's been bullied because I've not been there?” He looked up with a pained pinch in his brow. I sighed.

“Yes but trust me, your boy gives as good as he gets,” I smiled a little, bringing Dean some reassurance. I could tell the words ‘your boy’ had an effect on him. “Look,” I reached out to rub his shoulder affectionately, to which he responded with a warm hand over mine, squeezing my fingers. “We need to get going to pick him up. Why don't you come in my truck with me?” He paused for a moment, thinking, gathering his thoughts before standing up straight and nodding. “Great,” I grinned at him, a few nervous butterflies fluttering in my own stomach now. I reached for his hand again, giving it another squeeze, “let's get going then.”

Dean had insisted on driving, mainly for his own sanity and I’d happily obliged, remembering what a terrible passenger he was. After a couple of painstaking minutes of him readjusting my seat, we pulled away and headed down to the track. 

The drive was about twenty minutes, and most of that was spent in a comfortable conversation about Levi. Dean wanted to know everything. And I mean everything. His hobbies, his favourite movie, his favourite cereal, his least favourite cereal, his grades, his favourite subject… the list went on. Before we knew it, we were turning down a dirt road and pulling into a large gravel car park. As we pulled up and hopped out, the buzz of dirt bikes and loud chatter filled the air, along with the intense smell of petrol. Dean walked around to my side, looking around and taking it all in.

“Levi does this? He can ride a dirt bike?” he asked, an impressed tone to his voice. Dean had forgone the leather jacket and as I glanced at him, I couldn't help but trail my gaze over his biceps and the way the grey fabric of his t-shirt stretched around the large muscles. I looked away quickly before he caught me. Now was not the time to let my eyes or thoughts wander.

“Yeah, he's really into it, and he's good too; he has a few trophies at home. To be honest, he loves anything with wheels and an engine,” I grinned, meeting Deans’ eyes with a knowing look. He smiled back.

“Really?”

“You know, he's a lot like you - even though you've never met. It's kinda crazy,” I started heading down to the gathering point, knowing that Levi would be coming off the track soon. Dean was hot on my heels. “He even looks like you.” 

“Poor kid.”

I smacked him on the arm playfully as Dean chuckled.

“You're handsome and you know it, so shut your mouth.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Just as we were approaching the gathering point I heard a familiar voice calling my name. Looking through the crowd I saw Kat trotting up to us in her poorly chosen footwear, Toby nowhere in sight. She pulled me into a hug with a smirk already growing on her lips, and as she pulled back she turned to study the tall man at my side.

“Hmm… you are even finer than your photograph.”

“Kat!”

She ignored me.

“I'm Kat, it's nice to meet you, Dean. I feel like we'll be seeing a lot more of each other. You know, since our son's are besties,” she stuck out her hand and grasped Deans, giving it a firm shake and dropping it before he'd even uttered a word. She turned back to me, her smirk still on her lips.

“Since Levi is coming home with you today - much to Toby's disappointment - how would you feel about him sleeping over tomorrow?”

“Yeah totally, he'd love that,” I grinned at her, forever grateful.

“Great! I'll pick him up tomorrow,” she beamed, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek before turning on her heels and heading back into the crowd of parents. We'd normally wait for the boys to emerge together, but I know her, and she didn't want to step on Deans’ toes. This was a big deal, and in her eyes, she was the outsider here.

“What was that?” Dean looked at me, slightly stunned with a quizzical brow.

“That,” I gestured to Kat's disappearing figure, “is Kat. She's my best friend, and to be honest I don't think I'd have made it this far without her.”

“Kat. Got it,” he seemed to make a mental note of who she was, catching on quickly that she was an important person in my life. In Levi's life. I grinned at him, perhaps a little nervously before grasping his hand and pulling him with me in the same direction Kat had left.

“Come on, he’ll be out soon, let's wait for him.”

Dean flashed the smallest smile whilst taking a deep breath. He looked down at our hands and I noticed his palms were a little sweaty. He gripped tighter, hanging to me like I was a lifeline as I pulled him through the crowd. His silence spoke volumes of his nerves, so I stopped at the edge of the gaggle of parents, fearing that he would soon find this all too much. 

For the whole five minutes that we waited, Dean didn't let go of me.

It didn't take long for the whirring of tiny engines to draw closer and closer before finally stopping, shortly followed by the chatter of smaller, childlike voices. Kids began to filter through the crowd, and it wasn’t long before a familiar outline pushing a small, black dirt bike headed our way. Suddenly Dean pulled his hand away from mine and raked his fingers frantically through his hair, pacing in a small circle.

“Shit…shit- what do I say to him? How do I talk to him? He's gonna hate me-”

“Hey hey hey, calm down, everything is fine! Trust me, Dean, Levi is not going to hate you,” I reached to rub a hand over the back of his shoulders, feeling the muscles tense and flex with every deep breath he took. 

“I've done a lot of terrifying shit in my life but this really takes the cake,” he dragged a large hand over his paleing face.

“He's an eight year old boy, baby. Trust me, you've got this.” 

He sighed before stopping in his tracks, his gaze catching mine with a twitch of his lip.

“It's been a hot minute since you've called me that, sweetheart,” he stepped closer, reaching to touch the small of my back with tender fingertips.

It took a moment for realisation to dawn, and when it did I felt heat bloom across my cheeks. 

“I-I'm sorry- it just slipped out- I didn't mean-”

“(Y/n) it's ok! I don't mind,” he chuckled slightly, his nerves seeming to dissipate. The playful glint had returned to his eye for a moment, but it was quickly replaced with something calmer, more serene. His grin lessened, but the warmth in his features remained. “I don't mind.”

I looked up at him, my heart and stomach feeling warm and light as we seemed to acknowledge our own familiarity between each other. It wasn't just Levi that connected us, and I seemed to forget that Dean and I used to be in a relationship. We were more than just a one night stand - we were intimate on multiple levels. 

“Hey mom!” 

The bubble around Dean and I popped as Levi had crept up on us, crash helmet still equipped and his bike to his side.  I felt Dean tense beside me, the air around him practically sizzling with anticipation.

“Hey there, trouble! You had a good afternoon?” I stepped up to Levi and patted his helmet. He nodded vigorously.

“Great! You can tell me all about it in the car,” I paused and glanced at Dean, frozen in place and not taking his eyes off Levi since he appeared. It took a moment for Levi to realise that Dean was even standing there, his focus still on me and his fun afternoon. After a few breaths, Dean tore his gaze away from his son and he looked over at me, his expression heavy with a whole concoction of emotions. I offered him a small smile before nodding. 

“Hey, Levi,” I crouched down to my sons’  level, “I have a surprise for you. I'm gonna need you to take your helmet off, ok?”

I saw his eyes light up as he nodded vigorously. Helping him to support his bike, he eagerly tore his helmet off, his short brown hair tousling in the process. He grinned at me, his helmet now tucked under his arm as he waited patiently. I heard a sharp inhale hiss through Deans’ teeth from behind me as he laid eyes on his sons’ face for the first time. I smiled at Levi, taking his smaller, dirt covered hand in mine.

“Ok, so… You see this man behind me?” I tilted my head in Deans’ direction, and Levi followed with his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, his grin unfaltering.

“Well,” I drew in a breath, “his name is Dean. And I knew Dean a long time ago,” there was another apprehensive pause as my own pulse quickened. “Sweetheart… Dean… He’s, well… He’s your dad.”

I watched as the grin fell from Levis’ face, his green eyes widening.

“What?” his voice was all but a whisper, his gaze flitting rapidly between me and Dean, who’d now taken a step closer.

“He’s your dad,” I repeated, reaching up to softly comb my fingers through the front of his wild hair. Levis’ bottom lip started to tremble as my words sunk in, the truth of the situation we were in starting to hit home as tears started to well in his eyes.

“You’re serious?” he squeaked with a sniff.

I nodded, the emotions from my son now bleeding into me, a lump forming in my throat.

“Yeah honey, I’m serious.”

Levis’ helmet hit the dirt with a thud and in that instant he’d thrown himself at Dean, wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his mud streaked face into his shirt. His dad didn’t hesitate to return the gesture, wrapping his large arms around Levis’ shoulders and pulling him into the same crushing hug I’d received earlier today.

“Hey kid,” Dean spoke against the top of Levis’ head, his voice rasping as he choked his words out, “I’m sorry it took so long for me to get here.” 

I stood up from where I’d been crouching, now clutching the small helmet that had been flung to the ground. I drew Deans’ attention as I shifted, and I felt like my heart could have exploded in my chest when I saw the glossiness in his eyes. Tears of joy, relief and perhaps even bittersweet regret were on the brink of spilling over, and the soft smile he threw my way said a million ‘thank yous’.  The quiet sounds of Levis’ sniffling were what pulled on my heartstrings the most. The boy who loved nothing more than to race bikes, watch movies and talk about cars had grown up without a dad to share those interests with. He’d watched the other kids around him down at the track, their fathers joining in with the activities. Other kids had their dads to play sports with down at the park on a sunny Sunday afternoon. They’d had a role model who they could admire, always in the bedroom next to theirs. But not Levi. He’d had me, and I did my best to fill those fatherly shoes, but we both knew it just wasn’t the same. There were times when I think it upset me more than it had upset him, feeling like my child was missing out on something so important. But now… now that Dean was here, for however long he was planning on staying, Levi could finally experience the things he’d dreamt of for so long. I just hoped it would turn out to be everything that he’d ever imagined.

I watched as Levi finally pulled away from his dad, his tears having cleaned tracks through the mud on his face. He sniffed one my time before beaming up at Dean.

“Hey, kid,” Dean smiled softly, ruffling his hair with a hand the same size as his head, “maybe if your moms ok with it, we could hang out a bit. Maybe go and grab some ice-cream? My treat,” Dean shifted that smile to me, and I would’ve had to have had a heart of stone to decline that request.

“Of course,” I smiled back, “ice-cream sounds perfect.”

“Great,” Deans’ grin widened, a refreshed look in his eye as he let go of Levi and stepped towards me, taking the helmet from my hands. My breath caught in my throat when he pressed a warm, lingering kiss to my cheek. I took everything to not let my eyes flutter closed, to not get lost in that moment, but the familiar feeling of his lips on my skin and scent washing over awoke the butterflies in my stomach. My heart leapt in my chest, and I couldn’t help the sigh of relief when he pulled away, stepping around me. He kicked the bike stand back and wheeled the small vehicle forwards, looking at Levi and urging him to come and push it.

“Come on kid, why don’t you tell me all about this beast on our way back to the truck,” he smiled to his son who beamed back, leaping over to him. Dean chuckled slightly as the smaller version of himself burst into conversation about top speeds and engine strokes, and the wide look in Deans’ eyes as he glanced up at me, finally understanding what I’d meant when I’d said they were so alike. And as Levi chatted animatedly to his dad as we walked, my heart swelled as I watched them.

I couldn’t seem to look away as I witnessed Dean gaze down at his son, looking like the proudest father in the world.

Next Chapter: Chapter 4

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[capuccinodoll]

The Storm

Before the sun hits (chapter four)

Summary: you enjoy Joel's company and a few questions slip from your lips. Careful, a storm is approaching.

DECEMBER 20TH

Your parents left the house just after noon, a departure that felt a little dramatic to you. But, according to your mother, they had planned an entire day of romantic outings. 

“You don’t mind, do you, sweetheart?” she asked that morning, her fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, her voice soft with that familiar, motherly concern.

“No, of course not,” you replied, though your tone wasn’t entirely convincing. “We’ll be fine.”

“Got any plans?” your father chimed in, lowering himself into the seat beside you. He adjusted his reading glasses, squinting slightly as if the act of asking required more focus.

Your mom’s elbows rested on the table as she tilted her head, considering. A glimmer of excitement crossed her face, her fingers brushing her cheek absently, as if she had just been asked for advice on something very important.

“I’m not sure yet,” you started, your words trailing off as Joel entered the kitchen. You caught his slow, deliberate movements in your peripheral vision—his presence a subtle ripple in the otherwise mundane morning. He made his way to the coffee pot, and you tried to keep your focus on the conversation, but the quiet sound of coffee streaming into his cup had you distracted. “Mom’s usually the planner. Any ideas?”

Joel settled into the chair opposite you, moving with a certain ease that somehow made everything feel more complicated. You hadn’t seen him since last night—or, well, just a few hours ago. And that fact hung between you like something unsaid, unprocessed. 

For a brief moment, you dared to glance his way, trying to detect something in his eyes, some subtle acknowledgment of what had transpired—or maybe of what you thought had transpired. But Joel remained composed, calm. As if nothing had changed.

Your eyes flicked down to his hand, which clutched the white porcelain mug, and without warning, the memory of your dream came rushing back. His hands on you, tracing your skin, pulling you close...

“If I were you,” your mother’s voice cut through the fog of your thoughts, saving you from the spiral, “I’d start with lunch at The Crow. The food is amazing there. I think they even won some award a few years back for the best steak in the region.” She cast a quick glance at Joel, who gave a small, silent nod in agreement. “There’s plenty to do, too. The Sun Gallery’s hosting a used book sale, with live music after six. Or you could catch a movie—shows start around four. You could grab lunch and decide afterward. Maybe see one of those movies you love so much, sweetie.”

“Maybe we could go to Café Ophelia?” you asked, directing the question at Joel this time, feeling a bit bolder, hoping for his attention in a way that wasn’t so passive.

He looked up at you, straightening slightly, his gaze locking with yours. There was a gravity in his eyes, something that seemed to vibrate just under the surface, like he was letting you in on a secret no one else could hear. 

“Whatever you want,” he answered, his voice carrying that familiar, unhurried calm.

A smile spread across your lips as you nodded, the small victory leaving you warm inside. You held his gaze a beat too long, feeling a flicker of something risky in the exchange, especially with your parents sitting right there.

“Just try not to stay out too late,” your father added, practical as ever. “They’re forecasting a big storm around nine, and with all the snow that’s piled up, I’m not sure how safe the roads will be.”

*

Your index finger traced the outline of your lips, gently smudging the lipstick. Retro Frost—the shade you wore more often than not. You’d been standing there, half-heartedly getting ready to go into town for what felt like ages, though you were still in your pajamas. Snoopy pants and all. The cold from the hardwood floor was creeping up through your bare feet, but it wasn’t enough to motivate you to find your slippers. Or maybe it was just that you couldn’t remember where you left them.

It didn’t take much effort to decide what to wear once you’d finally started moving. The chill in the air, the heavy gray clouds promising rain, all guided you to your usual cold-weather uniform. Black opaque tights that stretched smoothly up your legs, the black corduroy skirt that always made you feel a little more put-together, and knee-high boots for warmth. You added a white T-shirt under a thick burgundy wool sweater, the color deep and almost festive. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of yourself in the mirror. Sure, it was a little Christmassy.

As you tugged at your hair, taming a few unruly strands, a soft chuckle escaped you. It was ridiculous how much you were thinking about today. Spending the entire day alone with Joel wasn’t something you’d prepared for, not mentally at least. You’d barely had a handful of real conversations with him so far; a bit of your life drama, interspersed with a wet dream, but who was counting? Still, today felt like an opportunity. Maybe to get to know him better. Though, deep down, you wondered how many questions he’d even be willing to answer.

You left your room, closing the door quietly behind you. Almost without thinking, your eyes flickered toward his door. It was shut, of course. Locked, probably. Was he still in there, or already waiting for you downstairs? A wave of curiosity washed over you. What did his room look like? Was it as messy as yours? Had he unpacked at all, or were his clothes still in a suitcase? Was his bed made, or a complete disaster?

A cough from downstairs snapped you out of your thoughts. Without further hesitation, you hurried toward the staircase, eager to start the day and shake off your lingering nerves. 

When you reached the living room, you saw Joel already there, sitting on the couch with his legs stretched out and his focus fixed on his phone. He looked relaxed, his back leaning comfortably against the cushions as his thumb scrolled through a message. The ease in his posture made your stomach flutter.

Trying not to make any noise, you pretended to be just as casual. But before you could speak, Joel asked, without looking up, “You ready?”

“Yep,” you answered, plopping down next to him, watching him closely out of the corner of your eye. He was dressed in black—black sweater, black pants, black boots. The whole outfit contrasted sharply with the streaks of gray in his hair, adding to that quiet, brooding look he seemed to wear so effortlessly.

“What you looking at?” Joel asked, his voice breaking into your thoughts. His tone wasn’t accusatory, but there was a playful edge to it. Your gaze had lingered a little too long on his hands—those large hands that occasionally fumbled with the keys on his phone.

“Just admiring your texting skills,” you teased, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Nosy,” he muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

“So I’ve been told.” 

Joel turned his head, his eyes sweeping over you briefly before landing on your face. There was something in the way he looked at you, a warmth that made your chest tighten, though it wasn’t quite as intense as the night before. This felt... softer, somehow. More innocent, maybe.

You shifted, trying to shake off the feeling. “I’m starving,” you announced, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Can we go eat now?”

“Sure,” Joel said, pushing himself up from the couch. 

He stood and extended his hand toward you, and without hesitation, you took it. His palm was warm, his fingers wrapping around yours with a firmness that felt secure, almost reassuring. He pulled you up with an ease that brought you just a little closer than necessary. For a second, your body hovered near his, your chest brushing against his arm. But Joel didn’t pull you in further; he simply let go, stepping back. You blushed, grateful he hadn’t made it awkward, but there was a flicker of something between you in that moment—just enough to leave you wondering.

Once outside, you noticed the snow from the day before had mostly been cleared, the pavement dark and wet from the early-morning melt. Joel closed the door behind you, and you caught sight of a sleek black car parked at the curb. It wasn’t the one your parents had rented when they came into town earlier that week.

“I picked it up this morning,” Joel said, as if reading your mind.

“I like it,” you replied, eyeing the car. “It suits you and your outfit.”

He smiled, looking down at his outfit as he buttoned up his dark brown jacket. Then, without a word, he walked over to the passenger door and opened it for you.

“Hop in.”

You slid into the seat, watching as Joel rounded the front of the car and got in beside you. He started the engine, then turned toward you with a slight frown.

“Seatbelt,” he reminded you. His gaze didn’t leave yours until the telltale click of the buckle snapped into place.

The drive into town was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Joel hummed along to a song on the radio, his voice low and absentminded. You watched the snowy landscape roll by, occasionally stealing glances at him. There was something steady and calming about the way he drove, the way he simply existed in the space beside you. It made you feel more at ease than you’d expected.

In a few short minutes, you arrived at The Crow. The place wasn’t crowded, which prompted Joel to release a small sigh of relief. The restaurant’s cozy atmosphere wrapped around you as you stepped inside—exposed brick walls, warm lighting, and large windows that let in the soft glow of the winter day. It felt inviting, intimate.

Joel led you to a table near the back, by a window that overlooked a small interior garden dusted with snow. You were about to say something when the waitress appeared.

“Welcome to The Crown,” she greeted with a bright smile, placing two menus in front of you. “I’m Tara, and I’ll be your server today. Take your time, and I’ll be back to get your order.”

Joel nodded his thanks, and you smiled, taking the menu in your hands. As you scanned the options, your eyes landed on ravioli bolognese. A safe, predictable choice—but it sounded perfect.

Maybe today, you thought, wouldn’t be as complicated as you’d imagined.

The food arrived faster than expected. Your plate of pasta sat before you, steam curling upward, while Joel had a massive steak à la fiorentina, accompanied by an array of colorful vegetables. For a moment, neither of you said anything, letting the silence fill the space. That same warm tranquility from the car followed you into the restaurant, like a moment suspended in time before whatever conversation might follow.

You picked up your glass of wine, promising yourself it would just be one. A small nudge to relax. Joel had a glass, too, though he hadn’t touched it yet. You took a sip, feeling the slight warmth trickle down your throat. After a moment, you broke the silence.

“How’s the steak?” you asked, curious, though your voice was light, casual, as if you were asking about something as simple as the weather.

Joel wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin before answering. “The award’s justified,” he said, his tone almost indifferent, but there was a faint gleam in his eyes.

You smiled, taking another sip. “I wouldn’t know. I’m not exactly a steak expert. I’ll trust your judgment on this one.”

He gave a small nod, the corners of his lips lifting in what could barely be called a smile before it vanished just as quickly. Then, without a word, he sliced off a piece of the steak and held his fork out to you, the gesture both unexpected and strangely intimate.

“Try it,” he said, his voice carrying an unmistakable weight. He wasn’t asking—it was more like a quiet command, like he fully expected you to comply.

For a second, you hesitated, your eyes flicking between his and the bite of steak hovering in front of you. Then, without thinking too much, you leaned in, opening your lips slightly, and took the piece from the fork. The moment your teeth closed around it, savoring it on your tongue, you felt a spark of something—something deeper than just a taste test. Joel was watching you, his gaze steady, and you wondered if he felt it too. Or maybe it was just your overactive imagination again, turning a simple gesture into something more.

The meat melted in your mouth almost instantly, tender and rich with flavor. A low, involuntary moan slipped from your throat before you could stop it, and your cheeks burned as you realized he had definitely heard it. You met his eyes again, his expression unreadable, but there was a hint of something in the way he looked at you—amusement, maybe? Curiosity? It was impossible to tell, but it made your pulse quicken.

“What do you think?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“You're absolutely right,” you replied after swallowing, nodding your head slightly. “Tender as butter.”

Joel smiled as he looked down at his plate. He poked a vegetable with his fork, bringing it to his mouth. And you looked at him as if there was something obscene about that everyday action, as if the fork was the only link between your mouth and his. How absurd, you thought, but there you were, trapped in that idea.

You were losing your mind.

His jaw moved slowly, his muscles tensing with each chew, and it was at that moment that you realized you had been watching him too long. Your hands, which had been still in your lap, seemed useless. You inhaled, straightening your posture, and picked up your fork again, trying to return to the normalcy you had before that moment.

“Did you sleep well?” you blurted out, the question breaking the silence. “I mean, you were in the kitchen last night, and it was late.”

Joel arched an eyebrow, his eyes lighting up with something that looked like amusement. That spark in his gaze made you feel uncomfortably exposed, as if he'd understood something more in your question than you'd said. You bit your lip, giving him back a nervous smile.

“I didn't get much sleep,” he replied with a matter-of-factness that made you doubt whether he had really picked up on your nerves. “I'm a light sleeper,” he added, pausing in a way that almost seemed intentional before dropping his next words. “And you talk in your sleep.”

A chill ran down your spine, and your smile, which had been relaxed a second before, disappeared instantly. The look he gave you was firm, and you couldn't hold it. You lowered your eyes to your plate, feeling your cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment. You prayed they weren't as red as you imagined, but you knew they probably matched the red of your sweater perfectly. What a Christmas scene: you, looking just like another ornament.

He heard you last night, dreaming, vulnerable inside a dream starring him. Joel fucking Miller. But he didn't know that, or didn't know it until moments later when you confessed it to him... practically. 

Oh, fuck. The heaviness in his gaze, that flicker of something almost teasing but restrained, made you suspect he was holding back more than he let on. It was subtle, but there—a quiet tension beneath the surface of his casual demeanor, as if he was savoring a private joke.

The conversation in the kitchen resurfaced, sending a wave of embarrassment through you. The memory of it felt like a slow burn, and you were sure it showed on your face. Joel must have picked up on it immediately, because he let out a soft, knowing chuckle, his eyes dipping down to his plate as he cut into his food. The small smile he wore stayed firmly in place, teasingly aware of your discomfort.

"Light sleeper?" you asked quickly, trying to steer the focus off yourself. "Last night after dinner, you were out cold on the couch. I could barely wake you up. So, I’m not sure what you’re talking about now."

He laughed again, low and easy, clearly catching on to your deflection. But the shift in his expression was swift—his amusement faded into something more composed, arms folding across his chest as he leaned back into his chair. The movement widened the space between you physically, but his gaze stayed fixed, unwavering, like he was watching you from behind an invisible line.

“That was the wine, sweetheart," he said, a touch of humor still lingering in his voice. "It knocked me out on the couch, but bed kept me wide awake.”

Your heart skipped, and you couldn’t help the small tilt of curiosity that slipped into your next question. “Does that happen often?"

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Bed keeping you awake,” you answered, trying to sound casual, though your voice came out a little too curious, a little too probing. “Does that happen a lot?”

"Sometimes," he replied, shrugging like it was nothing, his tone light and dismissive, but his eyes hadn’t softened. They were still trained on you, watching your every reaction.

He returned the question before you could overthink your next move. “What about you?”

"What about me?" you asked, caught off guard.

“Are you always that noisy when you sleep?”

Your breath caught, and you blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. Heat crept up your neck, spreading quickly as the meaning behind his words settled into place. He wasn’t asking about restless tossing and turning. He meant last night. Your heart thudded against your ribcage, the memory of your dream flooding back in vivid detail, and you could barely meet his eyes. 

A laugh, half disbelieving and half amused, escaped your mouth before you could stop it. You leaned forward, resting your arms on the table, eyes gleaming with a mixture of curiosity and playfulness as you watched him. Embarrassment had ebbed away for now, replaced with something lighter, more daring.

Joel sat there, seemingly relaxed, but his eyes—they were focused, attentive, making you feel seen in a way that was both unsettling and thrilling. He wasn’t saying much, but the weight of his gaze was enough to make you feel as if you were under some kind of quiet, deliberate scrutiny. For a moment, you wondered what it would take to flip the script—to put him in this uneasy position.

“So alert, Joel” you said, your voice teasing, a smile slowly stretching across your lips. “Your hearing must be pretty sharp to hear me from your room, or were you... closer than I thought?”

His expression flickered, the faintest hint of disbelief crossing his features before he leaned in, his elbows landing softly on the table, mirroring your posture. The space between you narrowed, his face only inches from yours, the shift in proximity making your pulse quicken.

“I have a pretty sharp hearing,” he said, his voice low and steady.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Really? At your age? That’s... impressive.”

A laugh escaped him, rough but genuine, as he shook his head slightly, pulling back just enough to break the tension, though the smile still hovered on his lips. He reached for his glass of wine, fingers grazing the stem with casual ease. His movements were deliberate, unhurried.

Your eyes couldn’t help but follow the glass to his mouth. You watched the way his throat moved as he took a sip, the dark red liquid disappearing, and for some reason, the simple act felt more intimate than it should have. Something tightened in your chest, a fleeting ache you couldn’t quite place.

When he set the glass down, his eyes met yours again, sharper now, as though he hadn’t missed the way you were looking at him.

“Careful,” he warned softly, his voice carrying the faintest edge of amusement. “You’ve got the whole day ahead of you to mess with me. Might want to pace yourself.”

"Or what?” you asked, the words slipping out with more defiance than you’d intended. You held his gaze, challenging, playful.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, Joel picked up his fork, spearing a piece of food with a deliberate, unhurried motion, his eyes never leaving yours. He raised it to his mouth, chewed slowly, almost methodically, as if making you wait for his response was all part of the game. The silence stretched out, and you found yourself studying him, the way his jaw moved, the way the flicker of impatience and amusement danced behind his eyes. It was subtle, but it was there.

For a moment, you thought he might let the question hang indefinitely, like he was daring you to fill the silence first. But then he swallowed, his gaze still locked on yours, and leaned forward slightly. His voice, when he finally spoke, was calm, low, with that same steady confidence that always made you feel a little unsteady in your seat.

“Eat your food,” he said, the faintest smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You exhaled, almost a laugh but not quite, and looked down at your plate, pretending to focus on the food in front of you. But your mind was still caught up in the moment, in the way he’d looked at you, in the way his words had felt like a subtle shift in the conversation, like a hand gently but firmly guiding you back to safer territory.

You picked up your fork, though your appetite had shifted entirely. This wasn’t about the food, and you both knew it.

*

By the time four o'clock rolled around, you'd already been in the bookstore for over an hour. The two of you hadn’t exchanged many words, content to be absorbed in your own worlds. Joel had been quietly browsing the thriller and drama sections, his long fingers brushing against the spines of novels. He didn’t rush you, not even once, while you meandered through the aisles, pausing to open a book here and there, sometimes lifting it to your nose to inhale the scent of old paper. It was a comforting ritual, one you indulged in every chance you got. You noticed Joel eventually settling into a worn leather armchair in the corner, a book in hand—something by Henry James, if you weren’t mistaken.

You liked this about him—his patience, the way he seemed completely at ease in the quiet spaces you loved. Most people you knew couldn’t stand it. Ally would tap out after half an hour, dropping not-so-subtle hints that she was ready to leave. And Liam, your ex, would follow you through the aisles with an exaggerated sigh every now and then, making it abundantly clear he was bored. But Joel wasn’t like that. He didn’t fidget or check his watch; he didn’t show any signs of boredom. In fact, he looked perfectly content, as if this was just another way to pass time together.

You found yourself in the classics section, running your finger along the line of well-worn spines. You were searching for a specific edition, one you’d been hunting for a while. As your fingers trailed over the covers, you became aware of Joel standing behind you, his quiet presence a comforting shadow.

“What are you looking for?” he asked, his voice low, his breath grazing your ear as he leaned in slightly.

“Persuasion,” you murmured, still scanning the shelf. “There’s this edition I’ve been trying to find. I used to have it, but... well, I don’t anymore.”

“Wich one?”

“The Pulp Edition one,” you said, your tone softening as you remembered. “It’s a bit old. My grandma gave it to me. She made little notes in the margins, and she’d tell me to write my own, like we were having a conversation through the book.”

You could feel Joel smile, though you weren’t looking at him. It was the kind of smile that seeped into his voice when he spoke again.

“That’s nice. What happened to it?”

“I lent it to Liam,” you replied, the words coming out before you could stop them. Your shoulders tensed, the familiar sting of frustration prickling at you. “I’ve asked for it back so many times.”

Joel’s expression shifted, the casual warmth in his gaze sharpening. “Liam,” he repeated, his voice taking on an edge. “Your asshole ex?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, finally turning to face him. His frown was deep, the intensity in his eyes pinning you in place.

“He won’t give it back?”

“I’ve asked,” you said, your voice catching slightly. “But after the breakup... talking to him feels unbearable.”

“That's understandable,” he replied, giving you a sympathetic look. His soft tone of voice and closeness made your skin crawl. “I can break his legs for you,” he added, breaking the softness and making you let out a small laugh that got caught between him and the books. 

“Sure you can,” you affirmed, grinning. "I'd love to see that."

His lips twitched into a smile, but his eyes remained fixed on you, steady, thoughtful. The gray flecks in his beard caught the soft bookstore light, and for a moment, you found yourself staring, more than you should have, at the fine details of his face.

You exhaled, pulling yourself back to the present. “Well, I think I’m done here,” you said, a slight sigh escaping you. “Can we go for coffee now?”

Joel raised an eyebrow, amused. “Don't need to ask.”

You hesitated, unsure how to explain, but Joel wasn’t done. “Why do you always ask?” he pressed, leaning in just a little, as if he already had some idea of where this was going.

“It’s just... habit, I guess,” you said, shrugging, though the weight of the truth behind those words hung between you.

His eyes narrowed, his frown deepening. “Did you have to ask him every time you wanted to do something?” His voice had taken on a sharper tone, the kind that made you feel exposed.

“No... well, not always,” you stammered, feeling the words tangle awkwardly. “It’s just that, a lot of the time, he was busy, or...”

“Stop,” Joel interrupted, his face hardening with an anger you hadn’t expected. “Don’t waste another word on that idiot. We’re getting coffee. Let’s go.”

There was a finality to his voice, one that left no room for argument. His protectiveness wrapped around you, unexpectedly warm, as he stood and held out his hand. And without a second thought, you took it. 

*

You watched Joel as he studied the menu, the options at Café Ophelia holding his attention. You weren't worried about being caught staring; strangely, it felt like a moment where it didn't matter if you were obvious. His brown eyes shone, catching the glimmer of the string lights that adorned the café, moving slowly from one option to the next, a hint of hesitation in each pass.

You had already made up your mind about your order, having scoped it out the day before. The waitress had mentioned that the chocolate cake was their best, and as a self-proclaimed chocolate enthusiast, you felt obliged to try it, paired with a simple latte. Not at all complicated—at least not in your taste for desserts.

“I’ll have an espresso,” Joel told the waitress, scratching his chin as if he was still weighing his options. “And the coffee cake—is it good?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely."

Joel returned her smile, handing back the menu, then turned his attention fully to you as soon as she was out of earshot.

“Sweet tooth?” he asked.

“Quite a bit. You?”

He pressed his lips together and gave a slight shake of his head. “Not really.”

“I get it then. Black coffee in the mornings and steak for lunch. Just so you know, I’m analyzing you, Joel Miller,” you teased.

Joel chuckled, a broad grin spreading across his face, revealing his teeth. The sight of it made you smile wider too. “And what did I do to deserve such scrutiny?”

“Exactly nothing,” you replied, playfully forcing your expression into something serious. “Don’t you think it’s unfair that you know things about me, but I barely know anything about you?”

He shrugged. “You know some things about me.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“You know I like black coffee in the mornings and steak for lunch.”

You rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh. “That’s not enough, Joel.”

“I’m not all that interesting, sweetheart.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

Joel sighed, leaning forward, resting his hands on the table, fingers interlocked. His expression turned a little more sincere. “Alright, what do you want to know?”

The openness of the question caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. You could ask him so many things—how could you choose just one?

“Let’s start fair and square,” you began, a plan forming in your mind. You hesitated, watching him closely, but he remained unphased. You decided to take the risk. “You know about my sorry romantic situation,” you continued, trying to sound casual. “I think you owe me some details too, don’t you?”

He raised an eyebrow, pretending not to follow. “I’m not sure I understand. Be more specific.”

You sighed dramatically, catching the way Joel’s mouth twisted into a half-smile, like he knew you were struggling. He wasn’t going to make this easy.

“Joel,” you said, sitting up straighter, a new tactic in mind. “Have you been keeping up with your medical check-ups? You know, things like prostate exams are important for men your age. They say they’re uncomfortable, but—”

He leaned in, cutting you off with a low laugh. “Oh, come on,” he muttered. His amusement spilled out into a grin.

“You said to be specific!”

His eyes danced as he looked you up and down, and you felt warmth spread through you, unsettling in its suddenness.

“Alright, then. Just ask what you really want to know,” he said, as if he could see straight through your game.

"How's your cholesterol level?"

"Brat."

You bit your lip, feeling a flutter when you noticed his gaze follow the motion. The vulnerability of the moment slipped in before you could stop it.

“Well,” you finally said, caving under the weight of those brown eyes. “Is there someone special in your life, Joel?”

He studied you carefully, his head tilting slightly, a subtle nod following. Your heart dipped just a little at the gesture, but then he added, “Take a guess.”

You squinted, unsure. “Yes?” you ventured, not really confident in the answer.

A man like Joel Miller, who looks like Joel Miller, and is like Joel Miller...could his bed be empty? No, definitely not empty. He was too attractive for your comfort, I mean, other women probably thought the same thing. Adult women, more adult than you, with stable jobs, houses and mortgages. Surely Joel would want security in his life, someone stable, someone like him. With her shit together. You didn't fall into that category, you were the opposite: an unemployed twenty-something with a broken heart, with no settled place to live. 

The thought crossed your mind in a second, and you couldn't help but feel a hollowness in your chest as you considered it. 

“Yes,” you affirmed at once, Joel staring at you with an indecipherable stance. 

“What makes you think that?” he asked, throwing you off a bit. Now you weren't so sure.

“I don’t know,” you answered, keeping your tone light. “Just a feeling.”

He watched you closely, as if searching for a hint of hidden intent, but you offered nothing. After a beat, his expression softened. “Don’t overthink it. There’s no one.”

A relief suddenly washed over you, and you hated yourself a little for it. 

“No?”

“No.”

“Why?” the question came out a little too curiously for your taste, but so what. 

“That's life."

"Well, lucky you, Joel. At least this way, you don’t have to deal with idiots like...”

“What did we say?” he interrupted, reminding you with a teasing tilt of his head.

You rolled your eyes dramatically, feeling a familiar warmth creeping up. Joel’s smile widened.

“I know, i know. Anyway, don't tell me what to do.”

"Or what?," he challenged, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you from beneath his lashes. That look, with his intense eyes and the playful smirk, made your breath catch.

God, he was handsome.

“Try it, Joel. You don’t scare me.”

He seemed to fight a smile, but then wiped it away, keeping his expression serious.

“Never said I wanted to scare you,” he murmured, voice low enough that it made the air between you feel different.

*

The sky was alive with thunder, the deep rumble rolling over the quaint streets of Canmore as you and Joel walked along the damp sidewalk. Heavy gray clouds stretched across the horizon, and the air was filled with the earthy scent of petrichor, hinting at the rain that would soon pour down. The weather had turned against your plans—your father's forecast had been wrong, and now it seemed the storm was catching up with you. Despite the impending downpour, Joel walked at an unhurried pace, his gaze lingering on the sky, while you itched to move faster.

“Can we go faster?” you asked, your voice barely concealing your urgency. Joel glanced over, still taking his time, a faint smile at the corner of his lips.

“Are you afraid of thunder?” he asked, his tone light.

“No, I just want to go home,” you said, trying for nonchalance but failing miserably. He let out a small, knowing snort.

“The car’s just half a block away.”

You glanced at him, hoping the relief wasn’t too obvious in your expression, but from the way his lips quirked, you knew he noticed. He could tell you were lying; your arm was wrapped tightly around his, your fingers squeezing each time the sky cracked open with another roll of thunder.

It was six o’clock, the evening darkening as the storm clouds swallowed up the remaining daylight. You and Joel had spent the last stretch of the afternoon at the café, sipping lukewarm drinks and talking about everything and nothing. He’d answered nearly all of your small curiosities, but none of those were the ones that lingered in the back of your mind.

Joel reached the car first, pulling open the passenger door and waiting for you to get in. You slipped into the seat quickly, the sound of the rain already beginning to tap against the windshield. Once inside, your heart started to settle, the fear loosening its grip. Joel moved around to the driver’s side, settling into his seat with a calmness that made you fidget.

You glanced at your phone; still no messages from your parents. You’d texted earlier but hadn’t pushed for a reply. They were probably having a great time somewhere, lost in their own little world, maybe sharing a laugh while the storm kept them indoors.

The drive back felt endless, traffic clogged with tourists rushing to escape the rain. Raindrops blurred the view outside, smearing the outlines of pine trees and mountain slopes. Joel maneuvered through the slow crawl of cars with steady hands, the kind that made you trust him even as you grew restless.

When you finally pulled up in front of the cabin, you exhaled in relief, the tension in your shoulders easing. Joel shot you a bemused look as he stepped out with the keys.

“Relax,” he said, his voice carrying over the rain. “Don’t you have storms in New York?”

“We do,” you muttered, following him up the porch steps. “But in New York, I’m not driving up steep mountain roads in a rainstorm.”

Joel just snorted and unlocked the door, gesturing for you to go in first. You hurried past him, brushing your hand against his in your haste. The touch was brief, barely more than a graze, but it left a warm tingle that lingered.

Inside, the cabin was warm and welcoming, a stark contrast to the storm raging outside. You made a beeline for the couch, sinking into it with a shiver, finally aware of the chill that had seeped through your jacket.

Outside, the rain hammered against the roof, each clap of thunder reverberating through the walls. You switched on the TV, letting the steady drone of a cooking show drown out the noise from outside. The chef on screen was chopping herbs, and the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board was strangely soothing.

You could hear Joel moving through the cabin, his footsteps muffled on the hardwood floors as he went into the kitchen, then upstairs. You imagined him changing out of his damp clothes, swapping them for something more comfortable. The thought made you consider doing the same—maybe trade your boots for slippers, if you could find them buried somewhere in your suitcase.

After a fifteen minutes, Joel reappeared, settling down on the couch beside you, dressed in a black T-shirt and soft gray pants, damp hair from a shower. He seemed even more at ease now, the fabric stretching over his shoulders as he leaned back.

“I just spoke to your dad,” he said, his voice pulling you away from the television. “He and your mom are stuck in town. They’ll stay in a hotel tonight and come back when the storm clears.”

For a moment, you felt a pang of irritation that your dad had called Joel first instead of you. But that quickly faded, replaced by the realization of what it meant: you and Joel alone in the cabin, the storm shutting out the rest of the world. You tried not to dwell on that, nodding as you turned your attention back to the flickering screen.

You wondered if Joel could sense the shift in your mood, if he could hear the way your pulse quickened in the silence between thunderclaps. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t glance over with that perceptive look he sometimes gave you. It seemed, for now, he hadn’t caught on—or maybe, he was just letting it be. 

Apparently, is sharp hearing wasn't working.

[gatitties]

HELLO

Can I request an Oneshot of One Piece with a marine teen reader (14 y.o) who is the daughter of Red Hair Shanks after a one-night stand? She was taken in by Garp when she was 11 when her mom didn't wanna take care of her anymore cuz the mom was absent the rest of the reader's life and Garp was the grumpy granddad and trained her into a marine..like 6 feet 4 muscular girl (and everyone is questioning what the hell did Garp feed her with. Then Shanks comes to visit his bio daughter at the hospital after the reader saved Ace from being killed by Akaniu (that one scene where Ace saved Luffy when he leaped in the way to shield his brother from Akainu as the admiral struck cuz she felt bad and went against rules) by pushing both of them away and burning her a bit and now she has huge burn scar in her left side of the body and half her hair is gone and has to add margarine to heal her scar just for a bit and then Garp ordered her that she should not get up the bed until she is fully recovered. Shanks being the dad he is tries to have a convo and help her stand up when the doctors order her to do some exercise to get her body moving again for example:

-move your fingers a bit

-try to stand up

-when you suicide try to take a few steps

-and more margarine when you go to sleep

-do not sleep on your left side cuz will cause your skin a damage

The reader is confused after receiving affection from her own dad, cuz she doesn't know how to receive it back and is very insecure about it Shanks on the other hand doesn't bother at all and comfronts her.

(Also Ace and Luffy come to visit her more often and thank her for saving them and having a small sibling relationship alongside Sabo and Uta)

and the reader is trying her hardest not to cry and Garp is jealous

(sorry if this is long I'm just trying to make it understandable..have a nice day/night!!)

─ Shanks x daughter!reader (Platonic)

─ Summary: Your bravery helps you save a person unfairly judged, this whole incident generates a drastic change in your pace of life where it seems that your father is ready to show himself.

─ Warnings: None

You stretched your sore body, letting out a soft moan due to your recent injury, weeks had passed and you still had a hard time moving, but looking back, the pain wasn't that much in comparison to your actions, not being ashamed of your actions against everythingn that you had learned at the marine academy, you were lucky that they considered your actions something of age, since you were young, they let it go with a couple of punishments, they lowered your rank and prohibited you from being on duty for the two following years, but you didn't care much.

Garp was not so happy with that decision, but he couldn't scold you when you had saved his grandson from certain death, he was glad to have welcomed you that day, he couldn't feel anything but proud to see that despite having been strictly instructed to follow established order and law, you had your own thoughts and values.

"What do you think you're doing?!"

If it weren't for the fact that you were hurt badly, Garp probably would have hit you for finding you pacing around the room, you grimaced as you tried to smile, a little afraid of his overwhelming concern.

"The doctors told me that I couldn't stop walking, even if it was difficult, I can't stop moving while I recover, it's not like I was running a marathon tho."

He mumbled a few curses, making you return to the bed, now beginning your arm stretches, which were more painful due to the burn being on the upper part of your body.

"Why are you here? I thought you would come to visit tomorrow."

"Yes, but I have decided to go ahead to give you a surprise" all your attention went to the word 'surprise' with enthusiasm, being the teenager that you were, of course you were more than captivated by whatever the old man had for you "Ta-dah!"

He took a pair of wigs out of a bag, your expression fell slightly since you expected something else, but that didn't take away your enthusiasm, the attack that Akainu made on Ace in that battle left more wounds than you thought, and the fire spread faster than you thought, you lost some hair and sometimes you felt helpless without hair covering some parts of your face.

"Thank you… you didn't have to do it, and I could have waited until tomorrow anyway, why the rush?"

Now it was Garp's turn to sweat as he looked at you, he didn't want to admit it, but since Shanks saved you in battle and visited you more constantly, he felt a little jealous, although your father was unaware of your existence until relatively recently, proposing to take care of you and be present in your life from now on, it was Garp who raised and guided you all these years, plus he preferred not to meet Shanks at this time.

You were just confused, you always thought that your father had simply abandoned you, that he didn't want to know anything about your existence like your mother, and suddenly he is by your side showering you with affection and gifts. You took cautious steps with all that sudden affection, Garp wasn't a bad tutor, but his way of showing love was sometimes… brutal, your father's soft hugs were definitely something better than grandfather's crushing ones.

"Hey hey, grandpa is here too, Hello, Hello! We brought a lot of food to help you recover faster."

"Idiot, people don't have the same metabolism as you, besides…" Ace, who was entering through the door with Luffy, took the banana that was for you out of his hand, he was trying to devour it "What's the point of bringing food for someone if you are going to eat it?!"

"What are you two doing here? You are in one of the marine hospitals."

"We are not just two, look good old man!"

Sabo smiled at his grandfather, who remained silent for a few minutes, before bursting out with a furious scream, even though Garp was not going to tell on them, he couldn't help but give them one of his love fists, it had been a long time since he had seen the three gathered in the same place. You laughed at the scene, you never saw Ace, Luffy or Sabo, you only knew anecdotes that Garp shared with you, but you definitely didn't regret having saved Ace, being judged for being the son of the pirate king was absurd, it's not like he had chosen it, you felt even better when you found out that you were the daughter of the infamous yonko Shanks, since you would have probably been put on the gallows if you weren't part of the marines for the same reason as Ace.

The silent room soon filled with life once the trio entered, breaking into the peaceful time Garp wanted to spend with you, as if the commotion of his three grandchildren crammed into your bed while ranting about their adventures wasn't enough, the door opened suddenly, revealing the person who was missing to spill the old man's glass of patience.

"Looks like I'm a little late, sorry, I had to knock out some marines to get in."

The first thing he did was push the three idiots away from your bed, then he left the bouquet of flowers that he brought to decorate your sad room and finally he kissed your forehead as a greeting, not used to this gesture you simply looked down, squeezing your blanket that covered your legs.

"How are you feeling? Are you taking your medication? Have you put the cream on the burn? Have you done your daily stretches?"

You felt even more dizzy when he bombarded you with questions than when you were talking to the other three idiots even though they were much louder, you nodded silently, smiling slightly at him, he returned the gesture with a wider smile, although it was quickly wiped away when Luffy attacked him, climbing onto his back like a monkey while laughing almost causing them both to fall to the ground.

As much as you wanted to join their little fight, which Ace and Sabo joined in on, with your current state you would have to hold back just watching while Garp tried to silence them or he would have to kick them all out of here, if it could happen he would grow more gray hairs.

You felt warm watching everyone interact, in the short time you had spent with them, you managed to create a great bond, even with Uta, who couldn't be present most of the time but who you also considered part of the family.

Things calmed down a couple of hours later, leaving only the two adults and you in a pleasant silence after all the commotion those three had caused, it was time to leave, but before, Shanks approached you, holding your hand, making small circles with his thumb on your skin.

"I know this is a bit sudden and that maybe you don't trust me… but would you like to travel with me, discovering new horizons?"

Your eyes shone with excitement when you heard him, your heart warmed, you didn't dislike the job as a marine, but an opportunity like this… it would make you feel much freer than in headquarters, it would make you feel like you didn't need to worry about so many things at such a young age.

"Don't put stupid ideas in your daughter's head! She's a good marine and she's just a teenager, she'll go far when she's a woman!"

"Woah, calm down old man, she can choose for herself, besides, I'm not asking her to be a pirate, I have to start taking care of my responsibilities as a father and I won't be able to do it if she stays here."

"You know very well that she will sentence her destiny once they see her traveling with you, her entire future as a marine…"

Garp fumed from his ears, feeling how all the work and effort he had put into educating you and guiding you on the right path was crumbling before his eyes. Shanks only stuck out his tongue in a mocking manner, making a mark of irritation appear on Garp's forehead.

"Like I said, she chooses."

The two looked at you with different emotions reflected in their eyes, although they could already imagine what you were going to respond after seeing your look of determination and enthusiasm worthy of a child receiving Christmas gifts, without being able to hold back, you sealed a large part of your future with your decision, but you didn't care much if you were a pirate or a marine as long as you kept your beloved and unexpected family.

[rellsingsovern]

There’s no grounds, Jawbone!

On Wednesday afternoon, three days before spring break, The Bad Kids receive their late report cards and open them together. That Friday, they are marched through a door, expecting to die.

The POV of various parents and teachers of The Bad Kids, during the days leading up to the Last Standard Exam.

Chapter 2: Denial (read chapter one on ao3 at rellsingsovern!)

Riz came home exactly when he said he would, which immediately tipped Sklonda off to the fact that something was amiss.

It was late for the town of Elmville, which meant that her night was just getting started. Who says 9:52 pm on a Wednesday night can't be the perfect time to start reviewing her court footage? She’s 20 seconds into the video and three minutes into hitting the refresh button over and over again (curse the Strongtower wifi) when the sound of a motorcycle grumbling up to the building down below blended into the whine of the single fluorescent bulb up in the ceiling of the living room (curse the Strongtower electricity). Her ear flicked of its own accord a few minutes later, registering no footsteps approaching, as to be expected of her rouge son, but picking up the rustling of papers coming from the hallway through the thin walls.

She frowned absentmindedly. Ever since her and Riz had had that talk in November she’d done her best to pay more attention to his habits and tendencies regarding his fucking insane schedule. Much like one of his boards, he kept all his belongings in an ordered chaos she doubted even Pok would have been able to wrap his head around. Sticky notes on papers, papers in folders, folders in binders, highlighters and rubber bands and paper clips in every color made their way from his backpack to his briefcase to his backpack again, leaving Riz his hands free, an intentional move on his part. Wouldn’t be a very good rouge if I couldn’t draw my gun because I’ve got someone’s homework in my hands, he’d quipped to her early in the year, before the bags under his eyes became darker than a bruise and his eyes twitched as much as they blinked, before Fabian started throwing parties Riz for some reason still went to and before Kristen roped him into-

The sound of a pin in the lock snapped her out of her own head and back into her apartment. The part of her that was Sklonda Gukgak: Mom of Riz noticed Riz stumbled through the door lacking his usual grace, most likely due to the backpack that had been progressively more and stuffed full of school supplies ever since Falinell (it made her wonder why he didn’t open his briefcase as often anymore). The part of her that was still Chief Detective Sklonda Gukgak of the Elmville Police Department noticed that in Riz’s hands were his lockpick that he used to enter the apartment and a pile of envelopes and coupon papers that was certainly their mail, bills and coupons and more bills and a dark red envelope with the official stamp of Aguefort Adventuring Academy on it.

And more bills. Great.

Her ear flicked again, and she absent-mindedly thumbed the arrow keys on her crystal laptop, the ones she knew didn’t work anymore, taking in her teenage son who was home before 10 for the first time in a while. “Hey sweetie,” she greeted, eyeing the papers in his hands. She always got the mail, on account of Riz just straight up Misty Stepping into the apartment in a rush between school and his office and school again. “I’m glad to see you, you hungry or anything?”

Riz stepped through the door, closing it behind him, looking down through the lenses of his glasses. “I’m fine, thanks mom. Jawbone ordered Bastion Market.”

She hummed, thinking of the two most recent text messages in her crystal.

3:06 pm

hi mom just finished yearbook club heading to mordred then stand-up night then home around 10 getting rides from fabian love you

4:48 pm

Hey Sklonda Jawbone here, Riz mentioned something about an event he was supposed to attend tonight but he’s decided to stay here for dinner instead, perfectly all right with myself Sandy and Lydia but just wanted to update ya in case you go looking. He’s not taking the grading news too well. I’m sure he’s told you about it but just a heads up. Working on a solution for the kids in the morning, yall hang tight 👍

Riz had, in fact, not told her about ‘it’ yet. Sklonda had had half a mind to call Sandra-lynn to see what Jawbone had meant, but decided to wait until Riz got home, although she had expected to see him way later, if not the next morning. She eyed the red envelope he still held in between his fingers, flicking the lockpick with a small thwack thwack thwack on the seal and wondered if that was ‘it’.

“Thanks for getting the mail, kiddo.” She knows he knows what she’s actually saying. You never get the mail, that’s my job, you’re home early, what are you doing?

What’s wrong?

He shrugged his seemingly 50 pound backpack off his 90 pound body, putting it on the floor but not taking his eyes off it. “Just thought I’d get it on the way up.” His voice says, steady and even-toned.

Former Chief Detective Sklonda Gukgak sees his body language say please don’t question me further.

Hah, Mom Sklonda Gukgak thought to herself. Not a chance in hell.

“Y’know,” she said, closing her laptop and pretending not to notice the way her son’s shoulders rose to his ears immediately. “Whenever you give me a time you’ll be home by, you’re never actually home at that time. And I know you’re very capable, Riz, but I worry about you.”

He muttered something under his breath, holding out the stack of bills to her, holding that damn envelope in his other hand, still not making eye contact.

Riz was a perfect rouge. He had a light step and a light touch and an impeccable aim. He had a brain that ran a million miles per hour and a goblin grit he inherited from his father. He’d been picking the lock to the apartment since he was twelve and learning to shoot a gun since he was thirteen. He was smart, sneaky and secretive.

But he didn’t keep secrets from her.

After Pok died, Sklonda had tried to keep many things from Riz. How scared she was. How exhausted she was. She would throw herself into work then throw herself into bed, crying with her face in Pok’s pillow as the signs of him faded from their life, as silent as she could so Riz wouldn’t hear. His desk became dusty, his razor sat unused, and his pillow stopped smelling like his cologne. She ran and ran and ran from the pain, never thinking about it, closing the door to his office where the ghost of her husband sat until Riz had tried to leave for school one day in shoes too big for him and a briefcase that hadn’t left the apartment in weeks.

At her protests, her nine-year old son had looked at her through his shaggy hair with big, sad, golden eyes. Pok had always been the one who gave Riz haircuts.

You never talk about him anymore, he said. You pretend you aren’t tired all the time and you pretend he’s not gone.

It hurts, mom.

Her beautiful, brilliant, investigative son had deduced what she wouldn’t, what she couldn’t tell him. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

It’s okay if it hurts. I’m still here.

She didn’t open the door to Pok’s room, and she didn’t let Riz go to school with his shoes. But from that day on Riz toted a briefcase everywhere, and on his tenth birthday she gave him a haircut, his own pair of brown loafers (still a little too big, but at the thrift store you take what you can get) and took him to Cravencroft where she whispered all her deepest fears, laid them down on the dirt under her son’s knees and in front of her husband’s grave, confessed to the bone-deep exhaustion that weighed down her arms and her legs and her heart.

Gukgaks don’t give up, Riz whispered back to her, golden eyes shining like suns, an echo of his father’s favorite phrase. She looked at his close-cropped hair and saw Pok. Then she looked at the bags under his eyes and saw herself.

After that Sklonda only had one secret to keep, and Riz had walked into Pok’s room and blew the dust off his desk two years ago in a mighty whirlwind of a 15 year-old detective hot on the case. With the blood of a dragon still hot in her stomach, she and Riz had promised to never hide anything from each other. Not their stress, not their exhaustion, and not their thoughts. Never again did she try to hide her tiredness from Riz, allowing him to replace her cold cups of coffee and lead her to bed on the days when her feet felt like stone, and when he got too jittery and manic with a drive to solve whatever mystery he was currently on she pressed at him until he eventually spilled his guts and she could get him to call a friend for backup in getting him to sleep at least four hours a night. Riz had been raised to notice all he could and never back down, and she had been the one to do it. He had his adventuring party, and she had a new job and new friends, but it was still just the two of them at odds with a world not meant for goblins, two Gukgaks in a shitty apartment, one weighed down with something they wouldn’t confess to and the other who noticed looking up through golden eyes.

Sklonda held out her hand for the red envelope.

Riz, who told her everything, who called her in freshman year every time he discovered something or murdered someone, who as soon as he got back from his spring break quest told her about Pok, who told her about the Loams and the Spies Tongue curse and Fig’s (maybe) god, did not hand it over.

Not a chance in hell.

“I’ll be in my room,” Riz started, leaving his backpack by the sofa as he turned and started away.

“What’s in the envelope, Riz.” She said, pushing as much goblin mom into her voice as possible and knowing it worked when he froze in place. “I don’t like knowing there’s a secret you’re keeping from me.”

“It’s not important.”

“Of course it is.”

He laughed under his breath, still turned away from her. “No, I mean like, it’s really not important anymore. Nothing in there matters.”

“Riz…”

He laughed again, and something in her stomach, a liquid mix of hot worry irritation worry froze into something heavy and cold like dread as his laugh broke into a dry gasp, sharp and cutting. “It’s fine, mom, really.”

“I’m sure it’s not, whatever it is, but I’m sure it’s not that bad either. You can just tell me honey, you know I won’t ever be mad.”

Her words seemed to register and nudge him away from whatever he was spiraling towards, but she still felt her lungs tighten and the cold sharpen in the pit of her stomach. He turned to look at her fully, and she didn't flinch, would never shy away from her son, but his eyes were dull, darker than she’s ever seen, as dark as her own during those first few months of just her and Riz.

He handed her the envelope with shaky hands and in the blink of an eye was suddenly sitting down on the other side of the couch, pressing himself into the flat cushions like they could swallow him whole.

She opened the envelope with no small amount of trepidation, wondering what could be so bad that her son came home at a reasonable time at night.

Reaching inside, Sklonda pulled out two pieces of paper, one significantly bigger than the other. Looking at the smaller one first, her heart at first fell and the soared with pride as she beheld a small slip of paper detailing that her son had earned an A+ in his rouge track during his most recent semester. Student shows signs of mastery at mundane and arcane lockpicking. Student shows signs of mastery at detecting/disarming mundane and arcane traps. Student shows signs of mastery at dealing damage with both short and long range weaponry. Student shows signs of mastery at remaining unseen by others.

The list went on, and she turned to Riz with elation. “This is amazing, Riz!”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, sinking further into the cushions. “Read the other one before I vomit again, mom.”

She flicked open the larger paper with confusion, starting to read, and with every word the ice in her stomach turned back into red hot anger.

Dear parent/guardian,

Your child, Riz Gukgak, has been moved to PASS/FAIL academic status at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy due to FAILURE/EXPULSION of party member Kristin Applebees. PASS/FAIL academic status will nullify any and all extra credit earned from extracurriculars including athletic teams, school-sponsored clubs, and volunteer work in compliance with the Aguefort Adventuring Academy. Your child will be allowed to remain at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy for the duration of their current school year. They must attend graduation and complete their teacher evaluation(s) in order to be accepted back into the Aguefort Adventuring Academy the upcoming year. If your child is a part of any multiclass program they will not be accepted back into their additional academic tracks and must remain only in their primary class the upcoming year. PASS/FAIL academic status cannot be removed or rectified from a student’s academic transcript with exception of the undergoing and completion of The Last Standard Examination. Please contact guidance counselor Jawbone O’Shaughnessy with questions, comments, or concerns.

Regards,

Interim Vice Principal Jace Stardiamond

Failure. Expulsion.

Kristen Applebees.

“-and I don’t even remember if we’re eligible to take The Last Stand this early in the year or if we have to wait until the last semester, but Kristin will be forced to leave this Friday, so if we can’t take it, I don’t know what we’ll do, Fabian, Gorgug, and Fig will be screwed next year and-“

Her blood was boiling, her ears were ringing, drowning out Riz’s voice.

Failure. Expulsion. Campaign manager. Someone else’s homework. People who call him The Ball.

Kristin Applebees.

“-hates her, and I don’t understand why, it’s just not fair-“

“It’s not fair,” Sklonda hissed out, a mirror of Riz’s, her snarl cutting through the air and making the words die on her son’s tongue. Forcing her hands to be still, pushing down the hot flash of rage in her belly, she schooled herself into the professionalism of Public Defender Sklonda Gukgak. Her son needed the cool head and steady tone that she prided herself on, her analytical eye and her forthrightness.

She could fret later. Her son had been blindsided by something she really should have seen coming ever since November, and it was time to address it.

She continued, voice low, watching her son’s posture relax bit by bit. “It’s not fair. Thank you for showing me, baby. We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

Riz turned to face her fully on the couch, knee nudging hers, and the hotness of worry irritation worry surged behind her eyes for half a second as she noticed a vein on Riz’s forehead that had never been there before. “You’re not mad?”

“No, kiddo, not at you. Never at you.”

“But…” He worried the chain of one of his necklaces between his teeth, a nervous trait he told her he’d picked up over the summer. He had sat up out of the cushions, but his knees were still drawn up uncomfortably, pressing his arms into his chest. “Without the pension, and without the extracurriculars… the scholarships-”

Stress was a thing Sklonda was familiar with. It lived in her apartment walls, on the underside of the peeling wallpaper. It filled the rooms in the flickers of darkness when the lights stopped working. It sat in the bottom of her coffee cups, and she’d admit that she found herself chasing it like her son chased clues, with a lot of intensity and only a little self-awareness. She knows her son too well, just like his mother and father in all the best and worst ways. Riz had too much in common with her, too many bad habits, and she’d sooner go back to her old job than ever let her son send himself more into the same stress-filled state she lived in for his party members.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, shuffling closer and putting an arm around Riz’s shoulders, wincing when she felt they were far too tight. Something in her quietly cooed when he laid his head down on her shoulder, glasses being knocked askew, strands of green hair falling and tickling her chin. “I’m not mad at you. I know how hard you’ve worked this year, and I’m so sorry Kristin messed it up for you.”

The shifting of chains between sharp fangs stopped. “...What?”

She rubbed his shoulder, keeping her voice low and soothing. “You’ve been doing far too much for her since the beginning of the year, Riz, it was really a matter of time before-”

“Mom, stop!”

Worry irritation worry confusion dread pooled in her gut as Riz shoved himself off her side and stood up off the couch furiously. “You can’t say that about Kristin, mom, how could you?”

She blinked hard. “What do you mean, how could- she got expelled, Riz, I know she and Fig aren’t academically inclined but c’mon, at least Fig is actually trying.”

“And what makes you think Kristin ‘isn’t trying’?” Riz scoffed, claws making quotes in the air with a harshness that rivaled when he tore into Kalvaxus two years ago. “She tries harder than the rest of us combined, she works so hard-”

“At what, Riz? Her campaign? The one that you run for her?”

“You don't get to talk about Kristin like that!”

This is exactly the opposite of what she wanted to happen. She wanted to hug her son and tell him it would all be alright while texting Sandra-lynn and Jawbone about what the heck The Last Standard Examination was and how Riz could take it. She could count on her fingers the amount of times conversations with Riz had turned to shouting, and even then they were always family matters, never about his party.

Sklonda loved Kristin, she really did. From the back half of freshman year until spring break of sophomore year Kristin spent a lot of time in Strongtower, rotating between the Faeth house and Gilear’s place down the hall before he moved out, wherever Fig was staying that week. Then it was down a few floors in Jawbone’s; sometimes she could still hear the shrieks of laughter echoing up through the thin floors as a gaggle of 15 year old adventurers ran through the halls far later than they were supposed to (not that she ever had the heart to tell Riz to keep it down when he hung out with his friends). Riz was a quiet kid before he went to Aguefort; Sklonda got the idea that Kristin had never been so. She always said what was on her mind, even if it was exceedingly inappropriate (she’s heard enough stories from Sandra-Lynn about her and Tracker during spring break). Always loud, always chaotic, a girl who jumped from idea to idea like she jumped from home to home.

That was a little cruel of her to think, Sklonda had been the one to order the raid on her house, after all.

Kristin had gotten a little quieter after spring break, Even Sklonda, whose building was no longer the Bad Kid’s default hangout spot, could see that. But she had also gotten a lot more chaotic.

“Kristin’s a good kid,” She said slowly, frowning when Riz shoved his hands under his glasses. “But you have to admit she struggles to stay on track sometimes.”

Riz glared at her through his fingers. “Doesn’t give you the right to insult her.”

“I’m not insulting her! It’s just the facts, sweetie, I know she’d never do anything to hurt you on purpose. But-” She waved the paper towards him, and he flinched away as though she were brandishing a gun. “-there’s two names on this paper, one being my son who joined every single extracurricular at the school and one being a girl who’s name my former coworkers apparently know due to several dropped charges of trespassing at the steelworkers factory?”

“You know I’ve probably got stuff on me too, mom, my midterm in December was to break into a warehouse downtown and plant a non-lethal arcane grenade set to go off when discovered.”

She remembered. It hadn’t gone off until February. He’d gotten an A+.

“That’s different, and not the point. Yours was an assignment for school, and Kristin’s apparently not been doing hers.”

“She’s got reasons to struggle, her god died, mom, I was there-“

“She can still cast, can’t she? You do everything for her, why can’t she at least maintain a C?”

“Oh my-” Riz dragged his hands down his face, muffling his next words. “You don’t understand-”

“Riz, I just worry that-”

“It’s not Kristin’s fault!”

“Then who’s is it?”

“I’m trying to explain-”

“Riz, don’t make excuses for her, she brought this on her-”

A sound filled the room, a short, sudden thing that sliced through the air. Riz’s eyes went wide, claws half curled at his side, and she realized the sound had just come from him.

Pressing his lips together as though he could stop the violent hiss that just came out of his mouth, Riz turned away and fled down the hall to his room, leaving his backpack and briefcase and a burning sensation behind Sklonda’s eyes that she couldn’t tell was rage or tears.

Another swing and a miss from Sklonda Gukgak about her poor, poor, boy.

A light flashed at the corner of her vision, startling her enough that her eyes were pulled away from the corner Riz disappeared behind. It was coming from within the couch cushions, and she reached in to pull out a blinking crystal.

10:02 pm

u alive the ball? kristin and I are still out here i wont leave until you respond

10:03 pm

i know u dont want to but if u told ur mom shed understand im sure of it

10:08 pm

we’re still herwogoTAKD2739/@(

10:08 pm

ITS KRISTIN I STOLE FABIANF S CRYSTL TMRW MORNIGN FIRST THIGN BOBBY DAWNS OFFICS I HAVW AN IDEA

10:09 pm

I L OVE OYU MAN THat assholes gonna pay for failing me on a fuckin technicality

What?

The blood rushing in her ears drowned out the incessant drone of the fluorescent light, but straining her hearing she realized that several floors down there was still the rumbling of a motorcycle.

Someone else’s homework. People who call him The Ball. Campaign manager.

Kristin Applebees had dropped Riz off from her own house, had stayed with Fabian and refused to leave until he texted them back, and here Sklonda was blaming her and probing at her son until he hissed and ran from her.

All sensation left from her, and numbly she got off the couch and started toward Riz’s room, crystal in hand. Stopping outside the closed door, Sklonda didn’t bother to knock. She knew he knew she was there.

The door didn’t open.

I don't understand, I don't have all the facts, I don’t know what’s going on, please tell me, she wanted to yell at the door like making more noise would save her from her mistakes.

“You left your crystal on the couch.” She murmured softly instead.

A pause. More rustling of papers, and when Riz opened the door he was holding his glasses in one hand and what looked like a map in the other, eyes dark. She held the crystal out.

He took it gingerly, and the numbness faded by just a little bit when his eyes got a little brighter, flicking over the crystal screen. He didn’t smile, but his face lost a little bit of tension.

He bit his lip and looked at her. “… I’m sorry I hissed at you. I didn’t mean to.”

She tried to smile, but wasn’t sure she succeeded. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain, sweetie. I’m all ears.”

He glanced at his crystal again, something changing in his posture. For a moment she was afraid he would close the door again, and even though she wanted nothing more in the world than to demand answers, she would let him.

“I don’t think I want to talk about it anymore tonight.” He said slowly, cautiously.

Sklonda nodded, thinking desperately about asking Sandra-Lynn out for drinks tomorrow.

“I just…” Riz looked down at the map in his hand, the words Ashgrove Cemetery scrawled in his handwriting at the top. “We’ve all worked so hard, Fig and Kristin and everyone, and-”

He swallowed. “I was gonna find the rouge teacher, mom. And now it doesn't matter.”

She could think of a million things to say, but all that came out of her mouth was, “Gukgaks don't give up.”

Her brave, smart, resilient, beautiful son’s eyes filled with tears, and he shut the door to his bedroom.

Stumbling back to the living room, Sklonda clumsily grabbed her crystal from the coffee table and sent a text, claws clicking against the screen.

10:13 pm

Jawbone, Riz just got home. What is The Last Stand?

The rumbling of the motorcycle faded from earshot. A few minutes later, her crystal lit up.

That oh so familiar heaviness of exhaustion and fear, the stress that lived in the bottom of her coffee cups, in the papers spilling out of Riz’s backpack hit her like a truck as she read Jawbone's response.

The lights flickered, and in the flash of darkness she saw a vision of her son, slumped over a desk, a paper in front of him with a dark red A+ written in goblin blood.

[goodluckclove]

FINAL BLIND TRUST SNEEK PEEK

The results were close enough that I decided to post something that I think is happy and sad. I also don't think I've posted anything directly about Regina Mustard Kaufner, matriarch of the Kaufner family. This feels like spoilers and kind of is but kind of isn't because even in context it leaves you with more questions than answers.

Enjoy reading the start of the mom I really wish I had. I like her a lot.

Seriously guys I need to stop revealing more of this novel before it comes out. I'm just so fucking excited aaaaaa

“I’m going to take them.”

“What?” Enoch said from the other end of the phone. “Mustard, no. That’s kidnapping.”

Regina leaned back in the car seat and kept her eyes on the doors to the University. “Yes,” she confirmed. “I’m going to kidnap them.”

“Fucking hell – that’s…” Enoch trailed off, and when she spoke again she was much calmer. “We’ll call the police. If we have proof of abuse we can call the police.”

But we don’t have proof, Regina wanted to point out. All we have are the visions of my son and some bruises that’ll be covered up by an organization with authority near to that of the Catholic church.

Enoch clicked her tongue anxiously, as if she were right beside her waiting for class to get out. “I don’t like this,” she said. “You said the parents refused to meet with you. What if they’ve tracked your license plate?”

“I’m being very discreet,” Regina tried to assure her.

“Well if you’re still in the Doctor’s car then no, you aren’t. Regina, you can’t keep taking these kinds of risks. You have children to think about.”

The doors pushed open and released a sea of purple-suited children all around Scott and Tenzin’s age. Regina immediately stopped paying attention to what her love was saying. She shifted the phone into her opposite hand and got out of the car, standing to peer through all the faces and dissect the crowd into parts. Looking for the smaller body. The larger set of eyes.

Because yes, Regina did have children. And right now, one of them needed her help.

Once the crowd started to thin Regina began to worry. Did she miss her chance? She was starting to consider pulling off and circling the surrounding city blocks, but before she went any farther with that line of thought she caught sight of a familiar face she was seeing for the very first time.

They were smaller than the other kids and walked a little slower – not from noticeable depression, just deep in thought. They had a young face that was still slightly older than what made sense for their age, with large, deep-set eyes hued a warm shade of brown.

This child matched Scott’s description of Eddie. What identified them for certain, however, was the feeling that flooded Regina’s system as soon as she caught site of them. Her love for those around her came in varying colors. For Enoch it was a bright emerald green, while Tenzin was more of a comforting blue-gray. It was always different for everyone – always – and yet when she looked at the child absently making his way down the stairs she felt the exact color of love she felt whenever she looked at Scott.

Sunflower yellow. Every single time.

It had to be them. Eddie.

Enoch was in the middle of explaining some kind of Louisiana legality when Regina hung up on her without a word. She got out of the car and fidgeted, unsure how to do this. She had no intention of stealing them if they didn’t want to go with her. It would help to find a way to explain who she was in a way that would make sense to the child – but in a way that didn’t encourage them to strike up conversations with frantic strangers in the future. Everything that made sense before Eddie walked outside now felt just as wrong as everyone had been trying to tell her.

This wasn’t Scott. Regina had to remind herself that. This was the other fragment of the being that ended up developing into her son. Was she truly as responsible for this half of his spirit as she was for him?

Not seeing a gap in the sidewalk, Eddie stumbled and scraped his knee against the concrete. From across the street Regina could see the wound, a grating of skin just deep enough to swell blood. It was the type of thing Scott would proudly show off before washing clean with a hose and bounding back off with his day. Eddie, however, stayed still. They did not move. Staring down at the blood, they broke down immediately in quiet tears.

No one was helping them. A few purple-suited adults looked at them as they passed, but did nothing. Regina bore this sight for maybe ten seconds before she grunted in annoyance and ran over to their aid.

“Oh wow!” She exclaimed. “You really tumbled, didn’t you?”

Eddie shrank even smaller on the ground and turned his face away from her. Horror weighed her heavy in place, and Regina knelt down and adjusted her attitude.

She started by speaking much softer. “Does it hurt?” She asked.

“It – It’s scary.”

“The blood?” Regina glanced down at the trickle of red running down just below the hem of his shorts. “Yes. You don’t like blood,” she smiled vaguely. “It’s kind of spooky isn’t it? Do you think it means that something bad happened?”

The child nodded. They lowered their arm away from their face, though still kept their eyes focused down from Regina’s direct line of sight. A sign of respect from Academy children, she learned some time ago. It disgusted her to think about.

She rifled through her bag and pulled out a few paper packets. “I keep sanitary wipes on me,” she said, tearing the top off of one. “They’re for my son. I don’t think he would mind if I used a few to help clean you up, though. Would that be all right with you?”

At first Eddie didn’t respond. He wiped at his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he nodded.

“The thing about scrapes like this,” Regina told them as she gently wiped away the blood up his leg, “is that they feel a lot worse than they actually are. You’ve really only hurt a few layers of skin – and you have many layers of skin, Eddie – so you haven’t gone deep enough to cause any permanent damage on it’s own. This might sting a little bit, buddy.”

Regina pressed a fresh sanitary wipe over the wound. Eddie’s face scrunched up without making much of a sound, and once again she felt the sunflower yellow of adoration for her child.

“You’re being very brave,” she murmured. “Anyhow, it hurts because under your skin has things called nerves. And that’s how you feel things – most things, at least,” Regina was quickly reaching the borders of her medical knowledge. “You didn’t hurt your body. It’s more like you triggered the alarm system that lets you know that something bad could’ve happened. Does that make sense?”

Somewhere in that explanation Eddie gathered the nerve to look at her. They seemed uncertain, and yet more than a little curious. She got a better look at his eyes, and at the iris coloboma that gave them the quality of something antique and wise.

She supposed that meant they could see hers as well. She wondered if Eddie would ask about them.

“How do you know my name?” They quietly questioned her.

Regina’s eyes widened slightly. Did she call them Eddie? Was she so preoccupied with comforting them that she forgot to make any effort to do things subtly?

She thought about Enoch. She should’ve let Enoch come with her.

“My name is Regina,” she said. “But you can call me Mustard if you’d like. Wouldn’t that be funny? It’s like the flower, but it’s also a sauce.”

Regina stood up and pulled her wallet out of her purse. Eddie followed her lead and got up on their own accord. Still, they didn’t drop the issue. “Do you know my mother?” They asked.

She thought about the cold voice that spoke to her on the phone and shivered. “No,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m actually...I’m Scott’s mom.”

“...Scott?”

There was a photo in the inner fold of her wallet. It was new, printed by Enoch only a week before Regina drove off on this terrible road trip, but already the creases were well-defined from folding and unfolding. It was of Scott and Tenzin, each only half-visible and under a pillow fort that collapsed over them mid-nap. Regina smiled at the image, then turned it to Edgar and pointed at Scott’s laughing face.

The recognition was stark. For a moment it was frightened. Then that broke away, and Eddie’s brown eyes once again welled with tears.

“He’s real?” They managed weakly.

-

in short, regina's entire perspective towards edgar could be summarized by this old nedroid comic:

if you have shit parents she probably would do the same for you.

[heartlandians]

Filling Empty Spaces (Amy/Mitch), part 231

Mitch and Amy find an unexpected connection due to absent lovers. Set around season 11->.

A/N: I didn’t have a beta for this story, so hopefully there won’t be too many grammar errors.

****

The uncomfortable and unexpected moment stood just as still as Georgie did before the elevator doors began to shut, after detecting no movement for a while, and it snapped them all out of it.

Lou slammed her hand quickly against one side of the closing doors, gripping the steel and making the moving parts withdraw.

"Can we, maybe, come out from the elevator to have this conversation...?" Lou suggested, trying to guide her oldest daughter back to the hallway.

Even though Mitch didn't want to back away from this one type of deadlock, he figured the best thing to do was to allow Lou take the lead. He needed a moment to reassess the situation before reacting.

This was no time to make mistakes.

Georgie sighed and stepped back, making a small circle before she turned back to face Lou and Mitch. The adults entered the space, and the elevator doors closed behind them as the ride hurried to whoever would need it the next.

They were now standing in a hall that looked very plain, but actually had three important entrances. One of them was the elevators, another was a door that hid a stairway behind it and the biggest one, the one that grabbed Mitch's attention the most right away, consisted of two big doors, leading to the ICU, next to some type of phone on the wall.

After a quick scan, he brought his eyes back to Georgie, who had her lips pursed and her nostrils flaring, and there was no doubt in his mind about how she was feeling... "Mom", was all Georgie had to say to demand the answer again.

"I know this must be weird; trust me, it's weird for me too", Lou started, quickly glancing Mitch's way and then bringing her eyes back to Georgie. "But... from what I've been told, it seems that... you know about... Amy and Mitch dating..."

Georgie's brows melted into a confused, almost shocked, state.

"Wait... you know?" she asked, her voice frail.

Lou nodded slowly. "It's complicated, but... yeah, I know."

Georgie's eyes quickly turned back to darker. "How long have you known...?" she wanted - almost demanded - to know.

"I mean... the line is a little blurred, because I suspected it a while ago, but... it wasn't confirmed to me until recently", Lou explained, feeling like maybe the details didn't really matter that much, but for some reason Georgie was very much hung up on them.

"And you--you just..." Georgie began a sentence without knowing what exactly she was even asking; the feeling just pushed through and it was as if the talking was involuntary.

She then glared at Mitch, who was avoiding her gaze, almost like he knew he was in trouble.

"You're here with him...? You're okay with it?" Georgie couldn't understand her mother's stance. Her tone was almost disappointed.

"Well, it's... complicated..." Lou said, because it was just too much to explain right now. "But you don't need to worry about that, hun. It's between me and him - and Amy."

Georgie shook her head, putting her wallet back to her pocket. "But it's not. It's not!" she insisted.

Lou glanced at Mitch, and it seemed like they shared the confusion; neither of them seemed to know more about this than the person next to them.

"What makes you say that...?" Lou wondered.

"Because--- because he broke your heart!" Georgie said, as if that even needed pointing out. "And I thought, well, at least he will be out of our lives and can no longer hurt you. But now he's back and on top of that he's with Amy, and--"

She closed her eyes, trying to deal. It was as if she was in physical pain explaining this.

"You'll get mad, and it'll break your heart again and destroys your relationship with Amy--" the girl continued, "and-and even she can't see that, it's like you're both been blinded by him, but this will destroy the family, and you no longer come for visits to Hudson, and I don't want to keep going back to New York, and the family won't ever be the same--"

"Woah!" Lou said firmly, stepping closer to Georgie to gentle her by cupping her daughter's frazzled face between her soft hands. "Honey. Easy. Breathe. Just breathe."

Georgie's initial reaction was to break free, but when Lou's eyes demanded a contact, she looked back at them and began taking slow breaths. In and out.

Mitch finally allowed himself to look at the two, and it was like the train of panic had come to an halt because of Lou's initiative.

"Okay..." Lou eventually said when it no longer looked like Georgie was going to pass out from forgetting how to breathe. "First of all. He didn't break my heart; I broke my own heart. And... probably his too in the process", she admitted, almost sending a shock wave through Mitch's body with her words.

He had not expected her to admit that. Ever.

For a long time, he had held onto that similar version of events, eventually having to live with the possibility that he would never hear her say that what she had done had made it impossible for them to continue their relationship - and that was just going to be it.

But unlike most of the surprises Lou had made him live through in the past, this was one of the pleasant ones.

Maybe there was an upside to Lou Fleming being so unpredictable after all.

"I can't deny that this is weird, like I said, but... at the same time, I don't think it's something that'll break our family. You don't have to worry about that", Lou continued, hoping Georgie would believe it, because maybe it was hard for her to see that, but it was up to Lou to prove that she would never want Georgie to think that this was something her daughter would have to worry about - or even try to fix.

Georgie swallowed back her tears. "But... but I do..."

Lou went on after a pause.

"This family is strong. We've seen a lot of bad situations, but this doesn't have to be one. Especially now when we already have so much to deal with as it is."

"Okay..." Georgie tried to take it in while feeling a lump in her throat. She was still stiff from anger, not being able to let go just yet.

"We'll be okay", Lou repeated, then pulling her daughter into a hug.

That's when Georgie's tears began to fall.

She desperately clung onto Lou's jacket and squeezed its fabric between her fingers as the sobs came out - and so did the violent shaking. It was like everything she had been holding back for days - maybe even years - came crashing down.

"I've just been sitting there, looking at her... thinking the last time we talked and how--"

She had to stop for a second to swallow down the thick saliva in her mouth. If she would have let it, it could have made her choke.

"What if it's the last time? What if she... dies and the last thing she remembers about me is how mad I was at her..." the girl was barely able to say.

Mitch's eyes went down as seeing Georgie's sadness made the situation even more real to him.

Up until now, his tears were the only ones shed for Amy that he had seen. It was hard to hold back them now when he could clearly see others were going through the same exact emotions as well.

He wasn't alone.

This wasn't just his nightmare.

"She'll come back to us. She always does..." Lou said, and even though she had her back to Mitch, the man could hear the fear in her voice too, no matter how hard she tried to fight back. "We just take one day at a time."

He let out of sigh, rubbing his eyes with his thumbs, using more force than was probably wise, as he was trying to stop the tears from coming again.

"Why don't we go down to the cafeteria and get some water? Talk this through?" Lou then suggested, gently leaning back and taking her daughter by the shoulders.

"No", Georgie shook her head, then realizing it probably sounded like a rejection. "Or, I mean, I have Wyatt waiting in the parking lot. He's picking me up; we're going to get something to eat. He wants me to get my mind out of... this."

"Oh, well, that's actually a really good idea", Lou agreed, gently brushing her daughter's hair with her palm. She was happy to hear Wyatt was being a good boyfriend to Georgie and offering her the support she needed. "Do you need money?"

"No, it's okay. I have enough to cover my part of the bill", she explained.

"Okay, well... I'll see you at the house?" Lou checked, hoping to continue this conversation back at Heartland where they weren't in the middle of things.

"Yeah...." Georgie nodded, wiping her nose on the side of her hand. "I love you, mom", she wanted to add. If this whole thing had taught her anything, it was that she didn't want to leave things unsaid.

"I love you too, honey", Lou replied, giving Georgie's temple a kiss. "Say hi for Wyatt for me, okay?"

"I will", Georgie promised as she made her way to the elevator, acting as if Mitch wasn't there.

Just because Lou had come to his defense, didn't mean she had to forgive him...

Lou sighed and glanced at Mitch, noticing his eyes that had welled up.

"You okay?"

"Y-yeah, yeah", Mitch tried to assure her, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry about... that. I didn't know if you wanted me to say something or if it was just better to let you handle it", he added, gesturing toward Georgie just as she got on one of the elevators.

"It's fine. It's all just part of being a parent", Lou stated, looking a little lighter after having that off her chest. "You ready to go in...?"

"Yeah, just..." Mitch stopped her before they would walk through the ICU doors. "Did you meant what you said...?"

Lou cocked her brow. "I said a lot of things. You have to be a little bit more specific than that."

"Well, about... us. How you broke your heart and mine--"

Lou sighed, tugging a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Oh, that. -- Well... yeah. I did", she sounded unsure at first, but when she got at the end of the sentence, it was as if she had convinced herself too.

It was one thing to say it to Georgie than it was to admit it to Mitch; her pride seemed to get in the way.

Mitch nodded.

"It's just... I don't know that we ever really had that... proper talk about ending our relationship. It was just... a mess and a fight after another", he spoke.

"I guess not. But... it's hard for me to admit when things are over. I don't like endings. They seem so... final."

Lou looked somber.

"Endings can be a beginning of something new too", Mitch suggested. "Like... we don't have to hate each other just because things didn't work out between us. -- I will always care about you, Lou, one way or another."

It was now Lou's time to be shocked.

"Oh... I thought maybe some part of you was doing this because you wanted to hurt me", she admitted.

Mitch shook his head.

"Look... I can be rude and thoughtless sometimes, I admit that, but I'm not a vile person", Mitch wanted to say. "I don't like this tension between us, I rather just have us... be friends, or at least friendly."

"The last time we were friends, it turned into something else, remember?" she scoffed a little, a smile tugging on her lips.

Mitch rolled his eyes. "Well, can we at least do civil...?"

"Yeah. I think that's manageable", Lou figured, shrugging.

That was enough for Mitch. "Okay. Good. Thank you."

"You wanna shake on it before we have to wash up?" she asked, offering him her hand.

He accepted it, giving it a squeeze. "Deal."

[blackoutawolf-blog]

The Morning

Noctis awoke and stretched his arms as he sat up blinking away the remains of the nights rest, he looked at the sleeping figure beside him, her pink fur a calming shade, he kissed her head and got out of bed then stretched his legs, stepping out the room, the smell of toast filled the air "hmn? whos up so early?" he walked to the kitchen and smiled at the figure who was cooking "oh hay dante" the brown rabbit nokori looked up and smiled "morning noctis sleep ok?" noctis shruged "well enough" noctis softly patted simon who was staring at the toaster from the counter, a small voice chimed turning there attention "you didnt scream this time" lavender and lina where sat at the table enjoying toast dante had made moments earlier, there brazen ness made noctis smile "thats true i had silver to keep me company, so i didnt have my night terrors, thats the magic of having a friend with you" dante smirked a knowing smile as the toast poped, her buttered it and simon took it "oooooh" and ran off "so whats the plan for every one today" noctis spoke with an absent mindedness as he looked around the kitchen before grabing an apple dante shruged "its saterday so a quiet day i think, eve will probably sleep, i heard her working through the night" noctis couldn't help but laugh "well thats the whim of creatives, when the muse strikes you obey, oh good morning evelyn" evelyn walked in looking almost like a zombie in her half awake state, she walked in and glared at noctis then mad eherself coffee, dante gave an ernest but half strength smile "want some toast?" evelyn downed half her coffee "what id like is to not be woken up half way through the night but eve working and hearing my mother and someone who i see almost as an UNCLE IN BED F...""HAY!" noctis cut her off "first cool your jets, there are children here, second your mother kept me company because of...my issues, id been getting more physical and i was worried id hurt someone, so we agreed if i got to out of hand shed stop me using her venom if she has to, it didnt come to that" evelyn narrowed her eyes not convinced "im not stupid, thats not all you where doing last night and i know it!" her eyes darkened as a tell tail sign of her powers "i WILL NOT CALM DOWN, i wont let you cheet on arthies sister! and NOT WITH MY MOTHER" noctis was taken back he hadent intended to tell her to calm down but his aura clearly told her that but he tabled that point "wait you mean rice? evelyn breath for a..." evelyn cut him off almost histerical "NO! I TRUSTED YOU AND SO DOES MOM BUT YOUR TWO FACED AND..." a voice cut her off instantly "evelyn!" evelyn spun to see silver at the stairs a stirn look on her face "calm down and listen darling" evelyn seemed unconvinced but she did as she was told and grew quiet, dante who had retreated to where the younger kids where looked to noctis who sighed "evie your not wrong about rice ok? but there is info you dont know, first im polyamorous and very clear about that, im also a habbitual flirt, but both rice and silver know what im like and what i get up to im very clear before i do anything like that ok? i havent cheated on anyone with anyone, im glad your so protective of her but trust her judgment" evie huffed seemingly dissaproving but she didnt continue the argument, she took her cup of coffee and headed to her room, silver sighed "she'll calm down just give her some time" noctis smiled a soft smile "yeah i'll buy her a book as an appolagy, but for now how about a day trip for everyone to the water park?" the kids all gasped very audiably and dante smiled "are you sure?" noctis nodded "got some money stored away and i know a friend who said any tickets i buy are at discount, hope that still stands hahaha"

nokori and most (if not all) other character by @lordsalissoon rice belongs to @peacefulr4in Lavender belongs to @jake-the-werewolf Noctis by me

[prismartist]

when the end times fall (i'm standing right by your side)

Ao3

cw: swearing, alcoholism

---

“I don’t want her to go, Phil,” Wilbur whines into Phil’s shoulder, words lined with whisky and exhaustion. “I don’t want to lose her.”

Phil sighs for the umpteenth time that night, and pats Wilbur gently on the head. “I know, mate. I feel you.”

“She’s my niña,” Wilbur continues, “Mi niña pequeña. Mi niñita. Mia amata figlia. Mijn liefde.” He sniffs, lifting his face from its perch on Phil’s arm. “Why does she have to go?”

Phil can think of a couple reasons. The mom wants her kids back. This island hates us. They have to grow up. He’s sure Wilbur can think of more, and in a couple other languages no less. 

“I don’t know,” Phil replies. 

Wilbur doesn’t say anything back, merely tilts his head up at the moon and takes another swig of Lagavulin.

It’s a bright evening on the server, moonlight defining the two talking on a newly-built balcony. Wilbur’s taken to another night of drinking, as he has since he’d come back to the island. Phil isn’t sure if that’s normal or not, and he’s unnerved that he can’t remember. Still, he stays by Wilbur, making sure he doesn’t wander off and do something stupid like dying. He thinks perhaps by chaperoning he could ease Wil’s alcohol intake, but at the rate he’s going, that seems unlikely. 

“It’s stupid,” Wilbur gasps out as he removes the bottle from his mouth. Phil wrinkles his nose at the smell. “We have to get emotionally attached and care for them and love them, and then they go away? It’s bullshit.”

“Apparently we’ll get a reward,” Phil says dryly. He’s as fond of the idea as he is of Nightmare Stalkers.

“Tallulah’s reward enough,” Wilbur mutters. “Our children are reward enough, aren’t they?”

Phil grins. “That’s very sweet.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Oh it is, it definitely is.” Phil tilts his head. “I’m glad you have something to care about.”

Wilbur scoffs. “I can care about things,” he defends. Phil wonders if they’re really just talking about Tallulah, but cannot for the life of him think of anything else they could be referring to. Instead he directs his attention to Wil, pouting and five seconds away from a complete breakdown.

“You are really similar, huh,” Phil murmurs. “You just want to be a good dad, she just wants to be a good daughter.”

Wilbur shakes his head. “She’s already a good daughter. She’s my daughter.” He tips over ever so slightly. “Mi- mi niña perfecta. La niña perfecta.”

“Oh I know that, mate. I’m just saying. She really does seem like she was made for you.”

Phil scoops Wilbur slightly, pushing him back upright. He’s reasonably anxious, considering they’re on a fifty-something foot tower and if Wilbur fell without a paraglider he’d definitely get hurt. Why the fuck did Wilbur pick this spot to chat again? Couldn’t they have sat on, maybe, the couch?

Wilbur huffs as he’s adjusted, snapping Phil out of his anxiety. “That’d be fucking depressing if she was.”

“What do you mean?”

“Imagine being made to be exactly like someone. Wouldn’t that be horrible?” Wilbur’s voice slurs when he’s deep in thought. “You’re just a- a clone. A mirror. Not a real individual.” He takes a swig. “Doesn’t leave much for free will, does it.”

“No, I guess not.”

“Besides—” Wil swirls the whisky lazily, “I don’t want her to be anything like me.”

“Aw, Wil,” Phil mutters. Wilbur dismisses him with a wave of the bottle. 

“I’m getting paranoid, Phil. I’m paranoid, and yet I’m absent. I don’t want Tallulah to become paranoid, or for her to… abandon everything.” He buries his head in his hands, fingers tightening around his curls. “But I’m scared. I’m scared for her. I’m scared of losing her. I need her to be safe, but I can’t protect her. Sometimes I think, ‘Maybe I should be stricter,’ and then I think, ‘No, that’s not the solution, of course that’s not the solution.’ But I want to keep her safe. I need to.” 

Wilbur sighs, tilts his head to peek an eye out at Phil. “You’re right, Phil. I do want to be a good dad. But hell if I know how to do that.”

Phil exhales. “I think you’re doing a fine job as is.”

“Yeah you’d say that wouldn’t you, you bitch.”

Phil laughs. “Shut up. I mean it. You literally stayed up all night building her a tower. You play her songs. She hasn’t even lost a life. You two are fine.”

“We’ll be fine when I kick that dragon’s ass,” Wilbur says. “Thinks it can just- just fuck off and then take our kids back, huh? Shouldn’t’ve left in the first place, that’s on them.”

“We’ll be ready for it,” Phil assures. “We’ll be ready when it comes.”

“Hell yeah. When it comes.”

He pauses.

“If it comes.”

He takes a swig. Phil can smell the roasted peat.

Wilbur whispers, “And if it doesn’t?”

Phil also has the urge to bury his face in his hands. “I don’t know.”

“We’re being a bit silly about this, aren’t we?” Wilbur leans on the railing, Lagavulin hanging just over the drop. He’s nearly at a ninety degree angle. “We- we’re tiptoeing around it like children. Like we’re five-year-olds.”

Phil can’t help barking out a nervous laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“It didn’t say, ‘The mother is coming back in six days,’ did it?” Wilbur sharply says. Phil turns quiet. “Didn’t- didn’t go, ‘Oh, in six days, the eggs are going away. They’ll be gone. Like your pet goldfish that your mum gave away. The eggs are going away.’ On what, a grand adventure?” He muffles his scoff with another swig. Phil still doesn’t say anything.

“It said-”

“I know what it said, Wil,” Phil says, a bit colder than he intends. 

Wilbur pauses, and Phil knows he’ll say it anyway.

“‘Your children will die.’” Another drink. “Sus hijos morirán.” He chuckles dryly and humourlessly. “Doesn’t sound a lot better in Spanish, does it.”

“It really doesn’t.”

“What are we thinking? Explosion, mobs, /kill?”

“I… don’t want to think about it.” Phil laughs despite himself.

“Yeah. I don’t want to either.”

“Then what the fuck did you bring it up for?”

“Don’t queshon the inber workings of my mind.” He’s getting drunker, leaning far over the railing now. “I just wanna be. Ready.”

Wilbur turns around, still slumped, and looks up. Phil follows his gaze; he’s staring at the window at the top, where Tallulah’s room is. He stares for a long, hard moment, eyes glimmering in the moonlight. Finally he looks at Phil, face blank but tight. 

“’m not a fighter, Phil,” he says quietly. He bows his head again, holding the bottle close to his chest. “But I want to fight for her.”

A sob escapes Wilbur’s mouth, and Phil suddenly realizes he’s crying. Tears drip down and land on the bottle, moonlight making them shimmer like pearls. 

Wilbur cries. And Phil lets him, leaning forward just to hold him.

Wilbur smells of whisky and poppies. 

They stay still for a while, only Wilbur’s shoulders shaking from his sobs filling the night. Distantly, Phil hopes Tallulah can’t hear. He rubs his back firmly. The bottle starts to slip from his grasp, so Phil slyly takes it from him. 

When Wilbur lets the last of his cries out and Phil wipes the last of his tears, he gently straightens him up again somewhat, and starts guiding him towards the door. “I think you need to sleep, Wil.”

“But head will hurty in the morning, Phil,” Wilbur grumbles between sobs.

“I’ll get you a glass of water, mate. But you need to go inside. You might fall off and fucking break your neck.”

“I’d be fine.”

“Yeah, but it’d hurt first.”

Phil is able to wrangle Wilbur into the couch with only a moderate amount of struggle, and twenty minutes later he’s downing a glass of water and groggily handing it to Phil, who takes it with a small smile. Wilbur fixes his gaze onto Phil, eyes wide and mellowed with alcohol, though the effect is starting to ease. He shifts so he’s laying on his side, hands tucked under his cheek. Phil tells him to go to sleep; Wilbur retorts that he doesn’t think he will. Phil snarks back as he heads to the front door, telling him to Go the fuck to sleep, Wil, jesus christ, what will Tallulah think? Wilbur says something about weaponizing his daughter against him, and promptly passes out. Phil laughs, and steps out the door.

The moon is still shining, but starting to dip beyond the wall. Phil takes a deep breath, relishing the absence of alcohol in the air. The first thought that goes through his head is, I should check on Chayanne. 

Did Wilbur get the drinking from him? He sure the fuck hopes not. Imagine if Chayanne started drinking too.

“What a fucking mess,” he says out loud with a bitter laugh, and he goes back to his child.

[chocottang]

(looks at the time, midnight) perfect time for posting!

silly little animatic for a silly little au i will yap about under the cut. but basically, the shadows are humans, and gold is the illegitimate son of mr. golden, so he has to deal with lots of shit. also i KNOW the audio is not synced but IM NOT editing that again. i refuse

ok i will probably not make an actual comic or anything for the au so ill just tell you all about it rn even though im eepy and thus will probably forget things. also i didnt read through All Of That a second time so im sorry if theres mistakes or incomprenhensible sentences

uhhh the idea came to me bc i wanted to make human versions of shadows, but i thought itd be boring if all the shadows were just twins of their human with the exact same trauma. dont get me wrong its very interesting to see two characters deal with the same issues very differently but when its ALL of the pairs it can get boring (to ME, this is just my own feelings). so i went hey, famous people seem to never stop cheating, what if we did that instead? and boom gold illegitimate son was born. also when i say mr. golden i dont mean golden's dad, i mean golden and joy's grandpa. I KNOW. GROSS. thats kinda the point. it also wasn't like, a one night stand that went wrong, this man had a whole ass second family. technically not cheating though bc his wife was already dead, but still not good.

so. gold was just living his silly little normal life with his mom and semi-absent father (they would say he was just very busy with work and travelled abroad and all that, which is the exact same excuse he'd give golden when he want visit gold)(also gold's mom was very much aware of the whole thing from the start) when suddenly him and his mom got into a car accident. gold got scars and a broken arm, while his mom took most of the blow. her upper body was mostly okay bc gold was able to see the car coming from her side and instinctively pulled his mom away, but he could only move her upper body to the side, and her lower back and legs took the blow. so, with his mom hospitalized, the authorities obviously asked him to call his dad to come over. so he did, and mr. golden showed up. and obviously the news immediatly caught on to this and made it a scandal. the local rich old guy with a company that has always had a brand of helping society with their innovations turned out to have a second family, and a son who is around his grandchildren's age. how could u NOT report that. anyways, gold's mom needs to be hospitalized for AT LEAST a couple of months, so gold moves in with his dad. and of course, has to face his dad's "official" family.

now, gold had known that he was "illegitimate" for a while now. it was kind of impossible to ignore with golden's popularity. but he had never really processed it fully, it was sort of an unspoken thing that everyone in the household was aware everyone else knew, but no one wanted to mention it. as if by doing so it would suddenly become real and break the illusion of their "perfect" little family. but now he has to deal with the hard truth (and new trauma due to the car crash! yay!). he decides to try and "compensate" the heavy blow that his dad's reputation took for his, uh, existance, and decided to start helping around the company. he immediatly starts taking way too much work, because he feels guilty and wants to feel validated by his dad, to feel like he's also his "real" family, that he deserves to be called his son. and also because he never got that much attention from him anyways. he's now deathly afraid of losing his family, after almost losing his mom, so he tries his absolute best to be everything his dad wants and do everything he says. he was always kind of a pushover, because his dad was always emotionally distant and bareley showed up, but he had his mom around to compensate, but now that he feels he could lose her at any moment, that flaw skyrocketed in intensity.

that attitude also translates with the rest of the family, especially the cousins: golden, joy and jay. golden DOES NOT trust gold. he's convinced that gold started working in the company because he only wants the money, or the fame, or maybe the whole company (since gold would technically be before golden in the heritage, itd be much easier). but that's mostly his own trauma regarding feeling used for money by almost everyone he loves acting up. golden also dislikes gold bc he reminds him of the things he hates about himself, bending over backwards just to get affection from the old fart. soo yeah golden has issues and gold kind of embodies all of them (like a shadow. get it. haha.)

joy tries VERY hard to be nice to gold and seem accepting and like she's okay with all of this but she has very conflicting feelings. she always kind of idealized her grandpa, so knowing that he actually sucks is kind of driving her crazy (she is unaware of how much golden is fucked up bc honestly shes got fucked up in similar ways, having to appeal to her parents for affection and working her ass off as a maid basically, so it just seems normal). also, she feels iffy about gold, she doesn't distrust him like golden, she truly believes gold is just a normal kid, but she's VERY frustrated about the fact that he started working for the company just like that. she always wanted to work alongside her grandpa, she thought the company's ideals were lovely, but she was always shut off because she's a girl. so she explored her passion for music, which was encouraged, but only as a hobby, while golden got to make a succesful career out of it with the help of the family. and now this random kid who had never had ANYTHING to do with the company is working for it and being taught everything she wanted to know. it's completely unfair and it makes her seethe. but she knows its not gold's fault, and she keeps excusing her family, so she just hides it and hides it and tries to pretend she's okay with all of this.

jay is the only person who seems to be ok with gold. she loves attention and she hates being bored, so a sudden family scandal that gives them tons of media attention and makes all of her posts blow up is literally perfect for her. and it's all thanks to gold! she doesn't find him especially interesting as a person, but everything surrounding him is. and hes a total pushover! so she gets to make him carry her stuff, do things for her and crack jokes at his expense all she wants. she also just finds is funny that he's technically her uncle. gold knows that she's taking advantage of him, but he doesn't mind that much, because she at least doesnt hate him like golden and joy seem to do. and sometimes she's not an asshole, sometimes she genuinly enjoys his presence. let's just say that the bar is in hell

also. if i did things right u will probably tell that gold is fat, especially in comparison to the cousins. and thaaats because the golden family is actually naturally fat, but grandpa encouraged them to be thin to "protect them from the media". golden and jay have quite unhealthy habits, while joy just eats healthy and exercises, which is why she's not stick thin. since gold was never meant to be in the public eye he was allowed to just exist so hes a normal kid who doesnt give a fuck. other design notes, the broken arm and scars represents gold's face markings and completely black hand. and i gave him glasses because everyone gives him glasses and i think thats awesome

also uhh he becomes friends with the villains (who are the student council)nbecause owynn wants to get that golden family clout. gold joins the council as an assistant because hey! being useful! he's good at that and it may earn him a friendship. there he meets cami and they immediately recognize that they're similar. always doing what someone asks, always so serious, always calm and efficient, working towards their goal, never taking up space. soo they spends more time together (also bc gold is her assistant) and start leaning on each other. they become close. they also like that they're so blunt with everyone and each other, it makes conversation easier for them. and also they have a crush on each other because of course they do im PREDICTABLE.

uhhh idk if i have anything left to say if u read all of that hi. i love you

[mysticbeaver]

I mentioned to @fish-bowl-2 I had an idea for a short mistletoe-centered fic lying by the wayside. Thanks for prodding me to do this, it was a bit tough and I spent too long on this silly thing 🥴 but enjoy the read! (or not)

(The characters are older teens in this)

It Is the Tradition

The front door was opened by a beaming Nazz, not-so-Christmas-y music coming from inside the house.

“Heeeyyy, Snazzy… where’s the partyyyy?

“It’s right here, baby!!!”

Standing right behind his partner, Edd opted for a milder “Greetings”, earning a courteous nod from her.

"Has Ed arrived already?"

“Yeah! He’s…” She glanced back inside and giggled. “He’s showing off his dance moves to Kevin and Rolf, actually.”

She let them in and led them to the living room.

“Hey, people… congrats, Ed, you came early.” Eddy punched his arm. “I guess you get an extra present for this."

"Oooh, I can't wait to see..." He skipped in place with excitement.

Eddy moved on to the other two guests with a wicked smile.

“So tell me, handsome...” He reached up and patted the tall farmer’s stubbled cheek. “Didya get any Christmas present for your boyfriend?”

Rolf’s eyes widened. “Boy… friend?”

Swallowing awkardly, Kevin forced a sneer. “Tch! The comedian’s here… the only gay couple around right now is you guys.”

Edd rolled his eyes to hide his embarrassment.

“I see the well-wishing Christmas regards are being regularly exchanged… very reassuring.”

Eddy checked his fingernails absent-mindedly. “It gets kinda lonely, Kev... I was hoping we could strike up a club!"

“Ech…” Kevin stuck out his tongue. “Mind your own business. Can’t dudes be bros for once? Rolf and me, man…” He gave a strong pat on his friend’s back.

“We’re total bros, ain’t that right, Rolfo?”

“Oh, y-yes, Kevin! Eh…” Rubbing his neck, he made a finger-gun gesture. “Righteous, as you say!”

“Huhuh, Kevo’s taught ya well! Been spending lotsa time together, I see…”

“Rolf’s mom made Kevin that sweater, guys!” Nazz walked in the room with a tray of eggnog glasses. “Isn’t that sweet?”

“Y-yeah!” Kevin put a hand on his hip. “Rolf’s parents are just cool like that.”

The short Ed squinted at them. “Eeehh... I got my eye on you…” He glanced at Nazz with a wink and she winked back at him knowingly.

Kevin decided to focus his attention on Ed, who was shifting his legs and feet along to the music, and with a certain intensity to boot.

"Ain’t gonna lie… ya got some good moves, dude!”

“Hehehe, thanks, Ke-whoa!” SLAM!

Ed fell to the ground with a booming thump - in his fun, he’d managed to tie his shoes together through sheer foot-shifting.

“Wow, yer complimenting Ed now? It sure is Christmas time!”

“Hey, Eddy?" Nazz tugged at his arm. "Could you help me in the kitchen a moment? You always say you're good with food...”

“Hehe, just tell me what you need, honey.”

He licked his lips the moment they walked into the kitchen.

“Huh, I don’t think this needs any help.”

“No, actually…”, she whispered, getting closer to him.

“I need another kind of help… those two are driving me mad!” She waved her arms at him, frustrated.

“Who? You mean…” He let out a wheezy laugh. “I getcha... listen, I'll give ya five bucks if you can just get them under the mistletoe, right now.”

"How?"

"Double Dee once told me about, uh... the easiest solution being the best one! It was called, uh, someone's razor, or something like that..." He rubbed his forehead.

"Occam?"

He stared at her in surprise. "You know this stuff?"

"...It's basic philosophy, dude."

He frowned silently for a moment. "Whatever...", he muttered, reaching for one of the treats on the table. "Mmm, yumm-OW!"

She slapped his hand. "Don't steal!"

"Just one...", he pleaded.

"First we have to execute... Operation Mistletoe!" She laughed.

While Ed and Kevin were trying to convince Edd to dance, Rolf peeked for the umpteenth time at the mistletoe hanging down from the rear archway - he’d been eyeing it since his arrival, and he finally took advantage of the commotion to absent himself and examine it. He moved under it, rubbing his stubbled chin as he inspected the decoration with doubtful eyes.

“Mmm... Rolf is not fooled by the false ornament…”

Edd overheard his mumbling and laughed lightly.

“...hey, Ed, check this out…”

He left Ed and Kevin to trade moves and walked up to the perplexed farmer.

“It’s a fake mistletoe, isn't it? Of course you’d be bothered, Rolf.”

“Yes, it is not a real… mistletoe, as it goes in English. You people like to do forgery of plants, yes? Rolf will never understand…”

Edd shrugged. “Well… sometimes one requires an easy decoration for festivities. The symbolic meaning is what’s important, and this is one of the hallmark symbols of Christmas, after all.”

He saw Rolf was clearly puzzled by his last statement.

“Oh! Are you not familiar with the delightful mistletoe custom?”

Rolf shook his head. “In Rolf’s homeland, it is used in winter solstice celebrations… but what does it have to do with the celebration of senseless spending of consumer goods?"

"Um..."

"Gee, that sounds like something you'd say, Sockhead!"

Edd shushed him with a wave of his arm and collected himself. “Ah, Rolf, well..." He proudly stuck a finger up, jumping at the opportunity to teach something to Rolf.

“It’s a tradition which started in Victorian England, in the nineteenth century. It’s quite simple, really. When two, ehm…partners stand under the mistletoe, well…” He fidgeted with his hands. “They have to kiss each other. That’s it.” He shrugged and chuckled shyly.

“Aahhh…” Rolf leaned his head back in understanding. “Rolf’s ears like this meeting-of-mouths-ritual!” He laughed heartily.

Nazz caught Kevin staring vacantly at his ‘buddy’ and went to pinch his cheek, startling him out of his trance.

“Earth to Kevin…”, she whispered, before grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Sorry, Kev… you’ll thank me for this later.”

She suddenly threw him as hard as she could towards Rolf, making him bump roughly into his taller companion. Rolf had to hold him to keep him from tumbling to the ground - they exchanged confused glances before turning to Nazz.

“W-what the hell was that for???”

“Guuuyyysss…”

Beaming, she pointed above their heads. They looked up, and then at each other. Rolf was still holding him, and both their faces went tomato red.

“Uh? N-no way, dude!”, Kevin stuttered, freeing himself from the grasp.

“Ah-ah-ah, you can’t back out of it, Boxhead!”

“You were right, Eddy”, Nazz laughed. “It was that easy!”

"What are you-" Kevin gasped, suddenly feeling Rolf’s hand on his back, pulling him way too close to his face. The farmer scowled defensively at the others.

“The son of a shepherd will not let our honor be mocked! The tradition will be respected."

Mouth agape, Kevin lost his voice completely when Rolf turned to him again.

“We will show loudmouth Ed-boy and go-go-Nazz-girl, yes?” Grinning, he wiggled his mono-brow seductively before closing the distance between them.

Nazz squealed while Eddy erupted in incredulous cackling.

“Way to shut him up, Rolfy!”

Ed started clapping, soon infecting the others - even Edd couldn’t help but join in the scene. Rolf finally pulled away with a proud smile spreading on his blushing face.

“Hohoho! Many thanks, my friends! Many thanks…” He bowed dramatically to them.

Nazz whooped. “It was about time, you guys!”

“Kevo’s still reeling! Hahaha!”

Dazed, he saw Nazz wiggling her hand at the short Ed, a satisfied smirk on her face - he took out a five-dollar note and eagerly handed it to her.

“W-what the…”, Kevin sputtered. Feeling steam come out of his ears, he pointed a finger at the two accomplices.

“Is this a prank??? ‘Cause I swear…”

Rolf looked at him with a hurt expression. “Did you not enjoy Rolf's kiss?"

Kevin pouted, arms crossed. "Not if it's a joke!" He glanced up at him. “Wait… you’re not kidding?”

Rolf’s frown melted into a reassuring smile.

“But of course, Rolf is not jesting, Kevin-boy!”

Kevin still glared at him. "Alright, then..."

He let his friend pull him in and kiss him softly once more.

“Awww, guys!”

“HOORAY FOR KEVIN AND ROOOOLF!!!"

“Dammit, Lumpy, ya didn’t have to burst my eardrum!”

As the two under the mistletoe separated again, Kevin looked at their audience and finally cracked a sheepish smile. He turned back to Rolf, who responed with a similarly goofy grin.

“It is the tradition, yes?”

[calciumcryptid]

CalciumWatches: Never Let Me Go Episode One

This is a very dramatic opening.

Oh, hello daddy issues. That was quick. Not even a minute in.

Nueng: I understand I am not as important to my dad as his work is. // Mom: I'm glad you understand him. :) // Me: Wow.

The father does look punchable. I hope he gets punched.

Eighteen and already put to work. Damn. Rip Nueng.

His father is setting me aflame with anger.

There is going to be an arranged marriage sub-plot isn't there? I can sense it.

Oh, so the father has someone to carry his umbrella but his wife and son have to carry their own? I see how it is.

At least he is self-aware about being a shit dad.

Hmm, that is a suspicious amount of women in the cast. My arranged marriage plot line senses are tingling.

Oh, daddy dearest is dead? I said punched, not shot.

Damn. Okay. Wow. What???

Hmm, the intro is not helping my arranged-marriage senses.

His father JUST died, give the kid two seconds.

Since his father is out of the picture, can I be his step-parent? Nueng, no offense, but your mother is hot.

Oh good, I have a name for his mother. Hellooo Tanya.

The hottest woman, even though she is probably going to cause some mommy issues.

Who is this mysterious man? Men?

Sleeveless Pond, save me. Save me sleeveless Pond.

There is nothing hotter than a person in a white tank top.

I see Palm is a dramatic bitch. Lovely.

DAD???

NOT THE WHITE SHOES- I see you rich brat.

Oh, the pseudo-uncle is going to die.

Damn. No friends. Friendless.

I wonder if there is going to be a secondary couple in this.

I think I am supposed to be paying attention to the music club leader dude's obvious fat crush, but I am too distracted by the Christmas tree.

Oh, there is going to be some homoerotic shooting lessons aren't there?

Palm!

There is something up with Uncle Chanon. :/

Interesting first meeting.

Is one of the problems an arranged marriage (please say no).

Oh, Palm is smitten. You can't convince me otherwise.

[ Ad from where Legal Site got the Episode: Wait, hold on. When did this come out? 2022? When did KinnPorsche come out? Also 2022. That explains why I got a MileApo jumpscare (affectionate). ]

Nueng, why are you holding a gun? We both know you can't use it.

Right into the pool, standing close and awkward while on is half-naked. This is a bizarre thing to do with a man you met like not even twenty-four hours ago.

Oh, so Pond has the kicked puppy look patented.

Once again, bizarre thing to say to a guy you met not even twenty-four hours ago.

Oh, yay, Palm is having fun! Get that bag.

Nueng, why are you lurking?

Palm, why are you following?

Okay Boys Love. I am pretty sure the logistics of that happening are not in the narrative's favor. It is very funny, they both have a startled dog look but like Palm may naturally put his hand there but their bodies are not-

Sorry Nueng, I'm fairly sure you have a dog now.

Oh, the real uncle(?) emerges.

Tanya is a queen. I want her carnally.

Uncle Kit, as in fox kits?

Uncle Kit, that is a bizarre thing to say.

He isn't going to try and marry Tanya is he?

Oh that kid who followed him earlier is probably his son, isn't it? He wants to take over the business and have his son in line? Damn.

NOT THE FATHERS DAY EVENT! FOUL! VILE! EVIL SERIES!

Already offering to catch you, what a nice man.

That is like three boys love too close shots in one episode??? Damn.

I take it back, Nueng's father seemed absent but nice.

Oh damn, he was shot on his birthday. My brain skipped over that detail.

Oh, Nueng has a brain. Lovely. When are his braincells held hostage?

How am I suppose to feel about Nueng's dad? I can't tell.

That is the fourth time they've gotten very close together. Magnets.

Wait, no, this is so sad. Why is Nueng's request Palm being his friend? What is with these sad businessman, when I am I going to get a happy businessman? (Well, I guess Kinn was happy but in the dark romantic comedy way.)

Thanks dad for drafting me into being your boss son's bodyguard.

Hello Chopper, can't wait to meet you. I bet you are evil.

The face Nueng pulled when Ben got closer to him in the preview. I love this one specific face Phuwin makes. It is amazing.

[pagerspages]

It's not fair

I’m going to complain a bit in this post, just fair warning. 

You know what just isn’t fair? The fact that my absent father can just waltz back into my life any time it’s convenient for him and I just let him. The fact that I crave his attention and approval so fucking much that I won’t stand up for my own feelings. The fact that he has told me and my sisters multiple times that he will “do better” and just never does. It’s not fair. 

My parents got divorced when I was five or six. From what I understand he was cheating on my mother for quite a long time. From the ages of maybe 7-14 I would see my father maybe every other month if I was lucky. My sisters and I would always be the one to reach out to him. I played little league baseball because he wanted me to and he didn’t even come to any of the games. There are good memories too of course. My first NBA game. My first hockey game. A trip to California. It wasn’t all bad all the time, which kinda makes it all sting just a little more. 

My father got married again when I was a teenager. My sisters and I didn’t even meet her before they got married. They literally called us on the way to Vegas. We assumed it was just going to be them but later saw that her adult children went with them. I think I’ll be salty about that for a very long time. 

I remember once when I was really little I missed him so much I used my moms phone and called him a bunch while he was at work. He was PISSED when he finally answered and just heard me on the other end. I don’t remember my childhood very well. I know that’s because of the emotional abuse/neglect of my father. 

We had a gender reveal party for my sister's baby last week and our father just happened to be in town so he came to it. As he was leaving I asked him if he wanted to do something the following day and he said yes and I told him to just let me know. I proceeded to call off work, get ready and just wait. I waited all day and never heard from him. I felt like I was seven years old again, sitting by the window waiting for him to come visit. 

Three months ago I called him to ask him if I could spend the night at his house in Arizona as I was passing through on a road trip I’m taking for my 25th birthday. He said yes and he took the time off and I thought that was that. I got a text from him today asking if I was for sure planning on spending the night. My stepmother has been in the area for a couple weeks helping her daughter that just had a baby and has had some complications. Apparently she just has to come back that same day I was supposed to spend the night. I told him it was fine and I was already sleeping in my car for most of my trip so if he didn’t make it back in time not to worry about it. I wish I had the emotional energy to just yell and get angry at him.

[compo67]

I'm not the original Post Hole Diggers anon but I wanted to say I love that story so much and definitely consider it a favorite, but I don't reread it as often as I would like to because so much about Jared's living situation just makes me so angry and upset. I thought it was interesting how you said Jared's mom in PHD resents him. I don't understand why at all. Could you talk about that a little more perhaps?

Hi there, anon!

I'm happy to talk more about PHD. :) Long post ahead!

Think of this from Kate's perspective. Her husband walks out on her and her kid. But she's supported by her in-laws (Grams and Gramps) and raises Jared without too much of an issue (money has always been tight). Then Gramps dies and Grams decides to move into assisted living (for her own reasons). Suddenly, Kate is left on her own with Jared in a house her in-laws have given her but she can't keep up with the mortgage payments on her own. Jared is about 13 at this point and his odd jobs around the neighborhood and in town keep him fed, while Kate works two or three jobs to keep up with the house.

Kate meets Luke and doesn't necessarily fall in love with him, but she tells Jared she does. Kate and Luke have similar problems: how to support their families. And then Kate gets pregnant, which adds another kid to an already crowded mix. Luke has 3 boys, all of whom command Kate and Luke's attention more than Jared does. Jared has learned how to be self-sufficient--as much as a teenager can be.

Kate starts to resent Jared by the time he's fifteen/sixteen years old. She was a mother at that point, working three jobs. If she did it, she doesn't understand why Jared won't/can't. She's pulled in so many directions--work, Baby Rose, the boys, Luke--and Jared only has to care for himself. She has no time to spare for him and his moods or complaints.

The older Kate gets, the less she likes her life. Sure, Luke is nice to her and he's actually, surprisingly, a decent guy. But he's also a fairly absent parent to the boys, which puts more on Kate, which puts more on Jared. Jared could sleep with Baby Rose, but he can't stand her crying in the middle of the night--and he knows that if he starts paying more attention to Rose, he will be the one taking care of her the most often. Kate resents that.

Kate is upset that Jared isn't helping around the house as much as she wants him to. She's upset that she let herself get pregnant when they had enough going on with 4 kids. Jared is upset that he doesn't have his mother 1:1 anymore. He's upset that Grams went to live in the assisted living place instead of staying with them. Everyone is upset about their situation.

In Kate's mind, Jared should put school on hold so he can help contribute to the family. They need the extra income, he knows how to care for a baby, and he's the oldest teen. School will be there for him to go back to if he wants... later.

She sees Jared as having very little responsibilities and obligations. When he complains or speaks up about something he doesn't like, she has no patience or bandwidth left to A) do something about it and B) care. He knows there's no way to get a room of his own right now, and still, he keeps asking for one.

Jared has what she wants--the freedom to come and go as he pleases. He doesn't seem to appreciate that.

Then, enter Jensen. A handsome, amiable, wealthy alpha who used to be in a relationship with Luke. Instead of treating Jensen with civility, she chooses hostility. What's Jensen doing around here? Does it have something to do with Luke? Luke denies this, saying that what they had is in the past, but can Kate really trust that? Is Luke really at construction sites all day or is he hanging out with Jensen? It's probably way more fun to hang around Jensen--he's got a big house, a large plot of land, no kids, and spending money. (Whenever Jensen overpays Luke, Luke skims some off the top to put away for the kids. He doesn't show Kate 100% of his earnings.)

Kate doesn't want Jensen around anyone in her family, but Luke insists that the money Jensen gives him and Jared is worth more than her pride (or whatever she wants to call it). Kate and Luke begin to disagree more and more on things, especially Jared. Money is tight, the baby needs so much attention, and everything is falling apart. Nothing seems like it's going to get any better for Kate.

It's tough to picture a mom resenting their only son, but Kate is just that kind of person. She's not a good mom. She used to be, but right now she's just going through the motions and barely getting by.

Then she's got her mother-in-law calling and asking questions. This makes her feel threatened and small, even if Grams has nothing but good intentions. So she lashes out at Jared. She knows that as soon as he can, he's going to leave--just like his father. But she can't leave. She doesn't have what Jared has: independence.

And in the end, she's proven right. Jared does leave. And he doesn't even bother to say goodbye to her. Just like his father.

Kate is an emotionally immature parent. She's not like Sheri in Photo Op or Jared in Punzel. She doesn't hate Jared. She's just too caught up in resentment to understand him. And she's too caught up working two or three jobs that she has no time to work through her emotions.

Resentment is unresolved anger. She's angry about how her life turned out. This isn't what she pictured or wanted.

TLDR; Kate is an emotionally immature parent and barely hanging on by a thread in regard to her own physical/emotional capabilities. She resents Jared for the independence he has and his repeated refusal to help out more around the house.

If this family had just $100 more every month (that's like $1000 in modern money), they'd be more financially secure and things could potentially calm down. But they're losing money. Everything is tenuous. Happiness isn't forever or for everyone in Kate's perspective.

I hope this helps, anon. I think Kate might be the most flawed character I've written. I think readers want her to be a good mom because I've usually written good moms. That's just not what we get here. Jared will benefit from reading the book "Children of Emotionally Immature Parents" later in life.

Omg this post got away from me. Sorry! Bless you if you've read this far. <3