#one day i will blow that store up with every parent ever. it will be so funny ���😐😩😑

[french-goodbye]

in the low lamplight

summary: your boyfriend is perfect, except for one tiny little detail.

warnings: conversations about sex; dry humping; consensual slapping and chocking; praise kink; fingering; p in v sex. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 18+.

notes: i'm tired of experienced steve and virgin reader all the time. i want steve and confident slutty reader who's more experienced than him and blows his mind. also a little praise kink bc i feel like my boy would be insanely into that. also my first time writing smut!!! i! am! nervous! title from work song by hozier.

it's not that steve is bad in bed, it's quite the opposite actually. but he's just... extremely vanilla. and you totally get it. most of his sexual experiences were with young suburban girls in the back of his car or in his room when his parents weren't home. he was a couple of girls' first time and knowing steve, he probably put their own comfort above his wants. not probably, definitely.

you just wish he was... kinkier. nothing too intense, just something a little more exciting. and it's not that you don't get to cum, you totally do. he knows exactly how to move inside of you, the spots that make your body burn in need and he gives the best head ever, which is a nice bonus.

but after three months together and having sex everytime you have the opportunity to, because you're still in the honeymoon stage of the relationship, it's getting kinda repetitive. it's always missionary, maybe you on top if you're in a particularly bossy mood. but he nevers puts you on all fours or asks you to sit on his face or even sixty-nine. nothing.

you know steve's attracted to you (he isn't exactly shy to tell you how much) so you know that's not the issue, so you've tried so hard to subtly ask him to be rougher, you've tried placing his hand on your neck and squeezing, you've tried guiding his hands to your ass, but you've had no success so far. every single time he'll respectfully pull his hand away and press them to your shoulder or keep them there but not do anything.

but tonight. tonight is the night, you've decided. his parents are out of town (as usual) and it's just you two in the house, you've made sure he's free the whole day the tomorrow (no driving little shits around or shifts at the video store) so you'll have the whole friday night and the next day to yourselves.

you even splurged a bit and purchased a set of overpriced lingerie, way too expensive for just two little scraps of fabric and shaved, exfoliated and moisturized your entire body the night before. you still haven't approached the subject with him, but you've already planned a careful yet objective way to approach the subject and even practiced what you'd say in the mirror and bought a cosmo magazine. you're not exactly proud of yourself for that last one.

your plan is finally set in motion after you and steve get home from work and throw yourselves on his couch, half watching a movie and eat leftovers from the dinner you cooked the night before. when you're both done, you tell him you need a shower, where you use that lavender soap he likes and spray on the perfume he gave you on your birthday. after you're done, he's waiting in his room for you, halfheartedly flipping through the book you're currently reading.

"you can take your shower now" you tell him distractedly, holding the towel you've wrapped around yourself tightly to your body. he finally looks up and realizes your state of undress, his eyebrows shooting up.

"what are you doing?"

you stop going through your over night bag to throw him a confused look, "what are you talking about?"

"you used that soap i like, and that perfume i gave you that you only use on special occasions..." he stands up from the bed and stalks to you, watching you from narrowed eyes, like he's suspicious you're planning his murder. "what are you planning?"

you fake surprise, your hand coming up to clutch imaginary pearls. "me? why would i scheme something against my dear loving boyfriend?"

he looks at you unimpressed and you stand on your tip toes to rest your hands on his chest, his hands coming to support you on your waist and you whisper next to his ear, "okay, maybe i do have something planned... why don't you go take your shower and find out?"

he glances at you one last time before squeezing your waist and letting you go.

"fine..." he sighs dramatically, "i'll go"

once he's locked the door behind him, you put on your recently purchased underwear and bra on. you throw on one of his old highschool t-shirts since he once mentioned how much he likes seeing you wearing them.

by the time he gets out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam surrounding him, you're sitting on his bed, rubbing lotion on your legs and he's shirtless, wearing only gray sweatpants, that hang low on his hips, his hair half dry as he finishes towel drying it.

you tsk and shake your head disheartened. "oh- wow, okay, harrington"

he glances at you once and goes back to drying his hair. "huh?"

"the chest, the scandalous dick print..." you explain and gesticulate towards him. "are you trying to seduce me or something?"

"why are you looking at my dick? you interested?" your stomach burns with insinuation but you ignore him, simply tucking your lotion back into your bag.

"i mean... it's hard not to notice when you're whoring yourself around" you shrug with fake nonchalance.

he scoffs loudly at you, going back into the bathroom quickly to hang both of your towels and getting on your way when you're about to climb on the bed after having dropped your bag in the corner.

"i'm whoring myself?" he looms over you, hand resting on your shoulder to snap the strap of your bra that's peeking from his shirt "you're the one wearing a new bra babe."

you don't answer, simply slapping his hand away and climbing on the bed, intentionally giving him a peek of your ass as you finally sit near the foot of the bed, with your legs crossed.

"why don't you turn off the lights and come take a look?"

he earnestly complies, almost tripping on a sweater he left on the bedroom floor earlier that day as he does what you asked. he lights the lampshade on his bedside table and walk towards you, leaning down to reach you when you stop him.

"no" you say firmly. "go sit on the bed, near the headboard."

he complies, but not without giving you a look. "ooh, bossy"

you turn to watch him and can't help the spark that lights up in your tummy. he looks ridiculous attractive, hair fluffy from not being styled properly, his hairy chest all on display for you and his thick spread legs giving a privileged view of his dick in those sweatpants. it's almost criminal, but you swallow it down and keep going with your plan.

you crawl to him on all fours, purposefully, until you're between his legs.

"i don't know about bossing " you run a long manicured fingernail through his thick chest hair. "but i was thinking about something i'd like to try with you..." you only stop when your fingers are almost at his waistband and you swirl your fingers around his bellybutton. you glance at his face and he almost looks dazed, eyes following your finger avidly.

hook, line and sinker.

your boyfriend was almost too easy sometimes.

"yeah, babe... whatever you want" you hold back your laughter and finally climb on top of his legs, his eyes following the curve of your hips and your bare legs as you straddle him.

"how do you feel about chocking?" you ask, making his gaze shift to your face.

"chocking? are you serious?"

"yeah, i think it'd be really good to have your hands around my neck" his fingers dig tightly on your hips, but you can tell he's still unsure.

"what if i hurt you?"

"if it makes you feel better, we can have a safe word and we can immediately stop if one of us says it. no questions asked"

"what if you can't speak?"

"then i can just tap you three times, like this?" you demonstrate, tapping his shoulder. "is that okay?"

he nods quietly, so you ask: "what if i do it on you first so you know what it feels like?"

"yeah, sure"

you gently put your hands on his throat, not applying pressure yet, just resting there.

"you just have to make sure you squeeze the sides, not on top so you don't stop airflow" you explain, spreading your fingers so they're on each side of his throat and squeezing carefully. steve himself is more surprised than you when his breath stutters and he lets an almost groan out.

"did you like that?"

"fuck yeah, that's super hot" he tells you breathlessly, surprising you with a forceful kiss. he manages to distract you, his tongue slipping into your mouth and brushing against yours as his fingers squeeze your hips and start guiding you to grind on his lap. you let him call the shots for a moment, slowly moving your hips against his now half hard cock and sinking your fingers on his hair to scratch his scalp lovingly.

however, when his hands start to wander underneath your borrowed shirt you bite his lip softly, letting it slot back in place as you pull away.

he's about to complain, big brown eyes staring at you and almost pouting. you press your pointer finger to his lips, silencing him, hips still moving at a torturously slow pace against him.

"there's one more thing, actually" you move your finger away and trace his bottom lip carefully.

"more?" his eyebrows raise in question.

"what about you... i don't know, maybe you can be a rough with me? like slapping me a little bit"

"slapping?! babe, i don't wanna hurt you and i don't-"

"you slap my ass all the time!" you accuse him, reminding him of all the times you'd walk past him or bend down and he had slapped your butt teasingly.

"yeah, jokingly"

"babe, i trust you" you grip his face, forcing him to look at you. "i know you'd never hurt me if i didn't ask you to. i just think it'd be really hot, and who knows... maybe you'll like it too. and if you really don't like it we'll never speak of this again" you shrug, gently pushing his hair from his face.

"you sure?" you nod and press a quick kiss to his lips.

"if you wanna stop just say red, okay? anytime."

"yeah, i like that"

"you'll tell me if you wanna stop, right?" you press another quick kiss to his lips in thanks.

he nods eagerly "you too, okay? just say the word and we'll stop" you nod in agreement. "okay... but now what? do i just... jump right into it?"

"no... what about we start the way we always do before having sex?" you smirk, starting to move your hips in slow circular motions again and his hands slide down your back to slip under your t-shirt again.

he laughs huskily next to ear, making you shiver. "we're really good at that", his lips make contact with the skin of your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses there. you keep moving on top of him, hands sinking into his hair and keeping him there.

"fuck, steve" you whine when he sucks at a sensitive spot on your neck, his hands squeezing your thighs roughly, moulding fat like dough underneath his fingertips.

suddenly you feel a sharp sting on your backside as steve slaps your ass. you whine deep in your throat and your hips stutter in their rhythm against his lap.

"oh, you really like it when i do that"

"god, i do" you breathlessly tell him with a smile, tugging his hair harshly to guide him to your mouth. "you like this too, don't you? just wanna give me what i need, huh baby?"

"i do, i do. just want my girl to feel good" he whines against your mouth, while he spreads your ass and digs his fingers into your skin.

you kiss him some more, until you can feel his now hard cock against you, through the lace fabric of your underwear and his sweatpants. his hand lift up your t-shirt and carefully takes it off of you.

"god, you're gorgeous" you push on his chest gently until his back is against the headboard so you can show him the whole thing, from the intricate lace to the small straps keeping everything together. "you got this for me?" he teases you, his hands playing with your underwear, pulling it and letting it snap against the skin of your hip.

"yeah..." you answer distractedly, his cock rubbing in a very nice spot near your covered clit. his hand moves up to cup your breast, his thumb rubbing your pebbled nipple through your bra. "you like it?"

"fuck yeah, i love it" one of his hand cups your breast, while the other pushes the fabric of your bra down so he can pull and twist your nipple.

you're already a mess on top of him, feeling the wetness on your underwear sticking to your folds, when he lowers his head to suck your nipple into his mouth and his hand plays with your other breast. the nails of your left hand dig half crescent moons on his bare shoulders while the other tug on his hair to keep him there and your head drops back in pleasure.

his hand stops massaging your breasts and you're about to complain when you feel it start to slip down your stomach and hook under your underwear to rub his fingers through your wetness, his knuckles grazing your clit. you hold him tighter, a loud moan leaving your lips when he sinks two fingers inside of you.

"yes, yes, yes, baby" you whine, hiding your face in his hair as he realeases your nipple with a lewd pop.

"you're so fucking wet" he rasps against you and sucks a mark on the swell of your breast, pumping his fingers in and out of you as the palm of his hand rubbing on your clit everytime he moves. "god, you feel so good around my fingers. can't wait to have my dick inside you."

you're lost in the rhythm of it, his palm brushing your clit at every stroke, the feeling of his lips sucking on your chest and his hips bucking underneath yours occasionally. but you finally reach your peak when his free hand slips down your back and slaps your ass again, harder this time, palming it underneath his fingertips.

"that's it... come for me, baby" you pull him to your mouth again as you come down and he guides you through it, still feeling yourself clenching on his fingers as you twitch in his lap.

"god, you're so fucking hot" you whisper against his mouth, still breathless. "you're so good to me, baby. such a good boy"

suddenly, he's holding you tighter and manhandling you, roughly dropping you on your back and looming over you between your knees. before you can react, he's ripping off his sweatpants and throwing it on his bedroom floor.

he stands completely naked in front of you, helping you spread your legs. you eye him lustfully, from his mussed hair to his throbbing cock standing tall, the tip pink and dripping with a little pre cum.

"can i go down on you?" you ask him avidly, starting to lift yourself up but he stops you, holding your wrist above your body.

"nuh-uh, baby. i'm gonna blow my load if you do that" he denies and you giggle, about to complain when he licks the palm of his free hand and strokes himself one, two, three times, shutting you up real quick. he's starting to align himself with your entrance when you stop him.

"wait, wait" he stops immediately.

"what? what's wrong?"

"i want you from behind"

he groans, dropping his head on the curve of your neck and letting go of your wrists. "you really can't say shit like that to me if you want me to last"

you giggle and tap his shoulder sympathetically, "you'll live". you lightly scratch his back, sliding your hands from his shoulder to his lower back and wrap your legs around his hips, feeling the tip of his cock nudging your inner thigh. "now... why don't you put me on my knees, handsome?"

he quickly moves to reposition you, helping you lift yourself up and pushing your spine down gently when you get on your knees. you lower your torso all the way until your chest is pressed against his bedsheets, lifting your ass up.

"fuck, baby. you look so good like this" he says when he slots himself behind you.

"maybe you should listen to me more, harrington" you tease, looking at him from over your shoulder as he kneads your ass.

"maybe i should, pretty girl" he answers distractedly, and you feel his thumb spreading your entrance. "look at this pretty pussy"

you moan and try to wriggle in the hold he has on your hips, "steeeve-"

he laugh mockingly and starts rubbing the head of his cock against your folds. "you this desperate babe?"

before you can answer he starts sinking himself inside, both of you sighing at the feeling. when he's finally inside you can't help the moan that escapes you, his big cock filling you up beautifully and the stretch in this position making you feel so full. however, his strokes are slow and languid and while that's nice, it's not exactly what you need.

"come on, babe" you grumble, trying to rock your hips against his grip. "fuck me like you mean it"

he scoffs and speeds up, his hand wrapping around your hair to press your face against his mattress and to keep you still, changing the angle slightly and pressing right against your spot inside of you.

"is this how you want it?" he huffs, slapping you again.

"oh god, yes. right there!"

he pulls you up until you're both kneeling on the bed, his hips slapping against your ass. his free hand climbs up your chest until it's resting on your neck. "do you want-?"

"yes, i want it. please, please, choke me" you interrupt, begging him to keep going, begging him for more. his fingers carefully start squeezing you throat and you wrap your hand around his to guide him until the pressure is just right.

"squeezing my cock so tight, baby. should've told me you wanted this sooner."

you don't get to answer, his free hand suddenly slipping down to rub circles on your clit and you're gone, your orgasm hitting you like a fright train. he helps you ride it out, until you gently pull his hand away and bend down again, resting your weight on your elbows.

"your turn, baby" you tell him, tilting your head slightly so you can see him.

he starts babbling and pressing you harder against the bed, a clear sign that he's close himself. he bends down, his chest against your back until he can stretch his hand out to hold yours against the mattress and he can babble against your ear about how good you feel, how perfect you are for him, how much he loves being inside you.

"that's it, babe. you made me feel so good, it's your turn now" you tell him, still slightly breathless and sensitive around his cock. "please come, need you to come so bad"

"god, i'm gonna cum" and it's all it takes to feel him pull out and finish himself off on your back. you're both still for a second as you catch your breath and he squeezes your hand still intertwined in his gently. when you turn your face to the side to see him, he presses a kiss to your cheek.

he taps your hips gently as he gets up and goes to the bathroom, coming back quickly to wipe you and himself clean with a wet washcloth. when he's done he throws it on top of the rest of his dirty laundry, still thrown on his bedroom floor.

when he finally turns to you, you're finally laying on your back and getting comfortable on his pillow. steve throws himself next to you and his arms immediately wrap around your waist. you hug him back, guiding his head to rest on top of your bare chest, now littered with purpling marks.

"you had fun, pretty girl?"

"you couldn't tell?" you laughter, his head shaking slightly against your chest as you comb his hair away from his face and his breath against your skin.

"god, i'm obsessed with you" he complains, hiding his face on your boob. you laugh, gently coaxing his face away so you can see him.

"that's good," you smooth the messy hairs on his eyebrow. "i'm pretty obsessed with you too"

"we're pretty perfect for each other then"

"you should keep me forever" you tease, tracing his features gently. he presses a kiss to your sternum and gets comfortable against you.

"maybe i will"

it sounds like a pretty good deal.

[ghoststyles]

Casanova

HIIIII 🤍 Here is a little piece I've been working on for a while! This is inspired by the song Casanova by Rayland Baxter. Harry is a manipulative little twat in this, so bare with me 🤍

7.5K words;

TW: SLIGHT mommy kink. He doesn't call her mommy but he calls her mama and Miss/Missy. P in V sex, oral sex, phone sex. FACETIME SEX <3 Slight mentions of suicide. EXTREME drug and alcohol abuse. Arrests, jail. the works.

ENJOY AND GIVE ME A BOOP IF YOU LIKE IT :D

______________________________________________________________

Money, all I ever want is money But I never wanna work for the money So I borrow the money from a woman

Harry Styles knew who he was from a young age. A charmer. A flirt. He uses his wits and his good looks to manipulate the people around him until they have no choice but to give in, conning them and infiltrating their lives for his own gain.

His days are simple; He sleeps until 11, combs his hair into a perfect swirl of chocolate curls, brushes his perfectly white and straight teeth, spritzes his neck with his ridiculously priced Tom Ford cologne, climbs into his Porsche Cayenne to hit the gym, and grab an $18 smoothie for the ride home. From there, he lets the day unfold how it pleases, until it’s time to go to the club with his friends. Here and there, he’ll meet up with his dealer and his bookie to spice it up. 

Rinse. Reuse. Repeat. 

As a child, Harry was dirt poor. He’d never let anyone know that, however. His perfectly curated image blossomed the minute he got to college, leaving any ounce of mediocrity behind. His friends were none the wiser, assuming Harry was there blowing his trust fund like the rest of them, when really, he was a charity case.

Every day, he’d walk to the corner store for cigarettes for his dad and cans of tuna fish, stealing a small item to try and feel something. The owner, Mr. Abbott, knew Harry stole from him, but never said a word. He’d return to their one bedroom apartment, flicking the light on, only to find the electric bill hadn’t been paid. 

His parents are not addicts or criminals, by any means. If they were, he’d at least have a touching back story. Neither of them have the drive or the desire to succeed like he does. They lived their simple lives, worked paycheck to paycheck to support him and his siblings and never worked for more. 

On the day he left for college, he vowed to himself to never let anyone see him as the poor, pathetic boy he was. He’ll put his own silver spoon in his mouth, if he must. 

So, as he sits high and mighty on his throne after doing a few lines off a pretty girl’s tits in the VIP section of his favorite club, The Viper, surrounded by his fellow socialite friends, he thinks of one person.

You.

Harry isn’t unemployed, per se, but, he doesn’t exactly have a job, either. Two years ago, at the ripe age of 21, he graduated magna cum laude from university, with top marks in all of his classes. But, he knew he didn’t want to work a traditional job. He wanted to travel, he wanted to live lavishly, and he wanted to party.

That’s where you come in. The gorgeous, alluring and kind-hearted woman that feeds the beast that is his lifestyle. He wouldn’t change it for the fucking world.

Swiping aimlessly one day on the dating apps, he stopped his scroll abruptly to study your profile. You’re perfectly curated - the collection of photos reflecting your outgoing personality and beauty. 

38. Looking for some fun. Dog mom. CEO. Let me spoil you <3

Seeking a male ages 21-28.

His eyebrow quirks. A sugar mommy? Is that a thing?

He swipes right, hoping deep down you match. This could be it. This could be his way in. The funds from his financial aid are quickly dwindling, and he’d be sooner caught dead than with a part-time job. 

He dawdles around his apartment for a few hours, pacing the room to see if you matched with him. The possibility of this arrangement is scratching an itch he’s been desperate to quell. 

He readies himself to meet his friends at the club, placing cologne on his neck and wrists. For good measure, he adjusts himself in his trousers to get a little blood flowing down there. 

As he plucks his keys from the door, he hears the familiar ping from the dating site ring out from his laptop. Stopping in his tracks, he pivots to stand at his desk. He swallows thickly before entering his passcode.

Congratulations, Casanova94, you matched with BabyHoneyxo

A dazed smile makes its way to his lips, his dimple popping significantly. This is going to be good.

Can you believe I never met her? Can you believe she never met me, too? But she calls me everyday, telling me to behave And no I never listened

Now, almost two years later, you and Harry have still never met in person. But, that’s by your request. You want a companion. A call boy. Someone who will always answer the phone when you need it. And ever since you inherited your family’s wealth and company, you want someone to spoil.

It started off slow; texts asking about one another’s day, learning about hobbies and interests. Then, the wire deposits came in. Harry wasn’t sure if he had hearts in his eyes or dollar signs. You don’t tell him how to spend the money, but you definitely drop hints.

“Get yourself a new outfit, baby. Then send me a picture,” you smiled lazily on FaceTime one night. “Maybe you can find something to match the Porsche.”

Harry chuckles boyishly, “You’re too good to me. I just went shopping last week!” 

He has you eating out of the palm of his hand. 

“I know, I know. I just want my baby boy to be happy. Can you pull yourself out for me, baby? Wanna see you,” you purr, making yourself comfortable on your king sized bed in your quiet penthouse. You’re winding down for bed, even though your lover is just getting ready for the night. 

“Mhm,” Harry responds, voice an octave higher and desperate sounding. He slides himself out, letting his cock harden slowly in his hands. “My friends will be here soon, Missy.”

“That’s okay, bubba. We’ll be quick. Mmm, look how big and gorgeous you are,” your sultry tone sends shivers up his spine. He adjusts the camera so you’re looking at his abdomen from below his thick cock. 

“My perfect boy,” you moan out as you touch your clit for the first time this evening. “Always so good for me.”

“Yes, Missy. Wanna be good for you. Can I touch myself harder now?”

“Yeah, baby, go ahead. Squeeze that big cock. Tell me when you’re close.”

At this point, you’re furiously rubbing your clit, and gently teasing a finger inside. His breaths are becoming more labored as he pumps his cock at a faster pace. You pause just before your climax, sending your heart rate to a thunderous pace you can hear the ringing in your ears. 

You look over at your phone propped up next to you to find your little love sweating and fisting himself hurriedly. The whimpers coming from the other end make the hairs on your arms stand up. After a beat, you continue the assault on your clit, starting off slow in order to reach that peak again. 

“I-I’m close, Missy. Please let me cum. I f-feel so good,” at the tail end of his begging, he moans deeply. 

“Uh-uh. Who always cums first, baby?”

“You, Mama. You cum first,” he pants, his eyes making panicked contact with yours. 

“That’s right. Good boy. I’m so close baby,” you squeak out as you stick two fingers in your cunt. You cry out, at your release, gently tweaking your nipple with your other hand.

Harry isn’t far behind, taking one last swipe over his tip, using his other hand to cup his balls. He cums all over his fist, small specks of white littering his belly. He whimpers again, barely able to open his eyes. 

“Let me see, baby,” you whisper, waiting for him to show you his load. He pans the camera silently, the haze already leaving his head. But he’d never tell you that. 

“Thank you, Missy. I feel so good.”

“Mmm, bet you do, baby. Now go clean up and have fun with your friends. I’ll talk you tomorrow. Behave!”

“Okay, I will. Goodnight.”

The minute Harry presses ‘end’, an ounce of remorse bubbles in his chest. Just an ounce. He rises from his bed to jump in the shower, ridding him of his guilt and shame. 

Sure, you’re gorgeous, and nice. But you’re not what’s getting him off. Or so he likes to tell himself. Throughout your sessions on FaceTime, Harry’s mind wanders to the girls he’s hooked up with the weekend before, and the countless drugs he’ll consume on a night out. That’s what gets his rocks off. 

You’re the means to his ends. The gateway to his wildest dreams. He’s going to hold onto you for as long as he can, even if he has to get off over the phone a few nights, or pretend to care about the philanthropy you’re supporting that week. 

Harry should be your only philanthropy, he thinks to himself. This is the easiest job he’s ever done. And it only makes it better that he can do whatever he wants, with no consequences.

As he gets out of the shower, his prick still swinging in the air, he picks up his phone to see a Venmo payment from you.

Y/N L/N paid Harry Styles - $2,000.00 - 😘

Without even hesitating, Harry, heart rate rising a bit, opens up a text field  - to his club promoter. He ignores the dozens of texts from family members over the last few weeks. He’ll make his yearly obligation call to his mother at some point.

Hey, Mike! Can we upgrade to V.I.P tonight? I can put $2K down now.

He’ll thank you later. Tonight, he’s the hero of his friend group. A slight nervousness prickles on his neck. Harry isn’t naive - he knows he should be smarter with his money - your money. But you haven’t given him any reason to believe the well will run dry any time soon. 

So far, despite your generosity, Harry still lives paycheck to paycheck. He blows his money on extravagant trips, nights out at the club, and plenty of booze and coke. It’s times he hopes to look back on one day and smile. He swears to you he’s saving the money and working towards investing and buying a house. 

Scout’s honor. 

I got a real bad feeling, I'ma let her down Got a hole in my pocket and I'm running around Spending all of her money on drugs and things To keep my mind from runnin' Back to the hole that I came from

Every night that he steps out of his apartment, he shakes the nagging feeling in his gut, the embodiment of the life he left behind. He calls his Uber Black to take him to the Viper, his little white baggy in the breast pocket of his Burberry overcoat. 

He nods to the driver when he opens his door and proceeds to pour a small line of the substance onto the screen of his phone, but not without seeing another text from you.

Mrs. Robinson 🤍: Enjoy the night, sweet boy! Be safe xo

Harry smiles to himself at your contact in his phone. You all but had a fit when you found out he’d never seen The Graduate. Once he saw it, his world changed.

Swiping away your message, he plugs up his nostril, inhaling sharply as he moves his face over the surface of the screen. He grunts lightly, throwing his head back and shaking it out. That should hold him over until they’re in their secluded area of the club. 

The car pulls up to the club around 11:45, the house music already bumping. The line looks brutal. He scans it to see if he spots any 10s waiting that can keep him company later. Miles, Marquise and Jade are already inside at their table.

The bouncers greet Harry, bumping his fist and patting him on the back. He can feel the eyes of the nobodies in line glaring at him enviously. When you spend the average person’s salary in one night at the club, you eagerly reap the benefits. 

As he’s escorted through the crowd by the five-foot-nothing hostess, his senses are on high alert. He can hear his heart beating over the music and can feel the bass shaking the floors. He smiles tightly at the girl as she leads him to his table and scurries back into the crowd. 

Marquise and Miles, his best friends from undergrad stand to greet him, as Jade greets him from the lap of her catch of the day, a burly, bearded dude already glowing from sweat and the 8-ball they’re about to dig into. 

Taking his first swig of the Don Julio his regular bottle service girl, Tasia, pours into his mouth, he cracks a wicked smile, convincing himself there’s no where else he’d rather be.

Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

~

“So,” you start quietly on your daily FaceTime coffee date. You’re perched in your home library’s windowsill. “I was thinking of flying you in for my 40th. It’s going to be pretty chill. I’ll probably hire a chef and have a dinner at my place. Maybe 15-20 people.”

Harry is cocooned in a blanket on his bed, his iced coffee you had DoorDashed to his apartment slowly melting on his bedside table. His eyes had slowly drifted shut as he listened to you talk about everything and nothing. That’s how these things went — you talk and he listens. You’re after his companionship, after all.

At your words, his eyes shoot open, causing him to try and sit up gently so he can hear you better, not believing what you’re saying. Inhaling, he hesitates before he starts to reply. 

“Uh, um,” he bites his lip and looks at himself in the corner of the screen, trying to gauge if he looks as shocked as he sounds. “W-when are you thinking? I have a couple trips coming up and plans with my friends.”

He decides to play it cool. You have to know this is a huge development in this arrangement, right?

“Well, my birthday is the 27th, obviously.”

He scoffs, “I knew that part, Miss. When is the party?”

“Watch the ‘tude, baby. I was hoping for that Saturday, maybe. But I’d be willing to work around what you have coming up.”

He’s lying through his teeth. He doesn’t have major travel plans until the summer, when his friend group will jet off to Greece. He’s been saving up your pennies to charter a private plane.

“Don’t agree to it now, but please think about it. I love spending time with you and I’d love to finally meet you. We can tell my family that you’re part of one of my philanthropy groups. I’m your largest donor, after all,” you stick your tongue out at him.

“Okay, let me get myself together for the day, and I can see what’s going on,” Harry grits out, trying not to let you down. 

“Okay, baby. Have a good day. Let me know if you get up to anything fun,” you say with a mild hurt in your tone. The least he can do is make an effort to finally meet you.

“Will do. Bye, Miss,” He says quietly, swiftly hanging up the call and chucking the phone towards his pillows. 

“Fuck!” 

Hm, Casanova You know that I'm a casanova Throw my pennies in the well Waking up in jail 'Cause I never paid attention Do you remember all the good times? Do you remember all the bad times too? She reminds me everyday, telling me to behave And no I never listened

~

You didn’t let him off the hook that easily. Every day that passes as your birthday party looms, you mention flights, or activities you can do once he arrives. Harry laughs them off, distracting you by touching himself or telling a story from his gatherings with friends. 

It’s not until you’re barking orders at him over the phone, 1 week before your party, denying his orgasm that he finally relents. 

“Miss, please, I-I need to cum,” he whimpers as he has a ghostly touch over his angry, red cock. “P-please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything, hm? I want my pretty baby at my birthday party. Wanna show you off and whisper filthy things in your ear and feel that pretty cock under the table. Agree to fly out to me and I’ll let you cum, baby.”

“Miss,” he croaks out, his stomach in shambles trying to stop himself from coming for the third time. “Okay, okay, Mama, I’ll go. I-I’ll come for your birthday! Please let me cum.”

You all but squeal in delight, instructing him to finally let go. Talking him through it, he keens from your praises for following the rules. A nervous heat travels up his neck, realizing what he agreed to in his post-nut clarity. 

“Good boy. Take a picture before you clean up, okay? I’ll talk to you in the morning and I’ll have my assistant send over your travel information.”

He nods, unable to make eye contact. You’re oblivious and overjoyed, thinking he’s just too fucked out to look at you. 

“G’night, Missy,” he chokes out. 

“Goodnight, sweet boy,” you hum before hanging up.

Harry snaps a photo of his messy left fist and cum-covered stomach before cleaning himself up and returning to bed. He eagerly picks up his phone to check his dating apps for his matches. He’d been talking to a new girl, Madelyn, for the past week, so excitement bubbles in his stomach. 

She’s meeting him and his regular group at the Viper tonight, so he’s excited to show off to her. Maybe she’ll even be down for a romp in the back seat of his Porsche.

His phone pings, signaling another deposit from you.

Y/N L/N paid Harry Styles - $5,000 - Can’t wait to see you 😘

He smiles, his right thumb picking at the skin of his ring finger. The guilt he feels from abusing your kindness starts to eat at him. But he didn’t get this far by being nice to people. You can’t possibly have feelings for him, right? You haven’t even met, for god’s sake. He shivers, shaking the feeling so he can focus on the night ahead. 

Pushing you far, far in the back of his mind. 

~

It’s now the night before your 40th birthday party, and you’re buzzing with excitement. Your penthouse is decorated in pink and floral frill - almost like your Great Aunt Gertrude exploded - but it’s chic and will be a hit amongst your New York City socialite friends. Your party planner floats around the room, puttering with the florals, candles and gem stones scattered around. 

You anxiously check the time, counting down the hours until Harry boards his flight from LA. He’s jumping on a red eye, so you’ll greet him with coffee and donuts when he lands. A pang of nervousness hits you as you remember how distant he was this week, saying he was busy with friends or doing god knows what an unemployed 23 year old does in Los Angeles.

Monday, 3:31 PM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Sorry, missy. I’ve been at Miles’ art showing all day.

Wednesday, 11:27 AM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Sorry! At the gym with Do Not Disturb on. Hey, can you send me some cash? Last min car maintenance 😢

Friday, 5:58 PM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Hi missy. My friends want to go to the opening of the new Carbone out here. Think your friends can get us a table? It’ll be 9 of us. 

Hope your dad’s chemo appointment went okay.

You can’t be mad at the little monster you’ve let him become. You are always an after thought as his only priority is making sure the cash cow is alive and well. He extends effort just enough to make the butterflies in your stomach reappear when he does give you the attention you crave. 

Inhaling deeply, you ascend up the grand staircase in your Upper East Side brownstone and begin your pampering routine, sending photos to Harry of the hydrating eye patches on and curlers in your hair, blowing kisses and sticking out your tongue. 

Typically, Harry answers relatively quickly to your silly messages, but, tonight, he’s gone radio silent. Maybe he’s trying to conserve his phone battery for the flight? 

You open your medicine cabinet to examine your fast-acting anti-anxiety pills, hoping you can will away this uneasy feeling. Padding over to your bed, you pop your pills before tucking into your silk sheets. Before putting your phone on the charger, you send Harry one last message.

Mrs. Robinson 🤍: Safe flight, baby ♥️ I’ll be tracking you, but tell me which terminal when you land. Can’t wait to see you 😚

Flicking out the light, you close your eyes with the hopes of finally meeting your lover in just twelve hours.

~

I got a real bad feeling I'ma lose my cool Everywhere that I go, everything that I do Stop me using the money on drugs and things To keep my mind from runnin'

Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

Ping!

Harry, Delta airlines can’t wait to welcome you aboard Flight 0723 to JFK, departing 18:35

Ping!

You may now board Flight 0723 to JFK, departing 18:35. Welcome aboard, Harry.

Harry’s leg is bouncing uncontrollably as he watches the busy bodies move around him. Despite his social butterfly nature, his social anxiety rears its ugly head every once in a while. Or, it could be tonight’s concoction of pills.

He places his phone on Do Not Disturb, just as he gets a text from you. Closing his eyes in defeat, he comes face to face with the awful, shameful and downright despicable choice he’s made.

He’s not going to New York.

Instead, he’s standing booth side at a club next to John Summit, his favorite DJ, as he passes around a bottle of 1942. The pills he’s on are plastering a wide smile on his face as the throng of bodies around him jump around, despite the absolute panic and guilt he feels in his veins. 

He’s wondering when you’ll realize he’s not coming. The lack of texts? The empty escalator to the pick-up area well after the flight has landed? He can picture your cherub cheeks reddening with embarrassment, fighting back hot tears.

To distract himself, he leans down to capture the blonde girl to his left in a kiss, despite not even making eye contact with her prior. When she peers up at him, her pupils are just as dilated as his as they sway back and forth.

He kisses her once more, just as Marquise offers him another baggie.

~

The panic sets in about 30 minutes after his flight landed. Surely that’s enough time to grab his bag and meet you here, right?

Your eyes urgently scan over every person that walks by probably sending them into fight or flight as a deranged woman looks them over in search for her boy. 

You look down at your phone, the background a photo of your dog, completely clear of any notifications. With vigor, you throw out the box of donuts and his iced black Americano. Swallowing your pride, you skulk back to the parking lot to cry in the safety of your car. 

You feel like a loser. A pathetic middle-aged woman who got fooled by a man half her age. The mental gymnastics that takes place as you drive home with white knuckles on the steering wheel should have you committed. 

Your dating life wasn’t easy. It started in high school, where you were invisible to the boys, always deemed not good enough to date. Extending through college, you were still nearly invisible, working over time to find just one guy to have any interest in you and take your virginity. Just to get it over with. 

As the dating scene expanded in your 20s, you still struck out with men your age. It wasn’t until your late 30s when your hopes and dreams of a family came crashing down on you that you’d made that godforsaken dating profile. 

You still remember how your heart skipped a beat when you saw Harry’s photo for the first time. His boyish charm was palpable, followed by his incredibly witty prompt answers. He was your solution. If you couldn’t earn someone’s love, you could at least buy it. 

The lump in your throat is preventing you from calling him and leaving the fiery voicemail you so want to do. You assume he’ll ignore any calls from you anyway.

Pulling into your private garage, you let out your frustrations by wailing and smacking the steering wheel of your Bentley. To prying eyes, the cops should be called. You allow yourself to flip for 5 minutes before putting on a brave face and going inside to begin getting ready for your birthday party, ringing in another year of heartbreak and disappointment. 

~

3 glasses of a 1982 Cabernet Sauvignon. That’s how much alcohol it took to have you crying in front of your friends and family. 

You couldn’t tell them what was really wrong, of course. They have no idea about your and Harry’s arrangement. They’d call you an idiot if they knew how much money you’ve sent him.

Everyone is shooting you sympathetic looks as you cry on your best friend’s shoulder. For all they know, you’re stressed with work and your dad’s cancer diagnosis. It’s a lot of pressure on a single woman. 

Rubbing your back, Candice whispers all the affirmations she’s been telling you since college. It’s incredibly annoying to get advice from someone whose life is perfect. 

You quietly thank her, clearing your throat of the lump that’s formed. Looking around the room, you make a break for it, grabbing your phone as you lock yourself in the guest bathroom.

Tears blurring your vision, you dial his number for the first time all day. It rings and rings, finally sending you to voicemail, as you’d suspected.

You’re silent for a beat after the beep. 

“I-I don’t even have words for how I’m feeling right now. I was so fucking excited to see you…feel you….kiss you. And instead I’m locked in a bathroom at my own birthday party, calling you like a fucking loser,” you start, snot threatening to drip down your face. 

“I give, and I give and I give, and yet you still let me look like a fucking idiot in front of my friends and family. You couldn’t do one fucking thing for me? You…You didn’t even have to put any effort. I paid for a car service, paid for a first-class seat, bought you a wardrobe…”

“I just hope whatever the fuck you’re doing right now is worth it. I don’t ask questions about what you do with my money, since I’m the one who started this. B-but I thought you were a decent person. I feel so fucking stupid right now,” you are talking to yourself at this point. You shakily inhale and stare at the ceiling. 

“We’re done. I’m done with your bullshit. I’m not gonna let some ungrateful brat take advantage of me anymore. Have a nice life, Harry. Hope you have to move back to bumblefuck and lose all the friends you’ve been lying to this whole time,” you end off the message with pure venom leaking through your words.

You press end, feeling slightly better that you’d used his deepest darkest secret as ammunition. The mirror in front of you shows a shocking picture; running mascara, watery, red eyes, and disheveled hair.

Patting some toilet paper under your eyes, you clean up the best you can before returning back to the party. If you were strong, you’d block his number. But you can’t help but wonder what his response could be.

~

He deserves it. It’s 4:40 AM and he just mustered the courage to listen to your message. His under eyes feel heavy as he listens to your words, hitting him where it hurts. His hands are shaking as he lowers the phone to his lap, drowning out the sound of your sad, heartbreaking voice. 

5 years ago, he was a decent person. Now, he looks in the mirror and sees his slightly gaunt face and tired eyes staring back at him. He even notices a few gray hairs every once in a while. 

His lifestyle takes a toll on him — He’s well aware of that. But for now, he has no reason to stop. Harry lightly smacks his head back on the seat of the Uber back to his apartment. Cracking the window, he lets the sounds of the early morning deter him from vomiting.

The car arrives at his apartment — a guest house in Hidden Hills, the only place he can afford with the zip code he desires so badly. He never brings anyone to his place, too paranoid of his secrets getting out. Vision doubling, he struggles to stick his key in the lock. He knees the door has he twists the knob, sending him tumbling flat on his face. 

Smacking his head on the tile floor, he recoils, lifting his hand to feel droplets of blood on his nose and bottom lip. The metallic taste is leaking into his mouth, sending him into a spiral. His front door is still wide open, allowing him to see the sun peaking over the hills in the distance. 

He crawls over to the threshold, slamming the door shut with his foot. He lays back down on the cool floor, exhausted from his efforts. His breathing evened out, lulling him into a comatose state before succumbing to the darkness.

But before he passes out, all he can picture is your gorgeous, disappointed face.

I'm back in the hole I got nowhere to go La la la la, la, la Spinning around In the cold dark hole deep down in the ground Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from

The thing about rock bottom is that you don’t realize you’ve hit it until you’re clawing your way back to the top.

In the days following your fallout, Harry’s experienced enough misfortunes to last a lifetime. It started off with his credit card declining on a $6 breakfast sandwich, only to come back hungry and sad to his car being repossessed in front of all the Hidden Hills housewives out and about. 

The panic rises in his chest, and it’s taking everything in him not to call you and beg for forgiveness. He’s come to realize how fucked up his actions towards you became. He misses the butterflies and longing he felt when you first started your arrangement. 

He stomps back inside, miserable and feeling like a loser. If it wasn’t for Marquise’s birthday party later, he’d be sure to go dive in the ocean in hopes of never resurfacing. 

His closet is taunting him — full of the clothes you’ve bought him. He can remember every single piece he tried on for you, and the praise you were so quick to give him. He never reciprocated when you’d show him new pieces and showing off your incredible body. But, you hadn’t called him out on it, so he continued on. 

The all black outfit he chose reflects his mental state. Filled with dread and remorse, he pulls out his kitchen drawer to peruse the substances he has left. His stash is dwindling as fast as his bank account, so he has to be strategic until he figures out his next move. 

Grabbing the baggies, he situates them in the breast pocket of his jacket to conceal everything. They’re going to a new club tonight, so there’s no being saved by the bouncers if shit goes south. 

The party goes off without a hitch. Bottles pouring, dancers hanging from the ceiling, and an influx of out of town girls willing to do anyone and anything. Harry has nearly pushed you completely out of his mind, but he does something completely out of character.

~

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: I’m sorry.

You’re at a wine bar with your girlfriends in the Village, and the message you receive shakes you to your core. You haven’t heard from him in days. Not even after you repossessed the car and canceled his credit card tied to your account. You thought for sure that would smoke him out of his foxhole. But, he’s Harry. He’s selfish and too full of pride to ever come forward and apologize.

Your friends notice the faltered look on your face, but opt to ignore it as they bitch about their husbands and kids. Despite your fleeting dreams of having a family, most of the time you’re thankful you can’t relate to them. 

Turning off your phone, you throw it in your new Kelly bag — a little treat to get over the heartbreak — and return to the conversation.

~

He doesn’t even remember how it went down. 

The last clear memory he has is being escorted out of the club to go back to Marquise’s. The combination of coke and alcohol, plus this week’s tumultuous events had him on edge, so when the unfamiliar bouncer at this mediocre club grabbed him wrong, it sent Harry into a frenzy. 

To match his bloody nose and busted lip, his knuckles are now decorated with crusty amber smatterings of blood — his own, and the bouncer’s. His jaw and wrist were aching, still mouthing off like a rabid animal as the cop read him his Miranda rights. 

So now, he sits in a cold cell in the county jail awaiting his arraignment — a seemingly straight forward assault and battery charge, now amplified by the 40 grams of cocaine and Adderall in his coat pocket. The bastard cop smiled to himself when he patted him down. Harry will give him this one, the rinkydink small town cop who is used to giving out traffic violations. 

Tired, in dire need to piss, and on the verge of a mental breakdown, Harry’s head snaps up when the officer notifies him of his bail — a measly $75,000 — and lets him know he has one phone call. Balling his fists, he looks up at the ceiling.

“Fuck!”

The cop assists him in standing up. His wrists are chained together behind his back, after all. Releasing him from the confines, Harry rubs his wrists where the cheap metal chafed him.

“You have 5 minutes to make a call. Do you know the phone number or do you need me to access your cell phone?”

Harry scoffs. Who the fuck still memorizes phone numbers?

“Phone,” he replies, a clear edge in his voice. 

“Whose contact am I looking for? Mom, Dad?”

“Fuck’s sake. No, I need the number of,” Harry pauses suddenly as he remembers your name in his phone. 

“Mrs. Robinson,” he finishes quietly.

The cop raises his eyebrows, but says nothing, and reads the number aloud to him. It rings, and rings, diminishing any hope that you’ll answer. It’s in this moment Harry is at his rockbottom.

“Hello?”

~

“This is a collect call from the Department of Corrections for the City of Los Angeles. An individual is trying to contact you. Do you wish to answer?”

You gasp as the automated voice informs you of your worst nightmare.

“Hello?” you say quietly. It’s 8:15 AM, and you’re at the cafe on the corner for a latte and reading, trying not to disturb those around you. 

“M-missy?” His voice sounds broken. It sends a stabbing pain straight through your chest. 

“Harry, what happened? What did you do?”

“I-I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. N-not just with you. I know I fucked everything u-up,” he’s starting to sob, unable to catch his breath between words.

“B-but I got into a pretty bad fight last night, and I had some,” Harry pauses to look over his shoulder to make sure the officer isn’t listening. He wipes the tears in his eyes with his thumb. “I had some stuff on me, so now I’m in a lot more trouble. A-and I know I fucked everything up and I don’t deserve anything from you, but I don’t have enough money for bail.”

You sigh, not really even sure where to begin. Tears are threatening to spill over as you hear his clearly broken sobs. 

“How much do you need?”

At this point, Harry hung his head at your silence. He snaps his head back up when you agree to help him.

“It’s $75,000.”

“Jesus, Harry, what the fuck did you do?”

“I don’t even know, I barely have any memory of—”

“Five minutes, inmate!” the officer interrupts him.

Harry rolls his eyes and continues. 

“I’m not sure what happens next. B-but thank you, Y/N. I know I don’t deserve this in the slightest.”

You shiver at his use of your first name. Closing your eyes, “I know you don’t. Just tell me who I need to call.”

~

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you mutter as you hear your incessant doorbell ring. It’s 6 in the morning, just a few days after you paid Harry’s bail. You’ve been laying low, unsure if you’ll even hear from him again. 

Your doorman, Paul, informs you of a visitor. A visitor? At this time? Unable to even comprehend what’s going on, you press the button to confirm opening the door, and wait. 

Your bunny slippered feet tap your coffee table anxiously. Is it your mom? Here to inform you of someone’s death? Or is it your best friend from college who couldn’t come to your party? Or is it —

You’re broken from your racing thoughts as a timid knock on the door echoes through the house. You shuffle hesitantly over to the door, unable to even bring yourself to look through the peephole. 

Closing your eyes while pulling open the door, the absolute wind is knocked out of you as you eye up your waiting guest. 

He’s tall, tanned and gorgeous as his photos. It’s unfair to look like this after stepping off what she assumes was a red eye flight. He looks exhausted. His lip and nose are busted, and he has a yellowing bruise on his left eye.

“W-what?” you flounder in disbelief.

His hands fold together at your reaction, unsure if he should hug you or keep a respectable distance. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops himself. He’ll play by your rules.

“What the fuck is going on?” 

You look adorable. The sleep barely wiped from your eyes. Slight bed head and disheveled silk pajamas. Harry is in disbelief that this is the woman he’s come to realize his feelings for.

“I know this is so fucked up,” he trails off. “Coming here. I don’t deserve even a minute of your time, but I needed to come here and tell you how fucking sorry I am. How deep into the superficial bullshit I got. I took advantage of you and your kindness and I lost myself in the process.”

You must look flabbergasted, because he inches closer, placing his hands gently on your arms. His touch is searing, but the first reminder that he’s actually standing in front of you and not an extremely lifelike apparition. 

“I-I,” you stumble.

“We don’t even have to talk right now. You can send me away, if you need. But I’m here, I’m here in New York and I want to change. I want to be better for you. These last few days— when I had absolutely nothing — made me realize something.”

His eyes are now earnest and starting to tear up. Your reflection is so clear in his tide pool green irises. 

“I had nothing, and it made me realizing you’re my everything.”

His profession had you clutching your metaphorical pearls. Your heart is racing, sending your central nervous system into a tizzy. You know he’s not lying, because he’s looking dead in your eyes waiting for your reply.

“H-Harry, I don’t even know what to say,” you stall. Your body knows what it wants to say.

“I know and like I said, if you need time, I underst—”

“If you’re here and you’re not bullshitting me; you really want to change. Then, you’ll fuck me like it.”

If Harry’s jaw could drop to the basement, it would. Instead of word vomiting, he lunges forward, guiding both of your bodies back to the hallway and placing a panty-dropping kiss on your lips. He doesn’t even have time to admire your beautiful home.

You break the kiss, grabbing his wrist to lead him to your room. The sheets are mussed, your clothes are all over, but you can’t even begin to fucking care. You all but dive back onto your bed, pulling your nightgown up to reveal your bare, perfect pussy. 

Harry drops to his knees, wrapping his hands around your thighs. The photos and the FaceTimes don’t do any justice to the sight in front of him. You’re complete and utter perfection. 

He waits for your approval before leaning forward to lick from back to front. Your back arches slightly, throwing your ankles over his shoulder. His fingertips dig into your skin deliciously, so you grab onto your blankets for dear life. 

“Give it to me, Missy. I’ve been waiting two years for this perfect cunt. What the fuck was I waiting for?”

You laugh, not expecting his sense of humor at this moment. For the last few months, it’s been like talking to a robot. It was an exchange of goods and services. But here, in front of you, is a man. A man who’s willing to change his ways for you. The man you’ve waited all your life for. 

“Always here for you. It’s yours,” you purr, placing your hands on top of his. 

He growls, vigorously licking into you. He removes his right hand to insert his two middle fingers into your center. This has you howling, unable to even remember the last time a man did this for you. 

“Baby, baby. I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum for you, finally,” you whine, focusing on the immeasurable pleasure stemming from your legs. 

“Mhm, I can feel you, Mama. Let go for me,” he begs, making direct eye contact with you. 

It’s the moment you lock eyes that you’re letting go. All the stars are aligning and symphonies are playing in your head.

“Ah, ah! There, Harry!”

Harry keens at hearing his name roll off your tongue. He slides up your body to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself. You grab at his under shirt, insinuating that you want it off.

He peels it off and cheekily pulls your tit out of your nightie. He winks before connecting his lips to your nipple, rolling his tongue around the bud and sucking gently. 

“Please, want you inside me. Gimme my big cock, baby.” 

“It’s yours, Mama. All of me.”

Harry slides his briefs down his legs, revealing the main event. His dick swings slightly before hitting him in the stomach. You moan, unable to wait even another minute for him.

“Please,” you cry out, scratching down his chest. 

He lines himself up, moaning in ecstasy as he pushes in. Your mouth falls open, a silent whine escaping. 

“So big, baby. I should’ve flown out to you the minute you sent me a dick pic. Like a fucking middle schooler.”

Now Harry is laughing. He’s in disbelief that he would ever treat you the way he did. The clarity from the last few days is damning.

His pumps are getting faster and longer, bottoming out every other thrust. He looks down to where you’re connected, your pussy lips wrapped around him deliciously, a slight white substance leaking out of you. He leans down to kiss you, wanting this connection he’s subconsciously wanted since he met you. 

“Want you to cum with me, Missy. Cum with me. Want to show you I mean it. I mean everything I said.”

You gently put your hand on his cheek, to which he immediately nuzzles in at the touch. 

“I know you mean it, baby. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

He nods, leaning down to kiss you again, his thrusts slowing but still ramming you to the hilt.

“You close?”

“Yes, baby boy. Cum with me, I’m cumming now.”

Harry’s cock twitches as he bumps your walls before releasing long and deep into you. You push your noses together, lips ghosting over one another’s. 

Harry is finally home. 

“You’re gonna fucking pay for this, little brat.”

He flashes a shit eating grin, kissing you again.

“I expect nothing less.”

And I don't ever Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

[aphrogeneias]

𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 — 𝒂 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: during a quiet afternoon, you and eddie discuss (hypothetical) wedding songs.

author's note: it feels right to repost this the day before valentine's. i hope you all have, or someday find, a love that makes you feel the same way i do when i listen to the song referenced in this story <3

"Have you ever thought about what song you're gonna want to play at your wedding?"

You were both sitting at the old brown couch of the Munson's front porch, the afternoon breeze blowing through the unusually quiet Trailer Park. There were no dogs barking, no kids running, no yelling coming from a neighbor's trailer. Only the sun, the late autumn chill, and the gentle breeze.

Eddie was lying down, his head on top of your crossed legs as you played with his hair. Your question caught him off-guard, looking up at you with raised eyebrows.

"You mean at our wedding?"

He could tell you were flustered by the way you hesitated to answer, brows furrowing, trying to disguise it. The urge to lift himself up and give you a smacking kiss on the forehead was temporarily buried inside, waiting to hear what you had to say. "I don't know. Like, a hypothetical wedding. With a hypothetical bride."

His answer was earnest, though.

"The only bride that's ever come to mind is you, babe."

"Just answer the damn question!" You exclaimed, rising both of your hands in the air.

"I just told you I don't know! I've never thought about getting hitched, never mind what song I'd want to play at the ceremony."

This bit was earnest as well. Eddie had never, in his twenty years, thought about getting married. His parents' disaster of a relationship made sure that he'd never seen marriage as something healthy, let alone an option. There were also his beliefs that marriage was a failed institution made to subjugate people, and that the church and the state shouldn't have a say in people's relationships.

Eddie thought he'd be like Wayne and live his life without a partner, just go through with it by himself. It was much less complicated, even if lonely.

He was seldom lonely now, with you in his life — and though you were way too early in your relationship, or too young and inexperienced, to think about marriage, if he was to think about it, it would be with you. Every one of his other thoughts ran to you, this one would be no different.

"Not the ceremony. A first dance kind of song, you know?"

He considered a few options for a moment, in silence, but he was still curious to know what you were thinking. "If you're asking me that question, that means that you already know yours, don't you?"

"You don't know that. I'm just asking." You shrugged, lowering your voice, suddenly vulnerable. "Forget what I said."

"Sweetheart…" Eddie laid fully on his back, looking up at you. "Tell me what's the song."

Narrowing your eyes at him from above, you grabbed his chin, squishing his lips for a second. "You're gonna laugh at me."

"When have I ever…" Remembering all the times, in the early days of your blossoming friendship, where he followed you around the record store with the sole purpose of laughing at your music choices, he stopped, scoffing at himself. "Don't answer that."

Gently, you pushed him off of you and stood up, silently going into the house.

"Just tell me! Now I want to know." Eddie protested as he followed you inside.

He watched as you went into his room, bent down at the waist — and what a view that was, he thought to himself, not trusting to make a lewd comment to distract you from the moment — and quickly looked through his records, finally pulling one from the crate.

Trying to think of what it could be, because he had no idea what song in his large collection of tapes and long plays could possibly be enough of your taste to be played at your (hypothetical) wedding. When he saw it, though, it clicked.

It was a copy of The Beatles' "Revolver". His only copy of an album by your favorite band. You had gifted it to him after he told you he found the experimentation, and all the drug references, in it "badass". He really did, and he was happy to own it as long as it made you happy.

Still silent, you put it in the record player above his dresser, and selected a track without looking at the listing in the back cover, most likely commiting each one of them to memory. His heart swelled as he watched you turn around, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, struggling to meet his eyes as the song started.

"To lead a better life

I need my love to be here…"

Paul McCartney's voice and the two-voice harmony that accompanied him was the only thing that could be heard in his bedroom for a moment, until you started explaining yourself.

"When I was younger, sometimes… Actually, I still do that…" you started, "I listen to this song when I'm alone, and I feel like swaying to it. Like I'm slow dancing with someone, you know? Two steps to the left, two steps to the right." You did a little dancing motion, lightening up the mood. "It's the perfect song to dance to, but I'd never had a partner to dance with me. So I'd dream about it, about the day I'd have someone who'd love me enough to dance with me."

Your sad smile broke his heart, but what put it together was knowing he could be the one to dance with you.

"It's such a simple song, really. Just a guitar and the vocal harmonies, but it's… it's beautiful. Makes me feel like I'm floating, or something." You continued.

Eddie approached you, then, pulling you forward by both of your hands and making you stand flush to his chest, where he held you by the waist with one arm, the other raising to hold the hand that wasn't resting on his shoulder.

"I'm not much of a dancer, but I'll dance to any song you want to."

It was a murmur, a promise whispered by his lips touching your hairline. You chuckled, your head resting on his collarbone, and began swaying the two of you just as you said before. Two steps to the left, two to the right.

Eddie added his own flair, spinning you around, and it was worth it just to see the you giggled. The song wasn't long, a little over two minutes long, but it was long enough to trap you in your little world, your hypothetical wedding dance, in his very real, very messy bedroom.

"So… is that our wedding song?" He teased, still holding you, after it was over.

You slapped his arm lightly, but he could feel you smiling against the soft fabric of his t-shirt. "It could be."

"I like it, baby."

Then, you look up, wrapping your arms around his lean waist. "Really?"

"I like whatever makes you feel like you're floating."

"Do you wanna know what else makes me feel like that?"

"Weed?"

"You."

At that moment, Eddie still knew he didn't want the church or the state to be involved in your relationship, but he wouldn't mind throwing a party just to make the most beautiful girl in the world float around the room for one night.

[yelena-bellova]

Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: Someone’s Something

Plot: Joel, Y/n and Ellie meet Henry and Sam, who try to convince them to team up to find their way out of Kansas City together.

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: tlou ep.5 spoilers, languge, implied smut, guns, mention of death, sa and loss of a child (16+)

A/N: Happy Valentines, y’all!! My gift to you is some light heartbreak with some fluff to soften the blow 😉

As always, this series is 16+ and I will not be adding anyone to the taglist unless your age is specified in your bio. Gotta look out for younger eyes 👀

Y’all have blown this lil’ ficlet idea up so much, I’m still shocked it’s this loved. I’m so excited to finish out the second half of the season with you guys. Hang onto your butts 🤍

——————

July 1st, 2002. Austin, Texas.

Y/n had integrated perfectly into the Miller’s life. Sarah adored her, Tommy loved her, and Joel couldn’t get enough of her. He’d never admit it to Sarah, but he was thankful that she’d taken matters into her own hands and snuck down to the hardware store that June day.

In the beginning of July, Sarah went away to a two-week summer camp. Joel and Y/n had seen her off on the bus, Joel fussing over whether or not she had everything she’d need. He didn’t do well when she was gone for more than a day, a combination of missing her dearly and parental worry. Y/n had made it her goal over the course of her trip to distract him as much as she could.

They’d made a dinner date at Joel’s house the day Sarah left, the first of fourteen that Y/n had to keep him busy. His days would be consumed by work, but his nights belonged to them. Y/n knocked on the front door of the house, carrying a six pack she’d picked up on the way.

Joel hurried to the door, swinging it open and enveloping Y/n in a hug. She laughed, clinging to his neck as he literally dragged her into the house. Joel’s lips were on her the second the door shut.

“Missed you,” he mumbled between kisses.

“You saw me, like, six hours ago,” Y/n managed to say.

“Way too long,” Joel smiled against her lips.

Y/n chuckled, “Yeah, well, if I die from lack of oxygen,” she wiggled a hand between their smushed chests, “You’re gonna miss me a whole lot more.”

Joel wrapped an arm around her neck, smiling so big his cheeks hurt. That was the effect Y/n had on him. She’d turned his curmudgeon qualities, plying them like clay until they were soft. He was a new man with her in his life.

“Joel,” she said softly.

“Yeah?” He was barely taking in her words, focused on how her lips were starting to swell from his attention.

“What’s burning?”

It didn’t register at first, then he remembered the food was still in the oven. “Shit,” he muttered, letting her go to run back to the kitchen and save their dinner.

Y/n chuckled, kicking off her shoes and heading in to help him.

Joel’s attempt at a simple roast chicken and potatoes turned out slightly crispy, but good, all in all. They’d eaten it at the table, Joel’s hands stretched across the surface to hold Y/n’s.

After their meal, they retired to the living room. Joel turned on the stereo and fell onto the couch, Y/n laying her legs across his lap.

“Well, day one’s almost over,” she said, “How’re you feeling?”

Joel sighed, “She called earlier when they got there. Sounded real excited.”

“And you could not sound happier about it,” Y/n chortled, “Joel, she’s going to be fine.”

“I know that, it’s just,” Joel strroked his hand over Y/n’s calf, “It’s been me and her for…ever. When she’s off it just…”

Y/n watched her boyfriend with soft eyes, waiting for him to say more.

“I know she’s growin’ up, she’s always been independent, but,” he paused staring down at his hands, “It gets easier and easier for her every year to get on that bus. Makes me think about the day she’ll leave for good.”

“You know that no matter where she goes,” Y/n offered, “She’s always coming back here. She loves you too much.”

Joel gently smiled, his fingers brushing against Y/n’s leg. She always knew the right thing to say.

“And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she kinda loves me too,” Y/n smirked.

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot to work with there,” Joel winked.

Y/n giggled, her eyes drifting over Joel’s shoulder to the corner of the living room. An acoustic guitar sat propped up in a stand.

“Y’know, I still haven’t heard you play,” she said, nodding to the instrument.

For as much as he loved music, he still got a little bashful about his talent. “I sound like everyone else,” he replied.

“Yeah, nice try,” Y/n wasn’t so easily discouraged, “Play me something.”

Much like his daughter, there wasn’t a lot Joel could deny Y/n. If it was going to make her smile, he’d gladly do it. He lifted her legs off of him and went to retrieve the guitar.

“Does the audience have any requests?” Joel asked, settling back down beside her and fiddling with the tuning pegs.

Y/n tucked her legs into her chest, barely containing her grin, “Something sweet.”

Joel finished tuning the guitar and took his position. He hadn’t played for anyone other than Sarah in a very long time.

The first pluck of the strings relaxed them both, Joel settled into the piece quickly. Y/n watched his fingers dance up and down the string, a series of movements only he knew. It sounded like an old folk song, the kind that told the tale of doomed lovers torn apart by tragedy. She had enough musical knowledge to know it was in a minor key. Sweet, it was not, but it was brimming with passion, and the way Joel watched the strings so intensely only added to it. Y/n was taken aback by the simple beauty of him, pouring himself into the music.

When it was over, a few final notes slowing the tempo before stopping entirely, Joel looked over to Y/n, a whisper of a smile playing upon his lips. Their eyes connected, the ever present flame between them stretching the distance between their bodies. In that moment, Joel was thankful they were alone.

In the same set of seconds, Joel blindly set the guitar down to the side and Y/n surged forward, the two of them meeting in a heated kiss. Y/n held both of Joel’s cheeks in her hands while he maneuvered her on top of him, their lips never losing their connection. The sadness of the song had drawn them together, both needing to feel the fullness of each other’s devotion to counter the loss that the notes had grieved. That wasn’t them, they said with each touch, it could never be them.

—————————

September 28th, 2002. Austin, Texas.

Fall had hit Texas, as much as it could affect the south, anyway. Sarah and Y/n were in the backyard of the Milller home. Sarah had her first soccer game of the season that weekend and she wanted to get in some extra practice.

“Okay,” Y/n called from the goal, “Don’t go easy on me.”

“Yeah, right,” Sarah scoffed, she was never afraid to show the full force of her talent on the field. Faking Y/n out, she broke to the left before making a sudden right turn and shooting the ball through the goal.

“Yes,” she exclaimed, pulling her fists down in celebration.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Y/n smirked, coming up beside Sarah as she did a little victory dance, “Don’t get too cocky. Let’s work on your goalkeeping.”

Sarah grooved her way back to the goal, “Okay, but I’m kinda spectacular at that too.”

“Well, we certainly don’t need to work on your confidence,” Y/n remarked. Sarah had the same cockiness, reserved only for things she was truly great at, as her father.

Joel materialized then, coming through the back door and watching his girls from the deck. “How we lookin’?”

“Today, Taft Middle School,” Y/n replied, catching the ball with her heel as Sarah kicked it, “Tomorrow, FIFA.”

Joel smiled proudly, both at Sarah and Y/n. Most women would have kept distance between them and their partner’s child. Y/n had jumped in headfirst, determined to be there for Sarah as much as she wanted her. She was the feminine influence his daughter had been denied all her life.

“Alright,” Y/n announced, “Good?”

Sarah nodded, “Good.”

Joel saw an opportunity and couldn’t pass it up. He carefully made his way down the steps of the deck, sneaking through the grass and up behind Y/n just as she was about to make her shot. As she wound her leg back, Joel wrapped his arms around her middle and lifted her into the air.

Y/n shrieked as she was swung around, “Joel!”

“Sarah, steal it,” he yelled, smiling as Y/n wriggled in his embrace.

Sarah surged forward, avoiding Y/n’s flailing legs as she fought against Joel, and snatched the ball. She moved through the grass effortlessly and landed a perfect kick into the net.

Laughing heartily, Joel finally released Y/n back to the ground. He shared a high-five with his daughter as she bounded back to them.

“You two are awful,” Y/n gave Joel a shove to his chest, her wide grin contradicting her words.

Joel hung an arm around his girlfriend’s neck, pressing a kiss to her temple. “C’mon,” he separated from Y/n and clapped his hands, “Two-on-one, girls vs. boys.”

“We’re gonna destroy you,” Sarah teased, coming to stand beside Y/n.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” he quipped, standing in front of the goal.

The three of them stayed out until sunset, practicing plenty, but laughing more than anything.

—————————

December 25th, 2002. Austin, Texas.

The Millers didn’t do anything spectacular for Christmas. A church service on the 24th, a simple dinner on the 25th, and presents.

It had been decided that both Tommy and Y/n would spend the night, it would make waking up and opening gifts easier than waiting for them to drive over. Tommy had taken the collapsable cot, his body was still used to military accommodations, while Y/n had gone for the couch. Joel and her were still hesitant to spend nights together, sleeping over at the other’s only when Sarah was away at her own sleepovers. Christmas didn’t feel like the time to test any boundaries.

Just past midnight, Y/n was still wide awake, tossing and turning on the sofa. There was a light snowfall happening outside and she hoped if she watched the flakes flutter through the air long enough, she’d drift off to sleep. So far, she’d had no such luck.

She took stock of the living room in its entirety. A fresh pine tree sat in the corner, a modest stack of presents surrounding the trunk. Two stockings were hung on the walls, Sarah and Joel’s names stitched across each. The room still faintly smelled like the batch of cookies her and Sarah had baked earlier in the evening. Even in the dark and completely silent, the house felt warm.

Footsteps down the stairs drew Y/n’s attention away from the decorations. She expected to see Sarah tiptoeing in to sneak a peek at the presents. Instead, Joel’s broad shadow entered the room.

“Can’t sleep?” Y/n asked from the couch.

Joel shook his head, “Nope.”

Y/n gave a small nod, pretending like the silence wasn’t as full of asking as it was. Joel’s posture had purpose in it, he wasn’t leaving until he got what he came for.

He tipped his head back towards the stairs, his eyes never leaving Y/n’s. “C’mon,” he said, his voice raspy with near sleep.

Y/n smiled to herself, throwing off her blanket and crossing the room to take Joel’s hand. The two of them tiptoed back up the stairs, trying not to wake Sarah or Tommy. Y/n knew the walk to Joel’s bedroom like the back of her hand, navigating in the dark made no difference. She certainly didn’t need Joel’s hands on her hips to guide her, but she welcomed them anyway.

Once the door shut, their routine commenced. Joel went to his dresser, blindly reaching into one of his drawers and tossing Y/n one of his flannels. Y/n slipped it on over her t-shirt, the sleeves ending way past the tips of her fingers. They made their way to their dedicated sides of the bed, Joel closest to the door because he felt better being a wall of protection between Y/n and the world.

“We have to get up before Sarah,” Y/n reminded him.

“We’ve got a 50% chance of makin’ it down before her,” Joel said, his hands gliding around her body to pull her into him, “Christmas morning, she’s up at the crack of dawn.”

Y/n drew closer to Joel, resting one hand on his chest and the other gripping the back of his neck. Already, she could feel her body relaxing in a way the couch just couldn’t coax out of her.

All the tension Joel had been carrying in his spine went lax the moment Y/n’s fingers grazed his skin. He was finding it harder and harder to sleep without her.

“Thank you,” she said out of the blue.

“For what?” Joel asked.

Y/n’s fingers danced along the line between the ends of his hair and the base of his skull. “For letting me be a part of all this,” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joel’s heart swelled, he took one of her cheeks into his hand and let their lips drift towards one another. Six months in, and he wasn’t sure if he could fall any harder in love with Y/n. She wasn’t just his, she was theirs. She was a permanent fixture in their home, the house a little less bright when she was absent from it. She had become a confidante to Sarah, a best friend to Tommy and everything to Joel. How could he not want her in every part of their lives?

“‘M afraid you’re stuck with us, Rosebud,” Joel smiled after he pulled back, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone.

“No place I’d rather be,” Y/n returned his grin.

Pressing one final kiss to her forehead, Joel tucked Y/n against his chest, his chin resting atop her head. She let her hand drift around to his back, her fingers spreading across the expanse as she tried to hold as much of him as she could. They fell asleep within minutes, the gentle snowstorm outside creating beauty that would only enhance the magic of Christmas for the Miller family.

—————————

2023. Kansas City, Missouri.

“Eye on me! Eyes on me!”

Joel’s eyes slid to the other side of the room, to the man with the barrel of his gun pointed at Ellie. Her and Y/n both had their hands raised high.

“You don’t have to worry about what to say,” the young man said, “We don’t wanna hurt you. We wanna help you.”

Joel watched him, he was shifting his weight between both feet, no expert marksman was that nervous to threaten someone’s life. Joel felt significantly better about his chances.

“Okay.”

“Okay, um…” the young man paused, “I don’t know what the next step is with something like this, but if I lower my gun…we didn’t hurt you…so you don’t hurt us…right?”

Joel stared him down, “That’s right.”

“That’s a weird fuckin’ tone, man,” their enemy replied.

“That’s just the way he sounds,” Ellie interrupted, first looking to the stranger and then back to Joel, “He has an asshole voice. Joel, tell him he’s okay.”

Joel stared, nearly a hint of a smirk at his lips, “Everything is great.”

“Dude…” Ellie muttered.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Y/n intervened, looking to the man, “Now drop the fucking guns before I second guess myself.”

“That wasn’t any better,” Ellie exclaimed.

“Fuck! Okay, listened,” the stranger started, his voice practically trembling, “I’m gonna trust you.”

He then stopped to signal something to the child, Y/n recognized it as ASL. They communicated something none of them could understand.

“But if any of you guys try anything,” the man kept his gun aimed at Ellie, nodding to Joel and Y/n, “Yeah? Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ellie whispered, her heart was in her throat.

The child backed away from Joel and Y/n’s mattress, his aim still firmly locked onto them. Y/n was trying to get her heartbeat back down to a normal range.

“Can I sit up?” Joel asked, his voice was still on edge.

“Yeah,” the stranger conceded, “Slow. Get up slow.”

Joel obeyed, rising to a seated position without any rush. He raised his hands, the left one grazing Y/n’s injured right. Shockingly, the fleeting touch made her feel a little less nervous. If Joel was good for nothing else, at least he was a good fighter. They could get out of this easily, if necessary.

“Who are you?” Joel asked.

“My name’s Henry,” the now-named stranger answered, “That’s my brother, Sam. I’m the most wanted man in Kansas City. Although right now,” Henry finally lowered his gun, “My guess is you’re running a close second. Her too.”

Y/n and Joel looked to one another, that ambush was going to come back to bite them in the ass, one way or another.

“Henry,” Y/n spoke up, lowering her hands and laying them palm up in her lap, “We’re gonna need a lot more than that.”

The five of them ended up huddled around a lantern, snacking on their dwindling food supply and waiting for the rest of the story to unfold. Henry had made it clear that he had to get some food in his brother first. It had been Ellie’s idea to share what they had left.

“Where’d you get these?” Henry asked, chewing on a cracker.

“From Bill,” Ellie answered, “He’s dead.”

Y/n and Joel had been watching Sam, digging into what they’d shared with him as if he hadn’t eaten in days. There was a real possibility of it, or something along the lines. They both wordlessly handed what was left of their portions to the boy, who in return, signed something to his brother.

“He says ‘thank you,’” Henry relayed, “I’m guessing you don’t have much so, this means a lot.”

“How old is he?” Ellie asked.

The brothers talked amongst themselves, with Henry answering, “He’s eight.”

Ellie nodded, “Cool. I’m Ellie.”

“Y/n,” Y/n spoke up, wanting to try and make the child feel as comfortable as the circumstances would allow.

Henry spelled out the names for Sam, who responded with a sign that both Y/n and Ellie assumed meant ‘cool.’

Ellie smiled before smacking Joel on the knee and waiting for him to introduce himself.

“I’m Joel,” he swallowed his last bite, “Look, you ate, we didn’t kill each other, let’s call this a win-win and move on.”

Henry dusted off his hands, “Well, I’m betting that y’all came up here to get a view of the city and plan a way out. And when the sun’s up, I’ll show you one.”

Joel and Y/n thought it over separately before glancing over at one another. If Henry hadn’t killed them by now, he wouldn’t. He already knew their supply was low, the only reason he was sticking around was because he needed something from them.

“Okay,” Y/n answered for them, earning a quick turn and glare from Joel, “Sam can take our bed. As soon as morning hits, you show us the route.”

Henry scoffed, “Just like that you’re gonna trust us?”

“I know the eyes of a liar, Henry,” Y/n leaned forward, resting her elbow on her knee, “And you don’t have ‘em. You weren’t even going to kill us in the first place, and you certainly weren’t gonna make him do it.”

Joel was ready to jump in at any second, but Y/n spoke with such precision and intention, he couldn’t come up with any reason to stop her.

“So how about we get some sleep,” Y/n continued, “And tackle this tomorrow?”

Henry’s eyes focused in on Y/n, someone as calculated as she was was either the most honest person on the planet or so calcuating and conniving, they could deceive the worst of humanity.

“Okay,” he landed on trust, “First thing.”

Ellie and Sam settled onto their makeshift mattresses, while the adults sat against the walls of the apartment. Henry on one side, Joel and Y/n on the other.

“What happened to equals?” Joel asked, the edge to his words undercutting the softness of their volume.

“Would what you have said been any different?” Y/n countered, watching as Joel tried to come up with an answer that differed from hers, “Exactly.”

The two of them stayed close to one another, without actually touching. Y/n was still slightly rattled from waking up with Joel’s hand over hers.

“Although my fucking neck’s gonna be messed up all day,” Y/n mumbled, trying to find a comfortable position to rest her head against the wall.

While they trusted an already sleeping Henry enough not to kill them, instinct told both Y/n and Joel to not leave themselves in such a vulnerable positon again. Sleeping sitting up was the only option that would allow them a little bit of rest.

And Joel hated what he was about to offer.

“You can…” he pointed to his shoulder, “If you want.”

“I don’t want” Y/n quickly replied.

Joel sighed in exasperation, “Forget I offered.”

He crossed his arms and settled against the wall, shutting his eyes and shutting down his momentary lapse into generosity.

Y/n inhaled, trying to get over herself. She was getting way too much up close and personal time with Joel to feel comfortable. But it was either another dose or a hideous day of lingering discomfort without the blessing of Ibuprofen.

She awkwardly scooted closer to him until their thighs were touching, causing Joel to open one eye. He looked down at their parallel bodies and back to Y/n.

“Just don’t grab my hand,” she grumbled, laying her head down on his shoulder and praying that her stomach stayed unaffected.

Joel’s body stiffened as she rested on him, a quick shot of adrenaline running through his extremities. He wanted to pretend to be unmoved, unbothered by her touch, but it was impossible. He would never fully be without affection for the way she felt against him.

“Go ahead,” Y/n said, sensing his discomfort but mistaking it for simply physical.

Joel hesitated a few seconds before shaking himself out of his doubt and resting his head on top of Y/n’s.

When the weight of Joel’s skull fell on hers, Y/n’s natural instincts took over and she almost, almost, tucked into him more. It was by the grace of God that she caught herself before she did it. No matter how hard her mind loathed him, her body would have accepted him back in a heartbeat.

The two ex-lovers sat against the wall, still trying to convince themselves that they were miles apart.

—————————

Just as the night before, they woke up so much closer than intended.

Y/n had fully curled into Joel, snuggling into his chest at some point during their glorified nap. When she woke up to the rough scratch of his flannel agaisnt her cheek, drowsiness did not immediately remind her she was in the year 2023. In her sleep-adled state, it was winter of 2002.

When consciousness pulled her back to the land of the living, she lightly groaned. Why were their sleeping selves making everything so complicated?

Y/n rolled off of Joel, causing him to sharply inhale. He blinked a few times, rubbed a hand over his face and evaluated the room. Henry was still asleep, but Sam and Ellie were already awake and sitting on the edges of their beds.

Y/n was beside him, at least twelve inches of space between them.

“I do anything in my sleep?” Joel asked.

Y/n shook her head, sucking on her bottom lip, “Nope.”

Joel wasn’t buying it, “Then whydya got that look on your face?”

“I know why,” Ellie teased in a sing-song tone.

Y/n let out two loud claps, startling Henry awake, and got to her feet. “Rise and shine, time to work.”

Joel stayed on the ground, watching how fast she moved around the room. Something had happened and it had messed with her. He ran a hand over his right shoulder, noticing that it was warm when the rest of him felt cold. He peered back over at Y/n, rifling through her backpack to find Ellie and Sam breakfast. He watched how she crouched down and handed the kids what was assuredly the lion’s share of her rations. How she held up a questioning thumbs up to Sam, who in return, smiled and copied the gesture. How she cared. She still cared so much.

It was killing him.

But there were bigger things to worry about than the stirring in his heart for the woman who perhaps, hadn’t changed that much at all.

————————————

Once fed and watered, the group of five headed a few floors up to the apartment building’s conference room. Henry had promised it had the best view of the city.

“Welcome to Killa City,” he announced, showcasing the place in daylight through the massive windows.

“No FEDRA,” Joel observed.

“Not as of ten days ago, no,” Henry replied.

“We always heard KC FEDRA was-“

“Monsters? Savages?” Henry finished for Joel, “Yeah, you heard right. Raped and tortured and murdered people for twenty years.”

Y/n looked down at her shoes, “Fucking hell.” It was stories like Kansas City that were one of her reasons for joining the Fireflies.

“And you know what happens when you do that to people?” Henry continued, “The moment they get a chance, they do it right back to you.”

“But you’re not FEDRA,” Joel stated.

Henry paused before answering, “No…worse. I’m a collaborator.”

Joel shook his head, “I don’t work with rats.”

Y/n wasn’t so quick to walk away, Henry had too much of a heart it seemed to be a true collaborator. He had a story.

“Yeah, you fucking do,” Henry said, “Today you do, ‘cause I live here and you two don’t. That’s how I followed you here. I know this city and I’m gonna help you out.”

Joel watched Henry as he spoke, trying to see through him, “Why help us?”

“I saw what you two did,” Henry answered, “The way you killed those men. Now I know where to go, but I don’t know how to make it through alone, not if it’s just Sam and me.”

“You seem capable enough,” Joel replied, “You’re armed.”

“You’re wrong and wrong,” Henry said, “Never killed anyone. And pointing an unloaded gun at you was the closest I’ve ever come to being violent.”

Y/n nodded, no one let their hand shake that much when holding a loaded gun.

“So that’s the deal,” Henry stated, “I show you the way, you clear the way.”

Joel didn’t need anyone else slowing them down or making them more noticeable. And partnering with Henry would only make them bigger targets.

At the table behind them, Ellie and Sam were seated, reading from Ellie’s pun book. The energy was divided down the room; the grown-up side was deathy heavy while the kid’s side was warm and uplifting.

“Haven’t heard that in a long time,” Henry smiled, watching his little brother laugh.

Joel turned back to the window as he tried to put distance between him and the moment. Y/n glanced over at him, watching as the cogs in his mind turned. Her mind was already made up, it would have been wonderful if they could avoid an argument.

“So how’re we getting out?” Joel relented, turning to Henry.

Henry fetched a piece of paper from one of the drawers, office supplies had never been in high demand post-pandemic. He sketched out a square, writing down the names of the roads that cut through the city.

“Highways…” he pointed to one section, “Downtown,” then to the other, “Us. This whole area belongs to Kathleen.”

“And she is…?” Y/n asked, standing between Joel and Henry.

“Leader of the resistance,” Henry answered, “You can see the way we’re bounded by highways. They got people posted all around the inside perimeter. If we get close, we get caught. No question.”

“So how do we get across?” Ellie asked.

Henry banged a fist against the table to get Sam’s attention, signing something to him after. Sam went to drawing on his magnetic erase pad, Joel wasn’t made to feel any better about a kid being involved in the planning of their escape.

Sam held up his pad, having written the word ‘Tunnels’ on it.

Henry snapped his fingers, “Boom.”

“Kansas City has a subway?” Joel asked.

“No,” Henry answered, “But they do have maintenance tunnels. There’s a bunch of buildings all put up by the same developers. And they share these tunnels, including…” he pointed down to a specific section of his sketch, “A bank building here,” he began to draw their route, “So we enter the tunnels here, travel underground, and pop up here. Westside North. Residential. There’s an embankment on the other side of the houses. We head down, pedestrian bridge over the river,” Henry dropped his pencil, “Free as a bird.”

“You’re right,” Joel admitted, “It’s a great plan. So what do you need us for?”

Henry hesitated a moment, “You notice anything strange about this city? I mean, other than the strange shit you’ve already seen?”

“No Infected?” Ellie guessed before Y/n and Joel could.

“Oh, there’s Infected,” Henry replied, “Just not on the surface. FEDRA drove them underground fifteen years ago, and never let them come back up. It’s the only good thing those fascist motherfuckers ever did.’

Joel looked between Y/n and Ellie, “So you want us goin’ into a tunnel?”

“Everyone thinks that it’s full of Infected,” Henry quickly corrected, he sensed Joel’s doubt, “Including Kathleen, which means that we’re not gonna be running into any of her people. But you see, what I know is…it’s empty.”

“You know this?” Y/n questioned, “You’ve seen it? With your own eyes?”

“No,” Henry replied.

Joel took a deep breath, hands on his hips again. Y/n sighed and rested her elbows on the table. Henry was losing them both.

“But the FEDRA guy that I worked with told me that it’s clean,” the young man continued, “Completely clean. They cleared it out. All of it.”

“How long ago?” Y/n asked, shutting her eyes as if it could shut out their problems.

“Like,” Henry shrugged, “Three years ago.”

Joel scoffed, glancing to Ellie as if asking if she was believing this either.

“Okay, maybe there’s one or two,” Henry quickly said, “But you can handle it.”

“You’re making this sound a whole lot simpler than it is,” Y/n responded, looking to Joel, whose eyes were already expectantly waiting on her. “We need a minute.

Y/n pushed open the glass doors, bringing them outside the conference room and giving them a sliver of privacy.

Joel pointed a finger behind them, “You still feel good about this?”

“Not exceptionally, no,” she answered truthfully, “But we don’t exactly have a lot of other options, now do we?”

“If this guy’s gonna endanger our lives more than if we were on our own,” Joel argued, “Then we’re better off-“

“Fighting our way through a city we’ve never been in with targets the size of Texas on our backs?” Y/n finished for him, “Look, I don’t wanna go down there either. But we’re guaranteed a very slow, very painful death if we go it alone. I’d rather have allies and stand a chance, at least.”

Joel wanted to fight tooth and nail, but he knew she was right. She’d always had a talent for being right.

“Plus, it’ll give you plenty to lord over Tommy’s head when we get to Wyoming,” Y/n quipped, her mouth still frowned but her eyes were lit up with humor.

Joel huffed, he’d have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire. The thought of seeing his brother and his ex together again was a sight he didn’t think he’d ever be ready to see.

Without another word, and a silent concession from Joel, the two of them marched back into the conference room where the debate was still being held.

Henry pointed to Ellie, “She says y’all fought off two Clickers. Is that true?”

Joel and Y/n uncomfortably shifted, the dread sweeping over them.

“And you’re still alive,” Henry stated, “You see? You’re the right people. If it gets bad down there, we turn around, and run right back out the same way we came.”

Joel was about one poorly constructed sentence away from giving the whole idea up, “Oh, that’s your great plan?”

“No, that’s my dicey-as-fuck plan,” Henry fired back, “But as far as I can tell, it’s our only shot.”

Sam signed something to Henry.

“They’re saying,” Henry narrated as he signed back, “They’re going to help us escape,” he turned back to the party, “Right?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, “That was a low fuckin’ blow, man.”

Henry didn’t seem bothered at all by the manipulation.

Joel’s jaw twitched as he thought it all over. Y/n could practically feel his unease. She craned her neck back, muttering more into his body than at him, “Lesser of two evils.”

With every fiber of his being, Joel wanted to fight. But instead, he let his hands fall against his legs, admitting defeat.

—————————

The team got across the city with minimal close calls, every once in a while there’d be a truck or patrol group to avoid. They got to the bank building intact and only slightly out of breath.

“We need to get outta sight,” Joel said, every entrance/exit of the place was structured in a glass wall.

“Uh, I-I-I think it’s this way,” Henry pointed towards one of the halls, the rest of them following.

They trailed through the building till they hit a back door, hopefully leading to the tunnel entrance. Joel and Y/n entered it cautiously with their guns drawn.

“This should be it,” Henry announced, “You ready?”

Joel looked to Ellie, “Get your gun out.”

Rebelling in her own small way, once again, Ellie pulled out the gun from her jacket pocket. At this point, Joel wasn’t surprised in the least that she wasn’t heeding his advice. Him and Y/n marched forward regardless and took the lead. They entered through another door, delivering them into the tunnel system.

“You see?” Henry proved, “It’s empty. The plan is good.”

Joel and Y/n quickly shushed him. “‘The plan is good?’” Joel repeated, “We’ve been down here two seconds. We don’t know anything.”

Henry looked to Ellie, “Your dad’s kind of a pessimist.”

“I’m not her dad.”

“He’s not my dad.”

“He’s not her dad.”

Joel, Y/n and Ellie’s protests overlapped.

“Just point your light forward,” Joel instructed, tightly gripping his own, “And be ready to run.”

Y/n steadied her breathing and began to move beside Joel down the underground maze.

They walked for around an hour, snaking down the sets of tunnels, holding their flashlights and handguns as if they were life itself. Eventually, they turned down a hall with child’s art painted all along it. The door was even painted as castle. All of them examined the walls in quiet confusion.

Sam bounded forward, wanting to go through and explore. Joel threw his hand out to stop him, “No.”

Y/n tucked her flashlight under her chin and gripped her pistol, sharing an affirmative nod with Joel that they were ready. He slowly turned the doorknob and it creaked open, revealing a room that looked…civilized.

The whole place looked like a daycare center. There were toys scattered throughout storage bins, art and books against the walls, small cups, and a faded soccer goal painted across one of the cinderblock walls.

“I heard about places this this,” Joel commented, taking stock of their surroundings, “People went underground after Outbreak Day. Built settlements.”

“What happened to them?” Ellie asked.

“Maybe they didn’t follow the rules and all got infected,” Joel replied.

While Ellie and Sam sat down, playing with a few of the toys, Y/n, Henry and Joel scanned the room. Whoever had been living there, they’d been gone long enough for a layer of dust to settle across everything.

“Hey,” Joel called to Ellie who was being a little too loud, “Keep it down. We’re not out yet.”

“Ah, c’mon,” Ellie groaned, “Can we just rest here for a while? There’s, like, actually shit to do here.”

“Wouldn’t be so bad to wait the light out a bit,” Henry agreed, “Safer in the shadows when we pop back out on the other side.”

Joining Ellie and Henry, Y/n tilted her head in a slight shrug to Joel. It was a smart decision and he was just going to have to get over himself.

Joel shrugged back to the group, raising an eyebrow and going back to checking out the room.

Ellie and Sam occupied themselves by reading comic books and messing around with some of the toys. Henry, Joel and Y/n rested at a table, putting their feet up without actually relaxing at all. At some point, Ellie and Sam switched to kicking a soccer ball around on the makeshift field. Y/n watched carefully as Ellie interacted with the boy, she was so caring and patient. She’d confided that she didn’t have any brothers or sisters, but the glow coming from her radiated big sister energy.

Y/n scooted her chair back and walked across the room. “Can I join?”

Ellie enthusiastically began to switch the ball between her feet, trying to fake Y/n out. Y/n rotated to stand alongside Sam at the goal.

“That’s not fair,” Ellie argued, “There’s two of you.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you can’t do it,” Y/n teased.

Ellie’s determination set in, jumping slightly in place before kicking the ball in between Sam and Y/n’s legs quicker than they could stop it.

“Oh, shit,” she exclaimed, shooting her hands into the air.

Sam and Y/n shared a laugh before Y/n got down on her knees, “Can you teach me something?”

Sam watched her lips and nodded, showing her a sign. To her, it looked like he was pulling something out of his mouth, before bringing his two thumbs up and splitting their directions at his chest.

Y/n mimicked it, “What does this mean?”

“Oh, that’s from Savage Starlight,” Ellie exclaimed, copying the gesture with them, “‘Endure and survive.’”

The three of them continued to sign it over and over. It seemed to make both Ellie and Sam extremely happy, which meant Y/n would do it as many times as they wanted.

Joel and Henry watched from their seats. To say Joel’s heart ached would have been an understatement. His soul was barely holding together, a new piece of it dying off every day. But Y/n and Ellie had somehow kept the last few from withering. It was so subtle, he hadn’t even figured the phenomenon out yet. He was barely self-aware. But seeing Y/n, crouched down on the floor with the kids, still with the innate need to make the world around her better, he came to fully realize his thought from earlier in the day.

She was still his Y/n.

Smiling, laughing, loving, caring, kinder than the world deserved. Underneath all the anger was the woman he had loved with all his heart.

And that fucking terrified him.

As Y/n made her way back to them, Joel pulled himself back to reality, switching gears and channeling his energy into focusing on the kids. Specifically Sam. He was eight years old and in survival mode. No child deserved that. It was making him rethink his stance on the things he’d said earlier.

“If you were collaboratin’ to take care of him,” he said to Henry, “I…I shouldn’t have save what I said. I don’t know your situation. And I’m not sayin’ they should let it go, but all things considered, seems kinda cruel—to send a whole army after you for that.”

Henry waited a few seconds, Ellie’s cheers filling the silence, before speaking. “You know, I wasn’t, uh…exactly telling you the truth before…about me not killing someone.”

Y/n and Joel’s attention turned to him exclusively.

“There was a man,” Henry began, “A great man. You know, he was never afraid…never selfish…and he was always forgiving. Have you ever met someone like that? Kinda man you’d follow anywhere.”

Y/n tensed up, forbidding her eyes from flicking to Joel.

“I mean, I wanted to. Well…I would’ve,” Henry gathered strength for the rest of his story, “Yeah, but, uh…Sam, he, uh, he got sick. Leukemia,” he scanned Joel and Y/n’s somber expressions, “Yeah, anyway, um…there was one drug that worked and, whoa, big shock…there wasn’t much left of it, and it belonged to FEDRA. And if I wanted some, it was gonna take something big. So I gave them something big. That one great man. The leader of the resistance movement in Kansas City. And Kathleen’s brother.”

Understanding washed over Joel and Y/n. All the firepower, the tanks, the trucks, it all made sense.

“Yeah, so, you still think they should take it easy on me?” Henry asked rhetorically, “Or am I the bad guy?”

Y/n stayed silent, weighing morals against necessity. Joel pulled his lips down, barely shaking his head before Henry cut off what he would have said, “I don’t know what you’re waitin’ on, man. The answer’s easy. I am the bad guy because I did a bad guy thing.”

“But you did it to keep him alive,” Y/n spoke up, “You’d go to the ends of the earth for him. That’s not evil, that’s family.”

Henry’s eyes cut through the space between Joel and Y/n, “You two get it,” he nodded toward Joel, ”You may not be her father, but you were someone’s. See, I could tell.”

There it was. The big, dreadful, terrible thing that Joel and Y/n had gotten this far without talking about. It was the unspoken wound, the one deep enough to kill yet shallow enough that it didn’t show. It was a constant phantom pain in both their chests and it broke them all over again to have it brought up.

“You too,” Henry smiled at Y/n, nodding to Ellie, “That is, if she’s not yours.”

Y/n didn’t think the blade could slide any deeper into her heart. She had been something to someone once, and it was as much a part of her still as the air she breathed.

“Uh,” Y/n tearily began, clearing her throat quickly, “No, she’s not mine.”

Joel had had more than he could handle just by Henry’s assumption about him. Referring to Y/n as the word he couldn’t bring himself to utter in that context had sent him over the edge. He picked up his gun from the table and practically jumped to his feet, “We’ve waited long enough.”

Y/n stayed still at the table, holding back her tears took so much strength, it was stealing her ability to move. If she allowed herself to cry in front of Joel, she didn’t think she’d ever recover.

Henry didn’t ask questions, he didn’t bring up the very visible sorrow etched across Y/n’s face. Some hurt was palpable without ever being touched on, and it was painfully clear that Joel hadn’t been the only one to lose a child…

————

TYL Taglist: @bachiracore @stolenxkissess @kayleezra @the-wistful-reader @allthesesonsofbitches @goth-detectives365 @trippovert @rh1nestonecowg1rl @emiliaserpe @khaleesihavilliard @frietiemeloen @gracie7209 @dorck26 @thegirlnextdoorssister @alanis-altair @mariwinns16 @whosscruffylooking @endofthexline @alexiaricciardo @eonnyx @pedrosmexicangf @scarlettequinn @ao-sleepy @toinfinityandbeyonce2 @deanlovescassie @turmoil-ash @sorrowjunky @kpopslur @xxlilyxx90 @midgetpottermills @presidential-facts @scoopsnini @tubble-wubble @jamesdeerest @burninggracesandbridges @star-wars-lover @lucyhotchner @cococola-cocaine @witheringhqarts @fall-writes @alwaysdjarin @xxmoonn @emilia-the-artist @wand-erer5 @boneyarrd @lizard-zombie @itwasallinmyhead1 @cassidylea123 @paleepeaches @mxltifxnd0m @kettlekatie @ultimate-cinephile @gloryekaterina @caramelkatsukis-bitch @whovianayesha @memeorydotcom @deadunicorn159 @get0ut0fmyr00m @siriuslymooned @emmyeed @superbreadsoul @hellu-people1 @ourautumn86 @inas-thing @noraapple05 @givemylovetoall @luvwanda @avengersfan25 @pedr0swh0r3 (tags cont. in comments)

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fridays

Happy Friday everyone! What a couple of weeks huh? We're so back etc. I've still not recovered from the blooper and bts blessings. But I'm back again with another round of the fic I've been reading so far this month! You can find previous rec lists here.

9 August 2024

i'm here with the door wide open by @eddiebabygirldiaz oh my god the YEARNING in this fic. I actually wailed when I got to the end. Eddie POV, he's struggling with the silence with Chris gone, and the absence of the life and noise that he's so used to in his home. Through it all, Buck is there, sweet, supportive, vibrant and loud in his presence. Eddie tentatively comes to listen to what's not being said out loud. I absolutely adored the delicate hand held out to all the relationships here, and the beautiful imagery in the writing. But mostly the intimacy which struck me so deeply. Love is indeed stored in the kitchen. Just gorgeous.

in love with every song you've ever heard by @timeshareindestin I'm so glad I saw the beautiful art of hard of hearing Buck and his firetruck red hearing aids, because it led me to read this wonderful fic, in which he grapples with the disability he suppressed as a child, and realises that the family he craves has been there for him all along. This is an emotional read, and I particularly loved the flashbacks to his childhood and Maddie's support, as well as the realisation that he can be brave and vouch for himself with people fighting his corner.

Operation: Keep Eddie Diaz Busy and Annoyed by @gigi-gigi 'the one where Buck forces Eddie to keep busy while Chris is gone, but ends up catching a bad case of The Feelings in the middle of Eddie learning to love pickling things to irritate Chim and charming old ladies through square dancing.' THE FLIRTING. Dear god the flirting. Just delightful.

where the tumbleweeds blow by @tallahasseemp3 a buddie road trip fic! In which Eddie goes home to Texas. Buck follows. Along the way, they find each other. The perfect thing to read after the deleted Christopher and Eddie scene, with them learning to find their feet with each other whilst Eddie also learns to trust himself with Buck, and establish boundaries and a new understanding with his own parents. Such great family dynamic examination.

free mustache rides by @standback ALL HAIL MOUSTACHEDDIE SMUT!! 'Eddie comes back after two weeks in Texas with a) Christopher, b) a tan, and c) a mustache.' In which Eddie is flirtatious and a bit smug about the effect he's having, whilst Buck is entirely mesmerised, and needs to sit on his face about it. Funny and hot.

Safe for Work by @911-alsaurus continuing with the funny and hot theme, Al's specialty, in which touch starved Buck looks for some way to alleviate his cravings, and 'Eddie offers to be Buck's official head scratcher, shoulder massager, and general tactile needs provider. It's a really normal thing for friends to do. Surely.' Featuring an excellent Chim cameo.

Paint Me in Neon and Make Me Glow by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels HELLO exhibitionist streak Buck 5+1 hot as hell buck tommy fic. Truly Lincoln writes their dynamic in such a fun way, I love how tongue in cheek teasing Tommy is and how playful and intrigued Buck is here, whilst being extremely turned on. Kink exploration that ups the ante with each new tentative discovery. There's no room to be shy!

Every Day You’ll Still Show Up by @bluflamingo was a really nicely characterised buck tommy fic, an emotional oneshot in which they're early days boyfriends set close to S7 canon, learning to comfort each other when Buck returns after a bad call. There was a gentleness to this that I could genuinely see slotting into the show, and I really liked that it was a regular call out that went wrong rather than a massive catastrophe.

PS - once again sending out the signal to ask if you have any henren authors/fic recs I should check out PLEASE let me know! Have you SEEN S8 Hen's arms in those tank tops? Dear lord. Help a lesbian out?

[ismashedkasso666]

Ricky’s body in a quasi-medical sense? I dunno.

I am basing my estimates on the assumption that Ricky is 6 ft with an initial pre-weight of 160 lbs. I do not have reliable medical records to verify my claims regarding his height or true weight. However, it was mentioned in the book that Ricky was 6 ft. There doesn’t seem to be anything reliable about his weight, though.

THE EARLY DAYS OF JUNE IN 1984

June of 1984 was the height of Ricky’s homelessness, which absolutely contributed to his weight. During this time, he appeared to have lost nearly 40 lbs; his mental as well as physical health was declining, and he was blowing the majority of his profits on drugs (both for business and for personal use).

Gary stole from Ricky on April 21, so this is a bit after that incident. Thus, Gary is still currently in debt to Ricky.

PEAK HOMELESSNESS (EARLY JUNE OF 1984)

Ricky would sometimes sleep in a friend’s station wagon (with Jimmy Troiano) while they were dealing drugs in Kings Park, sometimes public restrooms, and sometimes behind the Midway (to put is extremely simply, the Midway is a store; I think it’s on Main Street).

Eventually, he found an abandoned house on Grove Street where he squatted until the police forced him out by chasing him. He then ended up at Scudder Beach in an old houseboat, staying with Pat Toussaint (aka Pagan Pat/Father Time), who had taken the old houseboat, and had occasionally lived there.

Supposedly, something unclear happened between the two, which led to a physical altercation. Ricky beat Pat up and left. (Ricky had also taken Pat’s necklace before he fled. Wasn’t sure whether that was necessary detail to add or not, but here it is.)

On one weekend in particular, Ricky was able to sneak back home while his parents, Lynn Kasso and Dick Kasso, were away. He showered, talked to his sister Wendy, and left the house with a tablecloth, which he later used as a cover from the rain when he went back to sleeping in Aztakea Woods.

SIGNIFICANT WEIGHT LOSS (EARLY JUNE OF 1984)

Again, assuming an initial pre-weight of 160 lbs (BMI 21.7), a 40 lb weight loss would drop his weight down to 120 lbs (BMI 16.3). I think that’s 25% of body mass dropped?

All that in just a month?… That’s genuinely absurd.

DETERIORATION OF HIS MENTAL AND PHYSICAL HEALTH, AND MONEY PROFITS (EARLY JUNE OF 1984)

One day Ricky showed up to the New Park wielding a baseball bat and began striking the roundhouse's support posts—while his friends sat inside.

"I wanna kill someone..." he muttered in between each vicious swing. "I wanna fucking kill somebody..."

Ellie Love, who was sitting in the roundhouse, yelled, "Ricky! You're too close to us! You're gonna hurt us!"

Suddenly a switch seemed to flip inside Ricky's mind. He lowered the bat, turned to Ellie, and said, "I would never, ever hurt you."

"He was walking around town like that for at least a week,” Ellie recalls. "Just murmuring with his shoulders hunched. We just thought it was the drugs speaking, not him. He was emaciated and looked like a zombie. Ricky was a walking drug by that point...."

Ellie had good reason to believe her friend looked like a zombie. In the last month, he had lost nearly forty pounds, almost certainly the result of sleeping in the woods and going without eating for long stretches of time. Most of Ricky's drug profits were going toward buying more stock for business and personal use. Spending nearly every hour of every day high on either LSD or angel dust, Ricky found little desire or opportunity to eat a decent meal.

RICKY DURING JUNE 17 AND JUNE 18 OF 1984

By this point, Gary owed only $20 dollars to Ricky before he was completely paid off.

June 17: High on angel dust, Ricky was downtown on Main Street using the pay phone to call home, but he didn’t answer until the fourth call—his mother, Lynn Kasso, had been the one to do so. They spoke very, very briefly (like, a sentence or two) before Ricky had hung up. He fell asleep on a bag of trash in the rear of the Midway.

June 18: Ricky made the mile-long walk home from Main Street and arrived around 7:30 A.M.

When Lynn opened the front door, she was horrified by what she saw. Her son was shockingly underweight, his hair was greasy, and his clothes were full of holes.

Essentially, after this, he got cleaned up and got in his father’s car so they could drive him to court. After court, Ricky wanted to be dropped off at the head shop for something to eat, as he hadn’t eaten in three days. This is where the bagel incident happened: Ricky wanted a quarter for a bagel, which turned into an argument.

Ricky kicked his father’s car, which pissed Dick off so much that he sped down the road. 20 minutes later, he drove back and threw two dollars at Ricky, then drove off again after banishing Ricky from home and forbidding him to speak to the rest of the family.

Don't call me. Don't come to the house. Don't ask for anything. Don't talk to your mother or your sisters ever again.

Just leave me alone—I never want to see you again.

AFTERMATH, AND TONY RUGGI SEEING RICKY’S EMACIATED APPEARANCE (MID-JUNE OF 1984)

Ricky tried to shrug off the ordeal and headed inside the deli next door to the Midway to buy his bagel. Later he walked down the side of 25A with his thumb out, trying to hitch a ride to Kings Park. There, he planned to meet Jimmy and score some microdots and dust to sell. Ironically, the one car that pulled over was driven by none other than Tony Ruggi from the Place. Just like Lynn Kasso, Ruggi was shaken by Ricky's appearance as he got into the car. Aside from his dramatic weight loss, Ricky also smelled horrible and looked gravely ill.

GARY LAUWERS MURDERED ON JUNE 19 OF 1984…

Mmm… I think this section needs its own post(s).

RICKY’S APPEARANCE ON NEWSPAPERS

For those who hadn't seen Ricky in a while, the photo was even more shocking once it graced the front page of nearly every major newspaper in the country. The manic and greasy-haired teenager didn't even resemble the Ricky they knew. He looked so thin and evil.

[highhhfiveee]

to save

(a bonus "to crumble" ficlet | this is to be read after to surrender; the entire collection is here: 🩹) pairing: mike schmidt x blackfem!reader summary: abby needs a savior. you come to the rescue.  wc: 4.2k tags: angst through and through mostly (some light violence, arguing, child neglect ): , drug and alcohol mentions, infertility mentions, angry feelings about a shitty situation [mike you suck]), fluff towards the end with reader and abby (: a/n: so, i hit 1k followers the other day (which thank you so much??? what a nuts accomplishment!!) and i'd decided a while back that this is what i wanted to give you all as a surprise, considering that a lot of you enjoyed the to crumble fics 🥹 this was originally supposed to be longer, but i may do a part 2 just because i didn’t want it to be super long and i wanted to finally put it out cause it's been overdue lmao. enjoy!

you'd been used to silence at night, but now, it was different.

before, the dead of night was peppered with stressful, anxious energy. you'd lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering how everything would manage to stay glued together. you begged yourself to dream instead of think. you'd wanted to be whisked away from the incessant, compulsive thoughts you had about work, home, your relationship; every second you could spend with your eyes closed, turning that silence into a fantasy you could almost taste, was better than being awake and facing your reality.

sleep had been your way to escape the quiet then, but these days, you enjoyed every second of it.

for the first few weeks of being away from mike and abby, you'd been unnerved by the still air of your parent's house. everything was calm and collected and unlike anything you'd experienced in the past two years, and you'd wanted to accept it with open arms, but your body held you back with a bit of apprehension.

everything felt so relaxed, but when would it blow up?

the thought had lingered in the back of your mind as you went about your life---another semester of school went by, and another birthday, grocery store trips, gas station visits, lunches with your parents and friends; soon, you're not thinking of anything going wrong ever again.

you were uncomfortable with peace at first, but now, you realized how invaluable it was. everyone deserved peace, and since you'd gotten yours, you hadn't wanted to let it go.

you were resting in this peace once more, curled up on the living room couch and leisurely clicking through your gradebook when it's shattered down the middle by ...baby one more time.

it was abby's ringtone, the one you'd selected specially for her. it would've filled you with glee, getting a call from your favorite girl, if it weren't for the fact that she never called. she was more comfortable with texts and emails and you respected that. you wanted to make this time in her life as serene as possible, and wrote her back once that phone calls will only be for emergencies then, okay?

it was 10:27 pm, and she should've been asleep, watched by max or whoever mike had hired as her babysitter now. you answer the phone after the second ring, closing your laptop. "is everythi---"

"y/n," she sobs, and suddenly you're fully alert, placing your computer on the couch cushions and shooting to your feet. "can you please come get me?" you don't hesitate to dash to your room and throw on clothes at her distressed tone, keeping your phone between your shoulder and cheek. your heart pounds, the sound wooshing through your skull.

still, you muster up the courage to ask, "abby, what's going on? are you okay, are you hurt? where's max?"

"she got into a-a fight with mike. she didn't come when s-she was supposed to, and mike was u-u-upset that she was gonna make him late for work. they had been yelling at each other so he left, and then max did too. i don't think she t-t-old him." you stop all of your movements at her hiccupping, squeezing your eyes shut.

"she just left you alone at the house?"

"y-yes, and i've been trying to call and text mike but he's n-not picking up."

you'd always known that mike put his phone on Do Not Disturb when he went to work, but that was before. that was when you were the one watching abby at night. you don't understand why he still keeps it on, and why abby's not able to bypass the setting.

"when did he leave?"

"l-like 30 minutes ago. max left like f-five ago."

"how many times did you call him?"

"eight."

you bite at your bottom lip as you fight to hold back tears. your hands ball into fists at the rage that you feel inside, hot and searing and aimed at the two adults that left an eleven-year-old unaccompanied.

"i want you to pack a bag with enough stuff for a couple of weeks, okay? i'm gonna come get you and you're gonna stay with me for a little."

abby's calmed down enough to say, "but isn't your parents' house too small?" without stuttering. it was, but that was irrelevant. in the grand scheme of everything, the amount of space didn't matter. you just wanted abby to be safe.

"doesn't matter, sweet girl. they'll understand, and we'll do all the fun stuff we used to do together. we're gonna do karaoke, and watch movies, a-and we can paint again. don't you miss that?"

you can hear abby nod, and when she sniffles, murmuring, "i miss it a lot," you're like an olympian sprinting to your car, cooing, "lock the front door and wait for me in your room, yeah? everything's going to be okay, abby, i promise."

you're throwing your car into gear like you drive for a living, speeding all the way across town. you'd be fearful for cops if the pure adrenaline of your past hadn't been coursing through your veins; you feel transported back to the days of rushing over to abby's school, sweeping her into your arms as she wailed about mike forgetting her day in and day out.

you were her savior then, and though you loved her beyond words, you'd never wanted to be that. when you'd left, you thought you'd finally shed that title, but here you were again. you'd wrap her up in your arms and she'd see that halo over your head again, thanking you for saving her from the common denominator in both of your problems; the one person that had roped you two back into this pattern.

you still do the wrapping when she runs into your arms in the foyer, of course, holding her so tight that you're afraid you might break her, and as you do, you take in her environment.

the house hadn't been in complete shambles like you'd expected, but it still wasn't anywhere near what it should've been. there were dishes piled in one side of the sink, surrounded by buzzing gnats, and clothes thrown all around the living room. none of them are abby's.

"max's been trying to help me clean, but mike just ruins our progress," abby sits next to her bags on the couch once you let her go, staring up at you with red-rimmed eyes that take you back to the day you left.

"help you clean?" you gripe, glaring at empty, sticky-looking cups and the heap of mail, mostly bills, on the dining table.

"mike..." abby drops her eyes down to her feet, picking a piece of skin off the edge of her thumb. "nothing really changed when you left." she continues on, telling you about how everything had gotten worse in the six months that you'd been gone.

mike had quit his other job and started locking himself in his room again. sometimes, he even forgot to take abby to school after work, despite her shouting and banging against the door to get him to do so.

after her failed attempts, she'd sit in her room all day, falling asleep in her fort after sobbing for hours upon hours, while mike showed up to the pickup lane of her school in the afternoon bleary-eyed and disheveled.

"mr. schmidt, abby was never dropped off."

he'd come back home to find her curled up and snoring under her tent; safe and sound in this strange way that should've disturbed him. it should've made his blood boil, anger directed towards himself when he realized that he'd just dreamtthat he'd taken her to school instead of tangibly doing it. it should've worried him that her school might pick up on that, and get higher powers involved.

with his latest cocktail, an ambien and a beer (or two), however, he felt nothing at all.

once he'd seen abby in her room, he'd closed the door and sent them back into the same cycle he'd created.

max had tried her best to take care of abby, but considering the fact that mike wasn't paying her anything, she couldn't always afford to help abby in the way she wanted and mike hadn't been much help. he'd always leave without a word when she showed up at night, and even when she'd begun taking abby to school in the mornings, he hadn't shown any gratitude. he'd only used it to feel better about his irresponsibility, feeling on top of the world when he dropped by abby's school and she was actually there to be picked up.

max's generosity had allowed mike to wholeheartedly slip back into his previous neglectful autopilot; he saw his duties as guardian done when food was in the fridge, toiletries were in the bathroom, and his sister was enclosed in the house, and that pissed you off to the highest degree.

you understood max's stance with fighting against him, but you wondered why abby had to be hurt in the process. she was just a child, someone that shouldn't have been brought in the middle of a petty squabble between two adults. max should've never left her alone, and you're desperate to chew her out as well.

"i think i might get kicked out of school too," abby solemnly tells you now as you throw her bags into the backseat of your car and buckle her up in the front. "i don't think he can afford it anymore. they pull him aside to talk every time he comes and gets me. 'just give me more time', he always says."

your eyes fill with tears again, and you let them fall. she was only eleven and deserved none of this. you were sure that if you had nothing to live for, you'd kill mike. you felt like there was no remedy for anything he'd done until he was gone, completely separate from you and abby in every way, shape, and form.

an idea that wouldn't land you life in prison formulates in your head, and it's this idea that propels you to freddy's, your hand smoothing down abby's flyaways as you drive with an aching heart.

"stay in here, okay?" you tell her once you've stopped the car in the desolate parking lot of mike's job. "lock the doors behind me."

"y/n, i'm sorry for not telling you anything about what was happening," she seems genuinely disappointed in herself, closing her own teary eyes. a single droplet cascades down her cheek and you caress it, placing a soft, forgiving kiss on her forehead. her emails and texts had made it seem like everything was okay, but you couldn't blame her for putting on a front.

you'd let go from them and she'd understood why. she didn't want to worry you about her and her brother, the brother who'd made you wear a smile while he dragged you through hell. none of that was her fault, but still; she was related to him and felt like a mess, a burden by association. "i didn't tell anyone because i was afraid they would send me away an---"

"it's okay, abby," you purr, opening your car door and sticking your leg out. "soon, you won't have to be afraid anymore. i'll make sure of it."

you remind her of your original instructions and she nods, clicking the electronic lock on the door panel as you march to the dated entrance of the pizzeria. you grit your teeth, bashing your balled fists on the door.

"open the fuck up, mike!" you scream, turning your flaming face towards the security camera as you continue your assault against the building. your hands prickle with the feeling of the solid glass on your skin but you push it aside, pounding as hard as you can. "mike! i swear to fucking god, open this fucking door!"

your throat is nearly raw from shouting for so long, and you begin kicking at the door when it finally swings open, and your feet and hands are connecting with mike's loose frame.

"y/n, what the fuck..." his speech is slurred, and it only angers you further. you don't stop your movements, smacking at his body with a fury you don't think you've ever felt in your entire life.

mike feels nothing of the sort. he barely feels anything, disoriented and numb from the drug-induced nap he'd been taking.

you'd been in his dream; shit, you'd been in them forever, but more so since the two of you had broken up. it felt like a part of his punishment for everything he'd done, though he thought that was the only way he'd ever see you again. he doesn't expect to feel the weight of your small fists beating against his chest, or that he'll have to wrangle his arms around your waist to stop your attack on him. you're still as beautiful as ever, so red-faced and irritated in your favorite sweats, but he knows it doesn't matter. it's just a thought, one that doesn't even work to deflect his attention from your violent efforts. "jesus christ, stop---hitti--"

"get the fuck off me, mike!" you screech, forcefully shoving your hands into the center of his chest. his arms around your waist made you feel dizzy once upon a time, but feeling them now, for any reason, makes you want to throw up, and you're nearly crying as he tightens them around you. "get off!"

"stop trying to beat the shit out of me, then!" he retorts, stumbling back as you push into him once more when he finally drops you. you're both staring at each other, your breaths labored and emotional, and you launch straight into your tirade, jamming a finger in mike's face.

"well, why don't you stop dragging me back into your life! max left abby at home alone and i was the only person who could help her, mike," he opens his mouth to tiredly protest, but you turn your finger into an entire hand, halting his words. "and before you say, 'well, she could've called me', she did. she called you eight times, but you didn't answer. abby would've been home by herself all night because of you and now, i have to be wrapped up in this again. was almost two years not enough?"

mike's slow mind begins to jog with the mention of abby being alone, but he's still slurring, sunken eyes dark in the low lighting of the vacant pizzeria. "y/n..."

"you're taking the ambien again, aren't you?"

he's licking his lips and letting out a deep sigh, his eyes fluttering to the ground. you begin to hiss, "tell me the truth" when he finally mutters, "i need it."

your laugh is sharp and bitter and aimed towards the sky, tears cresting your lash line again. "like you needed it then, too?"

you never thought you'd see mike again, or at least not so soon. it's saddening to you that your reunion is filled with such distress. you couldn't be happy to see him even if you tried, and that thought pricked at your body with the intensity of a million needles.

how pathetic, all that time you'd been together, all that love and affection reduced to anger pulsing in your heart.

"you're so hopeless, mike." the words sting your tongue, filling the air between you with bitter animosity, but both of you know it's not a lie. "i don't understand why you won't change; not even just for abby, or for me, but for yourself. this wasn't what this was supposed to be," you dig your teeth into the plushiness of your bottom lip as you weep on. "we alldeserve better than this. we were supposed to better our lives together."

"yeah, we were, and then you left."

you wrinkle your forehead irritably, snapping, "you don't get to use that against me. you know exactly why i left."

mike stares at you, grinding his molars together with a tight, clenched jaw. "that's also why i'm gonna take full custody of abby."

it's mike's turn to chuckle now, the sound rumbling through his chest and causing him to place his palm on his abdomen. he bends over slightly, rolling through the motions of an exaggerated belly laugh, and you cross your arms over your chest, straightening your posture. "this isn't some kind of joke. i'm serious, mike."

"yeah, okay, y/n." his groggy, nonchalant tone irritates you; it makes it impossible to not think about how he's probably like this at home, hiding away and drugging himself to sleep, ignoring the one person that needs him more than ever.

"you're in no position to take care of her! you get home from work and lock yourself in your room, forget to take your little sister to school, and ignore her calls when you're at work so you can sleep through your entire shift!" you hadn't yelled that intensely since you'd found out mike had cheated on you, and it didn't even feel good. there was nothing rewarding about it, and it made swallowing to soothe your throat more painful. "so i'm taking her far the fuck away from you. she's had it hard enough, and it's me, your aunt, or the state. i refuse for abby to have to grow up in an environment that's not safe for her, and you're going to have to deal with that."

you're giving him a tight smile, holding your shaky hands in surrender as you pace backwards towards the entrance. you shrug your shoulders at mike's expression, pinched and angry and pointed as you begin to push the main doors open.

“yeah, you wanna play mommy to my little sister cause you can’t have kids of your own?”

you freeze in place, painfully furrowing your eyebrows. there's a piercing ache in your stomach, the poke of mike's dig at you spreading to every nerve in your body.

something you'd revealed to him when you two had seriously talked about living together and settling down, all tearful and dreary and apologetic, now used against you like it had the weight of some kind of crime deserving life.

he'd held you that night, kissing your cheeks and comforting you, whispering, "you don't have anything to apologize for, baby. me, you, and abby can be a family."

you hadn't wanted to be some young parent, but you'd loved the idea of a support system and a place that was actuallyhome, the hub of everything family. you'd been raised in that and wanted to continue it, carrying on that closeness in your own time.

so many doctors visits had told you that it wouldn't be possible. you'd worked hard to accept it, and though it pained you every time thoughts of growing old and settling down swirled in your head, mike had helped you truly come to terms with it. "who knows what miracle could happen? even so, family can be created or chosen. we can build our family in so many ways, okay?"

you're back to freddy's as quickly as you drifted, wondering if mike had thought about the same memory as you after he'd let the words foolishly tumble from his mouth. his face reveals little, his hooded eyes looking to the dust-covered information board beside you.

mike was able to play both roles; he could be the sweet, gentle, affectionate type, but recently, if you provoked him in any way, he turned grating and cruel. you didn't understand him anymore. you hadn't in a long time, but in this particular moment, he's completely and totally lost on you.

in the past, he was asking why you hadn't left him, so guilty and ashamed and saying he didn't deserve you, but even after leaving, you'd gotten sucked back in, every single second in his presence a punch to the gut as he showed you exactly what he meant.

you're giving him room to say something, anything, maybe even apologize, but there's just silence that you can't enjoy. something you'd become so fond of begins to drive you up a wall, so you huff despairingly and mutter, “it's for her own good, mike.” before leaving.

accommodating your life for abby hadn't been on your bucket list, but you were surprised at how effortlessly you'd fallen into being her full-time caretaker again. you'd immediately sprung into action, letting abby inhabit your bedroom while you sorted everything out with your parents. they hadn't been overwhelmed with joy about the circumstances, as they'd never cared for mike much, but they don't judge you.

though what you're doing is big, they understand what you're doing it for. someone you'd do anything for, someone that you wanted to protect and nurture. you were willing to put it all on the line for abby's well-being, and they admired you for that.

they'd fortunately helped you get into a small apartment, one close to abby's school, and you'd gotten in contact with abby's aunt, pleading your case for custody to her with a highly-detailed portfolio over brunch.

she wasn't your favorite person, the stick up her ass unbearable at times, but you'd needed her to see you as competent enough to go through with transferring her petition for full responsibility of abby. you'd been nervous at first, but the massive amount of damning evidence and "shit-talking" on mike's behalf had been enough for her to see you as fit, in addition to your "stable, ordinary career".

though she'd been easy to win over, you hadn't expected mike to be as well after your encounter at freddy's. with the way he'd reacted when you broke the news, you'd thought you'd be arguing with him constantly, bickering about how he wasn't in a good enough spot to keep abby in his charge.

only that never happened, and you'd  let out a big sigh when you received signed documents in the mail, relinquishing all of his rights and privileges as abby's guardian. his name wass scribbled across the signature lines in thin, inky strokes, slanted and sloppy.

like everything regarding your connection, it was bittersweet. abby had even expressed the same sentiment when you'd picked her up from her newly-attended after school program. you'd told her aunt about her schooling, and she'd agreed to help pay for most of it considering that abby was in your care now.

"money won't go to waste now. i wanted mike to work for it, the lazy fool. i wasn't gonna let my money go down the drain with him."

you'd simply nodded at her confession, unsure of why all of the adults in abby's life had failed her. not paying for her school because of mike was idiotic to you, but you'd brushed it aside with the thought that she could finally be fully enriched now.

all of the new possibility, for both you and abby, rode on your shoulders, and though you'd been curious as to why you were the one chosen for this responsibility, you'd accepted it with open arms.

"y/n," abby's voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you're back to sitting at the small dinette in your new kitchen with her, lo mein weaved around your wooden chopsticks. the noodles slip when you jolt with a soft, "huh". her eyes are wide and inquisitive, and you close your own to recollect yourself. "are you okay?"

"yeah, i'm sorry. just thinking about...things."

"not about shrimp lo mein, i see," abby giggles deviously, reaching her hand into your container to snatch a shrimp. she pops it into her mouth with a hum as you gawk in fake disapproval, getting her back for a piece of her sesame chicken.

"and you're not thinking about sesame chicken, so take that," you retort, the both of you falling into hushed, familiar laughter that makes the rapid change of your life so worth it.

you'd taken a bit of time off from work to deal with constant meetings and court dates, and even though abby had already been staying with you during the entire case, you were now her appointed guardian and it felt unreal.

you'd seen how happy she'd gotten. it was like the old days, when you'd first met; she was so lively and joyous and curious then, and you'd been so thrilled to see that sparkle return to her eye with every trip to the children's museum, morning conversation on the ride to school, and dragged out bedtime story.

you knew that every signature, every eerie government building, every early morning and late night, everything----it had all gone into ensuring that abby had endless moments like that, and ones like the present; eating her favorite chinese food after finishing up homework and bathing, and giggling with you as she was reminded that she'd never have to worry about being taken care of ever again.

you couldn't let anyone down, especially not her. you'd taken the biggest risk to change her life, and in knowing that, savior didn't feel like such a heavy title.

now, it was freeing; to save didn't feel so crushing anymore.

"don't worry about my things," you stretch your arm across the vinyl table for her hand, brushing your thumb across her delicate skin with a warm, loving smile. "all that matters right now is that you're here with me, safe and cared for. that's a thing we can both think about."

(,: didn't think i'd write anything else for this au but they get me every time. how sweet. i hope you all enjoyed! thank you so much again for 1k, i love you all!!

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@mikeschmidtgf-@jun1p3rlol-@xyzstar-@aquamarine001-@atrociouslybear-@ickleronniekinsemotionalrange

[drivinmeinsane]

Winter Break ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Three ※ Henry Letham / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: During winter break, Henry decides to take you to meet his parents for the first time.

※ Rating: No mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Hurt/Comfort. Self Harm Scars Mentioned, Canon Divergence - Henry Lives, College Student!Reader, Not Entirely Reliable Narrator, Established Relationship

※ Word count: 1924

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

There is a repetitive sound in the room when you wake up, the dry rasping of graphite over paper. You know without looking that Henry is beside you on the bed. The weight of his observing stare pins you in place like a physical touch. You’re sure that he has likely been sketching you for a while. One of his hands reaches out to adjust the way the blanket drapes over your body.

You peer at the clock resting on the floor beside the mattress, staying still while he manipulates the cloth however he wants. It is already past noon. Usually, the both of you would be on campus by now, but winter break allows for small luxuries. No early morning and a lull in assignments feels almost decadent. 

“Good morning,” you say, fighting to speak through your yawn.

“‘Morning,” Henry returns, closing his sketchbook in favor of giving you a less remote kind of attention. He drops it onto the floor before sliding back under the covers to wrap an arm around your waist. You trace the spaces between the cigarette burns on his forearm as though you are an ancient astronomer mapping the constellations.

Just when you are on the cusp of falling back asleep, Henry speaks. His breath blows hot against your shoulder. “I guess we ought to get going, huh?”

You sigh in response, knowing that he is not wrong. There are only so many hours of daylight left and the two of you need to squeeze in a visit to his parents today. You have never met them before and Henry wants to make the trip to go see them, complete with something cooked at home.

Electing to officially start the day Henry rolls away and gets to his feet. You do the same, following him to the living room. While he steps out for a brief smoke, you beeline to the kitchen to start gathering up the ingredients. You are just setting the carton of eggs on the counter when he comes back inside and wedges himself next to you in the narrow space. He immediately starts helping by peeling and grating the potatoes while you dice the onions. Henry heats up a frying pan of oil on the stove, and you set to mixing the shredded potatoes, onion, flour, and eggs together. He begins frying the mixture after dropping sizable dollops of it into the pan. He doesn’t flinch when beads of hot oil hit his bare arm, just watches the food fry with a pair of tongs in his hand. 

As he keeps a close eye on the cooking process, you silently check in with him by running a hand down the knobs of his spine. He nods in response, letting you know he is alright for now. Slightly more at ease, you ready a plate with a folded paper towel and set it on the counter by the stovetop. You do the same with a tupperware container. It will help to drain the excess oil off of the latkes as he takes them out of the frying pan and when you move them off the plate for transport.

He and his mom had made them together every year while his dad busied himself with setting up the chessboard for a lengthy post-dinner game. Henry told you the previous day that it would not feel right to visit empty handed. A last minute dash to the grocery store following that conversation had helped put today’s plan in motion.

You observe him while he cooks, your hands itching for a pen and a piece of paper. Henry is the kind of person that makes you want to write about him, to let endless streams of consciousness flow onto a page. Those feelings made a home in you ever since you saw him hunched over his sketchbook on the floor in between classes. The two of you had quietly observed each other for weeks until you had finally approached him when you needed a partner for an assignment in your only shared class that semester. He had been shy and withdrawn, not at all like he is with you now. 

Coming out of your musings, you move to your partner’s side and begin transferring the latkes. Henry turns the burner off and sets the pan on another to cool down when he scoops up the last of them with the tongs. Now that the cooking is out of the way, the two of you get ready together. You do not dare to leave Henry alone right now, not when he is so vulnerable. Like a stubborn shadow, you will be stuck to his side for the foreseeable future. Thankfully, the next semester is a couple more weeks away. 

With a few hours of daylight left, you both get into Henry’s inherited SUV. He shoves a Radiohead CD into the player almost immediately after starting the vehicle, not able to bear the ambient silence right now. He turns the dial so that it is low enough to be considered background noise. You’re just able to hear the opening lyrics to Airbag over the sound of the vehicle. The tupperware container in your lap is hot, almost burning you through your pants during the start of the half hour drive to New Jersey. The chessboard and its pieces rattle noisily in their case on the back floorboard. The drive is mostly filled with conversation about an upcoming literature class that you will both be attending for the spring semester. Since you first met in freshman year, you have tried to share one class a semester. It gives the two of you something to look forward to during the day.

It is not until you are only a streetlight away from the destination when your nerves finally get the best of you. You turn to your boyfriend with a sheepish smile. “I’m a little nervous,” you admit.

“Don’t be. Mom and Dad are gonna love you. Promise.” He takes his hand off of the Ford Exploror’s steering wheel and offers you his pinky.

You hook yours around his and yelp as he clamps his finger onto it and draws your hand down towards his knee. He lets you go as soon as you make contact with the top of his thigh. You press your palm into the meat of it. The gnarled scar tissue arching across the top of it is apparent even through the material of his pants. You idly trace your fingers over the ridges, soothing you both with the repetitive motion. 

“We’ve got three minutes until we pull up. You’re gonna be fine.” He laughs a little and drums his hands on the steering wheel to the music playing on the radio. “Bet you would steal the title for favorite family member.”

You feel tears sting your eyes and you squeeze his leg. “Unlikely. I’ve heard you talk about them a lot. You’re their boy, Henry. That doesn’t change.”

The other college student just nods. Mahlus Gardens is just ahead on the left and flipping the signal on, he makes the turn through the gate onto the narrow drive. He leans forward, scanning for the right lot. Upon locating it, he slows to a stop. He angles the tires and pulls the parking brake. You sit in silence before he steels himself and unbuckles your seatbelt, letting the material start sliding across your chest. He undoes his as well and drops out of the SUV. He loops around to your side and pulls the door open before you can reach the handle. He skims a fingertip over the bridge of your nose and steps back to let you stand at his side so he can close the door. He snags the chess set out of the back before taking your hand. 

Together, you walk through the grass. One of your hands holding Henry’s and the other carrying the tupperware container. Finally Henry finds the right spot and comes to a stop. Beside you, he takes a shaky breath and lets go of your hand to drop into a squat. You kneel beside him.

“Mom, Dad, this is my partner. ‘Thought we'd stop by. The first night of Chanukah is tonight, and I…” He breaks off, almost curling into himself. You pick up the conversation in his stead.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Letham. It’s nice to meet you.” At your side, you hear Henry let out a small sob and swipe at his face. You put your hand on his back and rub it soothingly. “You’ve raised a wonderful son.”

You both sit on the lawn across from one another and settle in. You place the tupperware in the middle and Henry takes out two latkes and places them side by side in front of the family gravemarker. Henry sets up for a game of chess. As you play, you eat despite neither of you having much of an appetite. The food is comforting though, enough so that Henry manages to relax. He tells stories about his childhood, filling in for his parents, embarrassing stories and all. In return, you talk about how the two of you met. You share some of the best moments you have had with their son. It is bittersweet. An ache settles in your chest.

Once the sun is finally starting to tap the horizon, Henry calls a close to the match, you’ve been locked in a stalemate for the last half of it anyway. Your fingers brush as you jointly put away the game. He stands and dusts his pants off before offering you a hand up. You allow him to help you to your feet. Before making the journey back to the vehicle, Henry rests his hand on the stone for a moment. 

“Bye, Mom, Dad.” He makes no promises to be back. 

You are the one who drives back to the apartment. Henry looks out the window the entire time, biting at the sides of his fingers. He looks wrung out, on the cusp of screaming or crying. Maybe both. There is a reason you both had decided to save the visit until the break. Going to class and managing emotions would have been difficult. This is Henry’s first Chanukah without his parents. There was no way of knowing that the previous one would end up being the last.

You put the Explorer in park once you pull into the crowded parking lot of your apartment complex and tap his arm. He follows you to the door, emotionally exhausted. The tupperware container goes in the fridge and once you vacate the kitchen, you meet Henry at the window. The Shamash is in his hand as he looks down at his family menorah. It was one of the only things he had kept that belonged to his family. It was passed down through his father’s side for generations. You had painstakingly helped him clean and polish it the night before, a task he and his dad used to do together every December.

Once at his side, you pick up the lighter resting on the window ledge next to the menorah. You flick the wheel. It lights in a smooth motion, flame steady. You offer it to Henry. He tilts the candle and holds the wick in the fire until it ignites. You stand at his side in silent support as he wets his lips with a swipe of his tongue. He shakily starts to recite the blessings, tears running down his face.

[writingsofanomnivore]

Wishing well- Oikawa Toru x Reader

fluff/angst? a bit bittersweet. this feels like a very shitty piece. might delete. based on a song I really like.

"I threw a coin in the wishing well; I thought it was free.”

Sunlight peeked through the wooden slats near the well, casting a golden glow that reminded you of a certain someone’s eyes. The gaping well beneath your fingers seemed to peer up at you, its depths reflecting the silver shine of coins that almost blinded you. You wondered who else had thrown a coin, what they wished for, or, as in your case—for whom they wished. The 500 yen coin between your thumb and finger suddenly felt so heavy, as if begging to join the others inside. So, you threw it. Let it go, like that one boy you so dearly loved.

“I wrote you a letter, baby,

Signed it from me.”

The letter sat in the book, lying lifelessly as if it did not contain the words you wished to utter to him—words you’d never said, words that required more courage than you could ever muster. You still remembered writing it a year after he was gone. It wasn’t his birthday, New Year’s, or even Valentine's Day, but you still wrote it, signing it, “from me,” knowing your ‘lovely’ handwriting was quite distinguishable.

“Yn-chan!! What is this? I cannot read a word!”

“What are you talking about, Shittykawa? I knew you were blind, but not this blind.”

“a) Rude. b) I bet you a ramen bowl that no one other than you can read your handwriting. Don’t pretend I haven't caught you squinting at your notes trying to read what italic mess you’ve conjured up.”

“Hmmph!” With a huff, you took it back, ignoring the cries of “I was just kidding, Yn-chan!!” and “Yn-chan, please!”

“I’m looking around this town,

Everything’s changed.

That old liquor store has been sold away.”

Your ‘secret bridge’ is gone. A whole road has been built atop it. The water beneath it is now solid brick. The old grandma you’d meet on your way home has moved to the city with her grandson. The cat who would purr into Oikawa’s hand looks at you every day, as if asking where that loser is. Everything’s changed—for better or worse, you’re yet to know.

“I see your reflection in every scene.

I miss your long brown hair just blowing for me.”

Peering at the glass window, you somehow saw his reflection behind you. A part of you wished to turn around, but the wiser part didn’t want to be disappointed, so you looked ahead. Wind entered through the window, and the image of brown hair flowing flashed into your mind. Fluffy brown hair blowing in the wind—it was unfair how one could be blessed with so many things. You couldn’t even be mad because, at the end of the day, it was your love who was the blessed one, and you were the only one getting to admire his beauty. So, with a sappy smile, you looked at him like you always did.

“If love was a feathered wing,

I hope you’d see,

There’s a whole wide world even if it ain’t with me.”

Though these moments are bittersweet, it feels nice to know you’ve grown up. You’re not that same 17-year-old sneaking out to meet someone your parents didn’t know about. You’re not the same 17-year-old saving money to buy Tooru charms, little bouquets, and keychains for his bag. Now you’re 21. You’ve learned how to deal with idiots, stand up for yourself and others, manage deadlines at work, and made new friends. A journey everyone makes, and just like that, you hope he is doing the same. Learning, experiencing the little joys of life, the hardships, and battling each one with grace. Though a part of you wished you could be by his side when he plays his first match in university to cheer him, to be part of the audience when his serve hits the opponent's court—you’re glad he can experience these moments.

“So long to the summer.

You were always my friend.

So long to my lover.

You were there till the end.”

And now summer’s almost gone, marking the third year without you, friend, lover. The sunlight slowly fades as the sun begins to set, making the park chilly. Walking out of the park, you knew this wishing well would not bring him back into your arms, but maybe, just maybe, you will keep wishing.

[iamthekaijuking]

King’s Nightmarish Retail Experience

This post has been a long time coming because I know for a fact that suffering through retail makes for excellent stories and I have cosmically bad luck when it comes to dealing with people, so over the course of like 1 1/2 years I’ve just been stockpiling notes. I had been working with some people who had been working in pickup for five years and by the time I left I had three times more stories than they did. And now that I’ve quit over a month ago I can unleash this upon the world.

This post will only go over my experiences with customers and not people I worked with or how the store was ran. Most people in the store I worked at were either just normal people doing their jobs or the sweetest people you’ll ever meet, and very few people working in my store were actually jerks or gross. That’s actually how it is for most retail shops in general actually. Now I could say stuff about the few jerks (and I’d love to) but I’m not going to just as another way to eliminate any possibility of incriminating where it is I worked. Plus most of that frustration was directed at managers and corporate so you can probably guess why I’d be frustrated.

Also some of these stories are kinda gross so you know, warning. Although I did try and keep it classy.

General weird people in the store.

When I was out on the floor getting items for orders I observed a fair share of horrible and gross behavior. Things ranging from a guy sticking his hand in his pants to directly scratch his junk in public to a woman doing the same but with her chocolate starfish. Sometimes I even saw excellent parenting as well such as the time I saw a little kid pinching his dad, only for the dad to spin around and lift him up by the scruff of his shirt and say “Pinch me again and I’m breaking your neck in the parking lot”. Another time I saw a mom throw her umbrella at her toddlers face because he wasn’t listening to her. Excellent stuff.

This one is actually from one of my coworkers but years ago around the time The Last Jedi released a bunch of blue milk hit the shelves. My coworker was just getting items until a fat scruffy neckbeard guy barged up to her and yelled “Where’s your blue star wars milk?!”. If it happened to me I’d have to try really hard not to laugh at them.

I’ve also just had a customer just walk up to me and demand I clean up a carton of milk a child spilled even when I specified that I was a pickup worker, that wasn’t my job, and I didn’t have a phone to call anyone about it. I ended up having to ineffectively sponge it with paper towels while he watched with his hands on his hips for thirty seconds. Eventually someone came with a mop though.

I’ve had a woman pull me aside wanting me to help her text pictures of her pipes to her plumber. Like… no! I didn’t have time for that! You’d think she was a super old lady in her 80s or something but no she was like late 50s/early 60s! Old enough to know how a smartphone works!

Every customer from here on is memorable enough that I’ve given them their own section.

Memorial Day Farter

This one happened when I was out picking items for orders on Memorial Day.

A woman who, and I really have no other words to describe her, was a hamburger helper of a woman bent over in front of me to grab something and just bayblade let it rip directly on me. I have anosmia but I could tell it was a rancid congalala fart because I could taste it. I swear to god that the gust of intestinal wind that came out of her was powerful enough to blow my shirt back a bit.

And she didn’t even acknowledge it either! She just laboriously got back up and left!

I showered when I got home.

Cottage Cheese Lady

Once again I was out on the floor, this time in the dairy section.

I was grabbing stuff and my cart was parked in front of the cottage cheese. Off to my side an older lady was looking for something. English was not her first language cause she said “Where cottage cheese?” but she wasn’t facing me so I assumed she was taking to herself. But she kept repeating it louder and louder until she turned to me and yelled “WHERE COTTAGE CHEESE?!”. It took me a second to realize she had been talking to me the entire time and in that time she got right up in my face (or as close to it as a five foot person can to a 6ft 1 guy) and almost pinned me against the doors in the dairy section. And for some reason thrusted her chest out at me.

Now she was wearing some fancy v-neck jacket with a very deep v-neck and she was old. So she was thrusting some very unimpressive flabs at me while yelling “WHERE COTTAGE CHEESE”. Overwhelmed, I quickly slid out from in front of her and pushed my cart out of the way and pointed. She then arched her spine the opposite way like a hunchback in defeat and just said “oh…”.

“Bro”

This one also happened when I was out picking items. Occasionally when out picking customers would sometimes ask me where things are, and while I didn’t like it because we were timed on how fast we picked items for orders and the people in charge would get on our asses if we weren’t fast enough for them, I still answered customers if I could, sometimes even taking them to what they wanted if I had time or was in a good mood. Most of the time though people were right in front of what they were looking for and ended up looking like complete idiots.

That said, I didn’t know where everything was in the store. I’m not a robot. But you’d be surprised how downright pissy people get when you tell them you don’t know where something is. This guy is one of them.

So I was picking and a guy twenty feet away from me held his phone up and asked me “do you know where this is bro?”. Now I just want to take a second to describe this man. This guy who looked to be in his forties was in a tank top and had the torso of a really tall broad guy like me, but had limbs so short in skinny that he was only like 5 feet tall, so he had the proportions of a fuckin spore creature. I told him “sorry I don’t know where that is” because one I probably wouldn’t have, two I was strapped for time, and three I can’t see what’s on a phone twenty feet away from me.

This guy immediately raises his voice and yells “Oh so you don’t pay attention when you take stuff off the shelves bro?!”. I was just completely taken aback and a few people were looking at the scene this guy was making, so to get out of the sticky situation I pulled the ultimate get out of jail free card for dealing with customers: I told him it was my first day on the job even though I had been working for over one and a half years at that point.

Immediately this guy’s demeanor changed like a psycho and he started trying to be all cheerful and welcoming me to my new job. He even walked up to try and pat me on the back but I cringed away, and I think he got the message from that and left me alone.

Karen Video Tapes Me

This is the last one where I was out picking for orders.

So it was late in my shift, around 45 minutes before it ended, and I was with another person. It was a pretty good night so I decided that I’d pick for orders the next day just to get us a little bit ahead. So I’m out pushing my cart and getting items and as I turn into an aisle there’s this short old blond lady with a very fluffy expensive coat standing in the middle of the entrance to the aisle. No biggie though, I just maneuver around her and give her two feet of space. But as I pass her she turns to me in disbelief and says “you almost ran me over!” and I just kinda look at her confused and weirded out before continuing.

Now it could have just ended there with both of us thinking the other was weird and kinda rude but continuing on and probably not remembering each other the next day, but this woman was so incredibly personally offended by me. So later in my item wave I’m in the baking aisle bending down to grab something and I noticed out of the corner of my eye someone leaning into the entrance to the aisle and aiming their phone at me.

I got up and walked over and they shrank away, and as I turned the corner it was her! She had filmed me (without my consent which is illegal in my state) and was now scurrying like a fucking rodent towards the front of the store where one of the store managers was at.

I think “hell fucking no she’s not getting away with that” and I end my item wave and bring my cart back to my department to park it while calling who was in charge of the store at the time and explaining everything to her. She asked if the Karen was still in the store and I said I’d check. So I leave my department again to walk up front and see the lady walking up to the guy who oversees the self checkout and asking him to call a manager. I sauntered up with a smile on my face and told him “No no, this is about me. I’ll handle it.”

So I go towards the front office and find the store manager there and explain everything to him. He asks if the Karen is still there and I tell him yes and she wants to meet you, and I’ll take you to her. So I bring him over while making a show out of being polite to everyone around me and saying excuse me to customers in my way all while the lady is trying to burn holes through me with her eyes. I brought the store manager up to her and as he started talking to her I dipped out because my shift was over by then.

I don’t actually know what happened after that but judging by the fact that I heard nothing about it the next day I assume I didn’t get into any trouble and the lady got to die mad about it.

Public Pisser

Every story from now on happened while I was in my department “running desk”, which means I was taking out orders to people in the little pickup parking lot.

This story is also the first weird customer interaction I had.

So I was just watching the camera feed waiting for people to come get their orders when a white SUV pulls up right beside the door we used to go in and out. A guy stepped out of the car but stayed behind his car door so I couldn’t really see him on the camera. He just kinda stood there for a bit and I was starting to wonder what he was doing, so I walked up to the door and flip up a little flap that lets me see through a small window…

And he was pissing.

He was pissing in public on the door. And I saw everything, including how painfully average he was below the belt.

So I knocked on the door to get his attention and his head snapped up to look me in the eyes. I just slowly nodded my head “no” while he started cussing at me, and then I just stepped away from the door and kinda let him get away with it because I was done with the interaction.

Tornado Lady

This one is short and just kinda shows how skewed the priorities of some people can be.

This happened during a tornado that was passing by, and the wind was going crazy and it was raining bullets. At the time the incident happened everyone in the store was in the tornado shelter areas and even the people who had come for their orders moved to park in front of the store to get to safety. All except for one car.

About ten minutes into waiting for the tornado to pass we get a call on our department phone (because people could call us to say they were there although we preferred if people used the app) and it’s an old lady who yells this.

“Um hello?! My husband has been waiting for his order for fifteen minutes! What’s the hold up?!”

My only response I could muster was “Ma’am there is A TORNADO OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW YOUR HUSBAND NEEDS TO GET TO SAFETY.” and she hung up.

The car with the hubby inside didn’t move but luckily the storm didn’t last much longer afterwards and things could continue as normal. In contrast to his wife the man was actually very kind and understanding.

Unactivated Credit Card

So something to note about how pickup worked, at least where I was employed, was that when a customer signed in we had to scan and assemble all the items in their order that we stored after picking, and then process the payment. Sometimes the payment could fail for a variety of reasons though. Like if the customer didn’t have enough money, or their card was locked, or they used a third party payment like PayPal, or their order was so expensive that their bank locks their card to prevent fraud (frustratingly common). When that happened the person running desk had to print off a bunch of paperwork, go out and get the customer’s card, then go halfway across the building to the self checkout to manually pay for the order there. It was an incredibly infuriating process that brought everything to a halt (even while we were still being timed).

One time though a lady’s order failed and I just spent a half hour going back and forth trying to get her card to work all while she kept getting angrier at me. She even accused me of running her card through the scanner wrong, which… there’s only one way to do it so that’s impossible. Eventually she called her bank in a fit and it turns out her card, which was brand new, wasn’t even activated. So she just flipped me off and sped off.

Mulch Lady

So this one took place when a deal was going on at the store. Multiple stores in the chain were having a deal with mulch where if you bought ten you’d get them for ten dollars. However, there was a glitch in pickup where you could instead get ten for five dollars. Management had actually called us to tell us about this and that if people place orders for mulch we’ll have to call the customer and explain to them they will have to pay full price or we will have to cancel the order.

Now a woman tried to place five orders of ten packs of mulch. So I had to call her and explain why if she wanted the mulch she’d have to pay double what the glitch was telling her. Immediately she gets all pissy and throws a fit and tells me that I have to “respect the wishes of the customer”. So when that conversation was over I had to call a store manager about it.

Basically we had to get the mulch ready and she needed to come inside to talk to him about the deal and get stuff sorted out. So that was frustrating because my department had to get 50 packs of mulch, which was so much that we had to borrow a special large trolley from another department. My conversation with the mulch lady went more or less the same as it did before except for one key difference.

She mentioned that her friends did the same thing at a different store the day before so she was extra angry that she couldn’t do the same. And that’s when I realized, the only reason management caught the glitch in the first place is because of her friends and she was trying to pull the same shit they did! Anyways she came for her mulch and went to talk to the store manager about it, and the conversation went in circles because she kept saying “I don’t understand” to everything. Not because she actually couldn’t comprehend anything, but because she didn’t like the answer she was getting and was trying to bait out a different one. She eventually relented though and settled on only taking half the mulch she ordered, which was annoying since I had to remove some from the giant pile of 50 ten pound bags.

So as I’m taking out all the bags on the large trolly I get to the door and suddenly the trolley stops. I took a look and realized the trolley was barely wider than the doorframe and because of the weight it was now wedged in the door and I couldn’t get it out. So I basically had to climb the mountain of mulch to get to the other side and start unloading it into the lady’s van to get rid of the excess weight and dislodge the trolley. It worked but it was really annoying.

Also Mulch Lady didn’t learn her lesson because she tried the same shit the next day.

Taking Offense to a Thanks

This one still makes me mad.

So with how pickup works a customer is supposed to use the app to say they’re on their way and then when they arrive they say they’re here. The idea is to give us a heads up so we can partly prepare an order ahead of time so that when the customer arrives they don’t wait as long and we can beat the timer (because we were timed).

But the longer I stayed at the place the less and less customers did this and it got to a point where only about 1/5th of customers were telling us they were on their way. So eventually I started politely asking customers to let us know when they’re coming, and it was working somewhat until this guy.

Let’s call him Brick. So one day Brick came without letting us know he was on his way and he had a huge order, so big in fact that another coworker went out to help me load it onto his truck (he never helped of course). When we finished I did my usual “You’re all set, have a good day” routine and politely asked him to let us know when he’s on his way. As I turned around and went inside Brick pulled my coworker to the side to complain to her and demand why he had to do that. Even when she politely explained he still threw a fit before driving off, and I later learned that Brick complained to corporate.

A week later when I served him again he actually did use the app to say he was on his way, so I very politely thanked him for doing that and said that because fewer people were notifying us things were getting harder and so I appreciated that small thing. Apparently my thanks just broke Brick because he complained to corporate again but this time said just about every bad thing you could say about an employee short of assault and sexual harassment, so I got written up for it.

I refused to serve Brick again, because he just had it out for me and kept asking my coworkers where I was and kept saying that he wanted a word with me.

Now this story might have a happy ending because it turns out that Brick owns a construction company around where I live and I’m currently trying to figure out how my family and I can review bomb his business without getting sued for defamation.

Nasty Man

Some customers really don’t care to not look like total slobs in front of others or try and have some public decency. One interaction sticks out to me and I’m going to call this guy Cory because he looked like Armenian Cory but somehow even more swollen.

I took his order out to him and he got out of his car to help (which honestly good on him I appreciated that). But he was greasy and his shirt was like three sizes too small and his pants were too big and about to fall down. Cory also wasn’t wearing underwear and I learned that the hard way when he bent over when facing away from me and bared his whole ass. I also unfortunately noticed his fly was down and I could see his uhh… small earthworm.

It was a very uncomfortable situation and I couldn’t tell him to pull his pants up because he could report me and I’d get in trouble! So I had to grin and bear it while this idiot was getting his groceries with his dick out.

Happy Birthday!

This is another customer who had zero shame.

This happened last year on my birthday/national Godzilla Day. It was night and I was doing a later shift and a guy in a truck pulled up and signed in. Things went pretty normally and I took his order out to him. Now I was going to put it in his trunk because that’s usually where customers want their groceries, but this guy said he wanted his stuff in the passenger seat.

I was like “Okay” because that’s not really a big deal, so I opened the door and started unloading his groceries and I noticed he was watching his phone. Now the phone was mostly turned away from me but I could see just a sliver of the screen, enough to make out what he was watching. And he was watching…

Porn

He was watching porn right in front of me while I was giving him his groceries.

Absolutely shameless.

He tried to turn the phone away from me more but I already saw. I basically hurried up with giving him his stuff and rushed back inside. Now I expected him to leave after that… but then his truck started shaking. I eventually called the store manager and we were about to send security out before he finished and drove off. I think he knew I saw because he never came back.

The Time I Was Actually Almost Mugged or Trafficked

I’ve actually talked about this one in the past here before but I’ll just rehash it here, and unlike all the other stories where it’s just about Karens and idiots and gross slobs, this one is actually scary.

So it was late at night and I was covering for my underage coworker so she could take a lunch break. A black SUV slowly pulled up to park and takes up 2 parking spots, and then a woman got out of her car and kinda stumbled over to the signs in front of the pickup parking spots.

I assumed she's drunk and can't sign into the app and is looking at the signs for the number to call us and say she's here. But then she walked up to the pickup door and knocked, and was keeping her face away from the camera the whole time. I grew incredibly suspicious because customers aren't supposed to come up to the door for security reasons, and she's keeping her face turned away from the camera the whole time. So I slinked up to the door and quietly flipped the metal plate to peek out the window.

Her back is still to the door.

I slink back to the curbside front desk and keep my eyes on the camera. After awhile she stumbles back to her car and then calls. I proceeded as normal and get her name, but as I was looking I noticed that her name isn't on the list for the day. I think "okay maybe she's drunk and her order is for tomorrow". I looked all the way up into a week ahead of time. Her name was not on the order list. I told her this and asked if her order was under a different name. She said "Well I used my son's card for the order so maybe it's under that, but his last name is the same."

Btw I could barely understand her and I had to ask her to repeat herself a few times.

I asked what it is she ordered. She said sketchers. I looked for some shoes. We didn’t have any back in pickup for any orders. I told her this and before I could tell her she might be at the wrong store she hangs up. And stayed there for almost ten minutes.

2 customers pulled up and signed in for their orders and I think “okay I’m not going out alone”. So I called the head of the store and she sent a team lead and what I assume was security back there. As I’m explaining to them the situation my coworker gets back from break. So I come up with a plan: we all go out at the same time and my coworker and I give the orders to the customers while the two guys talk to her and see what’s up.

But as they approached her car she sped off.

They're weirded out too and gave me the number for security in case she came back. And for the rest of my shift I did not let my 16 year old coworker take out orders, and when I left I urged her to call security if anything vaguely weird happened.

Now this exact situation could have gone so much worse. What these people like that do is get a woman in on the whole thing drunk and drive them to a pickup parking lot at night. The reason she’s drunk is to make her seem defenseless and to lower the guard of the employees, but she also hid her face from the camera to make it harder to link her to a crime. Everything she did was to get someone to come out to the car where more people hiding in the back of the vehicle would come out to mug the employee, or if they’re underage girls, potentially kidnap them.

This exact scenario has played out before around where I live and I am so glad that my cautious nature picked up on what was going on.

The Worst Customer

I’ve painted a pretty good picture of some pretty terrible people, but this woman is in a league of her own. To give a sense of how awful she was, she is the only customer I’ve ever had who purposely caused me physical harm. I’m going to call her Slattern, because that is the nicest thing I could call her.

She was a regular to the store, but she never did anything to meet us halfway and was so incredibly short fused and rude that half of the people in my department dreaded serving Slattern. So full of anger was she that she could barely keep herself from throwing a fit when we so much as asked her name when we brought her order out to double check that it was hers.

The one time Slattern hurt me was during winter where I guess she was having a bad day or something. As I was leaning into the back of her SUV to put the groceries in I saw her hand fly up and press the button on her rear view mirror that closed the trunk, and it slammed down on my head. The metal edge of it hit me and the only reason I wasn’t cut and bleeding is because I had a jacket over my head, and that jacket got a cut in it afterwards. I almost fell over onto the ice covered asphalt because of how much pain I was in. Her teenage son actually showed concern for me and was asking if I was okay, but when I looked at Slattern’s face through the rear view mirror all I saw was her looking at me with this smug satisfied smirk.

This woman was genuine evil and had some of the worst tantrums the store I worked at ever saw on the few occasions she stormed up to the front to argue with a store manager. Even they thought Slattern was “a complete bitch”, and even her son tried to get her to stop a few times. I quit before I ever saw the end to the Slattern Saga, but I’m certain she’s banned from the store by now. I would have absolutely pressed charges but unfortunately the trunk thing was very easy to write off as an accident.

The Angry Cloudstrike Man

This one happened during the cloudstrike fiasco if you remember when half the internet imploded awhile ago.

During this time working retail was possibly the worst it had ever been, without a properly functioning network we were borderline incapable of doing our jobs but corporate wanted us to anyways. We had to treat every order like a failed order and this resulted in long wait times that made everyone very angry for at least a two days until everyone realized why nothing was working. But there was one older customer who just never got the memo and was just constantly a complete asshole.

Every time he’d get mad at us for our system not working and act like he expected us to magically fix it, and was just so mean and yelled at everyone who served him no matter how many times we politely explained things to him and offered gift cards as compensation. Every time he’d also say he’d complain to corporate on their website and never come back again… but then be back the next day for several days straight. So definitely not a man of his word which was kinda funny.

He was so rude to us so consistently that I was able to get the higher ups to get off their asses for once and begin the process of banning him from the store.

It eventually came to a head one day where he placed an order but we never received it (because again, cloudstrike) and yelled at a coworker who had to go out and explain it to him. When she came back inside he called our front desk and I answered.

Again, I explained to him what happened and that we had no power to fix it, but he refused to listen and the conversation went in circles. It eventually got to the point where he was wasting so much of my time and I was getting so sick of his shit that I realized “okay corporate already knows this guy is an asshole and he’s already getting banned from the store and he already probably spews bullshit when he complains to corporate” and just went mask off.

I personally shrink away from confrontation so this is very uncharacteristic of me, but I just started full blown arguing with him and trying to make him as angry as possible. I didn’t hurl any obscenities but it was clear I was just stirring shit, and oh my god it was euphoric. If you’ve never worked retail you will never know the feeling of having a job where you simultaneously keep the gears of society turning while being treated like the shit stuck on someone’s shoe, and just unleashing that frustration on someone who deserves it. The only way that moment could have been even better is if I could reach through the phone and strangle the guy like Bart Simpson.

I wanted to end on a happy note. That’s about it for the retail stories.

[chrisbitchtree]

For @harringrovekinktober day 10 - Frottage!

NSFW

***

Back when Billy and Steve had just been best friends, two pining idiots flirting by way of being complete and total dicks to each other any chance they got, they’d had plenty of alone time. Steve’s parents had spent the last six months in various countries across Europe, sending Steve postcards relaying the message that they wished he was there, which couldn’t be any more the opposite of the truth, Steve had said, snorting, as he hung another postcard on the fridge, and Hopper, who Billy had moved in with after the events of Starcourt, only asked that Billy check in with him after school if he wasn’t going to be coming home for dinner, and that he be home by his curfew at 11pm.

Of course though, once they’d gotten over themselves and in Robin’s words “finally, you fucking idiots” confessed their feelings for each other, Steve’s parents had returned home for a few weeks and seemed to want to pack six months of not seeing Steve into that time, and Hopper had banned Billy from closing his door when Steve was over the second they’d told him they were together, because “El and I DO NOT need to hear that. Ever.”

Suffice it to say they’d had no time for anything other than rushed hand jobs in the back seat of Steve’s car at the quarry, or the blow job Billy had given Steve in the backroom of Family Video one night while he was closing up the store. Steve had spent a lot of time with his hand around his dick late at night, replaying that scene over and over in his head, Billy’s blue eyes looking up at him, his mouth stuffed full of cock, Steve’s fingers buried in his shiny curls.

Now though, the stars had aligned, and Steve had the night off on the same day that his parents were in Chicago for a business trip. Steve’s shift at the video store had gone torturously slow, every single minute seeming to last ten, until finally, the clock struck 4 and Steve was free. He practically ran out of the shop, and Robin, who knew where he was headed laughed and told him to have fun, while Keith had glared at him and told him not to run in the store or he’d get written up. Whatever. Steve would deal with him another day.

The plan for the evening was simple. Meet at Steve’s, where Billy would shower after basketball practice while Steve made them a romantic dinner of chicken parmesan, salad, and garlic bread, and then they’d go up to Steve’s bedroom to fuck like rabbits.

Steve raced through a shower of his own as soon as he got home, and by the time Billy arrived, the chicken was breaded and baking in the oven, and he was stirring up a vinaigrette for the salad.

“Hey, baby,” He greeted Billy, as the blonde sidled up behind him and kissed the back of his neck.

“Hey, pretty boy, it smells delicious in here, and it’s not just your amazing apple shampoo for once.”

Steve chuckled in response. Billy loved that shampoo and used it any chance he got. Steve bet if he buried his nose in Billy’s curls right now, he’d smell it.

Billy set the table, lighting the candles Steve had placed in holders, as Steve boiled the pasta and broiled the cheese on the garlic bread, and before long, dinner was ready. They ate opposite each other, their feet tangled together under the large oak table, talking about their day with mouths full of chicken and pasta, like the classy guys they were.

Then, when the last bites of food were gone, the plates were cleared and the dishes were left to soak, they headed hand in hand up to Steve’s bedroom. They’d talked about this, planned for it, decided that Steve was going to fuck Billy, and then Billy would fuck him, so they’d each get a turn. They’d flipped a coin to see who would go first, and Steve was proud to say he’d kept his gloating to a minimum when he’d won.

They undressed each other, then Billy laid down on the bed, hands behind his head, Steve taking a minute to soak him in. He’d seen Billy naked in the showers after basketball practice the year before, of course, but this was different. Steve didn’t need to pretend to avert his gaze now. He could stare as long as he wanted and stare he did.

Billy gave him a woolfish grin, tugging on his cock, and wasn’t ashamed to say he drooled a little bit, his jaw practically on the floor. “Like what you see, princess?” Billy asked, winking.

Oh, fuck yes, Steve did. Unable to wait another second, Steve dropped the condoms and lube he’d grabbed from his bedside table onto the mattress and climbed on top of Billy, pulling he blankets over them, and capturing his lips in a long, deep kiss. They were both already half hard, and they groaned into each other’s mouths as their cocks rubbed together between them.

“Oh fuck, Steve, that feels so good,” Billy said, practically whining. Steve made a mental note to tease him about it later, but for now, he focused on making them both feel good.

“You like that, baby?” Steve asked, grinding down onto Billy, sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine.

Billy nodded furiously, grabbing Steve’s ass, and encouraging his movements. “What if we just did this?” he panted into Steve’s neck.

“But we had a whole plan. I was going to take your ass virginity, and you were going to take mine!” Steve said, even as he reached for the bottle of lube.

Billy snorted, shaking his head. “Well, that’s one way of putting it. We’ll get to it though, I swear. It’s only 7. There’s plenty of time for you to take my “ass virginity” before I have to be home for curfew. Right now, this feels good, and it’s what I want, ok?”

Steve nodded, pressing his lips to Billy’s. He snapped open the cap on the lube without breaking the kiss and squirted some out into his palm. He reached town between them, taking both of their cocks and stroking them a couple times until the glide was just right. They bucked against each other, in their own little world under the covers, moaning into each other’s mouths, Billy’s arms wrapped around Steve, holding him close, until they were coming within seconds of each other, the hot wetness spreading between their bodies as they moved with the aftershocks.

Steve didn’t think it would be possible, but somehow, Billy’s arms drew him in tighter, and Steve rested his head on Billy’s chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. Steve smiled, grateful for everything he had in that moment. Billy was right, they had plenty of time for what would come next. For now, this was perfect.

[every-aj-needs-an-angel]

Chapter 9!! I genuinely cannot believe I've actually kept up with this 😅 honestly I'm the worst ask every teacher who ever wanted coursework from me 😂 the love and support I've received from everyone who's enjoyed this has been mind-blowing and I'm so grateful to each and every one of you 💖

Betting It All On Love

Robin, surprisingly, took him shopping, which was only surprising because of how much she truly hated it. She hated the crowds and the trends the masses felt a weird compulsion for, and that was before she got on to the whole thing about consumerism. But she knew how much he loved it, knew how a new outfit could bolster his mood, how the hum of voices echoing through the space soothed something deep in his soul.

The one advantage to still having anything to do with his biological parents was that they still paid off the credit card they'd given him when he had gone on a class trip to the zoo in middle school, so on the rare occasion he felt the need to go wild in the aisles, he didn't feel like he had to feel too guilty about using it. Especially when that meant he could buy Robin the plaid coat she hadn't been able to take her eyes off of from the moment they'd walked into the mall.

Especially when she grinned like that at her every reflection as she wore it around the air-conditioned space, which was far too chilly for the tee and shorts combo she'd chosen for the day. Not that Steve was quite sure why there was a surf and ski clothing store in the middle of Nevada, but it didn't matter, he knew the coat would be perfect for when winter came to Indy. It hadn't been quite perfect in the moment, of course, and he was seriously considering giving in and just going into the nearest store to buy her yet another hoodie.

"Steve, I'm hot!" Robin whined as she wandered listlessly by his side.

"So take the coat off," Steve reasoned calmly, shifting the shopping bags in his hands to take some of the pressure off of his tattoo.

"But then I'll be cold!" she countered.

"Truly a cross to bear," Steve muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes to himself as he steered them back towards the souvenir stand; because no way we're they ever going to own another average hoodie, it was going to be the most disgustingly gaudy 'I heart Vegas' glaringly obviously touristy hoodie humanly possible. 

Except as they continued to stroll along their new route, it took them right past the food court, Robin enthusiastically exclaiming "Ice cream!" That was how they ended up crammed into a booth, the amount of bags they'd acquired practically pushing them off their seats, a giant bowl of banana split sitting between them as they both picked their favourite parts out of the dessert.

"So, how's things going with Chris?" Steve asked as he shoved a spoonful of strawberry ice cream into his mouth.

Robin nodded, chewing thoughtfully on the caramel coated banana, "Good," she admitted, blushing deeply and ducking her head. "She's amazing, Steve, I've never met anyone like her. She's like a ray of fucking sunshine, you know? Like the kind cats curl up in. Just joy and warmth and, I don't know, magic, or something," she gushed, waving her hands and her empty spoon around as she talked, saying more about her feelings than what was actually coming out of her mouth.

She bit the inside of her cheek but couldn't keep the lovesick grin off of her face as she stared into the distance, gazing vaguely at the lime green vinyl of the booth seat just over Steve's shoulder, "I swear to God, at Charlie's last night, I was this close," she pinches her finger and thumb together so there's only the tiniest sliver of light between them, "to asking her to marry me! And not just drunken Vegas marrying, like full on, come home and meet my folks, months of planning and white dresses, marrying. That's insane, right?" she asked, finally looking at his face.

Steve wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to respond, part of him was insulted that she thought his marriage was less than because of how it had happened. Part of him was just incredibly proud of her. It was crazy, and it also wasn't crazy at all. Sometimes when you know you just know and given how long they'd all actually spent together, it wasn't like she was just jumping in feet first. Robin had probably spent more hours with Chrissy than she had ever spent with Sammi and that relationship had felt like it was never ending.

Luckily, he was saved from actually answering when, after swallowing another mouthful of partially melted chocolate ice cream, she jabbed her spoon at him and exclaimed, "And oh my god, Steve! In bed! The best I've ever had!" And Robin might've continued to elaborate on that, but Steve had unceremoniously dropped his spoon to cover his ears and “la la la” loudly until her lips stopped moving.

It was a running joke between the two of them, the first guy he'd been on a date with after Billy had been phenomenal. Alex had blown Steve's tiny small-town mind, and even though they’d both agreed that their relationship would only ever be a casual hookup, it hadn’t stopped him from wandering around for three whole days like he was on an actual cloud. Robin had quickly become sick of his permanent grin and had asked him "what the fuck he had to be so happy about?" She hadn't liked the answer and ever since whenever either one of them went into specifics about their love life that was what the other one did.

She laughed, and he did too knowing full well she'd tell him, in intricate and unnecessary detail, all about Chrissy's skills in the bedroom as they finished their shopping spree; they still had to find Dustin’s book after all, and they both knew he would listen while she gushed about what an incredible lover she'd snagged, and he'd try desperately not to be green with envy that she'd found the love of her life and was actually going to get to keep her.

They didn't talk about Eddie, he could tell she wanted to, she kept opening her mouth to ask questions and then just snapping her jaw shut and carrying on, distracting him with pretty things and tasty foods. Part of him was glad. Part of him wanted to talk it through with her. Part of him just wanted to enjoy time spent with his best friend and live in the delusion that everything was fine. He had no doubt there'd be plenty of time to talk about it when they got home, even if Robin and Chrissy immediately moved in together, and he had to learn to talk to Chrissy the same way he talked to Robin (which he honestly didn't think would be that difficult) he had no doubt that they’d make space and time for him to mourn his loss, and maybe even mourn it with him.

At least with Chrissy across the hall, he'd finally have someone to watch sports with again. Chris' taste in sport had so far been Robin's only complaint. She'd been excited to finally find someone she was attracted to who actually liked sports but had been quickly disappointed to find out that Chris preferred watching basketball and the NFL like Steve, which meant that Robin still wouldn't have anyone to watch soccer with.

Even though Steve was always happy to watch it with her, he just didn't share her enthusiasm for it. That was the thing that apparently baffled Robin, because “how could any self-respecting bisexual not enjoy a field full of men in tiny shorts chasing a ball?” And honestly, it was the chasing the ball part that seemed to be the off-putting bit. It kinda felt more like watching golden retrievers in the dog park, and although the whole point of football and basketball was to get a ball in a goal, he was proud that neither were a game a dog could play.

As he was ambling around the bookstore looking for the fantasy section, it occurred to him that it would probably be the last time he’d be asked to do anything like this for the kids. Not that you could really class a bunch of twenty-somethings as kids anymore, but it occured to him somewhat horrifyingly that all of them were about to start going out into the real world. They’d all soon be grown-ups and would soon have to deal with all the problems that came with being an adult that were coming for them thick and fast. Real relationships and jobs and rent, for most of them this summer would probably be their last one at home with their parents.

It might even be the last summer he had a chance to see some of them ever again. Max still wanted to go home to her dad and the chances of him getting an invitation to California were probably slimmer than he’d like to admit. As he picked up the copy of Earthshaker he’d been searching for, he vowed to himself to spend more than one weekend back home before they all headed back to college. Take his camera home, organise a big party, and tell them all how much he loved them. It’d be fine, the summer wasn’t over yet. 

Robin interrupted his rapidly derailing train of thought when she came bounding around the bookshelf, a stack of books cradled to her chest like a newborn. He purposefully didn’t ask, especially when he could see that the one on the top of the stack read ‘Nuclear Medicine In Tropical And Infectious Diseases’. He just grinned knowingly and waved Dustin’s book in the direction of the register, mainly because they both knew full well that given the opportunity, Robin could and would happily spend the rest of their vacation immersed in the endless racks and shelves. 

He did, however, self indulgently snag the latest Jackie Collins novel to add to his growing collection as he passed by the display. Sweet old Mrs Johnson had been the one to get him hooked. She used to read them when she would babysit, at first to herself, but then there’d been a bad storm one weekend when he was six and the electricity had gone out for hours. It was winter so although it had been early in the evening, it was dark and he was scared. But Mrs Johnson had just pulled him into her lap and let him curl into her while she read by candlelight.

He hadn’t really understand the story itself, but she had had a nice voice, and he had liked listening to her read. From then on it had been what they had done on rainy days. In fact, the weekend before she had died, it had been stormy, and they’d spent two whole days curled up in her favourite armchair in his living room while she read to him.

The books had made him mad for a while, after she’d left him, but then when he was older and trying to navigate high school he quickly realised he preferred the salacious crime novels to Shakespeare or Chaucer that were, as far as he was concerned, basically the same thing but written in another language. It hadn’t been until he was older still that he realised that some of the characters in those books had also been vital in helping him create the King Steve persona that kept him safe for four years.

 

Steve hadn’t realised how quickly the day had disappeared until they made it back to the hotel. Not that he minded, his stomach full from the tacos they’d been unable to resist, and he’d had a wonderful day with his best friend.

They’d bought so many things that even in the short walk from the lobby, his fingers had started to take on that distinctive claw shape as the handles had dug into his skin. Sighing heavily in relief as he finally released the bags onto his bed, and again in frustration as Robin cheerfully tried and failed to check their voicemails, nearly making a collect call by accident. He used his one still fully functioning finger to press the necessary buttons, flopping down next to his best friend on her bed.

Beep. “Hi. It’s me. Chrissy,” she paused giggling to herself, “I hope you two are free tonight! Meet by the creepy looking goat statue at six?” she sounded so happy and hopeful, Steve couldn’t keep the endeared smile off of his face. Robin almost cut the message off before Chris had had chance to finish, and he couldn’t help feeling like a bit of a hero when he stopped her movements just in time to hear “Okay, see you soon. I love you!” Beep. 

Robin’s eyes immediately bugged out, if she wasn’t careful it was likely they’d fall out of her head altogether. She glanced franticly between Steve and the phone, her whole demeanour screaming “You heard that, right?” Steve grinned and jostled her playfully, enjoying the deep blush on her cheeks and her silent fluster as she processed what she’d heard.

Not that they really had time for an emotional crisis, “Come on, blushy! If we’re meeting at six, that only gives us half hour,” he reasoned, flipping himself off the bed and heading to his wardrobe to find his black pinstripe shirt and dark jeans. He had no idea what they would be doing, but it’d be a fine outfit for an evening in Vegas.

He was standing over the sink adding some serum to his hair when he heard her mumble from the doorway, “Isn’t it a bit early for ‘I love you’?” She sounded so small and hesitant, he dropped his hands immediately, stepping over to her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, being extra careful not to get sticky fingers on her fancy blazer.

“Is it ever too early to say how you feel?” he asked, pressing his cheek against the top of her head.

“I don’t know” Robin muttered glumly, grabbing two fistfuls of the back of his shirt and scrunching it between her fingers anxiously. “There’s no way she meant “I love you” right? I mean, she can’t be in love with me, Evie. It doesn’t make any sense! We’ve known each other for what? A few days! There’s no way she could… She must’ve meant “love you” you know? Like in a friend way,” she rambled frenetically; whether she was trying to convince him or herself, he really couldn’t say.

Steve hummed thoughtfully, “Does it feel like love in a friend way?” he asked evenly.

She scoffed harshly like he expected her to, “No! But she wasn’t just talking to me, she was inviting both of us,” she pointed out.

It frustrated him how easily she could convince herself that people couldn’t possibly love her. He sighed heavily trying really hard not to roll his eyes, “She was talking to you,” he affirmed, because he had heard that message, and contrary to popular belief he wasn’t actually stupid, and he’d witnessed with his own eyes how crazy Chrissy was about her, how crazy she was about Chrissy.

Huffing loudly, she removed herself from his hold, so she could look him in the eye “But it’s been days!” she whined, still trying to convince someone that the facts weren’t the facts, probably because she was actually just kinda scared.

Steve just shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, but how many hours has it been? How many hours did you spend with Mickey? You were in love with her. How is this different?” he asked, rather reasonably considering she was driving him up the wall because how could she not know by now how easy she was to love.

“Does sleep count?” she asked, wincing even as the words fell out of her mouth.

He laughed dryly, “No, Robbie, you can’t count hours you weren’t conscious for!” he deadpanned, tugging her back into his chest before she could start pacing like a caged tiger.

She made a pained sound in the back of her throat as she leaned heavily into him, gripping the sides of his shirt, moving her fingers around as she counted against his ribs. Eventually, after at least three recounts, she huffed the way she always did when he was right for a change.

“Do you think maybe you’re freaking out because you feel that way too?” he asked calmly.

“Maybe,” she muttered sighing heavily like she was holding the weight of the whole world. He knew he’d hit the nail on the head when she huffed a frustrated breath through her teeth and pushed him off, “How would you feel if Eddie said that to you!” she accused, pointing a finger at him.

Steve snorted derisively, too tired to be anything but honest, “Honestly, I’d be fucking delighted. I’m so fucking in love with him, it’s insane!” he admitted, trying desperately to ignore how whiney and pathetic he sounded.

All the fight dissipated out of her as he spoke, her eyebrows scrunching together in sympathy, “Really?” she asked softly, a pained look taking over her face when he nodded solemnly, “Have you told him that?”

Steve snorted a humourless laugh, “No! Jesus, Bobs, I’m not a complete fucking idiot!”

“But you just said--”

“Yeah! Because it’s obvious you feel the same way!” he yelled, not entirely sure why he was shouting. It wasn’t her fault he’d got himself all tangled up in infatuation again, “Sorry,” he muttered.

Robin wasn't fazed though just waved off his apology and raised a singular eyebrow at him, “And it’s not with Eddie?!” she asked condescendingly, folding her arms over her chest.

“No!” Steve exclaimed, because it was very unobvious, thank you very much! Robin didn’t argue with him, just threw her arms in the air like he was being the frustrating one, tutting and heading back into the bedroom to finish getting ready, leaving Steve to deal with the silence and his half serumed hair.

Chrissy, as it turned out, had procured tickets for a boxing match of all things. It wasn't something neither he nor Robin ever would've chosen, but apparently Chris' best friend from her cheerleading days, Beth, was now a ring girl, and she had pulled some strings and got them into a private box. They had their own bar and a balcony view over the proceedings, meaning they could see everything without getting coated in blood, it was different but once-in-a-lifetime experiences were kinda what Vegas was all about.

Robin was leaning with her back against the bar, Chrissy curled into her running her hands up and down the lapels of Robin's jacket, both of them giggling and whispering like schoolgirls. As much as he was glad Robin seemed to have overcome her earlier conflict, he was starting to find it all a bit sickening. It wasn’t their fault, and he wasn't really mad with them at all, he'd just been in a terrible mood since bickering with Robin and the dark cloud hanging over his head had only worsened when Eddie hadn't been waiting with Chrissy in the lobby like he had hoped.

He'd offered to go back to the room, part of him wanting to let them have a night to be together, the other part just wanting to be alone so he could sulk some more, but neither of them would let him. They’d giddily pulled him into their hold, linking their arms with his and practically frog marching him out the front door of the hotel and into the waiting taxi. 

In the seclusion of the private space, however, and with two or three shots in each of them, both girls had dropped all their inhibitions and seemed to have forgotten all about him. Honestly, he’d never been a third wheel before, not even with Tommy and Carol but he was seriously starting to feel like he should go home and call Barb and apologise for every time he and Nancy had made her feel how he was feeling because maybe he was technically married, but he’d never felt more single or more alone.

He sighed heavily, snagging a beer from the bartender and heading out onto the balcony, leaning heavily against the railing surveying the crowd below him. The venue was packed, not a single empty seat to be seen anywhere, which struck him as odd because the match wasn't due to start for at least another twenty minutes, and he'd been to enough ball games in his life to know that normally there was a mad dash to grab your seats before the game actually kicked off; but apparently the ring girls were supposed to be their entertainment, like some sick warm-up act.

The last time he'd seen a crowd as rowdy was at the strip club when he'd been inexplicably invited to Mark's stag do. Mark was his dad's number two, the guy being lined up to take over the company when his old man finally bit the dust. The bloke had spent the whole night weirdly trying to rub it in Steve's face how close he and his dad were, only finally shutting his mouth when after four beers Steve had lost his temper and had casually asked: "So are you sucking his dick, or--?" Mark had blushed furiously, started stuttering and stammering and had quickly disappeared. Steve had just downed the rest of his beer and hailed a cab, heading home to Robin to bemoan a wasted Saturday night.

Robin had whined about how it hadn't been fair that he'd been invited, but she hadn't. Everyone at the company had assumed they were a couple and after their first few jobs together they'd learned to just stop correcting people. Mainly because if they didn't their coworkers wanted to know why there weren't dating and usually "because we're like siblings" wasn't a good enough answer and then they had to deal with months of constant badgering and peer pressure to hook up. Robin had been right, of course, she would have enjoyed the strip club far more than he had. Personally, he thought grown men drooling over a half-naked woman, especially ones young enough to be their daughter, was a little grim.

A petite brunette who he assumed was Beth when she'd bounced up and down waving excitedly to him as she had headed into the ring, and her friend, who were both dressed in nothing but a metallic bikini and high heels, seemed to be enjoying themselves, however, especially when Beth's friend caught the attention of a stag do sitting in the front row. 

The groom-to-be was obviously a high school jock surrounded by his "bros" and by the looks of things, either his father or the father-in-law-to-be who was glancing anywhere but at the ring, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. It made Steve shudder to think that if his life had gone a little differently, if he and Nancy had stayed together, if he'd stuck with Tommy and the team, would that be him now? Would that be his dad? Or worse, poor Ted? 

Thankfully he didn't have more time to dwell on it when Robin appeared next to him bumping purposefully into his side, swapping his empty beer for a cold one with a gentle smile. Chrissy quickly joined them on the balcony carrying a beer and a tray of nachos to share, shouting over the noise of the crowd to explain the rules to Robin when she had asked how they'd know who won.

Steve knew Robin knew the rules of boxing. Mainly because her grandpa had been an Olympic boxer, but he wasn't about to call her out on it. Plus, he liked how patient Chris was with her, he thought it was sweet when he wasn’t busy being a grumpy bastard.

The ring girls left the ring, Beth waving enthusiastically, shooting Chrissy a few hand gestures that Steve didn't understand but made Chrissy belly laugh as she headed out of sight. Then it was time for the match to get started; two gigantic blokes followed by a team of helpers charging into the ring, bouncing on their toes next to the smallest ref Steve had ever seen.

There was a bit of chatter and then the bell dinged, the ref moved, and the giants started to dance around one another, sizing each other up and dodging a few hits before the real action started. One hit, two. The excitement of the crowd and the anticipation were getting Steve's adrenaline pumping. 

That was why he jumped three feet in the air when he felt hands land on his waist (that's what he told himself anyway).

Eddie laughed brightly as Steve spun around, his hands raised placatingly, "It's only me!" he yelled, giggling adorably. He smiled, placing a careful hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezing some of the tension out of his shoulder blade with gentle fingers. Slipping Robin a placating smile as she no doubt glared at him over Steve's shoulder. He elbowed her absentmindedly, giving her a look that said "eyes on your own date!" before turning his full attention to Eddie.

Steve was honestly kind of dumbfounded by Eddie's presence, when Chrissy had been alone in the lobby, he'd just assumed that Eddie wouldn't be joining them at all any more. He wouldn't have been at all surprised to find out that Eddie had packed up and gone back to Indy with Dan, even if he had spent the past half an hour trying desperately not to think about the implications of that. Especially when Chris had deliberately not said anything when Robin had asked the only question that had been on Steve's mind, “Where’s Eddie?” 

Even a foot away Steve could tell something was off, Eddie’s eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and he’d done a terrible job of trying to hide it behind a thick layer of eyeliner. There was a permanent red patch down the side of his nose, like he’d scratched or rubbed at it too many times, bursting the tiny blood vessels. His hair was overly oily at the roots like he’d spent the day running his fingers over his scalp and his fingernails were bitten down to the quick; the skin looked painful to even look at and Steve had no idea how he’d dealt with acetone and nail polish to repaint his nails.

It was the gasp of the crowd reacting to the first real punch landing that brought him back to himself. Steve glanced behind him in time to see blood pour from the slightly taller one's mouth, followed by cheers and screams as the smaller of the two landed a second punch.

Steve shook his head, immediately turning back to Eddie, "Hi," he mumbled in astonishment.

Eddie smiled cautiously, "Hi," he greeted, stepping closer and reaching up to tuck a loose strand behind Steve's ear, "I'm sorry I'm late," Eddie yelled over the roar of the crowd, "Can we talk? After the match?" he asked nervously.

Steve's brain very obviously and very quickly went to the worst case scenario, that Eddie was here to officially ask for a divorce, but his poker face must not be what it once was because Eddie cupped his cheek gently forcing Steve to meet his gaze, "No! Nothing bad, I promise. I just want to tell you about my day, maybe we could go for that dinner we talked about?" he asked hopefully, pulling Steve’s SuperEl shirt out from behind his back and offering it to him.

Steve blinked at the shirt for a second and felt the smile tugging at his cheeks threatening to split his face in two. Hope starting to bloom unchecked in his chest, making his heart skip out of beat. Eddie's hopeful little smile had been the most adorable thing he'd seen since he'd seen him drooling into his pillow that morning.

Eddie beaming back at him when Steve nodded bashfully, nervously tugging the collar of his shirt through his fingers, came in a close third. Eddie’s hand got dislodged from his face when his head automatically flicked back to the action when the crowd let out an elongated "ooh!" as one of the boxers went down hard. 

Steve took the opportunity to take Eddie by the hand and lead him out onto the balcony, leaning against the railing to face the action, waiting for Eddie to mirror him and get absorbed in the match, then turning to watch Eddie react with the most adorable second-hand winces as the smaller boxer tried and failed to get up.

Steve quickly found himself wanting to watch Eddie more than the fight. He tried to stealthily turn his whole body so he was leaning sideways against the railing. The metal bar digging into his ribs a painful reminder that he was here and this was real. That Eddie was with him, and he wanted to go to dinner and talk. That he wanted to tell Steve about his day! Wanted to take him on a proper bonafide date! Because he’d brought Steve his shirt. Honestly, he’d forgotten that he’d even left it in Eddie’s room. The thought that he must’ve hung it up in the closet for him, so it wouldn’t get wrinkled was so sweet it was making his heart want to burst out through his chest. 

He knew he must look like the worlds most lovesick fool stood staring at Eddie's profile like he was the most beautiful man on the planet (which he was) and like he was the luckiest man alive to even be in Eddie’s presence (which he was) but he just couldn't find it in himself to care, he was going to take this moment while he could and store it in his heart forever.

The bell dinged again and Eddie looked over, flicking his eyes down noticing Steve's posture and smirking to himself. Steve felt the blush creeping up his neck and turned back to the action, forcing himself to not push himself too far into Eddie's personal space, but he needn't have worried. As soon as Steve was settled against the railing again, Eddie threw his arm around his shoulders, jostling him lightly and smiling joyfully at him, pressing a gentle kiss into his shoulder.

As the match went on Eddie's arm slowly slipped down his side holding onto his waist, then slipped further down to his hip where Eddie gave up and just hooked his thumb through Steve's belt loop, tucking his chin over his shoulder and pressing the odd kiss to any bit he could reach but just staying as close as he could, curled tightly into Steve side for the rest of the night; until the bigger of the two boxers had been knocked down for the final time, and it was time for the masses to disperse.

-------------------------

Part 10

tag list my beloveds @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @adhdsummer @nerdfighteratheart @anaibis @dolphincliffs @hbyrde36 @marinarasarah @deadflowercollector @lunabookworm @a-couchpotato @wonderland-girl143-blog @ddharrington @abstractnaturaldisaster @lololol-1234 @bestwifehaver @steviejeebiez

[ruinedbylanadelrey]

Trying

bbf!Frankie Morales x F!Reader ficlet

playlist

masterlist

based off 'this is me trying' by taylor swift. summary: Family friend Frankie Morales coming home for good gets the news of the death of his childhood and military best friend. He sees how broken the girl who he always thought as a little sister and tries to bring her back to herself.

wc: 4.5K

warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, brother's best friend, OC BROTHER, talk about addiction and suicide, mention of killing in the military, alcohol, drugs, survivor guilt!, sibling loss, grief, reader calls Frankie 'Frank' a lot, mutual pining, mention of disordered eating due to alcohol, vomit, a lot of crying, PTSD, angst if you squint, hurt/comfort, kissing, smut, mental health decline due to grief, frankie becoming a real man, parents, quiet love

The Morales family was your family's first friend when your parents moved out to the suburbs of Florida. You were just born and your big brother, Ethan was merely 3 years old. Frankie met his best friend at a young age. You were always around them, playing soldiers or playing on the gaming console. Frankie was always the one to make sure you were involved since it was just you and your brother. His kindness made you develop a crush on him.

Your parents thought it was cute that you had a crush on Frankie, it just showed how well his parents raised him. As you got older, the crush became something more but you would deny ever having a crush on him because he was another brother to you. Always so bad at lying. 

You fell hard for Frankie when he showed up to your graduation with your brother since they had joined the military together.

"It wouldn't be fair if I didn't show up to yours since you showed up to mine, bebita" Frankie jokes while you sit in the backyard together looking at the stars hiding away from your family at your graduation party.

"I think I wouldn't be able to survive today if you weren't here, Frank," You laughed and rested your head on his shoulder.

"Can I ask you for a favor?" You ask, Frankie looks at you and nods.

"Keep Ethan alive and yourself too," Your words rattled in his brain every single day of deployment. 

Frankie felt his heart try to crawl out of his chest when you looked at him that night. He had to keep his promise. He didn't want to let you down, he kept wondering why was he doing this. He kept such a big promise that could blow up in his face. He wanted nothing more than to keep you smiling and not worrying about what goes on when they leave the country again. When Frankie left your life once again. 

You wrote letters to Ethan and Frankie, but letters stopped returning when your brother was medically discharged and Frankie was in the Delta force. You felt relieved that your brother was home but still filled with anxiety not ever hearing from Frankie. His parents seemed fine and content with hearing so little from Frankie. They knew that on a random Wednesday night, Frankie would call and ask to hear about home. Hearing about Ethan is once again in rehab in the psych ward. You graduated college and now working for a large marketing company and you still haven't found a husband. Always the dramatics with them. 

A couple more years of radio silence gets interrupted when Ethan takes his life. You moved back home with your parents. Frankie comes home for the final time and he's there to stay. Your family and you shut out the world for months, trying to process the death of a son, of a brother. You were completely torn apart and had nothing left in you. Nearing 30 and having to be the adult while your parents grieve over the loss of their firstborn. Your emotions are being pushed aside. 

The silence was officially over when you walked out of the liquor store with a bottle of whiskey and almost dropped it when you bumped into a man entering the store.

"I'm so sorry-Frank?" Your blood ran cold and your body froze when Frankie's gaze met yours. His hair is grown out, facial hair all over but patchy in some spots, the beard graying at his sideburns but his hair still a dark brown curling over his beloved cap.

"Bebita!" Frankie shakes his head and does a double-take.

"How are-"

"Ethan is dead,"

"you?" Your and Frankie's words overlap and both of you stop talking for a second. 

Frankie felt the wind knocked out of him as he stared at you. Your eyes are just dead and not sparkling like they usually are. Your face breaking out from not caring about self-care, your hair thrown up in a ponytail, your cheeks a bit hallow, heavy under eye bags from crying and not sleeping. Grief has become you. You feel like you walk around with half of your identity gone. A part of you is dead. 

"I-I'm sorry for your loss," Frankie comes to and could feel the tears threatening to escape his eyes. You saw how the news broke him, the change in his face, his eyes fell dull. You thought you drained the life out of him. Guilty. Plaguing everyone you talk to.

"Frank...don't shut down like that," You touch his arm, both of you still standing in the doorway. 

"You lost him too," you sniffled not realizing you had been crying since the moment you looked into Frankie's eyes. He drops his head down and quickly wipes his tears with the sleeve of that tan jacket he's had forever.

"How did he?"

"Overdosed...purposely," You said it like it was so normal, always trying to stay strong even around those whom you can be vulnerable with.

A deep 'excuse me' comes up behind you, Frankie takes your hand and pulls out of the liquor store and to his truck. A swing of the passenger door and Frankie helps you into the cab of the truck. He quickly runs to the driver's side and gets in. 

You could hear Frankie breathing heavily and deeply. You watched him fist the steering wheel and a sob breaks from his lips. You slide along the bench and softly rub his back.

"I should be the one comforting you, bebita," Frankie leans back and takes your hand off of him, intertwining your fingers with his. Your heart rate kicked up, something you haven't felt in years since the last time you saw Frankie.

"Frank, he's childhood best friend, a family friend, you grew up with him, don't minimize your relationship with him-"

"I failed you..."

Frankie cuts you off, your forehead scrunched in confusion and you look at him.

"I tried so hard to keep him from ever doing drugs...I tried so hard but what's fucked up is that he only started because he found my stash of coke...I tried!" Frankie wanted the earth to swallow him whole. You knew what was happening overseas Ethan didn't sugarcoat anything when he would tell you things.

You know of the people he's killed, that Frankie has killed, how drugs were quite accessible in other countries.

"Frank...his addiction was not your fault. Not his fault either." You never saw Ethan as his addiction, you always looked at him like the little boy you grew up with.

You were the only person who didn't blame his addiction for the way he led his life. You were always there to get him to help, going through the many detoxes, the many nights of him doped out and pissing himself, but it drained you, you can only help so much. That is the harsh truth, you can only help those who want the help to get clean and stay clean. 

"I was stupid and in my 20s thinking, I could stop anytime...I did but he kept going..." Frankie continued to spit out whatever came to his mind. Not thinking about what came out of his mouth.

"You asked me to do one thing...to keep Ethan and myself alive..." Frankie could still your words from that night. You remembered what he was talking about, your heart fluttered at the fact that he did keep his word. Frankie did it just for you. 

"That was selfish for me to ask...life doesn't like to play in anyone's favor," You laughed at how naive you used to be. How you painted Frankie as this strong and self-assured military man, your soldier, the knight in shining armor.

"It wasn't selfish," Frankie tucks the piece of hair that refused to join the ponytail. You wanted to melt into his touch, how his touch feels different. It was charged. Magnetic to your skin.

"You should hate me..." Frankie's voice cracks, You never thought you see the day that Frankie cries. He was always so stoic. 

"I don't. No one does. Because it's not your fault." Your tone made Frankie tense up, your honeyed voice was turned to ice. You didn't want someone else to feel any guilt. You already take on so much of it, you might as well take it all on. Frankie cleared his throat and saw how your eyes were still soft.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Frank...come by the house tomorrow...I miss you," You softly whisper, you wrapped your arms around his right arm and rested your head on his shoulder. You felt his head nod in response. You sat up and kissed the tears staining Frankie's cheek. His body shudders when your lips graze his skin. 

"Noon, I'll make us lunch and we can talk with my parents." You forced a smile while you gathered your purse and the whiskey bottle for the night. 

-

You drove home and thought you were selfish for grieving in front of Frankie who just got the news about the person who truly knew who he was. You parked the car in the driveway that getting overcrowded by the weeds that Ethan has taken care of since your father has gotten older with you.

Another thing to add to the list of many things you have to do before moving back to the city, get a landscaper. You reached for the bottle and opened it. You bring the whiskey to your lips and let the burning amber liquid sit on your tongue before you open the door and spit it out on the asphalt then bile comes up and burns your throat. Your nose running from crying and vomiting all over the ground like you were 8 years old again and getting extreme motion sickness. 

You walk into the tomb of your childhood and the living room TV playing some infomercial, your parents still having cable whilst having almost every streaming service. Your mom is asleep on the recliner seat of the couch, your father in his big recliner that was the perfect size for him,

You would always sit in it with Ethan on Saturday mornings watching cartoons and eating the bowl of Lucky Charms that opened poorly and you both know your mom is going scold for opening the box of cereal wrong. Working as a team to get the bowls down from the cabinets and helping to pour the milk so it doesn't spill all over the countertops. 

You search for the remote and click off the TV then walk to your old bedroom that only had a full-size bed, walls decorated with movie posters, pictures of friends, and your old vanity mirror that had a Polaroid of you standing between Frankie and Ethan at your graduation. You picked the picture to study it again for the thousandth time.

Frankie and Ethan dressed in their ceremony uniforms, you remembered your breathing taken away seeing Frankie in uniform for the first time, thinking 'It's true, everyone loves a man in uniform'. You felt your face twitch noticing how you were smiling at how Frankie's clean-shaven look was the awkward stage he never went through as a teenager. 

The smile on his face was everything, just a smirk curling up the left side of his face. You thought it was so boyish and charming. You sat the picture down and went to the bathroom to wash out your mouth before falling asleep. A dreamless sleep beside flashes of memories of you and Ethan as little kids. The flashbacks are always when you are both kids never as teenagers or young adults. 

-

You wake up with your heart racing, shot up in bed with your hand on your chest panicking more over the fast heartbeat. You glanced at your phone and it was 6 am. You're wide awake and you can hear your father's snore downstairs. The door to your room is pushed wide open and your eyes land on the furball of a culprit.

Ethan's cat 'Prince', because Ethan said he is royalty and should be treated as such. The cat sits at the foot of your bed with a mouse made from an old army shirt that Ethan wore all the time you special ordered for the cat because of how sick he got when Ethan passed away. You thought if you could help a cat process grief you could forget about yours. Always running from it, but grief and love to loom around corners you don't turn down often. 

The cat drops the mouse for you on the bed and walks out of the bedroom. He thinks you can't feed yourself. You laughed in your head but started to think about the last meal you ate that wasn't on a drunken binged that would puke out your guts an hour later. You stuff towels at the bottom of the door to muffle your cries and gags. Stuffing the towels at the bottom of the door that isn't to keep the smoke from weed you had in high school. 

You get out of bed and go down to the kitchen to feed Prince. As you prepared his lavish breakfast your body and mind were instantly drained. You needed to shower and start to clean this house before Frankie arrived, that meant getting my parents up and about. You had no energy to do anything for yourself, if it's not for Ethan why even do it? 

You sat in bed and stared at the ceiling for an hour before you started cleaning up the whole house as if Frankie was going to be in every single room. Your parents left for the store to buy lunch and dinner for the weekend at 10 AM meaning they won't be back until 11. Your sweat drips down your forehead and goes into your eyes making them sting. Your ears roar with blood rushing to your head, clenching your jaw and not breathing.

Your fingernails were bleeding while you scrubbed the bathroom sink. You yelp as the cleaning product gets between your nails, and you scold yourself for not putting on the rubber gloves. You started to cough when you took too deep of breath. Quickly turning on the water to wash away the cleaner from the sink and your skin. The tips of your fingers slightly burned, you could feel the tenderness. 

A small fit of laughter came from the hallway, you wiped your hands on the sweats you had put on to clean in. You entered the living room and saw Frankie sitting with your parents in the dining room adjacent. You gazed at the clock on the cable box, at 12:15 p.m. Did you blackout while cleaning?

"Mama, Frankie is here..." Your mother sees you with bloodshot eyes and sweating all over your face and body. Frankie turns around in his chair and looks at the mess you become. You could feel your face get even hotter as he gave you his stupid smile but it was strained a bit maybe forced. 

Frankie looked at you and saw how wrecked you were. His heart could feel tendrils of the beating muscle tear apart when he finally saw you completely exposed by emotion.

"I'll be back, I need to clean up," You mumbled wiping away the sweat mix with tears off your face and heading to the shower. Turning it all the way to icy cold water comes out, and chilling your entire body. You looked up at the running water practically washing your eyes out. 

You pull yourself away from the shower and put yourself back together. You walked back downstairs in shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, your hair wet and pulled back into a ponytail. Frankie saw how fresh-faced you looked. He could still your baby face in your drained adult face. Your eyes are still always so wide and big making him swim in the chocolate waves. You took a seat across from Frankie while your parents rambled on about what they were making for lunch. You adverted your gaze from Frankie. You were embarrassed about how he's seen your grief. 

"I showed up and no one answered the door, I went around back and saw that the backdoor was wide open and the cat was meowing. I was worried that something happened to you. I followed the damn cat and saw you heaving over the bathroom sink. I called your name several times. Your parents came home and they were happy to see me and I lied to them and said you let me in while you finished cleaning,"

Frankie whispers after he turns to look to see if your parents were out of earshot. Frankie reached across the table to hold your hand. But you flinched as your tender fingers touched his calloused hands. You winced while he examined your hand. 

"I blackout too when I start a task. End up always overdoing it." Frankie says, softly holding your hand, trying to somehow heal you, skin to skin. You nodded not knowing what to say because you don't trust your voice to sound like you've been crying. "I'm trying to pick up everything and put it back together," You cleared your voice still laced with uneven breaths. 

Lunch was served with a Long Island iced tea and talking about Ethan. Laughing with tears in your eyes. Your parents retire to their bedroom not hungry enough for dinner, just proud that they ate at least lunch. You and Frankie went to your bedroom, he loved how it was still set in the past with a mix of your office set up to work from home. "I never thought I would ever be allowed in here," Frankie said picking up a stack of CDs from the 90s and a mix of early 2000s. 

You giggled thinking back on how the 'no boys allowed' sign made a big impression on Frankie.

"You are an exception," You continued to watch Frankie look at your room, he made note of the different movie posters and even an HBO show poster, 'Band of Brothers' Ethan's favorite show.

"Has that always been the case, Bebita?" Frankie smirks at you, moving the bed and sliding next to you. The tension in the air hit the air when you could feel Frankie's body heat radiating off his body. The sun was just setting and the natural light hit the light pink walls giving the room a romantic hue. 

You rolled your eyes and looked away from him.

"I know you used to have a crush on me,"

"Jesus Frank-"

"I thought it was adorable." Frankie chuckles, sitting up against the headboard to wrap his arms around you. The feeling of his sturdy body against yours made your skin hot and break out in goosebumps.

"I thought you were cute but you know best friend's sister is off limits," Frankie sighed, thinking about when you entered high school and he was just barely a junior. You grew up overnight to him. You started to really put time into your appearance. To Frankie, you just highlighted your beauty. But Ethan told Frankie when they started middle school that his sister was off limits. 

But now here you are both adults, both have jobs, and both secretly in love with each other. Was the rule only when you were all horny teenagers?

"Are you saying you had a crush on me too, Frankie?" When his name fell off your lips it made him forget the looming grief over the both of you.

"Never stopped," Frankie was being bold, life is too short to not say anything after years of wasting time. You looked up at Frankie and couldn't believe anything he was saying. Was it just to make you feel better since you know your brother is dead? 

"Nooo...that's not true Frank," Deny, deny, deny. How could he ever love you? There's nothing left in you anymore.

"Bebita, why do you think I stuck up for you when we were kids? Because I needed to protect you and care for you because I've loved you for a long time," Frankie cups your face, and his thumb runs across your bottom lip. You swear you were on cloud 9, the warmth of your love for him and his love for you radiating through the lightest touch.

"Frank I think that you have been feeling a lot of emotions the past day. I'll let you say whatever you want and not hold it against you." You wanted to believe him. You know he's being truthful. 

"I meant what I said, I want us to try, try to be there for each other," Frankie rests his forehead against yours, his finger brushing through your hair. It was nice to be held. Especially with Frankie.

"I'm trying," You sobbed out, fisting Frankies t-shirt and pulling him closer to your body. His words opened the floodgates and you couldn't stop the tears overflowing from the waterline. Frankie lays down holds your head to his chest and lets you cry. 

-

Frankie came to your house every single after that. He started to do yard work with your father, you would bring something to drink and eat. The funeral happened after months of arguing with the VA about where Ethan could lay to rest. Your parents wanted him at the family plot but the VA said he had to be buried at the fort, that it was clearly stated in his will when he joined the army, so everything would be simple and easy, and not anyone would spend a dime but the government it's money.

Your parents started to go back to their normal lives enjoying retirement. You and Frankie started to see each other every Friday night, going out for dinner and getting tipsy. You would go home with him and spend the weekend at his apartment, enjoying living without your parents walking around. 

The first hookup was when he came over to work on the mow the lawn for your parents since they were going to be out of town. You had completely forgotten about Frankie coming over when you walked out the backdoor in just a thong and t-shirt letting the cat out for the day. He was opening the shed in the backyard when he heard you murmur 'Oh my god' and quickly turned on your heels and ran upstairs. Frankie blushed deeply not remembering what he was doing for a second. 

You tried to pretend that Frankie didn't see you half-naked until he was at your bedroom door, rushing you and pinning you against the mattress. His lips hungrily locking with your soft lips. His mustache and beard rub against your soft skin. Tasting the lemonade you had made for him to go with his lunch. 

"You're just too pretty, bebita," Frankie grunts as you bucked your hips to grind against his growing bulge. You loved how your clothed cunt rub against the denim jeans.

"Frankieeee, t-touch me, please," the sweetest whine left your lips, Frankie looks down your chest, he pushed the shirt up toward your collarbone to admire your plump perky breasts and how they swayed with each grind of your hips.

Frankie propped himself next to you and traced the outline of your body, not missing caressing your breast, and lightly tracing your nipples making them harden. You were whimpering at the teasing touch. Frankie pushes aside the thong and dips his finger down your folds to your entrance. 

"So wet, is that all for me, sweetheart?" Frankie deepens his voice an octave. You nodded and bit your lips to stop yourself from moaning.

"Words, bebita" Frankie purs, you gasped as his fingers slide inside your cunt and curling them, hitting the sensitive spot that makes you see stars.

"F-fuck, yes Frankie! All for youu" You cry out as his thumb rolls your clit while fucking his finger into you, curling them every few thrusts. Your pussy clenches tightly around his digits.

"I-i'm closeee" you whimpered, Frankie lowers his head and takes in a nipple into his mouth, first licking it then sucking as hard as he could. His mouth on your body and his hands doing magic on your wet cunt. 

You felt your release gush out of you and coat his hand. Your moans were coming out without any hesitation.

"Fuck me, Frankie," your hands undo his belt and going straight towards the zipper and doing the button very last. You dip under the waistband of his briefs. Your hand cups his hard cock and strokes him until he is fully hard.

Frankie rolls on top of you pushing down his jeans and underwear just enough to free himself then kicks off the rest of the jeans while you pull off his shirt. He pins your hands above your head as he thrusts into you in one go. You screamed out the pleasure that you got from the stinging stretch of his thick hard cock sliding along your velvet walls. Frankie moans in your ears as he drops his head in the crook of your neck, enjoying how wet and warm you feel around him. Taking him so perfectly. 

"You feel so good, babyy," Frankie bottoms out and grinds into you, his cock hitting your cervix.

"So big, Frankie, fuck you feel so fucking good," You gritted through your teeth when Frankie bends you in half and drilling into your aching pussy.

"I-I need you! I need you!" Frankie chants, and you could see the tears falling down his face, and you couldn't help but cry yourself. You wanted Frankie to feel whole. He's always been the one. Took care of you when you hit rock bottom with grief. He helped bathe you and helped you brush your teeth and brushed your hair when you dried your hair. Getting you dressed every day. 

You didn't put up a fight. You needed him. He needs you. You're falling in love.

"I'm yours! Ah-all yours, Frank," You grunted as his harsh thrust became harder when you proclaimed that you are his. You fell into the pillowy high of orgasm number 2.

"All mine, and I am yours, amor" Frankie moans as he flips you on your stomach, hiking your hips just enough for his cock to fuck your aching hole.

"I love you, Frankie!" You cry out as another wave of bliss warms your body down to your toes.

"I love you, bebita!" Frankie gives the same passion back, while he paints your walls with his load. Your eyes rolled back from being so full with his cock and his cum dripping out of you and making your thighs sticky. 

You both lay there, touching each other, exploring each other bodies. Years of messing around to make up for. Allowing grief to bring you to your person. You can't be mad anymore because now to you life is worth living again. Frankie had the world around you make sense again. 

[anashins]

dad jae and reader celebrating their daughter's first birthday? love your works 💗💗

Pairing: dad!Jaehyun x mom!reader

Genre: parents!au, fluff, only slight angst

Word Count: 1k

Summary: For his daughter's first birthday, Jaehyun goes a little overboard, but to see his little princess happy and healthy, he would do anything.

A/N: Hope you like it 💓

“I know it’s not the prettiest work in the world, but I gave it my best.”

You looked at your husband, covered in flour, icing and other ingredients that had turned his once solid apron into a colorful battlefield, then shifted your gaze to the cake that stood on the kitchen island right in front of him.

“Look!” He rounded the counter and pointed at this work. “I tried to make two layers, but somehow, they wouldn’t stick together, so I had to put in a wooden stick. Maybe we should tell the guests to pay attention to that. But otherwise? What do you say?”

The cake looked like it would fall apart at any moment, the icing a mix of green, yellow and pink as though he hadn’t been able to decide on a color scheme. On top of it sat a candle in the form of a ‘1’ that was slowly but steadily sinking to the side. Jaehyun quickly stretched his hand out and pulled it up again.

The cake looked awful from the outside, implying that on the inside, there wouldn’t be much of a difference. But in the end, it didn’t matter.

“It looks amazing!” You cupped your husband’s face and kissed him gratefully. “Thank you for putting this all together!”

With a deep sigh, he dropped his head in disappointment though. “You don’t need to lie to me, it looks ridiculous, I’m aware of that. At one point, I wasn’t even sure whether I was following the same recipe anymore.”

“Jaehyun, she’s one year old. I doubt she even knows what that is. She’d be happy to have something colorful to look at and blow out the candle, then take two bites off the cake and start playing with her gifts.”

“But it’s her first birthday, I want it to be perfect!”

“And isn’t it?”

You turned around and sprawled out your arms, presenting the living area to him which he had decorated this morning. The day before, Jaehyun had taken off to the store to buy balloons, garlands, party hats and every other birthday decoration he had stumbled upon. On the table, he had placed the many gifts embraced in different wrapping paper, your flat looking similar to the party store itself now.

“Did I go overboard for her first birthday?” he asked timidly and came up behind you. “I know she’s practically still a baby, and I did much research beforehand about what would be appropriate and what not, because I didn’t want to mess it up, but still make it perfect. And somehow, it ended up like this.”

“Mess it up?” you repeated. “There is no way you can mess it up, you’re a great father, Jaehyun. You only want the best for her and make her the happiest on this special day, where could you go wrong? I’m only asking myself how you will ever be able to top this? For her sixth birthday, you probably have to hire an entire petting zoo.”

Jaehyun laughed, and you felt how much more relaxed he got with your confirmation. “Okay, but all pride aside, this cake could really need some fixing. Will you help me before your parents return with her for the party?”

“Of course!”

____

“... Happy birthday to you!”

Your both’s families had come together shortly later in your home to celebrate your daughter’s special day. She was currently sitting in her highchair, blabbering along with the singing people, clapping into her hands. 

She wasn’t able to say many words yet, but there was one word she used at least five times a day, so when your paternal grandmother asked what she wished for, she answered, “Pony!”

Your husband’s eyes were full of love when he looked at his daughter working on her blue cake with her bare hands while wearing a party hat with a unicorn on top of it. She was the happiest and prettiest child, bringing much joy not only to you, but to everyone around her as well. Given her history, this hadn’t always been a given.

“Do you want a pony, princess?” Jaehyun asked and kneeled down next to her. “A brown one?”

“Yes, daddy!” she exclaimed and smeared some icing into her father’s hair. 

While most parents would chide, your husband only laughed and smeared some back across her cheek, making her laugh out loud. He would never scold her for something like that, he cherished her too much for that.

“How about opening this gift first?” Jaehyun proposed. “Maybe you’ll find a pony in there.”

With hasty motions, her little fingers fiddled with the wrapping paper and your husband was more than willing to help his little princess if it meant being able to spend as much time with her as possible.

That she was here today was a miracle. She had almost not been able to make it, being a premature baby who had to get artificial respiration during her first months on this world. And even though she was a perfectly healthy child now, the fear from a year ago hadn’t entirely worn off yet, and you doubted that it ever would.

“You okay?”

Your husband suddenly stood next to you, cake on his hair and face while his parents had now taken his spot by your daughter’s side. Somehow, he must have sensed your anxiety and got worried.

“Yeah, I was only thinking… that we almost didn’t make it to here.”

“Hey…” Jaehyun’s hand had found its way to the side of your hip, giving you a subtle, reassuring squeeze, hidden from all the guests as neither of you wanted to ruin the mood. “But we did, we made it to here. And we will have many more birthdays to celebrate and each will be even more perfect than the one before, because we will get reminded of what we have, what we've been through, and how perfect our little princess makes our lives.”

His words soothed the worries in your heart and you smiled again. “You’re right.”

“Daddy! Mommy!” your daughter interrupted loudly and waved in your direction, having unwrapped the entire gift already. “A pony!”

One day, you were sure of that now, she would be strong enough to sit on a real one.

[theinvisiblemuseum]

please though… give us some of YOUR regdora hcs

ok let’s get into the canonverse regdora timeline ‼️‼️

- they initially don’t like each other

- grew up in similar circles as rosiers & blacks were pureblood elite but regulus’ parents didn’t want sirius and regulus hanging out with pandora and evan because they’re Weird

- once they’re both at hogwarts regulus is like your brother is annoying and so is that crouch kid so they start hanging out a bit more but they never talk to each other or anything they just stare at each other autistically and call it a day

- reg eventually becomes friends with evan and barty but he refers to pandora as his best friend and chooses to hang out with her whenever possible

- pandora mostly just thinks it would be fun to make regulus weirder so she decided to befriend him to make his parents mad

- they actually have conversations with one another around 3rd year and all of a sudden they know each other better than anyone because they also see a lot of themselves in each other

-t4t realness

- they make a pact to never ever kiss because around the time they start talking people start to assume they’re dating and they’re like ew no

- pandora has wild and destructive relationships starting around 4th year and regulus nurses embarrassing crushes from afar

- regulus doesn’t talk to her for a month when she starts dating barty and neither of them really know why because regulus isn’t into her or barty (surely)

- pandora researches muggle surgical techniques with evan and they practice on reg and barty

- regulus and pandora invent spells together

- regulus gets jealous when pandora invents potions with lily

- pandora gets jealous when regulus barty and evan do things without her

- she blows up their dorm room after they went to hogsmeade without her once, even though she was busy and couldn’t go anyway and they invited her

- they find the room of requirement together and spend most of their time there

- everyone knows they’re a package deal

- when regulus is made prefect pandora abuses the privileges

- they often go to the bath together for normal not at all romantic or sexual reasons and they’re both really nonchalant about it all

- regulus starts researching horcruxes in his final year and pandora is the only one he tells

- they continue the research after school, and evan pandora barty and regulus plan to move in somewhere together but regulus ends up stuck with his parents because his dad is ill

- they’re both in love with each other at this point and stubborn/oblivious about it because truth to be told they’ve probably been in love since year 3

- a month before regulus goes missing they confess to each other

- what a fucking month.

- the day regulus goes missing he tells her he’s going to the store and will be back later that night and she believes him

-the two of them made many many blood pacts and unbreakable vows so it was probably very painful for her when he died and she felt it the exact moment it happened

- she loses every last remaining shred of sanity she had when evan dies too and spends the last years of her life trying to bring regulus and evan back

- she and barty don’t speak again after evan dies, she hears what happens to him and doesn’t care, he cries all night when he finds out she died

- but hey she finally got regulus back when she blew herself up in front of her daughter ! 🫶

- sorry did i mention that they’re tragic and doomed ? they’re tragic and doomed

[whoslaurapalmer]

Lost Scenes Thursday! Get to know your favourite authors better. Show five scenes from either abandoned fics where you regret they will never see the light of day, or five scenes from WIPs where you are impatient to see them out there. Long, short, one-liner... it's all good reading. Tag five other authors where you are curious.

!!!! oh!! okay so it should come as a surprise to no one that even after my big post of likely unfinished wips, I STILL HAVE MORE

the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind au that is sadly kind of thematically jumbled that i could never post it but i love the movie very very much and i think about this scene from the au a lot. so bea was trying to erase lemony and this was when they're trying to hide in different parts of her mind to escape him being erased

“oh,” beatrice says.

the house is small, with white siding and little windows where the breeze blows in and ruffles the flower-patterned curtains. the blue door is just as inviting as it always was, the way she almost remembers. the begonias planted right along the edge of the house. the one patch of grass that never grew in as green as the rest. the light grey roof, the brick red chimney. the dark asphalt driveway. the beautiful maples in the backyard, the oak trees lining the rest of the street, tall and shady. the whole neighborhood, calm and quiet. the corner store down the block with the best ice cream she’d ever tasted.

“this is my parent’s house,” beatrice says softly. “i didn’t—i didn’t think i could still remember it.”

“it’s very nice,” lemony says.

“it was,” beatrice whispers. “i loved this house. i knew every single floorboard that creaked and i stepped on them every morning, just to hear the sound. my father had the biggest piano i’d ever seen and he’d teach me how to play after dinner. it was old and my mother would spend hours tuning it.”

“what are we doing outside?” lemony asks.

this is the day, beatrice realizes, all of a sudden. this is the day it happened. this is why i remember.

she bites her lip. “it was today. i was six. i walked home from the corner store and no one was there,” she says. “and then—do you remember how it happened, for you? or do jacques and kit remember it more? i heard jacques insist once that he was able to finish his tea before it happened.”

“i don’t remember much of it,” lemony says. “but i certainly wasn’t allowed to finish mine.”

beatrice sits down on the curb, pulling lemony to sit beside her, and they stare out at the sunlit road.

she squeezes lemony’s hand. “what did your house look like?” she asks. “do you remember?”

lemony sighs. he’s silent for a long time. “we had blue curtains,” he says. “they were softer than average curtains. i used to hide behind them.”

“that,” beatrice says, smiling a little, “is adorable, lemony snicket.”

“i pulled them down one day,” he says, a far-off look in his eyes, “and they made a horrible noise. jacques and kit came running and found me under a pile of curtains. none of us were tall enough to put the curtains back, so we took turns wearing them as a cape.”

beatrice leans against his shoulder. “i used to try on my mother’s heels all the time. i think that’s why i wear them so much now.”

“what do you think would’ve happened,” beatrice asks, “if we hadn’t done this?”

“this?” lemony raises their linked hands. “or the situation about to happen in your house?”

“either,” beatrice says. she doesn’t look at their hands or her house, instead focusing on the cracking asphalt underneath them. “anything.”

lemony sighs. “we wouldn’t have met,” he says. “there’s that.”

beatrice looks up at him. she doesn’t want to ask it, but if she’s going to ask any incarnation of lemony snicket, it might as well be dream lemony. he can’t be any more morose than real life lemony. “should we have met?”

“you always ask the hard questions,” lemony says, “when i always ask the wrong ones.”

and then he’s gone.

beatrice squeezes her eyes shut, hot tears burning at the corners. “don’t leave me here,” she cries, “don’t leave me here—”

this was from a supposed to be short fic about jacques that was getting too miserable and too hard to write even for ME. there's more of this i could share but since the dashboard has been all about jacques and jerome lately --

sometimes, on nights when jacques cannot sleep, he walks through the city. he always winds up by jerome's apartment. jerome leaves all the lights on, because jerome has never had to be scared of anything. jacques is sure he would have, eventually, if jacques hadn't stopped talking to him. he does not regret lying to jerome; he regrets not seeing him anymore. he does not regret leaving jerome; he regrets not seeing him anymore. he does not regret protecting jerome from his life, his organization, the inherent danger in his presence, the fear that he would do something with his own two hands to break jerome's happiness and trust. he regrets not seeing him anymore.

jacques allows himself a moment to be selfish, just a moment. his family means the world to him, but the only person he wants to see is jerome.

he would give anything for jerome’s easy, unbothered company, no obligations, no fragmentary plots, no siblings, no friends, no ghosts, just the two of them. for jerome to smile at him again, for them to talk about mindless things that mattered to them alone. jacques could easily go up into his apartment, use the key he still has, lie again and tell jerome, his business trip was canceled, he won't be leaving the city, everything is fine. everything will be fine. sometimes he stands in front of jerome's door, even, ready to knock. he stands there and listens to jerome move about the apartment, humming off-key.

it wasn’t like they had really been in a relationship, not formally, at least, not like the other couples jacques has witnessed. they’d rarely gone places together, but they had been together, in one apartment or the other, not hidden away at all but just the two of them, seen by each other. they would play card games or trivia because jerome knew everything, all the things that mattered – definitions and geography and individuals and animals. he knew good things.

jerome was too kind. but jerome is smarter than he looks, and just smart enough. he hasn't sent jacques anything. he knows there is something going on, something where it would be better if he wasn't there. he pressed his hand against jacques's before they parted ways, and smiled very gently. jacques would love him even more for being so understanding if it didn't leave such an awful ache in his ribs.

so i have a long-fabled unfinished lemony/olaf fic and ugggg there's so many pieces i want to post from it. i had a hard time picking a piece but here is one of them (and isn't actually lemony/olaf whoops) --

“it’s all fun and games,” esmé says, shrugging, “until your parents die, I guess.”

esmé’s lucky. vfd never found her parents. not that she talks to them or likes them, anyway. but she’s lucky, because her parents were never dangled over her like a threat and a warning and a cage. she’s saying the most horrible things but she has an arm draped loosely over olaf, tapping her nails against his arm while he tries not to lose it into her shoulder.

esmé doesn’t talk like lemony does. she doesn’t get that decimated look on her face when she lights a cigarette, she doesn’t get philosophical about how much they’ve lost or how much of themselves they’re still losing as they fight a battle no one is ever going to win. she doesn’t question fires. she sits just on the edge, a pretty, untouchable thing, who acts for no other reason than just because she can. it’s a miracle she’s not dead, as a matter of fact, with how much she operates outside of vfd.

and lemony would have that devastated but resigned frown, but esme just looks calm and impassive and she doesn’t even care that all olaf wants to do is burn everything down anyway. she just does not care, and he needs someone right now who’s not going to make him feel sick with remorse any more than he already is.

fear spikes through him, spreading out from his stomach.

olaf pulls back, stares at some spot on the wall behind esme’s head, his eyes wide. “what if he knew,” he says quietly. his throat scratches to talk, has been like that for days now.

esmé blinks. “oh, well,” she says, “i don’t think he knew. who tells leonard anything, anyway? no, I know—leland! no, that’s not it, either. it’s a baked good, isn’t—”

olaf grabs her by the arms, pulls her too close against him, pushes his nails into the soft flesh of her biceps. he hates her. he hates every single part of her, every single damn inch, he wants to crush her in his hands. he can just feel the bones in her arms—how much more would it take? what would it take to break esmé genevieve, the way someone broke him? to twist her sideways until she pulled apart, until whatever was in her stopped? “what if he did,” he insists, breathing it into her face.

esme tries to shift in his arms, and he just holds her tighter. she stares at him, a curl of her hair falling into her face. he gets a thrill that there’s a little bit of fear in her eyes as they dart back and forth between his own. “i don’t think he did,” she says, uncharacteristically quiet. “and I don’t think he did it, either. he’s a lot of things but he’s not the type. not now.” she swallows, and then tilts her head back, her hair shifting back around her shoulders. her eyes are dangerous now, staring straight at him. “let go of me, olaf.”

he does, hurling her back into the chair. esmé wastes no time and fixes the sleeves of her dress, her hair, checks her makeup in the mirror from her purse. olaf walks away from her, but he can feel her eyes following him around the room.

“well? what are you going to do?” she asks.

i think last time i posted about my incredibly shattering lemonberry ice post-opera fic?? i think? did i?? idk i can't find the post. there's so much i love in it too but idk if it will ever really truly pull together. anyway this is another piece of that

bertrand is gone for weeks, trekking up the mortmain mountains in the middle of summer with the sugar bowl. summer is yellow-gold and hot and beatrice makes it hurt, turning on all the fans and standing in the middle of them with her skin bared, she imagines bertrand cold and worried so she is too. cool orange on the ice cubes in her glass, blinding white in the sun on the floor, falling across her feet. she keeps scrambling through her apartment in the middle of the night, throwing everything out of every drawer, checking for the things that are missing, reminding herself bertrand packed everything right. gold in the morning on the spaces in the bookcases, the gaps in her desk where bertrand kept his notes. yellow like a flame on the wall where the grappling hook was supposed to be and beatrice yanks the curtains shut.

the nights are too long. lemony paces on the terrace in the dark when he thinks she’s asleep. the only way she knows lemony is even out there is the little orange glow from the cigarette in his mouth. beatrice creaks one of the terrace doors open, leaning against it.

“it’s cold out here,” beatrice says quietly. it is. it’s a chilly night for july. beatrice shivers, her whole body shaking.

the glow flickers, and a thin line of smoke rises up. beatrice watches it drift and disappear in the darkness, like the evidence of a fire disappearing, like lemony falling through her fingers. her stomach twists, her hand clenching tight around the door handle. “I hate it when you do that.”

she can just barely see the edge of his face. he takes the cigarette and crushes it in his hand.

do anything for me, huh. the words are right there against her tongue and she almost says them. the longer she waits, the more sour they taste inside her. the hold he thinks she has on him is a tenuous thing. he looks at her like the whole world is in her eyes, instead of – that dark awful black beatrice feels when she thinks too much, sticking to her insides.

“what are you thinking?” beatrice asks, so she doesn’t have to keep thinking herself.

he’s silent, but beatrice knows he’s looking at her.

“was it necessary?” lemony whispers.

“what?”

“was it necessary, to steal it from esme?”

beatrice jerks back. she feels like glass, too thin and too fragile, cracking out from the middle in uncontrolled spirals. “fuck you,” she grits out, and she turns and stalks back into the apartment, slamming the terrace door behind her.

OKAY SOMETHING SILLY also to the surprise of no one, i do have a very large document of lemonberry ice funtimes. and it started with a fic i never finished where 1) bea and bertrand are performing in my silence knot 2) lemony wrote my silent knot 3) this is the last performance of the play in the city before they go on tour 4) the three of them are trying to sneak in as much sex as possible before b+b leave, which means, in between scenes

The next break sees them in the same closet, because, well, why not be consistent, Beatrice figures. They spend their whole lives being purposefully vague about every other location, the least they can do is pick the same closet again. They are practically a part of this closet now, anyway, or at least Lemony is. Beatrice thinks he stayed there the whole time, sitting on the floor until their scenes were over, patient and disheveled and contemplating the universe (The Lemony Standard, trademark pending).

“How,” Beatrice says, “are you supposed to write a review of Bertrand and my’s excellent acting if you aren’t even in the audience?”

“I already have a leg up on everyone else,” he says, which is true, because his foot is balanced on the opposite wall and it’s giving Beatrice an excellent amount of leverage where she’s sprawled over him. “I wrote the play myself.”