#she looks like such a mom in her early forties here...

[manga-and-stuff]

Source: The Art of Nausicaä of the valley of the wind

by Hayao Miyazaki

Link to the full Artbook

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter twenty ⭐︎ Tell me it's love, tell me it's real

Warnings: 18+ minors don't interact! slight angst, only a tiny bit of sadness, fluff, lots and lots of fluff, mentions of loss and death, smut, pool sex, unprotected sex, mentions of unrequited feelings

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You and Steve get lost in your own little world, a delusion in which you both have what you want, if only you knew how to talk, how to communicate.

Word count: 11.6k+

Author's note: @hellfire--cult we've been talking about this moment since February and now we're here aaahhhh! thanks for helping me and for putting the smut idea in my head, it's been living rent free in there for the past few months, thanks for writing with me hehe ily

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter

♡

Steve was dying of boredom. Mrs. Click’s voice sounded through the room that was filled with other bored students, the girl next to him that he never bothered to learn the name of was chewing her gum obnoxiously as she was sketching in her notebook, she smelled like weed and a strong perfume, it was giving him a headache. 

He looked at the clock and sighed, forty minutes to go… 

He couldn’t wait for the bell to ring and go home, watch a movie and eat the pasta his mom made the night before. 

Steve leaned back and tapped his fingers against the book he didn’t even bother to open when Mrs. Click told everyone to flip to page 137. He looked to his left, at the girl sitting by the window, listening attentively and taking notes the way he should have been doing too. 

Just the sight of you angered him and he didn’t even know why, but something in his chest burned every time he looked at you and it frustrated him to no end. And yet, he never stopped himself from looking, from taking in the sight of you and how soft your skin looked, how pretty your eyes were, how nice your clothes fit you and how stunning you always were, even when you ditched your pretty dress for sweaters and jeans on some days. 

Today wasn’t one of those days, you were wearing a skirt, a short one that rode up on your thighs, it made his eyes spark with interest, it made him look closer at you, he sat up straighter and leaned his elbows on the table. 

Your eyebrows were scrunched together, your glossy lips puckered, your eyelashes kissed your skin every time you blinked, your hair laid so prettily on your shoulder, curled at the ends, he wondered how much time you spent on it, did you sleep with rollers in your hair? Or did you get up early just to style it? 

Your skin was glowing and he swore that he could smell your sweet perfume even from a distance. Every time you passed him, he breathed in your scent and made the burning in his chest feel worse than before but he couldn’t help it, you smelled so good. 

He kept staring at you and questions started running through his mind. 

Why do you have to be so beautiful?

Why do you have such pretty lashes?

Why do you bite your lip like that?

Why does his heart beat so weirdly every time he sees you?

It’s not fair, it’s bullshit. 

Your eyes, your smile, your hair, your lips, your pretty face, your stupid rings, your scent, your beauty… it’s not fair. 

Your presence always made him huff in irritation and yet, he never bothered to look the other way or avoid you. 

He always stared, every chance he got, he stared, just like now. 

But then, you turned your head and your eyes locked with his, you caught him staring and it made his cheeks heat up. He shifted in his seat as you gave him a look of confusion, your puckered lips turning downwards, your eyebrows scrunching together even more. 

He should’ve looked away and pretended like nothing happened but he didn’t, he raised his brows at you and curled his lips into a smirk, an action that made you roll your eyes before you turned back to your notebook. 

He almost felt disappointed at the loss of your attention, but then you flipped a page and leaned closer to the table, you quickly scribbled something into your notebook, it made him curious and it made him crane his neck a little but he couldn’t see what you were writing. You then ripped the paper out and folded it, you looked at Mrs. Click before you turned back to him and threw the note on his table without giving him as much of a glance. 

Something in his chest stirred as he picked it up, still looking at you before he gave his full attention to the paper in his hand, he unfolded it and furrowed his brows as he looked at your pretty handwriting before he even read what you wrote. 

What are you looking at perv?

Steve almost laughed, he didn’t expect anything else from you. He shook his head and smirked as he folded the note back together and threw it in his pencil case. He ripped off a piece of paper from his own notebook and started writing without thinking. 

You.

A simple ‘you’, that’s all. He wanted to see how you would react, what you would say back, if you would take it as a chance to flirt with the King, if you would use the opportunity any other girl would use. 

He looked around and ignored the curious looks from Tommy as he threw the note on your table, it landed right in front of you and you wasted no time unfolding it, you looked over your shoulder at him, a deadpan look on your pretty face. You sighed and turned back. 

Steve straightened in his seat, he pressed his lips together as he watched you and the way you held your breath, the way you stared at the paper for a moment, tensely and then, you huffed and crumbled up the piece of paper and threw it in your case just the way he did. You started writing hastily and made him more curious when you stopped for a second before you continued. 

His heart jumped when he got the second note, just like the first time, he quickly unfolded it and read it with excitement bubbling in his chest. 

Very funny, are you running out of girls to flirt with, King Steve?

Of course you would not take the bait and give into his curiosity but he found himself craving for more, you sparked his interest, so he picked up the pen again. 

What makes you think I’m flirting with you, Blondie? Maybe I just like looking at you. 

He should have seen the way you halted your breath, the way you stared at the note a little longer than you did at the last one.

And here I thought you only like to look at yourself…

He snorted at that and earned a pointed look from Mrs. Click, he instantly straightened his back and pretended to listen to her, scared of getting caught, he didn’t want this to end just yet. A sigh of relief fell from his lips once she turned her attention back to the book in front of her. 

No, I quite like looking at the skirt you’re wearing today

Steve swore that you grew flustered at this note, you even glanced down at the skirt and took a few deep breaths before you wrote back to him. 

Like I said… perv. 

His shoulders slumped and he sighed. A part of him was amused, the other… not so much but before he could write back, the bell rang and everyone around him started gathering their stuff and hurrying to leave the classroom, including you. You picked up your notebook and got up, you smoothed down your skirt and left without sparing him a single glance. 

But Steve wanted more. He gathered his things and jumped up, not bothering to wait for Tommy, he hurried after you and watched the way your skirt swayed and your hair bounced. He licked his lips and cleared his throat as he caught up to you, he glanced down at you with a cocky smirk on his face, one that made you roll your eyes again. 

“What do you want, perv?”

He chuckled and shook his head. 

“I’m not a perv.”

“You’re not?” You tilted your head at him, cutely. “Then why are you staring at my skirt and making comments about it?”

He shrugged and looked down at it before his eyes moved up your body, “maybe I just really like it.” 

You rolled your eyes again and laughed – a sound that made him feel something in his stomach. 

“I fear you can’t borrow it, it won’t even fit around your big square head.” 

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes and yet, he couldn’t even help but snort at your insult, they were so very different from the ones he threw at you sometimes.  

“My head isn’t square…”

“Yes it is,” you giggled and gave him a smirk as you eyed him. 

Evil. 

“You look like a lego figure, you have a lego head.” 

He shook his head at you, though the amused smile lingered on his face, even as he took notice of all the prying eyes on you and him, he heard the whispers, saw the girls that eyed him and then you before they leaned towards each other to make up some new gossip, a part of him felt irritated and annoyed but the other part of him that loved the attention, couldn’t care less about what they would say about him or you. 

You stopped at your locker and gave him a weird look when he stopped too, he leaned against the locker next to yours and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched you fidget with your lock. He looked at your hands, how much smaller they were than his and he couldn’t help but let his mind wander the way his eyes did as they roamed every inch of you while you were busy putting your stuff into your locker. 

Usually he did not allow himself to see you as anything other than a girl he disliked but a part of him couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he allowed himself to see you as something other than that, as something more. 

He licked his lips as he looked at your soft skin, his fingers itched to touch your hair, wondering if they felt just as soft as they looked. He breathed in the scent of your perfume and felt something stir inside of him. 

You turned towards him and he didn’t bother to hide the fact that he was staring. Your lashes fluttered as you blinked, your lips twisted into a downturned smile, you raised your brows at him and shrugged.

“Okay, what do you want from me, Harrington?” You asked, the strap of your backpack now over your shoulder and you slammed your locker before you crossed your arms over your chest. “Is this a dare or something or why are you staring at me like some creep?” 

He felt his cheeks heat up a little, a shyness he usually never felt tugged at his emotions but his arrogance was still in control. 

“I’m bored,” he shrugged and let his eyes linger on your lips as his mind continued to wander. 

You rolled your eyes at him and huffed, pointing your finger around you, gesturing to the students, to the girls that stared at you in envy at this moment. 

“Well, I’m sure one of them will keep you entertained,” you mumbled and took a step forward, “they are practically begging on their knees for your attention, don’t leave ‘em waiting.” You patted him on his chest before you stepped away from him. 

He turned to face you, not wanting to let you go just yet. 

“What if I want you to keep me entertained?” He asked teasingly with a cocky, playful smirk on his lips, one that made you blink and sigh. 

“Dream on, King Steve,” you smirked and looked over his shoulder at something behind him, “gotta be more creative with your dares, your stupid friends are way too obvious.” 

He furrowed his brows and turned around to see what you were looking at, he found Tommy and Carol watching the two of you with a smirk on their lips, giggles falling from Carol’s mouth. Steve rolled his eyes at them and sighed. 

“Listen, that wasn’t–” he stopped talking when he found you long gone and away from him and watched as you walked away, “a dare…” He mumbled to himself, he sighed again and looked down once you were out of sight. His notebook and pencil case were still in his hand, your notes tucked safely in the case – where they stayed for a while. 

“Steve!” 

Your giggles make him smile so widely that it makes his cheeks ache but he can’t stop, not when you continue blessing him with your sweet laughter, your hands are on his shoulders, holding on tightly as his fingers dig into your sides, he peppers your neck with kisses, smacking his lips against the skin over and over. 

You are squirming underneath him, your dress riding up in the process as you both lie on the big couch in your living room, the movie playing on the TV long forgotten, your snacks discarded on the table, your attention is fully on each other, your lips locking every few seconds as your hands wander across his shoulders, over his back, down his arms and finally melting into his hands, your heart skipping several beats when he entwines his fingers with yours.

Steve squeezes your hands and he dives in deeper into your neck, kissing and smiling against your skin. 

“That tickles!” You giggle again, your eyes begin to water from all the laughter. 

He chuckles against you and pecks your neck one more time before he pulls back to kiss your jaw instead, then your cheek and finally your lips, humming against you when you kiss him back immediately. Your breaths mingle together, your lips mold against each other, softly yet passionately, you are chest to chest, hands clinging to one another. 

You let go of one hand and place your palm on his back, sliding it up to his shoulder and squeezing it before you sink your fingers into his already messy hair. 

Steve sighs into the kiss and tightens his hold on your hand as he parts your thighs with his knee, not to take this any further but to feel you closer and you welcome him happily, not initiating anything else either, this feels good, this feels nice, this is enough. 

Your whimper makes his stomach flutter, a smile tugs at his lips as you play with his hair. Your hands feel so good on him, so perfect, so right. His heart skips a beat when you push yourself up and press yourself further against him, parting his lips with your tongue, you deepen the kiss in need to feel him even closer. 

Your hands roam his body and his roam yours, sighs and whimpers sound through the room as you make out on your couch, growing more and more breathless, only when it gets too much do you break the kiss and pull away from one another. You lay your head back on the pillow and open your eyes to see him staring at you already, a soft smile on his swollen lips, eyes hooded and laced with softness, his cheeks are pink and his hair is messy from all your tugging. Steve makes your heart flutter when he presses another soft kiss to your lips and cups the side of your face, tracing your cheekbone as he gazes down at you in a way only a special one should do. 

“Hi Blondie,” he whispers sweetly. 

You raise your hand up towards his face, brushing back his spitcurl before you trail your finger down to his lips, “hey, Lego Head.” 

His eyes crinkle in amusement, a chuckle falls from his pretty lips, “wow, way to ruin the moment.” 

You giggle at him and it makes him continue. 

“You haven’t used that one in a while.” 

“Mhmm, did you miss it?” You tease him, knowing how much he hated the nickname you gave him on a random school day. 

“Hmm, it kinda grew on me,” he admits, smiling down at you, “but I kinda prefer it when you call me Stevie.”

“Stevie? That only happens when I’m drunk.” 

“Yeah,” he whispers and tugs your hair behind your ear, still smiling as his eyes trace your features, “guess I gotta get you drunk again.”

“Why?” You giggle and furrow your brows at him, “so I’ll call you Stevie again?” 

“Yeah, and so I can have sweet Blondie again,” he smirks, “you’re so nice and adorable when you’re drunk.” 

Your cheeks heat up at his words but you roll your eyes and shake your head. 

“Are you saying I’m normally not adorable?” You joke and pout at him and push him back so you can stand up, heart beating faster at the groan of protest and the tightness of his hold on your waist when you try to get up from the couch. 

“Where are you going?” He asks, frowning at you when you place your hand on top of his and gently remove it from your waist. 

“I’m starving, I’m gonna see what I have in the fridge.” 

Steve nods and wastes no time to get up and follow you into the kitchen, admiring the way your little sundress fits your body, the way it hugs your waist and sways around your hips as you walk. Your hair matches the state of his own, messy and disheveled from the previous makeout session. 

When you open the fridge, you let out a loud sigh and look over your shoulder, “uh… I kinda forgot to do the groceries.” 

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, chuckling at the expression on your face, he steps closer to you and places his hands on your waist as he takes a look inside, finding nothing more than fruit, drinks, condiments and cheese, “yeah, that won’t do.”

You sigh again and close the fridge, turning around to face him while his hands are still on your waist. 

“Yeah…”

“Well, let’s go out then,” Steve shrugs as the idea of taking you to a restaurant fills him with excitement and giddiness. 

Your lips part in surprise as your eyes widen. 

“W-Where?”

Steve clears his throat, his cheeks take on a deeper shade. 

“T-To eat. We can uh– go to a sushi restaurant, I’ve always wanted to try… Have you ever tried sushi…?” He stutters and blushes. 

“Y-You wanna go out with me… in public?” You ask, cringing at how shaky and small your own voice sounds. 

His lips twitch, curling into a smile as he nods. 

“We uh… We could go out of town, there are no sushi restaurants in Hawkins, Blondie.” His words left his mouth so casually, like his heart isn’t hammering in his chest and he isn’t filled with the same nervousness he felt as a teenage boy. He feels as though he is asking you out on a date… and maybe he is, maybe he’d like to pretend that he is. 

“You mean to Indianapolis?”

Steve nods. He wants to leave Hawkins for a while, even if just for one night, he wants to be able to go out with you without feeling the need to hide, he wants to hold your hand in public and kiss you breathless on the streets, he wants to hold you close and show you off as if you were his. 

He wants it all with you and he wants it here too, in his hometown, where anyone could see but he still doesn’t know how you feel, he feels hopeful but he is still in the dark about your feelings. 

“It's the closest city we got.”

“It’s an hour trip!” 

His heart melts at the bewildered, cute look on your face, the excitement that lingers in your eyes as your lips start curling into a smile. 

“So?” Steve shrugs and squeezes your waist, “we got all night.”

Your heart is racing and everything inside of you flutters in excitement. Your cheeks are burning and you feel the giddiness of a girl that’s been asked out on a date by the boy she likes. You can’t even hide the smile that appears on your face, brightly and happily. 

“I need to get changed then!” You beam at him as you already step away, not giving him the chance to protest or say anything else before you walk out of the kitchen, “I’ll be down in a minute!” 

Steve listens to the sound of your footsteps as you rush up the stairs, leaving him in your kitchen with a pounding heart and a huge smile on his lips. He looks up at the ceiling, an accomplished and joyful feeling rushing through him, he can’t help but do a silent fist pump. 

This is going to be a date, an unofficial one, but still a date. 

He can’t fight the grin off his lips, the giddy feeling settling into his whole body. He walks back into the hallway and takes a look at himself, your lipstick is smudged on his skin and his lips, his hair is a mess, created by you, his cheeks are glowing from all the happiness inside of him. 

He fixes his hair and wipes the pink lipstick off his skin before he makes his way into your living room to turn off the TV and put away the snacks you both had earlier. 

You come back down fifteen minutes later, changed into a new dress and your makeup reapplied, your hair fixed and a small purse in your hand. You meet in the hallway, keys already in his hand, and he’s leaning against the door.

Steve’s heart goes wild at the sight of you in your new sundress, your glossy lips tugged into a smile, the urge to pull you into a kiss pushes him towards you.

He whistles playfully, making you roll your eyes with a giggle. 

“Getting all pretty for me now?” He teases, acting cocky as though his heart isn’t threatening to beat out of his chest. 

You always get pretty for him. 

“I’ve been dying to wear this dress,” you say, flipping your hair over your shoulder as you twirl around to reveal your open back to him, not knowing how crazy you drive him with your action. 

Steve’s stomach flutters, his hands instantly itch to touch your bare skin, you look so beautiful. 

He takes a step closer to you and grabs your waist, humming, “that’s a pretty dress, I can’t wait to see it on my bedroom floor though.” 

Your cheeks burn and despite it, you giggle as you turn around to face him, “is that a King Steve pickup line?” 

He shakes his head, “no, he never said such things.”

“Sure,” you snort and tug at his hand, pulling him towards the door, “come on now, I’m starving!” 

Steve chuckles and nods, reaching for his car keys on the dresser, he squeezes your hand, “yeah, come on, before you get grumpy.” 

“I never get grumpy,” you argue as your lips curl into a pout that he instantly feels the urge to kiss. 

“You always get grumpy when you’re hungry,” he laughs. He loves it. 

Steve opens the door for you, giving you a sweet smile as he looks down at your pretty face. You step out and he follows, admiring the way your dress hugs your body, the way your skin glows beneath the evening sun, the way your hair shines, your perfume lingers in the air and he can’t help but breathe it in deeply, just the way he always did. 

Your hand fits in his so perfectly, like it belongs there… and to him it does. 

You look over your shoulder, giving him a cute smile that leaves him breathless. The golden light that shines down on you turns his breathing shaky, no words could describe your beauty, nothing comes close to it, absolutely nothing. You are stunning, bewitching, you are a goddess and he worships every inch of your being and you don’t even know it.

He wishes he could scream out those three big words, kiss you breathless and show you just how much he adores you but he can’t, he is too afraid, he fears rejection so deeply, so all that he can do is pretend, pretend that you are already his and live in this small delusion for as long as he can. He opens the door for you and winks at you, fighting the urge to kiss your hand before he lets go of you and closes the door only to grab your hand again once he is seated in the driver's seat, you lace your fingers together and squeeze his hand, unaware of the feelings you leave him with, with your sweet action. 

When he turns on the music and a smile appears on your face, you sink deeper into the seat and get comfortable, a content look on your pretty features. You look so perfect sitting in his passenger seat, next to him, holding his hand, enjoying the music as you look out the window when he drives down the road.

This is where you belong, this is what he wants, you by his side, for tonight and for always, he wants you to be his, his girl.

This isn’t enough, it never was, this was never just about sex. 

There was never an ounce of hatred for you in his bones, not in high school and not after. 

He felt bitterness, confusion, denial but most of all, he felt jealousy, he always did and he never understood why you didn’t like him, why you bickered with him, why you laughed at his poor flirting attempts, why you didn’t want him the way every other girl did, why you showed up for Lucas’s game but not a single one of his – that night isn’t one he likes to think back on, it makes him cringe and shudder in annoyance at himself for what he said to you, he let his emotions, his jealousy, his frustrations control the words his mouth left. 

He didn’t know that you were a friend of Max and Lucas, he didn’t know that you showed up for her, and for him, knowing that his friends were too busy with Eddie’s D&D campaign. He didn’t know why you were there, but when he saw you on the bleachers and he caught you waving at Lucas, whose eyes lit up when he saw you, he couldn’t help but feel jealous because why did you show up for a freshman, for a kid? Why did you never show up to any of his games? Why didn’t you give him the chance to show off? 

He felt irritated, even more so when he saw you talking to Lucas in the parking lot, smiling at him and congratulating him on his successful first game. 

He remembers the way he marched over to you, the way he started bickering with you instead of praising the teen he showed up for. 

“Are you so desperate for attention that you go for a freshman now?” 

He cringes at himself, even now, disgusted at the words he threw at you.

You looked so hurt and angry, you pushed him away from you and he never blamed you for it, you could’ve slapped him right there, he deserved it. 

He felt guilty right then and there but that emotion intensified when only a few days later he found out about your sisterly bond with Max and your friendship with both of them, you cared for them and protected them just the way he did. Before he knew that, he made himself believe that you were just a loner, a person too cold to feel anything, even platonic, he wanted to believe that he wasn’t some unimportant person that you crossed paths with, that you were simply unable to form bonds or relationships but that wasn’t the case, you had people you cared for, you had friends you would die for, you just didn’t want to give him a chance, not platonically and especially not romantically. 

He was jealous of anyone who was close to you, who was special to you but back then, he didn’t allow himself to explore the depth of those emotions that always lingered inside of him when it came to you. 

Now he can see them, he can feel them, he can admit that he was jealous and hurt because he is no longer ashamed to like, love you — someone who might not feel the same. But whatever the outcome of this affair will be, he doesn’t regret letting all those feelings in, especially now that you are here with him, like this, holding his hand and letting him take you out and show you off in public. 

He is allowed to feel hopeful now, he thinks. 

Indianapolis is big and no town people, no friends, no prying eyes will be there to see you both but you could have still easily said no to his suggestion because who goes out to eat with their supposedly casual hook up? But then again, what is casual about you both? 

Not even your first night together was casual. 

You kissed and held each other close from the very beginning. 

You stay over, you cuddle, you hold hands, even in public and when you are sure that no one is looking, you sleep in his arms and you make each other breakfast, you make sure that his favorite drinks and snacks are in your kitchen and he does the same for you, his bathroom and his bedroom are filled with things that belong to you. 

This isn’t casual, the signs are there and they are so very clear, tonight especially, when you make it to the city and you walk through the busy streets where it’s much more crowded and louder than it is in your small hometown, you keep close to him and hold onto his hand tightly as you lead him to the sushi restaurant that you have told him about on the drive here, the one you went to with your parents and your sister every time you visited your grandparents in the city. 

So many things go through Steve’s mind and so many emotions rush through him as you walk side by side, hand in hand with the city lights shining down on you both as the sun disappears more and more. He feels free, like he can do anything, like he can kiss you right here, right now, without needing to hide or drag you to a secret corner, he feels giddy, happy, he can’t even hide the smile on his face. 

Once you make it to your destination, Steve lets go of your hand and places it on the small of your back instead, he opens the door and keeps his palm pressed against your body. He is so lost in his happy bubble, he doesn’t even notice the blush taking over your face when he wraps his arm around you and rests his palm on your hip instead as he leads you inside. 

It’s crowded but he didn’t expect any less from a restaurant in a big city, he doesn’t seem to mind though and neither do you, especially when you get one of the booth tables, tucked away in the very back, next to a big window where you can see the city lights. 

You sit down across from one another, smiling from ear to ear as you look into each other’s eyes. 

“Hi,” he whispers, making you giggle. 

“Hi.”

His honey eyes look so pretty in this golden light, his hair looks softer than ever, his smile so big and bright that it fills you with hope, especially when it stays as his eyes trace your face, he is staring at you even though he could be staring at this pretty setting around you, at the decorated room, the string lights over you, the city lights, but no, he is staring at you and he is making you feel special. 

A sheepish smile takes over your face, a shyness that you rarely ever feel flushing through you, the look in his eyes is so intense that you can’t help but be the first to break contact. You lean back and cross your legs, looking around the restaurant you used to eat dinners at with your family. 

Nostalgia comes over you when a family of four catches your eye, sitting at a round table, they seem to be in a lively conversation, the two little girls laughing with their father as their mother shakes her head with a smile on her face. 

Steve follows your gaze when he notices the sad but soft look in your eyes. Something tugs at his chest when he takes a look at the family you are watching and suddenly your eyes aren’t the only ones filled with sadness. 

He leans closer to the table, placing his palm above your hand. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, watching the way you tilt your head at him, the softness in your eyes never leaving. “I mean, are you okay to be here… right now… with me?” 

There is no one else you would rather be with here.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you nod, glancing down at his hand, he is now rubbing circles into your skin, “and yes, I want to be here with you,” you admit, knowing how vulnerable you can make yourself look with such words. 

He breathes out a sigh of relief, his lips curl back into a smile. 

Steve keeps holding your hand, not letting go, not even when he decides to look at the menu, not even when the waiter stops at your table to take your orders, not when your drinks arrive a few minutes later, he keeps holding on and you let him.

Curiosity sparks in him when he notices the way you keep looking back at the family, a look in your eyes that signalizes the feeling of longing. 

“Blondie?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

You nod, “anything.”

You’re close enough to ask each other questions that won’t make the other uncomfortable and that is something Steve greatly appreciates, knowing that you weren’t here months back, not even close.

Steve blinks, taking a few shaky breaths, he keeps his hand on yours, tracing the ring on your middle finger. He clears his throat and looks down, ignoring the strong beating of his heart and the nervousness bubbling in his stomach. 

“Do you uh… do you ever think about it?” 

You look at him with big, curious eyes and it’s not helping his case at all. 

“Think about what?” 

“Kids.” 

You furrow your brows at his question but you smile softly and you don’t hesitate to nod, not even needing time to think about it. 

“I honestly want to… I miss having a big family, you know?” You pause and look down at his hand, wondering what it would be like if he had a ring on his fourth finger, one that would match your own. “I don’t care if it’s one or many, I just… I really want a family, one that is here with me, all the time.” 

Steve’s big hazel eyes soften and flicker with deep emotions. His heart skips a beat as warmth settles in his chest. 

He didn’t think he could fall even harder for you, even deeper but now as he looks at you, as he holds your hand and looks into your pretty eyes, he knows that he will never stop falling, there is no end, no limit when it comes to his feelings, to his love for you.

A future lies before his eyes, a future with you, rings, cradles, a white picket fence, kids that look like you and him. He sees something, something that is in reach, something that he hopes for, something that he wants with you without a single doubt.

“You will have it all, Blondie.”

You don’t know what to make of his words but whatever the feelings behind them are, you know that they are not what you want them to be, no matter how much his feelings for you changed, no matter how much hope there is in you, no matter how big it is, you can’t believe that the thing you have now, could be one for the future too and not only the present. 

You don’t know what to say without revealing your feelings to him, you want this with him and he can’t know, he just can’t. 

To your relief, the waiter brings your food to the table, taking Steve’s attention away from your face. You let go of each other's hands, thanking and smiling at the waiter. 

“That looks amazing,” Steve murmurs as he looks at the plates in front of the both of you, reaching for the chopsticks, he looks down at them, growing a little nervous, he never used them before. 

“It does,” you nod with a smile on your face, “hey, this is special, Steve. I’m getting my first sushi with you.” You say with a giggle, making his chest flutter. 

“I thought you had some before.” 

“Yeah, stole some from my dad but I never actually had a plate for myself,” you chuckle. 

“Well, I’m glad we share some firsts together then because I never tried them before, at all,” he grins. 

You can tell by the way he is holding the chopsticks wrongly, looking down at them with furrowed brows and pursed lips. He looks so cute like this but a part of you wants to laugh even though you can’t even use them properly yourself. You have seen your dad using them every time you came here to eat, but you never tried it yourself. 

“I can tell,” you murmur, unable to hide the giggle when he tries to pick up a roll but fails to do so. 

He snorts and shoots you a playful glare. 

“Go ahead, and show me then, Blondie,” he smirks at you, pointing at your plate. 

You clear your throat and place your chopsticks between your index and middle finger, you can already feel your cheeks heating up beneath his gaze. You press your thumb against the chopstick and bite your lip in concentration, glancing at him for a second to see him staring at you, making the warmth in your cheeks grow hotter. 

“See?” You grin as you pinch your food gently, growing confident when you manage to pick up the sushi despite the shakiness in your hands. 

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, smiling softly. 

You go to dip it in the soy sauce when your shaky hands lose control and your sushi plops into the sauce loudly, splattering over your plate but luckily not on your dress. You press your lips together and look into his eyes, you stare at one another for a moment before you both burst into laughter. 

“Oh my god,” Steve chuckles in amusement, “you’re a great teacher, honey.” 

“Shut up,” you giggle and try to pick it up again. 

“Guess we gotta learn together,” he shrugs with a smile on his face. 

You do, you learn together and you share jokes and laugh at each other every time you fail, but once you get the hang out of it, you fall into a conversation about your parents, you tell him stories of the times they brought you and your sister into the city and Steve listens attentively, smiling at you and feeling grateful that you feel comfortable enough to bring him here and to talk about them – and you, you are surprised yourself when you don’t feel the cold sadness in you that you always felt every time you even mentioned them, talking about them with Steve feels… comforting, he is comforting. 

His knees touch yours beneath the table, the material of his jeans brushing your bare skin, his hand is close to yours, his pinky touching your own. He smiles at you, he laughs with you, he makes silly jokes and feeds you his food, his eyes never stray away from you, there is only you for him right now and as the realization strikes you, you grow hopeful again, your heart skips a beat at the thought that this could be something like… a date. 

You both want the same thing, though what neither of you realize is that you aren’t acting like two nervous people who finally managed to score a date with that one person, you are acting like a couple, not a single awkward moment follows you both, you are talking and laughing with each other like you’re best friends. 

“I have this theory…” Steve says before he takes a sip of his coke. 

You cock your head to the side, “please continue.” 

He places his glass back on the table and picks up his chopsticks again, he chuckles before he opens his mouth once more, “that Dustin is copying Eddie.”

“What?” You laugh. 

“Hear me out, for the past few weeks… Have you seen Dustin’s change of style!? He is wearing all black now! And his hair? It’s fucking long!” He exclaims, shaking his head. 

You’re a little amused by his sudden outburst, by the confused and slightly irritated look on his face, it’s cute. 

“Well, he sees Eddie as a role model, so?” 

"Excuse me?” He scoffs, not liking your words, not liking that the boy that once looked up to him found someone else, someone better to look up to. 

You squint your eyes at him and lean closer to the table, cupping your cheek as you smile, “Steve, is it just me or are you jealous of Eddie?” 

He scoffs again, waving his hand at you, “nonsense.”

“You’re jealous that he stole Dustin from you.” 

Steve shakes his head at you, “I’m not jealous, I’m just saying that– he is following Eddie like some lost puppy, copying him fully! What if he takes on smoking?” 

A laugh tumbles from your lips and Steve can’t even fight the smile off his lips when your soft eyes glow with amusement. 

“Really? He is fifteen, Steve! You were hosting parties at that age and getting drunk, he is not the twelve year old you once met.”

Steve laughs, he leans back in his seat and sighs, running his fingers through his hair, “yeah, I forget that sometimes, he’s not a kid anymore… he’s a teenager,” he chuckles, furrowing his eyebrows, “but come on… Eddie? Eddie’s sense of style? Is Dustin insane?” 

You roll your eyes at him, still amused by him. 

“So, you want him to wear polo shirts and cardigans instead?” 

His lips part and he pretends to be offended, “hey! You like my polo shirts!” 

“Yeah, not the point here.” 

Steve tilts his chin up, smirking at you, “you admit that you like them then?” 

You chuckle, shaking your head and hiding your face behind your hair as you start blushing again which prompts him to continue his teasing as he begins to reminisce about your shared days at school, leaving out the saddening memories and only talking of the good ones, the funny ones, memories of your childhood, of your time in kindergarten and middle school and how long you have been a part of each other’s lives and when you leave the restaurant after a long time, you reach for each other’s hands and entwine your fingers together without even thinking about it. 

You stroll through the city and kiss on the streets, like he wanted to all night and it makes you both smile, it makes you feel happy and free and Steve can’t wait for the day when he will find the courage to ask you out on a real date, to ask you to be more than this, to be his, like he pretends you are now as you stand beneath the twinkling lights, surrounded by people, surrounded by the sounds of the city and he can’t stop kissing you, not even when you continue your way to his car, he keeps pulling you into kisses, pressing his lips to yours, to your cheeks, to your hands, to your neck, over and over again, making you giggle and blush at his sweet actions. He’s drunk on you, he is so in love with you that he can’t contain it, he has to show it in some way, he has to let it out, even if not in words. 

Steve holds your hand on your way home, he kisses you at every red light and he sings along to The Smiths, you don’t think that you have ever seen him so carefree and relaxed before. 

And Steve, he had never felt this happy before, nothing, no one can compare to you, to the way you make him feel, to the love he feels for you, to the happiness that flickers in him every time you reach for his hand or bless him with a sweet smile after pressing your lips to his. Those three words that are on the tip of his tongue, beg to be released and he is so close to doing it, so damn close. 

You’re waving your hand in front of your face when you step inside his house, the heat of the summer night feeling too warm on your skin and Steve’s hands on your waist aren’t making it any better, worsening second by second, especially when he keeps making you laugh with his silly comments. 

“I need to cool off.” 

Steve brushes his fingers through your hair and tucks it behind your ears, “cool off? Why, am I this hot?” He jokes, wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

You snort and place your hands on his chest and run your finger down his stomach, hooking it around his belt,  “you’re such a dork.”

Your dork. 

His lips curl into a smirk, he leans down close enough that your noses brush, “mhm, you like it though.” 

Yes, you do, you really do. 

You gaze into his honey eyes, breathing in the scent of his cologne, getting lost in his touch as his hands hold your waist. 

“You know what else I’d like?” You whisper against his lips as you give him a soft kiss, making his breathing hitch and his heart stammer. 

“Hmm?” 

Steve blinks at you, excitement bubbling in his stomach. 

“A cold beer.”

He chuckles, he expected something else but he can’t complain, not when you give him another short kiss. 

You bite your lip and step away from him, letting his hands fall to his sides. You bring your hands up to the buttons of your dress, walking backwards slowly and continuing to gaze into his eyes with mischief in yours, you undo the top buttons, revealing your new bra to him. You almost giggle at his parted lips and the hunger in his eyes. 

Steve gulps as you expose more and more of your skin to him, he could fall to his knees right then and there.

“Don’t take too long,” you murmur, winking at him. You walk away from him and into his living room, humming as you turn on the lights in his backyard before you slide open the big glass doors and step outside. 

The night is quiet and hot, the only sound coming from the crickets and the slight rustling of the trees as soft wind blows through them and then Steve turns on the stereo in the living room, making you smile. You look up at the starry sky and listen to Steve’s footsteps. 

You push the straps of your dress down your shoulders and kick off your shoes, looking over your shoulder to see Steve rushing out with two beers in his hands. 

He places them on the table and steps towards you, tutting at you with a playful glare on his pretty face, “could’ve let me take that pretty dress off,” he murmurs and places his hands on your elbows where your straps hang loosely now. 

His hands are cold from the beers he picked out of the fridge, goosebumps rise on your skin. 

“I didn’t take it off yet,” you shrug, smirking as your hands find their way back to his belt, and you waste no time to unbuckle it. 

Steve smirks back at you, tracing your skin with the tips of his fingers as he slips the straps down your forearms and pushes your dress down, bunching it around your hips, he sucks in a sharp breath and his eyes grow darker, lustful. It certainly isn’t the first time he sees you like this, but his reaction never changes, his body always reacts to you, just the way his heart does. 

You look so beautiful, so goddamn sexy that it drives him crazy. 

Not many words are shared between you but the silence is comfortable and your eyes speak enough words as you undress each other, you take his shirt off and place your hand on his chest, staring at him in awe as he pushes your dress down and lets it fall to the ground, his hands touching your bare skin, fingers tracing your lacy underwear. 

With hooded eyes he looks down at you and he pulls you closer, “is this little set new?” 

You nod, your skin heating up again. 

“Looks so pretty,” he murmurs and leans in to press his lips against your neck, “too bad it’s gonna get wet.”

You sigh at the feeling of his kisses, breathing shakily. 

You start pushing his jeans down, looking up at him with pleading eyes, “take your pants off, Steve.”

“Yes ma’am,” he chuckles and pushes them down his legs, he quickly steps out of them and bends down, hooking his arm around the back of your knees, he scoops you up into his arms, laughing at the surprised squeal that falls from your lips. 

You throw your arms around his neck and hold on tight, looking at him bewildered while he smirks smugly. 

“What are you doing?” 

He steps closer to the edge of his pool, “what do you think I’m doing?” He chuckles, not giving you time to react before he tightens his hold on you and takes another step forward, jumping into the pool and crashing into the water with you, letting the cold envelope you both. 

And you feel it, you feel the freezing water on your skin, the goosebumps that rise and the shivers that ripple through you but not even this takes away the heat you feel inside of you. You taste the chlorine on your lips and you feel his hands on your waist as he pulls you back up with him. 

“Is that cool enough for you, honey?” He asks breathily as he wipes his hand down his face and shakes his head to get the water out of his hair. 

You giggle and stretch your arms out, “mhm, the water feels nice,” you murmur and tilt your head up, glancing at the stars in the sky, smiling at the sound of one of yours and his favorite songs playing on the stereo. 

Steve starts humming along, his eyes tracing your pretty features, your wet hair that still somehow looks just as perfect as it did before, water rolls down your face, your lacy bra now clinging even more to your skin making his hands itch for you. 

The water sloshes around him as he moves closer to you, wanting to feel your body back against his but you seem to have different ideas because when you notice him inching closer to you, you give him a teasing smirk before you turn around and start swimming. 

“Hey!” 

You giggle at the disappointed sound in his voice, that sighs that follows after. 

You feel his hand brushing your foot but unable to get a hold of you, you pick up your pace and start swimming faster, pushing against the water stronger, “you can’t catch me, Lego Head.”

He shakes his head, letting out a laugh. 

“You think you can get away from me?” He teases, diving deeper into the water, he starts swimming after you, “I was a lifeguard, honey.”

“Yeah, you’ve been bragging about it for three years now,” you snort and dare to take a look over your shoulder, “you must’ve been a bad one, ice cream man.”

He laughs again, amused by your comment and by how you slowed down. 

“You’re so funny.”

“I know,” you smirk and turn around again, thinking you can still get away from him but Steve is close, so very close. This time he catches you by your ankle, wrapping his hand around it and pulling you back, chuckling at the squeal that falls from your lips, he grabs your waist and embraces you with his arms, pulling against his chest, he holds you tightly, chuckling at the pout on your lips when you look back at him with a frown on your face. 

“Not fair,” you whine and wiggle against him which prompts you to press yourself harder into his chest, into his front, you can feel his bulge against your butt, you can feel how hot his skin is despite the cool water, his hot breath on your shoulder, his lips on your neck. 

You breathe in shakily, the heat inside of you rushing into your core, making you press your legs together as a deep longing takes over you. 

“Guess you’re not that fast after all, huh?” He teases, loving the way your bare skin feels against his. “Didn’t even take me thirty seconds to catch you.” 

You hold onto him tighter, glancing at his lips before your eyes lock with his again, “maybe I just let you catch me.” 

He chuckles, adoring the way you look at him. 

“Yeah sure, Blondie.” 

He wraps his arms tighter around your waist as he starts guiding you away from the middle of the pool and towards the stairs. 

“So what now, do you plan on drowning me?” You joke. 

The water gets lower and lower, exposing your upper body to the cooling wind, making you shiver a little. 

“No, too late for that,” he jokes back with a chuckle, “but I am thinking of something.” 

You tilt your head to the side and raise your brows at him. He moves away from behind you and reaches for your hand as he takes three steps up the stairs, enough to still be in the water once he sits down before you. He licks his lips as he looks you up and down with need and adoration in his eyes, he admires your body, your curves, you. He pulls you a little closer, the water is still hiding your hips, your legs that he loves having wrapped around his waist and his head. 

“What?” You ask softly and curiously. 

Steve looks at you with hooded eyes, with cheeks glowing pink and lips begging to be kissed. 

“I want to fuck you, right here, right now, in my pool, and–” he rasps, glancing up at the sky above you, he points his finger up, “under the full moon.”

Your eyes widen at his words, butterflies that never die growing wild in your stomach, your kneels almost buckle and you have to press your thighs together. 

You follow his gaze and frown when you only see the stars in the sky and the quarter of the moon. 

“That’s not a full moon, Steve–” you gasp when you suddenly feel his hands on your waist and he forces you closer, prompting you to straddle his waist. Your knees hit the steps he’s sitting on, your arms wrap around his neck instinctively. 

“You’re a stupid moron,” you whisper with no venom in your voice or your eyes. 

Steve blinks, smirking at you. 

“And you are too naive,” he whispers back, squeezing your waist as you lean into each other, not even noticing that you did as you shared your soft whispers. 

You smile at one another, your noses brushes and you close your eyes as your lips meet in a soft kiss, a kiss enough to steal your breath. 

You move your palm down his strong shoulder, squeezing his bicep and resting your other hand on his back, deepening the kiss as he parts your lips with his tongue, blessing you with the sound of his moan. 

Steve runs his hand down your waist and to your hips, gripping your body tightly, pulling you closer and closer until you’re flush against him. He can’t help but gasp when you grind against his erection, filling him with more need. 

Your soft kiss grows faster, hungrier, needy but still passionate and despite the lack of air, you don’t pull away just yet. You run your hand down his hairy chest, his stomach, making him shiver against you. You tug at his boxers, pulling them down just far enough for you to wrap your hand around his dick. 

“Baby,” he whispers against your lips, continuing to press kisses to your mouth as he tugs at your panties, “let me–”

“No,” you whisper as you jerk him off slowly, pumping him a few times and teasing his slit with your thumb, “I need you.” 

You don’t need no preparation, you don’t need his fingers or his tongue, not right now, you only need him, to feel him, all of him. 

“F-Fuck,” he breathes shakily, moaning at the feeling of your soft hand around him, “please… I want you, I need you so bad.”

You whimper as his fingers dig deeper into your skin, his words rushing to your heart and your core. 

You push your panties to the side and waste no other second to guide him to your entrance, looking into his pleading eyes that watch you in awe as you sink down on him, taking him slowly and moaning out his name in pleasure as your eyebrows scrunch together. The water pressure making it a little harder to do so, and it is a weird yet not unpleasant feeling. 

“J-Just like that, baby,” he whimpers, his hands holding you tightly, his eyes flickering between your face and your body, the pleasure in him growing deeper and stronger, “you’re doing so well… fuck… you feel so good,” he groans when he feels your warmth enveloping him fully. 

His right hand settles on your lower back, moving up to the middle and the top and then he wraps his hand around the back of your neck so he can pull you even closer, he presses his lips back to yours, pecking them one, two, three times. 

“Steve,” you whimper, tears brimming in your eyes from the pleasure in your body, from the size of him. You bite down on your lip and suppress a moan, when you’re fully seated on top of him, you feel a wave of different emotions rushing through you. His kisses, his touches, his hugs and his compliments, the sweet things he says to you, the sweet things he does for you overwhelming you in the best way possible. 

Something changed, something was different today, this feels different. 

You pull him into an even deeper kiss than before, letting your emotions take full control over your actions. 

Steve doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate the sudden kiss, he even smiles into it, feeling his heart beating in joy. 

You start riding him slowly, moving your hips at a torturing pace as you’re still getting used to his size. You’re clenching around him, your slick coating his dick and Steve feels it all so intensely. 

The strap of your bra slips down your wet arm but you don’t bother to fix it.

Steve cups your cheeks as your tongues clash together, your needy whimpers vibrate against his lips but he notices how quiet they sound compared to moans and screams you let out when you’re in his bed. 

“Let them out, baby,” he murmurs as you both pull away from the kiss, your breaths mingling together as your lips keep brushing against one another. He tucks your wet hair behind your ears and slips his hands down your body, settling on your hips, he gives you a lazy smile, his eyes already fucked out, “let me hear your pretty moans,” he whispers, trying to coax his favorite sounds out of you as he starts fucking up into you. 

You gasp and hold on tighter, furrowing your eyebrows even more, the feeling of him splitting you open, fucking you deeper making you whimper in need. 

“P-Public, neighbors might hear, Steve–” You whine as you meet his thrusts, continuing to roll your hips despite the nervousness that lingers in you from not wanting to get caught, but it’s hard to keep quiet when he feels so good. 

Steve couldn’t care less about his neighbors, the bushes around his house hide his backyard well enough, there is no need to worry. 

“Let them hear,” he whispers into your neck as he presses his lips to your delicate skin. 

Your heart stutters in your chest, surprise sparks in you because he wants people to hear you, both of you, he doesn’t care about hiding, he didn’t care about it at all today. 

His strong hands hold your hips, his cock sliding in and out of you, sending waves of pleasure through your belly, his moans echo through the night and you can’t help but get lost in the moment of this. 

You bury your fingers in his hair and your face in his neck, whining as you pick up the pace, riding him faster than before, causing the water to splash around you both. His chest hair brushes against your boobs, his lips suck on your skin, his moans vibrate against you as he kisses you through it all. 

“Just like that,” he hums, satisfaction tugging at him when he feels you drooling over his neck, your hot tears falling down on his skin, “look at me, honey, I wanna see your face.” 

You gather your strength to pull back far enough for him to see you and those tears he caused to fall from your eyes. You’re whimpering and clenching around him tightly, making him match the sounds that fall from your lips. 

His hazel eyes are dark, his lips puffy and cheeks redder than before, his wet skin glowing under the string lights in his backyard. God, he looks so beautiful, especially when he is moaning your name and clinging to you. 

He cups the side of your face and you make his heart flutter in his chest when you lean into his touch. 

For a moment, he leans back the slightest bit just to see you, to watch how you ride him, how you take him, how much pleasure he brings you, how your face scrunches up so prettily, how your lips curl into a pout, how your boobs threaten to spill out of your bra as you bounce on his dick, whimpering his name, over and over again. 

God, he loves you, he loves you so fucking much that it physically hurts him to hide those words from you, everything inside of him screams at him to say them, to let you know, to confess to you, to show you how much he wants you, how deep his feelings for you are. 

His own eyes burn with tears, pleasure and emotions mixing together as he watches you, convinced that there is something behind your eyes as well, feelings, adoration, love. 

There has to be something, right? 

You wouldn’t hold his hand just for the fun of it, you wouldn’t kiss him and let him feel you, have you like this if there wasn’t something in your heart for him. You wouldn’t spend nights in his arms and dinners with him if it was casual. 

It’s not casual, it just can’t be. 

You have to feel it too, you have to feel the love. 

You just have to. 

Your name falls from his lips and when you wrap your arms around him again and you lean your forehead against his, gazing into his eyes with something, you grow tighter around him, making his moans louder. 

I love you. 

He traces words into your skin that he can’t say out loud because he is too afraid to lose you because while there is hope in him, there is also fear, fear that he is misunderstanding something again. 

I love you. I love you. I love you. 

Steve wants to whisper them to you, to say them to you, to scream them out into the open for the whole world to hear. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers, making your heart explode in your chest. 

“So are you,” you whisper back, shakily, wishing you could say something else, something more. 

Steve looks up at you as though you’re something special, like you aren’t the girl he once hated, like you are his and it prompts you to peck his lips, over and over again just the way he always does to you. 

Waves of pleasure crash over the both of you as you chase your high together, you moan against each others lips as his hand moves down your stomach and his fingers settle between your thighs, no words are spoken anymore when he presses against your clit gently, rubbing circles against your sensitive nub, your high pitched moans, his deep thrusts and the begging looks in both your eyes are enough. 

You kiss and you both move, faster than before, you cling to one another harder, stronger, deeper than ever, your lips moving feverishly with each other, desperation and love behind all your movements, a searing heat cursing through you both, overwhelming your poor hearts that long for each other so pleadingly. 

And when you both reach your peak, Steve has to press his lips strongly to yours so he doesn’t spill the words that become harder to keep in. He kisses you for as long as he can, he kisses you through your high and through the aftermath, your movements slow down and your hearts beat slower, he still doesn’t pull away, if anything, he tightens his arms around you, not wanting this moment to end, not wanting this night to end. 

He wants to smile, he wants to feel happy but a part of him is so scared, after tonight especially. 

You showed him something that he could lose at any given moment, you made him feel things he didn’t even think he was capable of feeling, you lit the fire inside of him again, you made his heart feel again, you made him love again, stronger than he ever did before, he didn’t even think a love like this was possible, he didn’t think he could love so deeply. 

What will there be if he loses you? 

He experienced heartbreak before but nothing would compare to this, not even his first love could make him feel such excruciating pain that you will curse him with when you decide to leave him. 

His heart pains at the thought, it already begins to break just thinking of the possibility. 

Steve clings to you, when you pull away from the kiss, he buries his face in your neck and breathes you in, he holds you tightly as though he is afraid that you might disappear if he lets you go. 

He needs to feel you, he needs you against him, he needs to savor every moment you still allow him with you. 

Steve can’t bear to lose you, not you, he can get through anything, he can get over anything but not you. 

And while he is filled with fear, inwardly begging for you to stay, for you to be the one to be by his side – you are holding onto him with hope, with a smile on your face, unaware of the fear that lingers in the man that you love with all your heart.

You never thought you’d be in this position. That you’d ever feel like this when it came to Steve. You never thought you would feel confident in this relationship, potential, a future in it. The fear slowly decreases in each caress he gives you, in every touch, in every kiss. A fear you never thought you would lose in your life.

All you ever imagined in this love you had for him was pain. Everything ended in pure heartbreak and loneliness for you. Now, that image doesn’t come to mind. That picture you painted is no longer vivid in your head. 

And this is when you realize that you have a chance. You truly have a chance.

You decide to push it all aside, the anxiety, the fear of rejection, the fear of loss, you push it all away, no longer allowing the sadness and the fear to control you, if today wasn’t the push that you needed then you don’t know what else will. 

All the signs you weren’t sure of are there, they are there, colorful and bright, for you to see so clearly and you no longer move away from them, you move towards them, allowing yourself to feel hope that he can feel the same. 

And when you two go to bed that night after a long shower together, you cuddle and you kiss each other sweetly, whispering words of affection to one another, tracing each other's skin and holding one another tight. 

You make a decision. 

Tomorrow… Tomorrow will be the day you decide to confess. It cannot wait any longer. It cannot be postponed. It is inevitable, and you cannot handle the pain of loving him and being just this item with him any longer, especially not after this night. 

Having him like this is no longer enough. 

Keeping those three words in becomes less possible after every kiss, every touch, every whisper.

Tomorrow your life will change. 

And hopefully for the better. 

♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @corrodedcorpses @maroon-cardigan @thecreelhouse @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles @munsonlore @sherrylyn0628 @munson-mjstan @agirlwholovesrockstars @moon-flowerrs

[missberrycake]

So, I know we all love the headcanon that Eddie moved in with Wayne when he was a teen or a pre-teen, be it because one or both parents died, chucked him out, are in prison, etc. But! I’ve been thinking about another option.

What if Wayne has been looking after Eddie since he was a toddler?

It all comes as a bit of a shock to Wayne who, in his early forties, had pretty much assumed he’d missed the boat on the whole ‘kids’ thing. And yet, here he is, taking in his baby nephew when his brother turns up on his doorstep one day.

When it starts, it’s only supposed to be for a short while. His brother’s wife is newly out of the picture (it’s a crying shame, Wayne had liked her, she’d stayed a gentle soul throughout) and he just needs some time to get himself sorted, right? But then a week turns into a month, turns into two months, turns into half a year and Wayne? Well, he gets attached to the kid, so sue him. 

Because little Eddie is a rambunctious boy. He’s full of gummy smiles and bubbling laughter and Wayne runs himself in circles trying to stop him from toddling into sharp corners and sockets and yards of rope. The two of them are well suited, it seems, and Wayne takes to settling Eddie on his knee in the evenings and going through the races for the next day in the paper.

Eddie chooses a winner more than once. 

Every day, when Wayne comes to pick him up from Julia’s two trailers over (he’s still got to work, something his brother hadn’t considered before he left, or maybe he didn’t care), Eddie greets him with his arms out, already chatting away with the handful of phrases that he knows. 

The boy’s hair is soft and his cheeks smooth and if Wayne gets a little sentimental when he tucks him into bed at night, then nobody else needs to know, do they?

He’s a sweet boy. He deserves someone to care for him. 

So when his brother turns up again with vague mutterings about there being some work for him down in Florida, Wayne’s chest aches. 

“What’s your plan for the littl'un?” he asks.

“Ed? Whad’ya mean?”

“I mean, have you got a place to stay lined up? Who’s gonna look after him while you’re working?”

“I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

He shrugs and Wayne feels something close to panic bubbling in his veins. When he suggests that perhaps his brother should travel ahead, get himself settled first before sending for Eddie, he doesn’t expect him to agree so readily. He can’t say he’s much surprised though. 

The entire exchange doesn’t take more than ten minutes and his brother doesn’t ask after Eddie once, doesn’t show any desire to see him, doesn’t even step inside the trailer—not one jot of fatherly affection shines through. 

It only occurs to Wayne that evening that perhaps this was the outcome his brother wanted. But, hell, it’s fine with him—he’ll let him think he’s winning. Wayne knows who’s got the real prize here. 

He doesn’t mention the visit to Eddie, the kid doesn’t need to know, too busy digging holes and collecting bugs. 

Just like he expected, his brother never sends for the boy. They get letters for the first few years, poorly wrapped and ill-thought through trinkets for the kid’s birthday and Christmas, but it’s not long until they fall by the wayside too. 

Once Eddie’s older, they have a conversation about it. Have to, really, when Eddie comes home from preschool and is full to the brim of questions, because apparently Peter Gillespie says that everyone has to have a mom and a dad, “and I know I have a mom because you’ve told me about her and I said that she’s not around and Mrs. Lang told Peter to be quiet but then I thought about it, but I don’t know, ‘cause you’re my dad, right? I know I don’t call you dad, but that’s what you are, isn’t it? Because what else would you be and Peter says I have to have one.”

It floors Wayne for a moment, but he recovers quickly. He leads Eddie to the couch where he sets him on his lap. For the next while the two of them look through all the pictures that Wayne can find of Eddie’s mom and Wayne’s brother. Wayne makes sure to hold him close and tells him it doesn’t matter that he’s ‘just’ his uncle, that he loves him as much as he would a kid of his own, that he’ll always be around to take care of him. And Eddie takes it all in his stride, in the way only children can. 

“So I can’t call you dad?” he asks.

Wayne lets out a long breath, rubs at his jaw. 

“It’s not that you can’t, kiddo, it’s just that I ain’t.“ 

Because it feels a little like stealing. What would happen, if one day his brother came back and found his kid calling Wayne ‘Dad’. If the boot were on the other foot, Wayne would be angry as all heck. And there was still time, wasn’t there? For his brother to see the error of his ways? Who was Wayne to keep all of that from Eddie? 

“Okay,” Eddie says quietly. “Uncle Wayne is still good.”

“Oh, it’s still good, is it?” Wayne crows and squeezes Eddie tight. “I’m sure glad I meet your high standards, your majesty.”

Eddie just giggles at that. He always giggles when Wayne puts on his voices. 

“And what would the esteemed gentleman like for dinner tonight, huh? The options are spaghetti hoops, spaghetti hoops, or - now let me think. Oh! Spaghetti hoops.”

The nail in the coffin comes one day in the summer of 1978, just before Eddie’s twelfth birthday. It’s been over eight years since his brother dropped him off in search of better things and sure, there have been some days where Wayne has been tearing his hair out, but through all of it he knows he made the right decision that day in the doorway of the trailer. He wouldn’t change Eddie for the world, and he knows by now that there are some out there that would, who would only see the difficult or the different in him, but isn’t that what being a parent is? Loving your kid no matter what? Seeing the good in them and helping them see it themselves?

When his brother slams the door shut on some car so shiny that Wayne wonders if it’s fresh out of the packet, he knows they’re in for some trouble. 

“Nice car, man,” Eddie whistles from where he’d been lounging on the plastic chairs out the front of the trailer. Clearly the sight of something so drenched in luxury in their neighbourhood makes it so that he just can’t help himself.

Wayne’s brother grunts in that way that he always did when they were younger, like he’d gotten away with something. 

Wayne just watches, then, as his brother nods at the book in Eddie’s hands. “A reader, are you?” he says, a joke in his voice. “What’s this? Always knew there were brains in the family somewhere.”

“It’s ‘Lord of the Rings’,” Eddie replies, uncertain. His gaze flicks to Wayne, who nods. Funny, that the kid was quiet now, he’d been ranting and raving to Wayne about that goddamn book every spare second of the week. “It’s got orcs and wizards and elves in and stuff.”

“Fairytales?” his brother scoffs. It grates on Wayne like a physical thing. “What you been doing to the boy, Wayne? Here.” He turns back to Eddie. “You know me, kid?”

Eddie shakes his head.

“I’m your old man! So you like cars, do you? Want to go for a spin in her?”

“You don’t have to Eddie. Not if you don’t want,” Wayne pipes up then. He knows his boy well enough that he can see the internal war going on behind his eyes. And, hell, it is a nice car. Eddie bites his lip and stares at Wayne, eyes wide, asking permission.

“‘Course he wants to.” And his brother is already walking back to the driver’s side door. He winks at Eddie. “Gotta lot of catching up to do, ain’t we?”

“Hold this for me?” Eddie asks and hands Wayne his book before jogging away.

There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach when Wayne watches the dust trail behind the car as it leaves the trailer park. He sits out on the porch all afternoon, eyes flashing towards the road every few minutes. It isn’t until almost dusk that it careens into the park once more. 

The passenger door slams violently and Eddie stomps towards him.

“He’s not my dad,” he splutters as he pushes his face against Wayne’s shoulder. Wayne can feel where his cheeks are hot and flushed.

Cradling the back of Eddie’s head with one hand, he mutters gently, “Yeah, son, I know.”

And how had he ever thought that man could be Eddie’s father? No, Eddie may still call him ‘Uncle Wayne’, but they’ve gone well beyond that and both of them know it.

Directing Eddie back inside the trailer, Wayne sends a small nod to his brother where the man is still lingering by his car door, looking faintly murderous. 

Let him try, he thinks. No one’s taking his boy from him now, come hell or high water.

[Yeah, I'm scouring the archives and trying to salvage as many headcanons as I can from my old deleted account, but let's just pretend this is brand new content.]

[torasplanet]

being bruce wayne's controversially young gf is probably such a handful. with all the paparazzi, and new reporters and don't even get me started on that whole batman thing...you'll never forget the time you discovered the batcave in the middle of the night and neither will bruce. you were just sitting at the computers next to Barbara in your silky rope with a frown on your face just ready to yell at him for not telling you.

but that's not what we're here to talk about. we're here to talk about that little munchkin damian.

see at first, he didn't really like you. you were there before him but he still didn't like you very much in all honesty. the other batkids took a liking to you, some quicker than others (dickie) but they still liked you and told damian that you were cool and everything but damian found it disgusting how his father would date someone as young as you.

you were only in your twenties but considering bruce's age being early forties... he thought it was weird. damian was one of many who thought it was horrible until he didn't. you don't exactly know what made him switch but you weren't complaining well...sometimes you were because of his clinginess but you loved him too! damian was attached at your side the moment he started to like you and it was hard to get him away.

you always defended damian especially when he would go back and forth with bruce, which by the way he hated, but it didn't matter the topic because you'd still back him up. "father, school is a waste of time. training is far more important." "yeah! dami is too smart for that."

but don't get him wrong, he still found the age gap horrifying but it was more toward bruce than you now. as time went on, he stopped caring about it but he acted as though he did. damian is just a hater tbh.

anyways, back to him being the clingiest son ever! during galas, you are never seen without the middle schooler at your side either silent or talking to you about something he is passionate about. bruce thinks its cute and plus it makes the public not hate this relationship more but when damian actually needs to do things at the galas, it's pretty annoying for him...

"todd insisted that i play uno with him and the rest of the former robins and it was quite interesting. especially when todd jumped at grayson for cheating." damian ranted in your ear while standing at your side as you sipped at your wine glass carefully listening to him unaware of your boyfriend approaching.

damian noticed before you did and his silence made you confused "damian, you cannot stand next to her all night." bruce said with a sigh and his son only narrowed his eyes at him "why not? i don't find talking to these other wealthy families any sort of intriguing." damian argued while you only smiled brightly at the fact that he found you interesting!

"that doesn't matter, you still have duties."

"well ummi–[y/n]..." damian stuttered clearing his throat in embarrassment as the conversation seemed to go silent. bruce looked at you and you were close to dropping the wine glass because of how happy you seemed so he swiped it from your palm quickly. "...she doesn't seem to mind at all." the boy continued before looking up at you.

you barely registered him looking at you. you were just too happy about him referring to you as his mom!! even if it was just a slip-up. "oh yeah! i don't mind at all and you can call me whatever you want dami! i don't mind that either." you shrugged while rocking back and forth on your heels and damian seemed to be relieved with that but he quickly cleared his throat again and looked at his father with a careless expression.

"well, we'll be going now. grayson is better company than you anyway." damian said grabbing the glass from bruce's hand and grabbing yours with his other before beginning to walk away. you looked back at bruce and silently screamed to show your excitement. i guess he can let it slide this one time...because he was just as happy.

©torasplanet .ᐟ reblogs and likes are very appreciated! pls do not repost!!

[artsninspo]

"Baby-Girl" - Rio X Reader

RIO MASTERLIST

Author's Note: The draft clear out continues. I know these characters aren't my usual subjects but Rio from Good Girls ... love to hate his mean ass. I think I may have a few more with him, let me know what you think 😊

Summary: It's your sister-in-law Ruby's 40th birthday so you come into town to show her and her friends a good time. Only you meet a flirty stranger who screams trouble in her house.

Word-Count: 957

Your step falters as you see the G-Wagon parked in front of yours. This is the furthest thing from the neighborhood you see luxury vehicles in. Not to mention it looks kitted out. You can't remember the last time you saw one of these around and wonder if maybe Stan rented it for Ruby’s 40th. But with all the money trouble they’ve been having it seems like an unlikely expense. Continuing to the door you knock three times. Stan doesn't answer, a stranger with a neck tattoo does. Hispanic, tall, dark hair, olive skin and dark eyes.

“Uh… is Ruby home?” you ask skeptical and the stranger steps back looking you over. He likes what he sees.

“Ruby, you didn't say you have a sister” the man calls and Ruby materializes from the corner looking nervous.

“You’re early” she smiles and it feels insincere when you see her two best friends in the house and wave. They too look uneasy.

“Thought I would get ready here instead” you explain wheeling your suitcase forward. “Oh, and Ruby’s my sister-in-law Stan, her husband is my brother” you explain. The man smirks again, his charm is infections but there's something infectious about it.

“Got it baby-girl” he nods.

“Don’t call me baby-girl, unless you’re gonna treat me like it” you smile flirting with the handsome stranger and the ladies give an audible gasp. You laugh a little at the wives crew’s reaction to a little flirting.

“Anyways Ruby, I’m gonna go get dressed and when I get back downstairs we’re leaving. You only turn forty once” you tell her running up the stairs to the bedroom. When your brother Stan suggested you take a trip to lighten things up you were reluctant at first. Beth isn’t Your favorite person despite being Rubys. But Ruby has been having a tough time and you decide to support however you can. Tonight’s theme is Vegas. You get on your showgirl jumpsuit and do a quick face before stepping into your heels. You head back down to find Beth and Mr. Neck tattoo in what looks like a heated conversation. Minding your own business you head to the kitchen without a word. You procure shot glasses and retrieve your special bottles from your suitcase, still chilled to perfection. You turn to see him standing alone in the doorway.

“Expensive bottles,” he comments.

“Who wants to celebrate with the cheap stuff?” You ask. He looks you over giving a satisfied smile and you smile impressed by his presence. 

“Ruby doesn’t seem like the type,” he shrugs, coming closer.

“Of course not she’s  sensible, they have kids and expenses” you say getting the bottle open.

“You don’t?” He asks and you smile.

“I don’t even know your name, you don’t get to know my business,” you comment.

“I’m Rio” he introduces, making you smile.

“No, that’s not your name. You don’t look Brazilian, so your mom named you something classic, religious” you say knowing people from your years of service work.

“You’re good,” he nods with a smirk.

“And your trouble. I know because you’re not sweating or stuttering around me like all of Stan’s other friends.” You confess.

“I'm not your brother's friend,” he responds, and you look him over again. It makes sense, he’s far too cool to be a friend of Stans.

“No?”

“Nah, Beth and I’s kids play soccer together,” he says smoothly.

“I’m sure you’re a hit with all the moms. I’d be bored of the Deanzies too” you confess pouring tequila into shot glasses and cutting the lime. Tequila before champagne is a surefire way to make sure these ladies have fun.

“You bartend?” he asks perceptively.

“Yup” You nod as Annie enters. Her outfit isn’t to theme and she takes a shot without waiting for Ruby.

“That’s like a $400 bottle of champagne” she says looking at the bottle with watery eyes.

“For Ruby” you justify.

“Who spends that on booze!” she exclaims.

“A lot of people do,” you inform and she huffs.

“You spent four hundred dollars on champagne!” Ruby emerges.

“This guy who’s into me asked me what I wanted and I said a bottle of Ace because I knew I was coming here for a milestone. Why don’t you ladies stop being the IRS and relax” you snap as Beth emerges with a black duffle and hands it to Rio.

“What does he get in return?” Ruby asks unimpressed.

“For a bottle?” You scoff. “A thank you” you shrug.

“Must be the ass,” Annie says, making you laugh.

“It’s my job to know who’s generous. Stan! Nope, Dean well god bless him, I know girls that could get him to spend mortgage money. Annie, you had a good one” you deduce handing the ladies their drinks. Beth sends you a heated glance full of animosity. Rio chuckles seemingly amused.

“What about him?” Annie asks glaring at the tattooed visitor. He raises a brow with a smirk.

“Nope; and he’s got it too. He’s possessive so he’d probably cash out on his wife and kids. You know, as an ego thing. Might leave a good tip for his regulars. Not just anyone though.” You say throwing a shot back. “Am I right?” You ask and he smiles heading towards you, his cologne is intoxicating and expensive.

“She’s trouble Ruby” he says. “Nice meeting you baby-girl” he says reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash. He places it in your hands. “On me”. He walks out without a care in the world and you count five hundred dollars.

“Happy birthday Ruby!” You smile handing her the funds.

“You have to teach me how to do that” Annie remarks as Ruby and Beth look shocked.

Part Two

[oneforthemunny]

yayo (remastered) |older!dilf!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: when your younger sister calls you to pick her and her friend up, it leads you to meeting her friend's dad.

this is the first chapter of the older!eddie remaster! title stays the same, i'm just revamping it :) you can read the original series here!

contains: age gap (eddie is early forties, reader is late twenties early thirties, all consensual), language, teenage stupidity of younger siblings (and their friends) lol, slightly mean eddie but not really.

word count: 3.5k+

“Hello?” A groggy, croak of an answer fell from your lip. Eyelids pulled together, weights of sleep held them closed, pressing the cool screen of your phone to your ear. 

There was a pause, nearly timid in response. “Hey.” The familiar tone ridded whatever sleepiness you still felt, kickstarted every instinct of panic, flooding through your veins, right down to your core. 

“It’s me.” You pulled the phone away to check anyways, Madeline’s name flashing across the screen, still decorated with a flurry of bright, smiley emojis from when she added them years ago. 

“What’s wrong?” Call it older sister instinct, maybe dread, but you knew by the tightness in her tone something was wrong. 

“Will you do me a favor?” Madeline sucked in a breath from the other line. “A big favor, like a huge one. Please, I’ll owe you one back forever, and-” 

“-What do you need?” You muttered, too groggy to be fully annoyed, legs swinging out of the warmth of your covers to the frigid wood of the apartment’s floor. Using the soft, purple glow of Roku Village on the TV, you stumbled around towards the light switch. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I am. Well, I mean- like physically, I’m fine.” Madeline paused, hesitation filling the line. “Look, you can’t tell Mom or Dad. Do you swear?” 

“What did you do?” There was the irritation, falling with a huff of pure annoyance, one only a younger sibling could bring- affection and annoyance, blended together and pouring from your tongue. 

“No, you gotta swear. Swear on your life you won’t tell.” Madeline’s voice was fiercer now, that hushed tone that you were too familiar with. 

“Ok, I swear. What do you need? Why the hell are you calling me at,” You pulled your phone back, blearily blinking to clear the clouded sleep in your vision. “Christ, at two in the morning?-”

“-Don’t start.” Madeline rolled her eyes. “C-Can you come get me and my friend?”

“From where?” You frowned, stopping in the middle of the room. 

“We’re in Chestnut Square, you know the neighborhood that the Henson’s live in? It’s, like, two streets over. I can drop you a pin.” Madeline danced around the request. 

“Why are you there?” You knew. Of course you knew. It wasn’t all that long ago you were in Chestnut Square or near the Quarry by Lover’s Lake, sipping on wine coolers and shitty beers that someone got from the gas station by the high school that never carded. 

“Why do you think I’m here?” Madeline clipped in annoyance, a huff of staticed annoyance falling from the other line. “I’m at a party-” 

“-On a Wednesday?” You scoffed. “You couldn’t even wait until Friday or Saturday like a normal delinquent? On a weekday, Madeline, seriously-” 

“-Look, can you come pick me up or not?” Madeline snapped, and you could practically see her eyes roll through the phone. “I didn’t drive. Brielle and I got picked up and the guy who brought us, he’s… he’s not doing great right now, and we just need to get home. Can you please come pick us up?” 

The streets were a ghost town as you cruised towards the neighborhood, opposite from your downtown apartment. You had work tomorrow, an early shift. Madeline couldn’t have done this yesterday on your off day, or even Friday when you closed. Your jaw set at the thought, a burst of sleep deprived, inconveniencing annoyance bursting in your chest, burning with bother. 

Still, Madeline was your baby sister, difficult as she was, you were glad she called you. 

You followed the automated voice towards the end of the neighborhood, the house bright with lights and lined with cars. Madeline was on the curb, arm wrapped tightly around the girl beside her, steadying her sway. 

“Hey,” Madeline muttered, pulling the door open. “Thank you so much. Seriously, you’re the best.” 

“The best.” Brielle slid in before Madeline. Well, slid was generous, more like fell into your back seat. 

Brielle Munson had been Madeline’s best friend for years. A staple in her childhood, and therefore a figure in your own life. Countless sleepovers, birthday parties, you’d even carpooled them to school your senior year when they started middle school. 

As well as you knew her, you never took her as the black out on a Wednesday type, but your mother had often made passing, hushed tone comments about Brielle’s own mother. “She’s a little different. Kinda a wild card.” Your mother muttered to you one day, brows raising in a pointed look. You didn’t know much about Brielle’s family, never met them. Brielle always came over to your family’s house- you figured that was why. 

“Is she good?” You muttered, pulling the rearview mirror down, angling it towards Brielle. Her head pressed in slopped defeat against the cool window, forehead rolling over the cold glass. 

Madeline turned. “Brie, you good?” 

“‘M good, ‘m good. Are we gonna get Cook Out?”  Brielle slurred, cheek pressed to the window. 

You huffed, another thing to add to the mental list of Madeline’s inconveniences- cleaning your windows of the foundation Brielle left behind tomorrow. 

“Is she gonna puke?” You huffed, shoving the gear into place, rolling away from the front of the house. 

“No, she’s not gonna puke-” 

“-Madeline, if she fuckin’ pukes, I swear to God, you will be cleaning it tonight.” You sneer, eyes flickering towards the rearview to see Brielle. “I can’t handle puke, I will not handle puke-” 

“-She won’t puke.” Madeline huffed, arms crossing over her chest in annoyance. “Brie, don’t puke.” 

“I won’t.” Brielle muttered, slouching down the window. 

“She’s almost asleep. She’s good.” Madeline shook her head. “We gotta take Brielle home first. Take a right up here.” She pointed out the window. 

“Great, I’m the fucking Uber tonight, too? Madeline, I have to work in the morning-” 

“-It’s literally two minutes away.” Madeline rolled her eyes. “She’s at her dad’s tonight. It won’t take that long. I just have to get her back in her room- shit.” Madeline turned in her seat, tapping Brielle’s knee. “Brie, you gotta wake up, ok? You have to get back to your room.” 

“Nice.” You threw your hands up, irritation bubbling to a raging boil in your chest. “You’ve got to sneak her back in? How are you gonna do that?” 

“She snuck out through her window, chill.” Madeline rolled her eyes. “Turn right at the light.” 

“So, you’re going to do what? Shove her back in? I’m not helping you. I said I’d come pick you up, and that’s it-” 

“-Did I ask you to help? No.” Madeline snarled. “Brielle, wake up, seriously.” 

“I’m literally awake.” Brielle groaned, though her eyes stayed shut. 

“Where am I going?” You threw a hand out lightly. 

“Keep going straight.” Madeline muttered, body still twisted towards the back. “Brie, do you have your phone?” 

“I think so.” Brielle muttered, lazily patting herself before turning towards the seat. “Oh, ‘s right here.” 

“Turn left into this neighborhood. Then at the stop sign take a right, her house is on the corner.” Madeline turned back towards you. 

You flicked the turn signal on with dramatic irritation, gliding into the neighborhood to the small house on the corner of the street, the edge of the cul de sac. Bloomington Lane, the street sign stood proudly above the stop sign at the edge of the road. 

“Cut your lights.” Madeline muttered, climbing over the center console towards the back of the car. You felt like you were in high school again, flooding of your own memories, sneaking your friends back inside, coming through the unlocked window in the guest room. Watching Madeline help Brielle, crouched over her trying to get her sober enough to walk, it felt like a lifetime and yesterday all at once. 

Your reminiscent memories were cut short when the porch light flicked on, a blinding cast of warm light cutting through the calm, dark of the street. 

“Shit,” Madeline hissed, wide eyed and caught, looking out the window. “Shit, shit, shit, Brie, you gotta get up. You gotta get up for real, your dad is here, Brie.” 

“No, he’s asleep.” Brielle muttered, head lolling back against the seat drunkenly. 

“Madeline.” You hissed, eyes cutting towards the porch, a silhouette of a man stalking furiously towards you. You weren’t sure if you should look, turn away, drive away, a sweaty, knuckled grip on the steering wheel. 

“Fuck, that’s Brielle’s dad.” Madeline whispered. 

“Madeline,” You growled through gritted teeth. “What the fuck-” You jumped, bare knuckles rapping furiously on your window. Through the glare of the radio on your window, you could see him on the other side. 

“Hi,” You squeaked, rolling down the window. “Sorry, I-I’m just-” 

“-Who the fuck are you?” His voice boomed, sharp and cutting as the look on his face. You flinched under the tone. 

“I-I,-” 

“-Hi, Mr. Munson.” Madeline peeked timidly around your seat. His dark eyes flicked towards her, still narrowed in intimidating challenge. “We’re just, we’re bringing Brielle home.” Madeline’s voice shook, though she tried to swallow it, steady it. “This is my sister.” 

You waved, tongue too thick and swollen to say anything. Now you really felt like you were in high school again, scared shitless, caught like a deer in blinding headlights by a furious parent. 

“She came and got Brielle and I.” Madeline didn’t offer any more explanation, instead nodding towards Brielle. 

“The fuck is wrong with her?” The spitting venom in his tone made you jump. 

“She-She just had too much to drink.” You stammered, hands still gripping the wheel. 

He tore open the backseat door, Madeline holding Brielle to keep her from falling limply out onto the concrete. “What is wrong with her? Did someone drug her?” He snapped, holding Brielle carefully. 

“No, no, n-no, I was there with her all night. We brought our own-” Madeline cringed at the glare Mr. Munson gave her. You cringed for her. “She didn’t get drugged. I-I made sure. I watched her, she just… she had too much to drink, Mr. Munson, I’m so sorry.” 

“Where’d you get it from?” He sneered, pulling his daughter out of the car with a gritted grunt. “You buy it for them?” His eyes were back on you, so harsh it had you jumping. 

“No.” You and Madeline squeaked in unison. 

“I just came and-and got them-” 

“-I called her to make sure she’d get us home safe.” Madeline added, head bobbing furiously in a nervous nod. 

“Yeah.” You looked at Madeline, then back at the fuming man. Brielle sliding in his arms, limp in his hold. “Here, I-I can help you get her in-” 

“-No.” He sneered, pulling Brielle up, ignoring her muttered huffs of protest. “I don’t need your help. You’ve done enough tonight.” You felt small under his glare, biting tone that had you shrinking into your seat. 

“I-I’m really sorry.” You muttered nervously, heart drumming with adrenaline, with fear. You didn’t know why you were apologizing, if anything, you’d made the one smart decision of the night. You thought Mr. Munson might appreciate that you’d gone to bring his daughter home safe. 

The narrowed eye glare he tossed you before he was dragging Brielle towards the house, told you he did not appreciate your vigilant efforts. Your face drained, a flush of heat and icy fear sinking in the pit of your stomach. He slammed the door so hard, you were surprised the glass swinging door didn’t shatter to pieces right there on the porch. 

You turned to Madeline, fists still clenched around the steering wheel. “You owe me. You owe me so much more now, like forever. For the rest of your life.” You sneered, shoving the gear shift into drive, peeling off the curb. You couldn’t get away from Bloomington Lane fast enough. 

“You alright?” Lydia’s brows furrow at your third- fourth yawn of the shift. A shift that had just begun, your teeth ground tight in annoyance. 

“Yeah.” You nodded, snapping the receipt cover down. “Is there any way I could get off register? I’m just super tired. My brain’s not really wanting to work this morning.” 

“Yeah, for sure. You sure you’re alright?” Lydia’s head tilted to the side, snapping the plastic lid to the latte expertly. You and Lydia Allcott had practically grown up together, been in school since Kindergarten. It was lucky, you guessed, that she was your manager. Perks of a small town like Hawkins. 

“Yeah, I’m just exhausted. I was up all night because Madeline is a moron. Snuck out and I had to drive her and her friend home, and then her friend’s dad was waiting outside when she got  home- it’s just been a night, honestly.” You rubbed the base of your neck, working out a knot that was already beginning to form from your restless night. 

Lydia sucked in a breath. “Oh,” She shook her head. “I forget you have a younger sister.” 

You snort lightly, pouring the steaming dark roast into the cup. “Yeah, me too. Until she does something stupid like that.” 

Lydia smirked, sliding the drink down the bar. “Brooke just got here. Tell her to hop on register, and you can go clean the tables.” 

You had never been so happy to be carrying the soapy, black bucket out on the floor, sudsy rag dragging slowly across the empty tables. It was slow for a Thursday, the morning school and work rush dwindled down to a ghost town. Not that you were complaining. 

The bell trilled over the door behind you, Brooke’s cheery, fake greeting echoing through the store. You didn’t turn, pushing the rag over the table, dunking it back in the bucket, wringing it out, and repeating. A rhythmic task that had your mind numbed, zoned in brainlessly from table to table. 

“Hi.” You jumped slightly, soapy water spilling over the lip of the bucket onto the table.

Your posture straightened, turning with the expectancy of a customer wanting some specific table cleaned that you hadn’t yet got to. Instead, you were met with a familiar pair of dark eyes, not as furious as they’d been last night but burning even in the low light of the cafe. 

“Hi.” You squeaked, gripping the rag in your hand, the water dripping between your fingers. “Um, wha-what can I help you with, Mr. Munson?” Fuck, he’d come back to scream some more. And at your work? How did he even know? You didn’t even have it on Facebook. 

You were shocked when his lips twitched, a faint pull of smirk on his lips. “I don’t mean to bother you.” He started, hand wrapped around the small cup in his hand. “I’m not here to- I’m here to apologize.” 

You couldn’t speak, tongue stupidly thick in your mouth again. Instead you nodded, a soft bob of your head. “And I wanted to thank you for bringing Brielle home last night. For making sure she got home alright. She could have…” He shook his head, looking over at the window. 

“She could have done something stupid, and I’m glad you were there so she didn’t.” Your heart leapt when his eyes met yours again, a pounding in your ears that rang through your whole body. 

“I-It’s really no problem.” You stuttered, voice wavering on embarrassingly unsure. 

“No, it means a lot, and I was a complete ass to you last night, and I’m here to say I’m sorry for that.” Your eyes lingered over the patch on his coveralls, a cursive, embroidered ‘Eddie’ over the faded blue patch. 

“I shouldn’t’ve been such a dick, but you go to say goodnight to your kid, and there’s a pile of pillows instead, and- I know you don’t get it. You’re too young.” He motioned at you casually. Your cheeks burned, looking down at your bucket, hand still stupidly gripping the rag under the water. 

“But y’know, if you have kids of your own, you’ll get it.” Eddie continued, his own ramblings a little rushed. Was he nervous? 

“Yeah- I mean, i-it really was no issue. I’m glad she got home safe.” You smiled softly at him. 

A pause fell between the two of you, both of you shifting a little uncomfortably at it. “I hope this isn’t weird.” You looked at him. “Me coming here. I asked Brielle where you worked so I could apologize.” 

“No, it’s- thank you. You didn’t need to apologize, I mean. I get why you were mad, I do.” You cringed inwardly at your own nervous rambling. “But, um, I appreciate it. You apologizing, I mean. I’m glad she got home safe.” 

Eddie nodded, fingers curling around his drink. “Me too.” He nodded. “Glad she has Madeline too, to look after her. That they’re friends. I mean, Brie’s always been good at makin’ friends. She’s really talkative.” Your heart swelled lightly at the way he lit up when he talked about Brielle, boasting with pride and joy. It tugged on your own heart strings. 

“Yeah, Madeline is too. She loves Brie, though. Brielle sees her more than me.” You giggled lightly. 

Eddie snorted softly, lips curling in a grin. “Yeah, you too? Thought it was just me.” He shook his head, curls bouncing lightly. You tried not to stare. “Makes me feel a little better, then. At least I know it’s not all me.” 

You weren’t sure what to say, offering a nervous smile and soft giggle, adjusting the bucket on your hip. That familiar pause of silence flooded back between the two of you, not as uncomfortable as before but still hinting at discomfort. 

“So, I wanted to say thank you, and sorry for being such an asshole.” Eddie nodded, foot tapping lightly against the floor. “But, uh, I’d really like to make it up to you.” Your eyes lifted, snapping towards his own gaze carefully. 

“I'd like to treat you to dinner if you're free. Just to show my appreciation for keeping my girl safe.” Eddie started, eyes watching yours carefully. 

Your heart hammered, breath caught- strangled in your throat. “Oh,” You managed to squeak out. “That would be f-fine.” Your head was still spinning before you could register what you were even saying. 

Saying yes to Brielle’s dad? Her father, much older than you, certainly than the type of man you usually let take you to dinner. Still, he wasn’t unattractive. Coverall sleeves rolled enough to see his inked arms, chest broad under the thick material. He didn’t look old, not shriveled and gross. He was nice to look at, even. You certainly didn’t mind looking at him. 

“I-I have to close tomorrow, but I’m free Saturday night.” Your heart jumped, shocked at your own boldness. Eddie’s brows lifted slightly, lips curling on the edge of a grin. “If you’re available, of course. Sorry, I- when works best for you?” 

“Saturday night is perfect.” Eddie’s voice was calm, a steady tone that had your rattled nerves soothing, at least to a low roar in your chest. 

“Great.” You smiled, a little too eager, far less cool than you would have liked. Why were you so nervous? Maybe excited?

“Um, let me give you my phone number?” It sounded more like a question, setting the bucket on the table, wiping your wet, dripping hand on your black apron. You fished a pen out of the pocket, hoping Eddie couldn’t see the way your hands trembled lightly, buzzing with giddy excitement. 

“And you can just text me a-and let me know where to meet you.” You pulled a napkin out of the dispenser, chin dunking to write your digits on the thin paper. 

“I’ll pick you up.” Eddie nodded. Your gaze lifted to him, the finality in his tone, firm but oddly not pushy? It was foreign to you, sent bolts of exhilaration trickling through your spine. 

You started to protest, lips pulling in a slight frown. Eddie shook his head. “I’m old school, sweetheart. I’ll come and get you.” He smiled, eyes much warmer than you’d seen them, the hinting of dimples creasing underneath his stubble. 

Your knees tensed, swallowing down a bubbling of nervous giggles, giving a wide smile instead. Your fingertips brushed when you handed him the napkin, a featherlight touch that had your body roaring with fever. 

“I’ll see you Saturday.” Eddie smiled, so effortlessly cool it made your stomach flip-flop. “You don’t work too hard now, y’hear?” He teased, tossing you a wink that did pull out the nervous giggles you couldn’t swallow down this time. 

"Bye." You waved, the rag in your hand flopping against your wrist, cringing when the droplets hit your face. Eddie waved back, tucking the napkin in his pocket before he disappeared out the double doors. 

The drag in your feet was replaced with a springing pep in your step. Greeting customers with a cheery smile, much less dreadful than your usually forced one. Even the huffy soccer moms ordering with the usual demanding entitlement that would have you gritting your teeth. It didn’t bother you, chest light and airy with excitement, mind racing with giddy excitement about your date.

[honoriotsusuki]

🎨𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙋 𝙃𝙄𝙏𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙊𝙉 𝙈𝙔 𝙈𝙊𝙈-🎨

Fyodor x reader

Hard crack and fluff

DESC: Dazai had always hoped his mother would find someone again after his father left her when he was young. However he was not all to pleased to find out she found a FUCKING TERRORIST

WARNINGS: Mentions of terrorism. Everybody begrudgingly tolerates each other as opposed to outright killing each other. Probably ooc Fyodor. Suggestive but it's played for laughs. Kinda spoiler for Fyodors ability if you squint.

Dazai never knew his father. And he never wanted to. He had walked out on his mother when he was less than a year old. And yet his mother did it all for him. She tried her best to help him in any way she could despite her struggles and lack of child support. So as Dazai got older he had hoped his mother would find someone worth her time. A guy that treated her well and made sure she was well taken care of. This is not what he meant by that.

[NAME] stood there happily. Elated to finally introduce the two. Dazai had to fight back the urge to gag, scream, and strike the rat all at once. His eye slightly twitching. Fyodor. His mom was dating a fucking terrorist and she hadnt the smallest clue. His sweet, loving, passionate mother. This was ridiculous. His mother was young, she had him in her late teens so she was in her mid to late thirties, early forties. DAZAI HAD NO FUCKING CLUE HOW OLD THIS RAT BITCH WAS. I mean really- for all he knew he predated the fuckinf dinosaurs. He could've had a drinking contest with Christopher godamn Columbus and he would be none the wiser.

Fyodor- wasnt taking this all too well either. I mean, really - how the hell was this your son!? When Fyodor first met you, he saw you as yet another good person who had to live in a world of tainted ability users. However, he began to see you more frequently. Whether that be by coincidence or subconsciously going to places he had seen you before, he didn't know. But it all led in him, eventually asking you out. Fyodor never considered himself a romantic. He had plans - big ones! He couldn't risk distracting himself. But it was something about the way you spoke, your gentle demeanor and sweet mannerisms. How your coat was slightly stained with bright paint. So, of course, he wasn't risking losing you. When you stated dating, you had laid out immediately that if your son didn't like him, it couldn't happen. You valued his opinion over all else. And Fyodor admired it. You were a loving mother. But if he knew your son was the living embodiment of the "'hang' in there!" cat posters, he would have hired an assasin to take him out. (Not that it would've worked anyway. Dazai never seems to stay dead.)

So now here they both sat, at a cute brunch spot eating together. Anytime you looked their way, their smiles would be back. But the moment you left for the bathroom, they both began openly debating.

"Stop fucking my Mom." Dazai grit his teeth, his fork slightly scratching against his face. Fyodor rolled his eyes, "we haven't performed coitus as of yet you imbecile." He scoffed. Dazai visibly recoiled, relieved and yet disgusted. "Who the hell calls it that?" He gagged. "I would rather adress it as such than with vulgar language-" Fyodor argued. "Oh my god. You sound like a fucking Victorian man. What do the sight of her ankles get your rocks hard my guy?" Dazai groaned. "If you keep this up I will make love with her to spite you." Fyodor glared. Dazai paused. Turning to him in disbelief.

"You wouldnt-

"Watch me, cretin."

@HONORIOTSUSUKI

[the-froschamethyst4]

When your Daughters classmates mistake you as her Older Sister

König Headcanons

——————

——————

Y/n was getting her 5-year-old daughter ready for school. Today was Field Day and Y/n had volunteered to be a chaperon for her classroom

Getting ready was easy and telling your husband was also easy, he hardly listened in the morning time because he was in a hurry to get ready for work

"König, don't forget that I'm going to Heidi's school today for Feild Day." "Huh? Okay, yeah, that's fine-have you seen my belt?" "King, are you listening?" "Huh? Yep totally-where are my boots?" Y/n rolled her eyes know her husband was not listening to her. "I dated Ghost before I met you-HEIDI LET'S GET GOING!!" "Wait what? WHAT DID YOU SAY!? LIEBE!!"

As they walked into the school, Heidi took her mom to her classroom, Heidi's classmates all ran to Heidi to go get ready for the field day

"Heidi, your sister is awesome, she helped me put my hair up." "Sister? I don't have a sister." "Yeah, the girl that walked in with you."

Y/n has something called a 'baby face' people mistake her age all the time, she was in her early 30's (Just go with it) and some people have mistaken her as 25-year-old before

Some people even questioned König if he knew her age, OBVIOUSLY he did know

Y/n held a hair tie in her hands as she helped another little girl with her ponytail, apparently her mom did her hair last minute and it didn't turn out so well

"There you go all done," Y/n said with a smile on her face. "Thank you," the girl ran off.

The other moms there in the classroom were kind of jealous of Y/n because of her looking younger than them and that all the kids went to her for things and not them, some were even their own kids

Y/n went and stood next to the other moms as the teacher went over the drill for field day and put the kids off in teams with the moms there, once Y/n's name was called and she listed off the names of the students that will go with her some of the kids who names didn't get called where disappointed

Heidi held her mom's hand as the other kids were surrounding her and acted like Y/n was their mom to where it even bothered Heidi that the kids won't leave her mom alone

"Are you Heidi's older sister?" "Umm~ no...I'm her mom." "But you're young." "No, I'm not...I'm like thirty, I'm not that young." "My mom is fifty." "My mom is forty-three." "I thought for the longest time, you were her sister."

'Longest time' you mean literally 5 minutes ago. Y/n thought it was funny that the kids thought she was Heidi's older sister

"I see the ring now." "How did you meet, Heidi's dad?" "How old is Heidi's dad?" The kids asked ridiculous questions about Y/n and König, Heidi told some of them to stop bothering her mom while Y/n just brushed her daughter off

Y/n helped the kids put on sunscreen and watched as the kids went and played the actives that were set up for them. Heidi and a kid were racing in Potatoe sacks and Y/n laughed when Heidi won. Like her father Heidi is highly completive

Feild day was soon done, the kids whined about how they may not see Y/n again

"I'll be back soon; you guys have the holiday party coming up soon and I'll be here." Y/n smiled to the kids. "But that's in a month," one whined. "Yeah." "Mama," Heidi called. She tugged at the car door handle wanting to be let in. Y/n groaned and unlocked the door for her. "I guess that's my que to get going, bye kids." "Bye, Heidi's mom!" the kids yelled.

[blueberryarchive]

thoughts on 80's slasher!jk...♡ (18+)

more here

(because i can't stop thinking about him)

There was something so cruel and fun about being part of a sleepover. The sweet aroma of vanilla and nail polish compacted in the room covered in colors. The muffled laughter of 2 in the morning, Steph's mother sleeping on the other side of the wall where the Billy Joel poster is. The yellowish silhouettes move slowly as they write on small pieces of paper, concentration makes them frown, smile flirtatiously at the ceiling.

“Can it be any guy?” Bobby Joe asks, tossing the piece of paper in the corner to grab another one, Steph rolls her eyes knowing full well why she would ask such a question.

If Bobby Joe was talking about any guy there would be no problem but the three girls, including you, knew perfectly well that sweet BJ wanted to put the philosophy professor's name in big italics.

“We're not going to call Mr. Hogg, Bobby Joe. I don’t want to hear him pull his old and saggy out just because I said the word ‘wet.’”

“I thought this was a game.”

“Exactly, it's a game. I don’t want to develop an infatuation with men over forty-five.” Liss attacked folding her game papers into four.

Your fingers fidgeted on the piece of paper on your knee. You couldn't write your boyfriend's name, obviously, it wouldn't be as fun since Jimin knows your friends' voices and it wouldn't be as fun to see one of your friends flirt with Jimin on the phone.

“Come on, Boo. Don't you know another man besides Jimin? Steph laughed. Bobby Joe and Liss put the names inside Elmo's mug.

No, you wanted to answer. But what's so fun about that. Now that you think about it, you should have brought your Monopoly or the old Ouija that your brother hides. It wasn't a good thing to ever leave the games to Steph.

Liss sat her face on your shoulder looking at the yellow paper, empty, desperately empty. You can put the name of someone who isn't in college, she whispered to you, taking pity on your sorry male record. And that's what you did, you chose your neighbor, only two people know how long you and Cooper haven't seen each other: God and your mom. And that was perfect, he wouldn't know your voice if you called him to ask him what his favorite position was.

Dan Cooper, the “o”s looked like long zeros and the ink pooled at the edges, demonstrating your hesitation in looking for another man in your life you wanted to call for a prank. But it was too late, Steph took the paper and crumpled it before you finished the R.

“Who dares to call first?” Liss held the cup, turning the papers over with a spoon.

Bobby Joe sighed looking into the darkness of the room. You noticed her nervousness, perhaps regretful.

“I want to change the last name…”

“Don't be a pussy, BJ.” It gushed from your lips, the Malibu bubbling in your throat with the taste of the Caribbean islands and the triple cheese pizza you had for dinner. None of the three expected to hear your babbling so early and in so few milliliters of rum.

“Well, you start, take a piece of paper.” You heard her mumble something about putting your stepfather's name on the cup, you ignored her as you took the paper that first fell on the carpet.

“Wait, let me turn on the camera.” Liss got up taking the camcorder that her father gave her for her new career in communication. Now the lens focused on the college antics of your group of friends and, occasionally, the artsy pornos that she and her boyfriend tried to sell on college corners.

Of the ten papers, the one you took seemed to be folded with the delicacy of origami. You unfolded until you undid the little cube and found a name that you have rarely heard or even thought about.

“Jungkook Jeon?” You feared you had said the name wrong but the looks between your friends were not looking for a good pronunciation but rather who dared, in fact, who even thought of trying to flirt with such a specimen.

Steph let out a squeal as she almost dropped her drink on her favorite sweater.

“God, Liss surely wrote that.”

"Why me?"

“You've always liked weird men.”

“You like octogenarians, you bitch.”

“Who the fuck is Jungkook?” You were starting to get desperate and the tiny flickering light from the camera was starting to feel like needles in your pores.

Steph takes another drink before proceeding to explain.

“He's a guy in econ class, a complete loser. He doesn't look anyone in the eye and walks around like he wants the earth to swallow him all the time."

“And why do y'all put it in the pile?” If you were going to call someone, it had to at least be worth it.

Bobby Joe and Liss look into each other's eyes and smile knowingly. BJ's bubblegum-pink coated index fingers come together and then spread alongside her smile.

“Several of the guys on the team have seen him in the showers.”

“I don't believe any of the men on the football team, that's what they said about Marc and he had a micro dick.” Steph looked pointedly at the camera. “Plus he doesn't even get up from the stands, I've never seen him play.”

“Jimin started calling him Junghood.” BJ played with her gum, twirling it around on her finger.

Jimin had never mentioned the guy to you.

“Junghood?”

“He likes to play with his bow and arrow in his free hours, like a Robin Hood.” Liss looked for another light, she wanted tried to see every line that formed on your forehead.

“The name is so stupid…no offense.” Steph finished her drink and handed you the heavy book.

You grabbed the phone directory and headed to J. The last name was easy to find and the dial easy to rotate, until your nerves choked you listening to the buzzing on the other end of the line. You wished he didn't answer, but you were also intrigued by the description. How is it that one of the players on the football team, who was supposedly well-hung and caught the attention of your little elite, was so relevant? And why didn't you know about him?

Your friends didn't focus on dragging unfortunate people through the mud, that's a high school girl thing. In college it was a matter of continuing to climb the ladder, maybe marrying a stockbroker from New York or becoming an intern at Vogue just so you could rub it in other people's faces.

And unfortunately for you, it was a Saturday night and of course this Jungkook guy would take the call. ‘I Can’t Quit You, Baby’ reverberated softly in the room, his breathing hitched and heavy. Had you woken him up? Suddenly, you were aware of all your senses, of the sense of the cassette filling up with frames of your stupid face trying to do a function as human and basic as talking, of the two shots running through your system. But oh…

"Hello?" His voice was raspy, sweet, a little nasal and whiny.

BJ squeezed your chin shaking it from side to side, enjoying your cowardice. Your face was toasted with a simple word.

“Jungkook?” You swallowed, your finger curling around the phone's pink cord.

"Who is it?" Complainant moved between the sheets until he was silent. “Fuck, it's two in the morning. Is this another one of the evangelical whores trying to sell me Bibles? I already told you what I would do to y'all if you called me again.”

And the threat sounded like a foreign promise that you wish you had heard alone. You looked at Steph who was drawing a cock next to his name, her eyes closed sensually as she stuck her tongue out.

“I just heard a rumor a couple of days ago and, you know, I haven't been able to sleep thinking about it being true.” Your voice turned to molasses, your eyebrows curled and your shoulders tensed in acted innocence.

“No, I don't sell pot. Is that it, princess?”

“Is it true that you have a big dick?” Steph, Liss and BJ were shocked. You stole the Malibu from one of them, you didn't even have the courage to talk to Jimin like that when you two were alone.

The girls ran as quietly as possible out of the room and down the stairs, opening the other phone to listen to Jungkook. But it was useless, since the person questioned did not respond. The camera already forgotten on the bed, you kneeling on the carpet hugging Liss's pink Care Bear between your legs.

A small laugh, the click of a lighter, a drag.

"What?" You could hear him reposition himself in his pillows. " You would like to know how big the weirdo in your class is, you fucking slut.”

No, ew.

“Yes, I say, if it is true.”

“How much would you like to know, mm?”

This wasn't the answer you were looking for, you thought maybe he would hesitate on your question or just hang up out of embarrassment. Maybe you should have stopped five more minutes and brought Clue or Guess Who? that was in your closet.

You thought about every face in the college hallways, about your boyfriend's friends, and about those you met at the mall or behind the movie theater on Sundays. None matched his voice.

“I told you I haven't been able to sleep for two nights, isn't that enough?”

“Maybe with a proper fuck you would relax, don't you think?”

You swallowed, letting your eyelids droop. Your hand approached the camera and you turned it to the wall so it could record its own reflection in the mirror.

“Can't talk, love? I thought you were the one who was going to play a lil' prank on me and leave me hard as a log on the other end of the line. What happened, do you really want me to crash this dick into your pretty pussy?” His laugh was mocking, he knew what he was saying and how he said it: with his hisses, deep tones; all through the smoke of an improvised cigarette in the late night.

You squeezed the bear between your legs and sighed.

“I've never been so…”

"Dirty? Badly spoken? Pleb?"

“So direct.”

“Isn't it so fucking good, though? Being able to say out loud that you think about my cock at night” The bass solo repeated itself like an angelic tune intertwined with his words.

It was hard to follow the joke when your panties started sticking to your lips with every word that came out of his mouth. Your friends had abandoned you so theycould listen downstairs and in the darkness of the room you could only imagine a headless body stretching your legs up to your shoulders, your pussy trying to make room to choke on the throbbing veins of an unknown dick.

“Do you want to touch yourself?” His question sounded like a command and your hips leaned forward, rubbing against the rough carpet.

"No."

"Ya' sure? Because just with your absence of words you have me squeezing my base. Can you imagine if you could take it all like a champ? I know whores like you, they dare to take on a whole team if they feel like it.”

His sly laugh was the last thing you could hear before hanging up the phone. You rose from the carpet searching for the cassette in Liss's camcorder, your thin fingers trembling as you destroyed the evidence of your pusillanimity and lust.

The three girls walked slowly to the room, all grouped on the bed like judges of the case. Looking for an explanation in your features but there was only one order.

“Nobody talk to Jimin about this, okay?”

The judges looked at each other, nodded in unison. Apparently bedtime approached earlier than expected and you were grateful that the alcohol had knocked out your friends so quickly.

You ran to the bathroom with the memory of his voice still fresh. The humidity still warm between your legs, you held onto the sink while you held back your moans, your forehead pressed against the mirror and your drool falling into the drain with the voracious hunger that only imagination can give.

[the-authoress-writes]

The Comfort of Your Arms

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x ER Nurse Wife!reader

(Not my art)

Synopsis: When a bad day at the ER leaves Mrs. Kazansky a wreck, she goes to the only place she knows she’s safe.

Warnings: Child death, mention of drunk driver, blood, vague descriptions of medical procedures, some cursing, reader is in state of emotional distress, non-sexual nudity, and just a whole lot of fluffy hurt/comfort.

Author’s Note: Huge disclaimer here—this is barely proofread, I just wanted to get this out as soon as possible, since this is a gift for @callsign-skydancer, who was having a bad few days a couple of days ago.

I thought this would ease her need for some soft Tom Kazansky thoughts.

I hope you like this, Sky!!

“Just get home.

Just get home.

Just get home,” played on loop in her head as she drove down the thankfully familiar roads, because she was honestly operating on autopilot.

Her heart rate was about thirty or forty BPM too high, she could just tell from the pounding all over her body.

She knew her body couldn’t sustain that for long, and she had to get home.

House after house passed her by, and finally, she pulled up to the curb of her house.

She coached herself through the motions of turning off the engine, getting her bag and lunch bag in her hand, and stepping out of the car.

The few steps to the door never felt so far as they did at that moment, her knees trembling just as much as her hands were, but she considered it a miracle that she was able to get the key into the lock, and the sound of the deadbolt turning echoed in her head.

As the door opened, the scent of home washed over her, and she stepped inside, almost in a daze.

“Hey, you’re home early!” The sound of her husband’s voice came from what sounded like the kitchen, and her breath shuddered in her chest, as she clapped her hand to her mouth to stifle the sob that was building in her chest.

Footsteps began to follow the sound of his voice as he walked to the door. “I was making my Mom’s piroshkis and beef stew—” Tom cut himself off as he caught sight of her.

She knew she looked like shit in her rumpled clothes, her hair was a mess, there was probably still some blood on her arms, and she was wide eyed.

The silence was heavy as gray eyes swept over her, immediately cataloguing each thing she thought of, and probably more, and he cautiously said, “Milaya, are you alright?”

At the sound of his voice, so soft and gentle, the sob that she’d been holding back burst forth, and the tears sprang from her eyes as she felt her legs give out beneath her.

She had barely made any contact with the floor, when she felt strong arms come around her, and the faint, lingering scent of jet fuel hit her nose, but then, the blackness which had been threatening ever since she heard the tone of flatline, consumed her.

Tom Kazansky would argue that it had been a great day for him; he and Mav had absolutely destroyed the current class of TOPGUN students, displaying yet again, the Kazansky-Mitchell dominance in the air (it’s alphabetical, Mav, your name can’t come first, and I’m older), he finished his paperwork early, and thusly had gotten home about half an hour early.

He knew his wife was working a long shift at the hospital, so after a quick change into more comfortable clothes, he wanted to surprise her with her favorite food from his family recipes.

He’d just gotten the piroshkis in the oven, and the stew was simmering on the stove, when he heard the keys jingle in the lock, and the door open. “Hey, you’re home early!” he called out, hanging the dish towel on the oven before moving to greet her. “I was making my Mom’s piroshkis and beef stew—” Tom cut himself off as he caught sight of her.

She looked beautiful as ever, but her hand was over her mouth, and the look in her eyes was painfully familiar; he’d seen it too many times in the eyes of fellow fighter pilots—hell, he’d seen it in his own eyes, especially after… well, Hop 31.

Her eyes were haunted, glassy with tears, her breathing much too fast.

And most frightening, there were a few stains of dried blood on her arms.

But he knew her well enough to know that if it were hers, there was no way she’d be here, instead of at the hospital, getting treated.

So it must have gotten on her while she was working.

Carefully, he ventured, “Milaya, are you alright?” keeping his voice soft and gentle, speaking as he would to a spooked animal.

He was startled, but not surprised as a sob burst from her mouth, and tears spilled from her eyes.

He lunged to catch her as her legs gave out beneath her and she passed out.

He called her name, gently shaking her, trying to rouse her.

Seeing that it was in vain, he carried her upstairs to the bedroom, laying her down on her side, all while continuing to stroke her hair and talk softly to her, calling for her to wake up.

After ten minutes had passed, and she hadn’t woken up yet, Tom went for the well-stocked first aid kit, grabbing an ammonia snap, rushing back to her side, breaking it under her nose.

She immediately gasped, and sat upright in bed, panicked.

“Milaya, milaya,” he called, wrapping an arm around her, as she tried to scramble out of bed, struggling vainly against his strong but careful grip.

He could see the panic in her eyes, and he got up onto the bed behind her, holding her against him, repeatedly murmuring “It’s okay, you’re alright, you’re here with me,” in the Russian he knew would calm her faster, even though she wouldn’t understand it, all because he knew it would reassure her she was really with him.

He felt when awareness came back to her, the heaving gasps turning into slight shudders. “Tom?”

It broke his heart to hear the tremble in her voice. “I’m here, lyubimaya moya, you’re safe.”

“I’m home?”

“Yeah, you’re home.”

“I made it—I made it home.”

He wasn’t sure why she was asking these questions, but he answered them regardless. “Yes, you did.”

She turned red-rimmed eyes to him. “I made it home,” and suddenly, she shifted her grip to hold him tightly and let out the most heartbreaking sobs he’d ever heard.

He held her through her sobs, unceasingly reassuring her of his presence, carding his hand through her hair.

When she calmed again, he gently said, “I’ll run you a bath, solnishko, how does that sound?

Make it warm, the way you like it, with all the oils and stuff.”

(It was actually closer to boiling, in his opinion, but she loved it, so he didn’t question it.)

She didn’t reply verbally, just nodded, and if she needed to be quiet for a while, that was fine, he could talk for the both of them.

Tom led her to the bathroom, starting the water in the shower/tub, turning the handle all the way to the left.

She was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, staring blankly at the wall.

He reached for her hands, taking them in both of his.

Her hands were freezing, and he rubbed them between his, to warm them up. “Okay, how about we get you undressed?

That okay?”

Again, a nod.

“Alright.”

He started with her shoes, putting them off to the side so neither of them would trip on them, then her socks, patterned with little hearts, he noted.

“Okay, milaya, let’s get your jeans off.”

He pulled her to her feet, directing her to stand on his socked feet so she wouldn’t touch the cold tile of the floor, unbuttoning her jeans with one hand to help keep her balanced on his feet, and tugged them along with her underwear halfway down.

“Okay, you can sit down again, lyubimaya moya.”

Next was her sweatshirt, then her bra.

Normally, this sort of procedure had a very different outcome, and the sight of his naked wife was more than enough for a very different reaction, but at the moment, he couldn’t care less about a “usual male reaction”, wanting nothing more than to care for the love of his life.

By this time, he could feel the steam from the shower behind him, so he plugged the drain and pulled the spigot on the tub faucet, causing the water to flow from it instead of the shower head.

While waiting for the tub to fill, he dropped several drops of her lavender oil into the water, the air filling with its scent immediately, before shutting the faucet once the tub filled.

He helped her into the steaming tub, easing her down into the water, the tension in his heart he didn’t even know he had easing when she breathed a little sigh of relief.

“Okay, zhizn moya,” he said, kneeling beside her, “I just need to remove the piroshkis from the oven and shut the stove, okay?

I’ll be—”

Her hand flew to his wrist, gripping so tightly he winced slightly.

“No—please don’t leave me,” she whispered.

“I’ll be so fast, milaya.

I’ll be back soon.”

“No,” she shook her head.

“Please, solnishko.

The house could burn down if I don’t.”

She saw the reason in this, but Tom could see that it was wrenching something in her to be parted from him, even for so short a time.

So he offered a compromise. “How about this: I’ll sing the whole time, you’ll be able to hear me, so you don’t feel so alone.”

He knew she loved to hear him sing, for some reason, even though he thought he had a horrible voice—he was much better at the piano, in his opinion.

She bit her lip, considering. “Okay—but you have to promise me you’ll come back soon.”

“I swear it on my wings, milaya.”

“Okay,” she let go of his wrist.

He began softly singing “Are You Lonesome Tonight?”, the song they had danced to for the first time when they were dating, backing out of the bathroom, increasing the volume of his voice the further he got.

He ran downstairs, shutting the stove with a flick of the wrist, before grabbing the piroshkis from the oven—luckily, he could see they were still edible, just slightly too brown at the edges.

With his mission completed, he dashed up the stairs, entering the bathroom just in time to finish the second refrain. “See?

I told you I’d be fast,” he grinned.

She plaintively reached for him. “Join me please—I… I need to feel you.”

How could he deny her?

He quickly undressed, sitting in the spot she made for him behind her, bracketing her legs with his, pulling her against him, and she shifted to rest her ear over his heart.

The water had cooled slightly, thank God, so he wasn’t cooking in the water like he would have been earlier.

Tom let the silence sit for a while before venturing, “What happened today, lyubimaya moya?”

At first, he wondered if she had fallen asleep, but then, she spoke. “I knew it would be bad when the paramedics encoded into the hospital; pediatric patient, hit by a drunk driver in the middle of the damn day.” Her breath hitched, and he felt moisture not from the bath fall on his chest. “He was so little, Tom, and there was so much—I tried to save him—I did compressions for forever; his little ribs—but—” her voice broke, and she silently sobbed against him.

At this full understanding of what happened to her today, his heart shattered for her. “Oh, milaya.

I’m so sorry.”

She choked, “Why?

He was seven.

Still basically a baby.

Why?”

“I don’t have the answers for you, solnishko, but wherever he is, I’m sure he’s so grateful you tried to save him.”

“It’s not enough.

I should—who the fuck gets drunk in the middle of the fucking day?”

“The asshole who killed that poor kid,” he thought, but he knew it was a rhetorical question, and that she didn’t really want that answer.

More moisture fell against his chest and he held her tighter.

By the time the water had gone cold, her tears had long since stopped, so with gentle motions, he lifted her up, wrapping a towel around her and another around his waist, unplugging the drain and grabbing fresh clothes for the both of them, quickly throwing on his, then repeated the process he’d done for her earlier in reverse.

Dressed, she curled up on her side of the bed.

“Do you think you can eat a little something?” he asked.

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to.”

She sniffled, “You—you’d have to leave me again.”

Tom offered, “I’ll sing again for you; I promise I won’t make you eat a lot—just a little, for me, please?”

“…Okay.”

He ran downstairs, reprising his “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” while ladling out a small bowl of stew, sticking it in the microwave for a minute, and putting a piroshki on a saucer, returning upstairs to see a soft, barely-there smile on her lips. “You should sing more,” she murmured.

“I don’t know why you think my voice is anything fantastic, I’m much better at the piano,” he smiled back.

“It’s more beautiful than you think.”

He sighed, “I’ll take your word for it.

Now here you go, your favorites; the piroshkis are a little bit too crispy, but it’s still good.

You want me to feed you or are you good?”

When she hesitated, he smiled, “Just sit up for me, okay, I don’t want you to choke.”

It took a while, but he got her to finish the whole bowl of stew, and half the piroshki, tossing the other half in his own mouth, placing the dishes on the nightstand for tomorrow, not wanting to leave her again—his OCD could go screw itself for a few hours.

He got into his side of the bed, pulling the covers over both of them, and enfolding her into his arms, purposely shifted her ear over his heart. “Get some rest, milaya.

I’m here, I won’t leave you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She had endured hell today, she knew that, but her husband’s gentle care eased the pain in her heart, and the way he took care of her tonight was something she would not—could not—forget.

She would be forever grateful she’d given him a chance three years ago at The O Club, seeing something in him beyond the cocky facade he liked to present to the world.

“I’m sorry I wrecked your dinner plans,” she whispered.

“You didn’t wreck them,” he murmured back.

“But—”

“But nothing.

You were hurting, and I wanted to take care of you.

There’ll be other nights.”

“I don’t deserve you, Tom,” she shook her head.”

He sighed, “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you, okay?

And I’m not taking any arguments.”

She could hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m so glad I gave you a chance at The O,” she said, repeating her earlier thoughts.

He chuckled, “So am I.”

Silence fell over them again, and she was just about to fall asleep, but she was suddenly seized by a desire to tell him something. “Thank you for catching me,” she breathed, meaning more than when she passed out downstairs.

Thankfully, he understood. “I’ll always be here to piece you back together, milaya.

I love you.”

She smiled, her heart full of love for this man. “I love you too.

And I promise to do the same for you.”

And with that, she allowed herself to drift off to sleep.

Val has indeed sung “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” although with some, ahem, amendments to the lyrics, in the film soundtrack of Top Secret!

Russian Glossary

Disclaimer: endearments and translations taken from Google—please don’t hesitate to correct me if I’m wrong, which, odds are, I am.

Milaya: dear, darling (there are other translations of this word, however)

Lyubimaya moya: my darling/my one and only sweetheart

Solnishko: little sun

Zhizn moya: my life

Taglist

@valmare

@callsign-skydancer

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

@lynnevanss

@djs8891

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

[dayumbxxch]

Spoiled Memories

Chapter two

The clicking of shoes on tile fills the halls of Smith's Grove. A young 22 year old with dull eyes follows behind Delores, learning what to do at her new job.

The hushed lunchroom made Y/N heart race; even though she knew none of the patients were paying her any attention she couldn't help but feel self conscious. 

Y/N's eyes glaze over as she mindlessly follows the older woman. Life had become dull and meaningless ever since she'd lost her brother. So she began to let her mind drift throughout the day to happier times. It had cost her a few jobs and almost a car crash once but she left more alive in her mind. 

"-ey!" 

"What were you saying?" 

"We have to go down the hall to deliver the food to the ones that have to stay in their rooms."

Nodding the girl follows behind her mentor, the hallway was pin-drop silent. "These patients are deemed as hazards or themselves..or to others." Delores's voice dropped near the end while glancing towards a door they had passed. 

Her lunch break approached rather quickly, leaving the break room Y/N began ease dropping on a conversation while grabbing a soda. 

"So how's the new girl?"      "Weird she doesn't really say anything. She just stands there silent and shit." 

Hearing enough Y/N turned on her heel and walked back into the break room. Throughout her years of being a recluse she learned not to care about anything really. 

She was here for money to find her brother. That was all she wanted ever since he went to jail and she was moved to a different foster home. 

"So have you met the boogeyman yet?" 

"Um..no I don't think I have"

Y/N's new coworker began a strange story. 

"So there was this boy in a town near here in haddonfield. And one day after the years of bullying and torment he snapped and killed his sister, a kid from his school, and his step dad. So he was brought here when he was just ten years old. His mom came to see him every week. Then he snapped again killing a nurse right after the doctor stepped out of the room. His mom tired of it all shot herself dead. And in the next room was her daughter the boogeyman's little sister Laurie. Now he rots away in his room and he smells terrible. He looks homeless and has really greasy hair."

The boy described rang an unforgotten bell in Y/N head. "What was his name?" The woman spun around a clipboard from beside her. 

Michael Myers

Y/N's heart skipped a little her golden childhood friend had murdered a bunch of people; he's now in the Sanitarium she just started working at. "I'm Isabella by the way!" "Y/N." 

"Elvis I'm home!" A beaten up looking Russian Blue cat jumped at the sound of the front door opening. "Hey honey are you hungry~" Sitting her keys down Y/N picks up her beloved pet and walks him over to the kitchen. 

The move wasn't awful since she didn't have much to unpack it only took a couple of hours. Elvis had gotten used to the new house already and even started exploring outside.

Y/N's life continues as dull as normal even with her late night runs to calm her mind before bed. Everyday seemed to be a repeat of the last. It had only been a week but it felt like a month. The shifts went by slow and her home time with Elvis went by fast.

As usual Y/N begins her day staring off into nothing while sitting in bed. A loud alarm jolts her out of her dazed state, she makes her way to the bathroom.

After doing her usual eyeliner to bring some attention to her e/c eyes instead of the ever darkening circles around her eyes.

The drive to work was the usual forty-five minutes filled with hard rock playing to keep her awake.

"Hey Isabella." Her voice was barely audible but her newly found friend understood her perfectly. "Hey hon how's it going?" The blonde sets an energy drink in front of Y/N as she drinks her own. "Since you're now working the early shift you get to meet the man, the myth, and the legend, Michael Myers and his little pal Dr. Loomis." 

Y/N rolls her eyes while chugging her drink quickly. Tears prick her eyes from the carbonation, blinking them away she stands up and follows her friend. 

"So he's the usual creep. He stares and stands there until you leave. He likes OJ and that's about all we know about him. Don't give him anything remotely sharp he has special silverware that will bend if he tries to stab anyone with it." 

Y/N bites the inner part of her lip and Isabelle picks up on her silence. "You'll be fine. The man has got to eat." She says while handing her a tray. "Him and Dr. Loomis are in there." She uses her head to motion towards two doors. 

"Go" Y/N gets pushed towards the double doors and gulps while  the guards let her inside. Not saying a word she sets Michael's tray on the table. Y/N's eyes flicker towards the huge man and her breath escapes her. She'd briefly met eyes with the man in the mask. 

"Thank you ma'am you may go. Now Michael can you look back at the picture please?" 

A heavy feeling settled in Y/N's stomach, she'd always had a knack for feeling people's stares. 

"Michael?... Michael!"

"Ma'am could you please come back here for a moment?" 

[syndrossi]

the daenerys replies got me thinking of a resonant AU where dany also gets blasted into the past (maybe she goes to summerhall to look for jon after he goes missing?) but instead of being jon and rhaeger's sister, she reawakens as saera targaryen's 8yo daughter (perhaps with a volantene noble?). now this will probably have big effects to the volantis shenanigans, the evil ppl who are ecstatic that a prophecy baby and possible TPWP being born so close to home and saera is wary of all these wizard ppl who are suddenly so interested in her baby girl but oh look they just gifted dany three dragon eggs, wait hold on her daughter just hatched three dragons?? how is that even possible... and dany being dany is like well idk what's going on but it's time to fix volantis' sociopolitical structure with my cool new mom

i think dany would eventually get suspicious of the wizard people and decide to escape volantis and go back to westeros, especially if her dragon's grow as fast as they did in canon, then within a year or two they would be large enough to carry her and saera across the narrow sea. meanwhile in westeros, daemon and viserys worst fears are realized when they start getting reports about a valyrian girl in volantis with the control of three dragons. and she's headed straight for them?? but hold on is that aunt saera with her??

just them reacting to this little girl with three enormous dragons and daemon's immediately suspicious as to why dany looks more like she could be rhaegar's twin than jon, and hold on jon and dany seem to know each other?? what is going on... and poor viserys is in panic mode bc aunt saera has a prophecy baby??? with three balerions???? I need to get this girl betrothed immediately!!!!! and jon and dany are happy (if confused) to reunite and once dany realizes that rhaegar's here too she def gets emotional bc that's the brother she looked up to all her life and named a son and dragon after ;-;

Saera would have been so smug about bringing dragons to Volantis through one of her children! (She'd be an older mama, though--in her early forties at the time of birth if Dany is meant to be the same age as Jon and Rhaegar, and close to fifty by the time Daemon finds them.) Given that she had a bastard son with one of the Triarchs in the early 90s AC, it's not far-fetched to imagine Dany's father is the same man.

The nature of the sorcery that brought them here is such that Dany would be in some pretty big trouble that close to Volantis, though, so probably best that this wasn't the case! Otherwise, Saera would have needed to get her daughter out of there quickly/early, and I don't think her ambition would have allowed her to.

But in the event that Saera decided to forgo her "kingdom" in Volantis, Dany's own hatchling would have been too small to carry them away, so my guess is they would have done their best to hide the hatchling and secure passage via ship.

Which still serves as quite the surprise to those in King's Landing! Aunt Saera alive and back in Westeros after all those decades? Only Rhaenys and Viserys were even old enough to really remember her! Rhaenys would have been around 10 when she fled to Essos.

And Viserys's WTF WHY IS EVERYONE ELSE HAVING PROPHECY BABIES reaction? And the immediate dilemma of what's he's supposed to do. Do you wed two prophecy children together? Dilute the prophecy by marrying them back into the main line? HELP.

(Awwww, Dany reuniting with Jon and finally getting to meet Rhaegar. And he does look just like her, just as everyone had told her. And her immediately agreeing with Jon that he must be protected from all things Baratheon and Trident. And Rhaegar being like omg this is the Dany? The one who brought the dragons back? And Dany immediately spilling the beans about Rhaegar being Jon's dad because she doesn't know that Jon's been trying to keep that from him.)

[twohearts-hs]

Always & Forever Seventeen - Marshall Mathers x Reader Series

Words: 5.1k

Pairings: Marshall Mathers x Fem!Reader Series

Synopsis: They loved each other with every fibre and being. They knew that they were meant to be together, but it seemed like every obstacle came in the way. She was twenty-one, he was forty and they knew that it would be hard. Therefore, they promised forever and always as they were meant to be together despite every turmoil that came their way.

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol, Smut, Arguments & Angst.

|| Masterlist for Series ||

Hope you enjoy :)

June 2013

Ree stood behind Y/N, hairbrush in hand as she brushed her daughter’s hair. Today was the day…Y/N was graduating. She had her dress picked out, a pink babydoll dress while her mother began to curl her hair. She was going to wear her converses while she walked the stage. It was all perfect.

The sun was shining brightly that day. No cloud in sight. It was all so perfect.

“You’re so pretty,” her mom hummed, kissing her cheek as Y/N went to the closet to pull her dress out. It was beautiful and cost a pretty penny, however it was worth it for today.

Everything was working out. Marshall and Y/N had been so happy. Their relationship had been the best it had ever been. They did not bring up Columbia much as they decided to focus on their relationship and making it worth while. It was good. They were good. However, as the months went by, they knew they were getting closer to Y/N leaving.

Y/N changed when there was a knock on the door. Marshall and his daughters walked in all dolled up themselves. Marshall was “dressed” up in the most Marshall way and the girls all adorned dresses.

“Hey,” she said walking over to them and kissing her boyfriend before hugging the girls.

“Congratulations!” Hailie said. “In four years I will be here too.”

“It will go by so fast, Hay,” she hummed, kissing her cheek.

Marshall pocketed his hands as he looked at his girlfriend. “You look gorgeous,” he stated.

“Doesn’t she?” Ree exclaimed coming out of the bathroom. “She needs to get dressed up more.”

Y/N chuckled. “I don’t really go to that many fancy events,” Y/N explained as she walked off to find her shoes and to put earrings in while walking around the boxes.

She was starting to pack as she was going back to Canada for a few weeks at the end of the month before coming back to finish packing to go to New York City. Marshall was not a fan of her leaving for three weeks before she went to New York, however, he knew he could not even fight it.

It had also been a year since they met. Which ended in a night of celebratory sex that went to the early morning.

“You’re almost done packing,” Alaina said as Y/N emerged.

“Yeah. I am almost done then I will put it in a moving truck and send it to NYC,” Y/N said. “My new apartment is so small though.”

Y/N went to New York City last month with Marshall. He had some work things to do there, and she needed to go apartment shopping, therefore, they went together.

“How small?”

“Like five hundred square feet for a ridiculous amount of money,” she stated as she found her shoes.

“Don’t forget your gown and cap,” Ree said handing it to her. Y/N took it and threw it on before grabbing her handbag. Marshall smiled wide at her.

“You look amazing,” he stated. “You’re graduated.”

Y/N chuckled. “I know,” she said with bewilderment. “I have a useless degree in art history,” she chuckled. “Now I get to figure out what to do with it.”

They chuckled.

“Ok, we are going to be late, and someone needs to walk the stage,” Ree said as she hurried them off to the door.

-

The University of Michigan campus was beautiful that day. The sun shined bright casting. A golden glow on the gathering crowd. Today was the day that Y/N had been working towards for years – her graduation. She stood in her cap and gown, a mixture of pride and excitement bubbling within her.

In the audience, Ree her mother sat beside Marshall and his daughters. Ree’s eyes were misty with tears, a proud smile on her face as she looked over at her daughter. Marshall, in a rare moment of public appearance, seemed relaxed, his usual guarded demeanour softened by the joy of the occasion. His daughters chatted excitedly, their faces lighting up with anticipation.

As the ceremony began, Y/N’s heart pounded with excitement. She spotted her loved ones in the crowd, giving her the courage she needed to walk across the stage. One by one, the names were called, and degrees were handed out. Finally, it was her turn.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” the announcer called.

With a deep breath, she stepped forward, crossing the stage with her head held high. The applause from her family and friends was the sweetest sound she had ever heard. She shook hands with the dean, accepting her degree with a wide smile.

As she walked off the stage, she spotted Dr. Beau, her favourite professor and mentor, waiting for her. He greeted her with a warm hug. “Congratulations, Y/N! You’ve worked so hard for this.”

“Thank you, Dr. Beau,” she replied her voice filled with emotion. “I couldn’t have done it without your support.”

“Nonsense,” he said with a grin. “You have all the talent and determination. Columbia is lucky to have you. I’m excited to see what you’ll achieve there.”

They chatted for a few minutes before Y/N rejoined her family. Ree enveloped her in a tight hug, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” she whispered. “You’ve come so far.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Y/N said, her voice choked with emotion. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Marshall stepped forward, a proud smile on his face. “You did it, doll,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

Y/N went on her toes, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Thank you, baby,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing another kiss. “I did it!”

He chuckled and nodded. “You sure did. Here comes Columbia,” he whispered against her ear.

Hailie, Alaina and Stevie surrounded her, their excitement infectious. They gave her their congratulations as they hugged one another. Marshall watched, seeing his family and girl all happy. It was good. Life was good.

“Thanks, girls,” she hummed.

They took countless photos, capturing the happiness of the day. Ree insisted on getting a picture of just Y/N and Marshall then one with the whole group. Marshall handed her a bouquet of her favourite flowers. The smiles and laughter filled the air, creating memories that would last a lifetime.

As the ceremony wound down, they decided to head back to Marshall’s for a party. The spacious living room had been transformed into a festive space, complete with decorations, food and a playlist of upbeat music. Marshall even bought champagne for the ceremony.

Meira joined. It was her graduation as well.

Y/N stepped into the house and was greeted by a burst of cheers and applause. Her friends and family had gathered to continue the celebration, and the atmosphere was filled with joy and excitement.

“Meira!” she exclaimed, hugging her best friend and rocking back and forth, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Let’s get this party started.”

Marshall’s daughters mingled with the guests, their laughter echoing through the house. Ree was chatting with some of Y/N’s friends, a glass of wine in her hand and proud smile on her face. Marshall stood by the buffet, looking relaxed and happy as he talked to Dr. Beau, who also joined the celebration.

As Y/N made her way through the crowd, she could not help but feel a sense of overwhelming gratitude. She had come so far, and seeing everyone she loved gathered to celebrate her achievements was a moment she would never forget.

Marshall caught her eye and beckoned her over. “Come here, Y/N,” he said, holding a glass of champagne. “We need to toast to your success.”

Everyone gathered around, raising their glasses in a toast. Marshall cleared his throat, a rare look of emotion in his eyes. “To Y/N,” he began, his voice steady. “You have worked incredibly hard to get to this point, and we are all so proud of you. Your dedication, talent, and spirit are truly inspiring. Here’s to your bright future at Columbia and beyond. Cheers!”

“Cheers!” everyone echoed, clinking their glasses together.

Marshall tilted the glass to her, making her drink. She chugged the whole thing before throwing her head back in laughter. “Come here.” Their lips connected and she smiled rocking them back and forth. “God, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he whispered, kissing her again. “We can get through anything.”

“We can.”

Y/N felt tears well up in her eyes as she raised her glass for him to pour more. “Don’t drink too much. I want you naked in my bed tonight,” he whispered, “ready for me to love you.”

She leaned into him. “What are you going to do?”

“Praise you in every way possible,” he hummed, kissing her cheek.

The party continued with music, dancing, and laughter filling the room. Y/N and Meira caught up, reminiscing about their college days and dreaming about the future. Marshall and Ree shared stores and laughed together, a sense of camaraderie forming between them.

As the night went on, Y/N found herself on the back patio craving a cigarette. She stopped smoking when she found out she was pregnant, but never picked it up again as Marshall said it was gross. However, staring ahead, she sat down and watched the stars with a flute of champagne in front of her. Marshall came out, joining her beside her.

“It’s a beautiful night,” she whispered, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"It is. Almost as pretty as you,” he whispered back, kissing the side of her head.

“Could you believe like a year ago, you ran into me making me smash hundreds of dollars of champagne? Then you walked into the diner.”

“Then you came into my studio…” he responded. “We’re fate, baby,” he cooed.

“What are we going to do about us when I go to Columbia?” Y/N asked.

“What do you want?” he responded, flicking a strand of hair from her face. His tone serious

“Honestly,” she said and looked at him. Then she took a deep breath. What did she want? They had not talked about logistics yet. Just small conversation. She paused for a moment, gathered her thoughts before saying, “I think,” she tried to find the words, “I think we should take a break.”

Did he hear her correctly? A break? Like they end…they end and what?

“What?” he said bewildered.

“I need to focus on my masters. I am going to be travelling and following Dr. Beau’s research. Then Geneva wants me to work at her gallery. I am going to have so many opportunities-“

“You won’t have time for me,” he finished. “I get it.” Marshall was hurt. Hurt did not even define it. He was devastated. “I thought we were going to do long distance?”

“Marshall, we can still talk-“

“But we can sleep with other people. Y/N, the idea of you sleeping with other people-“

“Marshall, what do you want? Do you want to visit me constantly? You have an album coming out and a tour. Then interviews and promotion.” He nodded. She was right. “Marshall, you don’t think you understand how special you are to me. You’re my favourite person. My favourite person to look at, to listen to, to talk to, to be with, you’re my favourite person to miss, to love, to be everything, you’re my everything. I want to give you everything I have. I want to share my life with you. To make more lives with you, cute little babies. I want to make memories with you so I can look back in 50 years and be sure I haven’t missed out on anything because all I wanted is you.”

He nodded.

“Marshall, we’re always and forever, ok?” she said, cupping his cheek.

He shook his head. “No, he said, you and I are always almost. Again, and again. We were always on the verge of always, but we are just almost. Never nothing but something.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I think if you want a break, I want no contact,” he said. “I can’t have you slightly or just a little. I can’t wait for your call or to think what you are doing behind my back. If you want us to end. We end.”

“Then what, Marshall?”

“We see where the future takes us. Y/N you’re right, your career comes first. You’re twenty-two now. You’re so young. I am turning forty-one. My life has hit its peak, its time for you too.”

“I must have loved you in other lives because when I see you it feels like coming home, no one makes me feel more myself than you. When my hand is in yours its familiar and safe, like I’ve known your soul since the beginning of time, through all the lives I’ve lived. Maybe that’s why my love for you is infinite.”

He nodded. “Spend one night with me tonight and I will show you how much I love you, but tomorrow, you walk out my door and we don’t talk again until fate decides. Three times to meet the first round. We will meet again,” he stated, kissing her lips. “I love you, always.”

“Thank you for the love. For the memories. For the lessons in this lifetime, Marshall,” she said. Leaning her head on his shoulder. “You will always have my heart.”

The weight of their conversation settled over them, mingling with the cool night air. Y/N closed her eyes, savouring the feel of Marshall’s presence beside her, the warmth of his shoulder against her cheek. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him, wanting to etch his moment into her memory forever.

“I’ll always be grateful for you, Marshall,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. You’ve taught me so much about love, about strength, about being true to myself.”

Marshall tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer. “And you’ve shown me what it means to believe in someone, to fight for love even when it’s hard. You’re going to do an amazing thing, Y/N. I just know it.”

They sat in silence for a while, the sound of the party inside drifting out to them, a distant hum of celebration. Y/N felt a tear slide down her cheek, but she did not wipe it away. It felt right to let it fall, a small token of love and pain entwined in this moment.

“I’ll miss you every day,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I know this is what I need to do. For both of us.”

Marshall nodded, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I will miss you too, more than you can imagine. But I’ll be rooting for you from afar, always.”

They stood up, and Marshall took her hand leading her back inside. The party was still in full swing, laughter and music filling the air. Y/N plastered on a brave smile, determined to enjoy these last few hours with the people she loved.

-

The night ended and Marshall pulled her aside one last time. “Come with me,” he said, a hint of urgency in his voice.

He led her upstairs to his bedroom, the place where they have shared so many intimate moments. “I want to make this night unforgettable, but first I got you a present,” he said, voice thick with emotion.

Y/N sat on the bed as he came out with a black bag with tissue paper coming out of it. He sat next to her, as he unwrapped it. He took Y/N’s hand and squeezed it.

“It has my initials engraved on it,” he said as he handed her the box.

In cursive the brand Cartier was clear as day. Her hand went over her mouth as she opened the box. A bangle with diamonds but on the inside his initials were engraved. He had to spend over twenty grand on this…she could not believe it. She held it in her hand, feeling the metal and smiling to herself.

“I love it,” she whispered, leaning up to kiss him.

“Here,” he said taking it and unclasping it before putting it on her wrist. It matched her skin tone so well, the diamonds shining so bright. “I love you. Forever and always.”

-

The door closed and Y/N spotted her boyfriend standing with his back to the door. He seemed secretive, standing there with a smirk on his face and his eyes darkening. He pressed his finger to his lip, shushing her.

“It is just you and me,” he whispered sultry. “You and me…and this whole night ahead of us.”

Y/N swallowed hard, sitting in her cotton panties and a tank top, her nipple poking through. “What are you going to do to me, M?” she softly said with a sexy hint.

Marshall pushed away from the door, instantly removing his shirt and throwing it behind him. His hands pressed against her thigh as he leaned down. “I am going to make you forget your name however,” he teased toying with the words. “You will remember mine. It will be the only thing you can remember. My name knowing you’re mine,” he growled, kissing her lips, pressing hard and with might. “Mine and mine only,” he cooed. “To love, to hold,” he teased, “to fuck, adore, destroy, and pain.” Then he pulled away. “For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer” he teased.

She instantly knew what he was doing… He was reciting marriage vows. Y/N swallowed hard, cupping his cheek.

“In sickness, in health, in leaving for New York, to loving other men, fucking them too,” he barked now. “Till death do us part.”

Y/N took a deep breath. They were ending. Tonight, they were ending. Tomorrow she would walk out of that door as a single woman. Marshall was reciting his vows to her. She realised. Even if they were slightly his own, she knew what he was saying.

“Vows,” he stated. “Your turn.”

Deep breath…one, two, three. “Marshall-“

“No. Try again.”

“I will be yours. Yours only. To love, to hold, to fuck, de-“

“No. No destroying me or putting me in pain because you’re the selfish bitch who is leaving me.”

What did he wanted her to say? She was awfully confused.

“I’m yours and only yours. To love, to hold, to fuck… To stay loyal to for better and worse. We are in the worst. I am leaving, but-“

“Just shut the fuck up and kiss me, whore,” he spoke.

To brought up her past…he brought up their future. She was his and his only. For now and forever. Since that night where he got her pregnant. He was hers forever and she was his forever.

She leaned up and pressed her kiss to his lips, pressing hard with everything she had, cupping his neck and pushing him with force.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Forever and always.”

“Forever and for now.” he responded.

She knew what that meant and all she did was nod. “Thank you for everything you’ve given me.”

Marshall’s eyes glinted with a mix of mischief and desire. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. “You know,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. “I always loved how easily you blush when I tease you.”

Y/N shivered, feeling the heat of his body so close to hers. She tried to hold back a smile but failed as his hands roamed over her body, his touch sending electric shocks through her.

“Marshall, you-“ she began, but he silenced her with a finger to her lips.

“No talking,” he commanded softly. “Tonight, you’re mine to play with.”

She nodded. He stood up, taking her panties and pulling them over slowly and intimately. Throwing them behind him, he grasped her knees, teasingly pulling them apart. Wrapping them around him, his hands moved to her tank top, lifting it slowly, inch by inch before throwing it behind him.

Y/N was naked in front of him and his eyes roamed over her body, remembering every divot, scar, curve and line. Marshall bit his lip before his tongue diverted out and swiped his lips.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered. “So utterly beautiful.” His voice was thick with emotion. “I want to remember every detail of you tonight.”

Marshall took a step back, his gaze near leaving hers as he unbuttoned his pants, letting them fall to the floor. He kicked them aside and then reached for her hand, placing it on his hardening cock.

“Do you feel that?” She swallowed. “That is what you fucking do to me? You have complete control over me. Even if I don’t want you too. Everything about you drives me fucking crazy,” he stated. “You make me beg with everything I have.”

“The feeling is mutual-“

“No, because you’re leaving me-“

“Marshall,” she interjected. “You have no idea how upset I am with me leaving, with us ending and going no contact. You’re a big part of who I am.”

“No,” he stated taking her hand and placing it back on her knee. “I am not part of who you are because you are Y/N Y/L/N. You’re a human. You have control over everything in your life.”

“That is not how life works. Marshall, please can we focus on us right now?”

He nodded. She glanced at his shirtless form. Marshall was built. She knew that as he took great care of his body which she admired. He was pure muscle, thick pecs and borderline abs and she took his hip and pulled him closer to her.            

Y/N stood up, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to kiss her. “I love you.”

He nodded, allowing her to kiss him. “I love you too,” he whispered. “You have so much power over me.”

Y/N nodded, breath catching in her throat. “Let’s focus on tonight.”

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his eyes locking with hers as his fingers trailed up her hip.

“Always.”

“Good,” he replied, his voice a low growl. “Because tonight, I’m going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before. I am going to make you remember everything to do with us.”

Marshall kissed her again, deeply and passionately, his hands exploring every inch of her body. She arched into his touch, moaning softly as he found all her sensitive spots. He took his time, building her arousal slowly, savouring every moment.

He was a tease, she knew that.

However, he pushed her onto the bed and took her legs, spreading them. His hands wrapped under her thighs, lowering himself down. “I love the way you taste,” he whispered. “I could eat you out forever.”

She smirked, knowing exactly that was the truth. The number of times, she laid in this bed and he ate her out for hours. Orgasm after orgasm and soon enough she hit her own personal record.

However, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lower stomach before his tongue diverted out and trailed down her navel to her heat. His mouth attached to her heat, tongue darting out and lapping her wetness. With such dedication, he ate her out with everything in him. His fingers came rimming her entrance which made her moan before entering.

When his fingers entered her, she arched her back, moaning his name while she gripped the sheets. Marshall was skilled in love making, but fucking was his speciality.

However, as he praised her with everything in her, she felt the knot forming in her stomach. Deep and sincere, it was increasing with tension, and she teased up.

“Relax,” he whispered. “You’ll have a better orgasm.”

She nodded, but she could not find her words. However, a tease he was and slowly he pulled away, taking his fingers and replacing them on her clit, rubbing it as he locked their lips. Y/N tasted herself on his lips which earned a smirk.

Y/N rolled them over, so she was on top of him. Marshall sat on the edge of the bed.

“I wanted to give you an orgasm for every month we’d been together,” he whispered against her lips.

“That’s a lot of orgasms.”

“You can take it. You’ve had more.”

Her hands wrapped around his neck, as she pulled away. She could feel him hardening against her, but she was focused on him.

“I wanna cum together.”

“We can’t always get what we want,” he mused back.

She pouted. “Marshall,” she stated.

“Roll over and let me do my work.”

Marshall gave her the exact number of orgasms they had been together. Seven to be exact and yet, now with her on top of him, riding him with everything she got. He filled her completely. They moved together, their bodies fitting perfectly. Every thrust, every touch, every kiss was a testament to their love and desire for each other. Y/N felt herself spiralling higher and higher, lost in the pleasure only Marshall could give her.

As they reached their climax together, Y/N cried out his name, her body shuddering with the intensity of her release. Marshall followed soon after, his own release powerful and overwhelming.

They laid together, bodies entwined, breathing heavily. Marshall brushed a strand of hair from her face, kissing her forehead.

“Always and forever,” he whispered.

Y/N smiled and then smirked. “Round two?”

“God, I love you woman.”

-

The morning spent rolling around in the sheets for an additional few rounds before they ended up downstairs making breakfast together. The kitchen was filled with giggles and laughter as they made jokes and had fun with one another. After a small food fight, they ate and pretended this was not their last day together. Instead, they watched TV and cuddled talking about their relationship and all the good memories.

Around three o’clock, Y/N decided it was time for her to leave. Both of them did not like the sounds of her words, but they knew it was coming.

Y/N stood by the doorway, her fingers trembling as she tried to keep her composed. Her bag was packed beside her and Marshall still laid in bed, the TV blaring.

“I should leave. I have a lot of packing to do still,” she admitted.

“I know.”

He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were heavy with the same sorrow that was tightening around her heart.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. “I guess this is it then,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The words felt like shards of glass in her throat, cutting her as they came out.

Marshall looked up at her, his eyes locking onto hers. He wanted to say so much, but the weight of what was left unsaid hung between them like a fog. He stood up slowly, each movement deliberate, as if trying to memorise every detail of this moment. “Yeah,” he finally replied, his voice thick with emotion. “This is it.”

Y/N could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, but she blinked them back, not wanting to break down in front of him. She wanted to be strong, for both of them. But as she looked at him, standing there so close yet feeling so far away, the tear she had fought so hard to hold back finally spilt over.

Marshall stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup her cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb. The warmth of his touch went a shiver through her, and she closed her eyes, leaning into his palm, savouring the feeling one last time.

“Don’t cry, please,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together. “You’re gonna make this even harder.”

She let out a shaky breath, her hand covering his on her cheek, holding it there as if she could freeze time and stay in this moment forever. But she knew she could not. They both did.

“I don’t want to let you go,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “But we have to, don’t we?”

Marshall nodded, his jaw clenched as he tried to keep his own emotions in check. “Yeah, we do,” he said softly. “We need this…time apart. But it doesn’t mean I’m not going to miss you. Every damn day.”

Y/N’s heart ached at his words, and she felt like she was being torn into two. But she knew this was the right thing to do, even if it hurt more than she could bear.

She pulled away from his hand, the cold air rushing in where his warmth had been. Taking a step back, she forced herself to smile through the tears, even though it felt like the hardest thing she’d ever done. “Goodbye, Marshall.”

He looked at her, his eyes filled with deep, lingering sadness. He wanted to say something, anything that could make this easier, but there were no words. So, he did the only thing he could. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace, holding her as if he’d never let go. A small kiss was pressed on the top of her head.

Y/N buried her face in his chest, the smell of him, the feel of him, everything about him was imprinted in her memory. She clung to him, her tears soaking into his shirt as she cried silently, her body shaking with the force of her emotions.

After what felt like an eternity, Marshall finally pulled back, his hands still resting on her arms. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment, as if to seal the memory in place.

“Can I least drive you-“

“I think it’ll be better if we just part,” she admitted.

“Ok, let me walk you out then.”

They walked downstairs to the main door and stood there silently, spaces apart and looked at each other which such sorrow.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N,” he whispered against her skin.

She nodded, unable to speak, her throat too tight with emotion. She wanted to say so much, to tell him how he meant to her, how much she loved him, but the words were stuck in her throat, choked by the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

“Bye, Marshall,” she stated. “Take care.” Just when she turned around and grabbed the door, Marshall reached out, grasping her arm and pulling her before smashing his lips against hers.

"Now, you can go,” he stated, pulling away.

And she left. It was over. She was left with a bracelet with his promise. The chapter they shared was closed, and now they had to move on, no matter how much that hurt. She had two years without him…so she promised. -

Three more chapters to go!

Hope you enjoyed!

Let me know your thoughts and opinions!

Much love,

Ava <3

[indestructibleheart]

Hi, fam! Okay, so I'm going to be out at an appointment tomorrow morning, so I'm kicking this off a little bit early. It's technically Wednesday in several timezones and very nearly Wednesday in mine. I'm... also a bit eager to share this, ngl.

I know that I've shared a lot of angst lately, but I swear that's not all I'm doing. 😅 In fact, the actor/playwright AU decided to wallop me in the face out of nowhere after sitting in my WIP folder for months. I'm really excited about it, so I'm gonna share the first scene!

(Also, those of you who have been to New York with me will recognize my favorite brunch spot in this scene lmao.)

---

You probably didn't even know I was in the room, but I noticed you straight away. You were talking with your friends, happy and animated and fully alive—a person living in dimensions I couldn’t access—and so beautiful. Your hair was longer then. You were the center of attention, but you weren’t afraid. You had a yellow ipê-amarelo in your pocket. I thought, this is the most incredible thing I have ever seen; I'd better keep it a safe distance away from me. I thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire.

INT. MOM'S KITCHEN & BAR - HELL'S KITCHEN - LATE MORNING

"I'm telling y'all," Alex is saying, punctuating with dangerously large bites of his pancake burrito. "The dude's a dick." 

It's been two hours since the nightmare audition, but Alex has been on this tirade since June and Nora first slid into the retro diner chairs across from him (at least forty-five minutes ago).

They're at Mom's: a restaurant-bar in midtown that can only be described as millennial nostalgia incarnate. The trio fell in love with it two years back—post-karaoke, stumbling in right before closing—when Alex saw God in their Fruity Pebble pancakes.  Since then, it's been his favorite place to eat his feelings.

Mom's is just really fucking comforting in general, honestly; whether it's the televisions cycling through episodes of 'Rugrats,' 'Dexter's Laboratory,' and 'Hey, Arnold!' or  the rainbow straws and Lisa-Frank-looking menus, Alex can't be sure. It doesn't hurt that they've made friends with several of the waitstaff, including an eccentric bartender, Pez, whose pink hair and painted nails fit right in with the decor. 

Today, it's the combination of breakfast sausage, bacon, eggs and cheese wrapped up in a syrup-soaked pancake that's really doing something for him. It could also be the margarita the size of his face, which Pez placed in front of him before making himself uncharacteristically scarce. But it's fine. He's probably just busy.

Alex won't admit it out loud, but what really helps is having June and Nora here to talk to… even though Nora is scrolling on her phone.

"I'm sorry," June says. She pokes an ice cube with her straw, and Alex watches as it bobs around her mimosa like a buoy. "That sounds like it sucked, but if he's really that rude… maybe you didn't want to work with him anyway."

Nora doesn't look up as she pops a home fry into her mouth. 

"Several sources say he's difficult to work with," she adds, evidently reading about Henry on the internet. "Though, in his defense, his dad did just die, like, three years ago… and there was that whole thing when he came out after. Remember?"

Alex does remember. Henry's grandmother, Mary Mountchristen, runs a pretty major company that used to own half the theatres on the West End. When Henry came out last year, she tried blacklisting his shows from her properties to punish him—which totally backfired when it got around. At least a dozen other queer writers and producers started talking about how they were also denied the space, and Mary was stoned on the streets of the theatre district. Like, metaphorically. 

Alex, Nora, and June had just moved to New York, but between June's position at Newsday and both Alex and Nora on the audition circuit, it was all anyone in their new circles could talk about. They were some of the first to know when the Mountchristens were bought out of their properties and Henry moved to the States.

This show is the first of Henry's being produced here—and it's autobiographical, which Alex has to admit is pretty fucking baller. So, yeah, Nora's not wrong. He has reason to be standoffish. Still, it doesn't explain why Alex was only halfway through his audition monologue when Henry abruptly stood up and exited stage left as if pursued by a bear.

He shoves another forkful into his mouth. "It's just, like, they're the only people who let me into the room," he says, barely finishing chewing. "Nobody wants to take me seriously, and I really thought this was my shot, you know?"

June and Nora both know Alex is having a hard time landing serious roles after growing up on a sitcom—Nora more than most, as his former co-star. What they don't know is that losing this role, specifically, feels like a kick to the stomach. From the moment Alex saw the script, he wanted to be a part of it. He can't even explain why, and now he'll never figure it out. Henry wouldn't give him a chance.

"It wasn't your only shot, and you know it." Nora fixes him with a look. "Seriously, I get it—I do—but it's just one play, buddy."

June nods. "Something will happen for you, baby brother."

At that, Alex finally groans. "Okay, calling me baby brother doesn't help me feel better about the entertainment industry infantili—"

"—itty bitty, teeny weeny—"

Alex throws a home fry at her face. 

It bounces off her forehead and into the giant gauntlet holding her mimosa with a very unappetizing splash. Just as Alex throws his hands into the air with a victorious whoop, his phone buzzes on the table. 

A glance is all it takes for him to see that it's his agent, Zahra.

"Damn," he says, deflating. There goes that upswing. "You answer it."

June balks. "Me?"

"I don't need to hear how fucking badly it went. Trust me, I got the message." Alex blinks innocently, like he's six years old again, asking her to lie to their mom about that broken vase. "Please, Bug? Besides, Zahra actually likes you."

"Everyone likes me." June rolls her eyes, but she caves—answering the phone with a haughty, "Alex Claremont-Diaz's office," before breaking into a smile. "Yeah, Z. It's me… No, Alex is feeling a little sensitive today."

(He throws another home fry at her. This one misses.)

To her credit, June's face remains totally blank as Zahra no doubt tells her how Alex insulted Henry Fox's name and all of his inbred ancestors just by showing up, or whatever—which is extremely annoying and unhelpful—but, once she says goodbye and sets the phone back down on the table, her face breaks out into a grin.

"Guess you didn't suck too bad," she says. "They want you for the part."

He doesn't know if it's Nora throwing herself at him or the shock that knocks him onto the floor.

Tagging some lovelies. If you haven't been tagged and you want to be, consider this your tag!

@anchoredarchangel, @barbiediaz, @cha-melodius, @cricketnationrise, @guillermosfamiliar, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @hippolotamus, @inexplicablymine, @jettestar, @junebugclaremontdiaz, @kiwiana-writes, @lizzie-bennetdarcy, @missgeevious, @mulderscully, @myheartalivewrites, @ninzied, @nontoxic-writes, @notspecialbabe, @priincebutt, @rmd-writes, @rosedavid, @three-drink-amy, @treluna4, @vanillahigh00, @welcometololaland, @orchidscript, @ships-to-sail, @stereopticons

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Succumb To The Pain

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: angst, murder by magic

Summary: Your powers go haywire and start affecting others around you, so the best thing Dr. Strange can come up with is keeping you trapped down in his basement until he can figure out a way to get the Mark off you. Dean vows he’ll do anything to save you but you can’t ignore the burning sensation in your body for much longer. You need to kill and you’ll do anything to do it.

Past, Present, and Future Masterlist

Square Filled: free space (mcuxspn crossover) for @fandombingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

The best thing for Dean is to go back to Kansas while you stay in New York and figure out what the next steps are for the Mark. At least, that’s what you told Dean when you told him to go. He wanted to stay with you, but you figured you could use this time to reflect on the situation. Plus, Stephen isn’t going to let you out of his sight now that he knows what’s going on with you, so he basically forced you to stay in New York.

Dean calls and you answer with a sigh. It’s cute how much he worries but you’re worried that you’re going to do something to hurt him. You can’t fathom the idea of hurting him which is also another reason why you told him to go. You don’t want to put him in harm’s way, and you know for a fact that it’ll happen if he stays with you.

“Hi, Dean,” you say in a gentle voice.

“Hey, I’m just checking on you. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Listen, if I could beat the Mark, you definitely can. You’re a lot stronger than I am.”

“You turned into a demon because of it. What’s that going to be like for someone like me?”

“It won’t get like that. Dr. Strange will figure a way out of this before it does.”

You want to believe him, but you don’t. You want to feel comfort in his words, but it only makes you more anxious. You look at the tree to your right and frown when you see the wood starting to turn a lighter shade than it normally is. Dean is talking but you don’t hear a word he’s saying because you’re so focused on the tree next to you. There are hundreds if not thousands in Central Park so why is this one sticking out to you?

You walk closer to it and notice the tree getting smaller and smaller all the while getting lighter and lighter. Soon, the leaves fall off and the tree turns back into a seed before disappearing completely.

“I’ll call you back,” you say and hang up on Dean.

You walk around in confusion and look around to see if any of the other trees are doing the same thing. There is an elderly lady feeding the birds with seeds she purchased from one of the stands nearby, and you walk closer to admire what she’s doing. The birds hop over to you to peck at the food near your feet, and your eyes widen when you see them both changing. One of the birds starts to shrink like the tree until it gets to the state it’s in when it’s a baby inside of an egg. The other one gets older until it explodes, and you jump back from the shock.

You immediately run from the area over to the nearest intersection where a bunch of people are waiting to pass. Maybe it’s a good idea to go back to Stephen and report this. God only knows what he’ll do if you keep this from him, too. There is a mother and her small child to your right, and the child is eating ice cream messily.

“Mom? What’s going on?”

You look at the child and see her aging rapidly from a toddler to a teenager to early twenties. The mother stands by with a gaping mouth and wide eyes, unsure how to react to such a thing happening.

“Look at her!” someone else shouts.

The mother of the child de-ages from her forties to early thirties back down to the twenties. You look down at your wrist and catch the green stone shining brightly. You’re doing this. You killed those birds, that tree, and now this family if you don’t get the hell out of here. You back up from the mother and daughter with tears in your eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Stop what you’re doing! This is my daughter!” the mother exclaims.

“I’m sorry. I can’t--I’m sorry,” you panic.

You stumble away from everyone and crash into a tree. You turn to see the tree age rapidly, and it gets taller and taller before it shrinks and turns to dust. I gotta get out of here. You don’t wait for the crosswalk to turn green and run right into traffic. Cars slam on their brakes to avoid hitting you but you keep running as fast as you can.

The Sanctum Sanctorum comes into view moments later, and you rush up the porch of the stairs. You grab the door handle only for it to turn back into sheets of metal and scraps. You push the door open and rush inside with panic written all over your face.

“Strange!!!” Stephen appears at the top of the stairs and starts to come down them, but you back up with both your hands out in front of you. “Don’t come near me.” To the left of you are books that explode into sheets of blank paper and blotched ink on the ground, and to the right of you is a bowl of fruits that immediately turns rotten. “Something is wrong with me.”

“Y/N…”

“Please help me.” Stephen conjures his magic and says a spell, throwing that spell at you. It encompasses your entire body, transporting you somewhere else entirely. You’re trapped in a glass tube that’s big enough for you to barely move around. “Stephen? Where am I?”

“You’re safe. That’s all that matters,” Stephen says and walks into the dingy basement.

“What is wrong with me?”

“The Mark is feeding off the Time Stone, and it’s drawing from the energy of the things you de-age and age. Until I can figure out how to get it off you, you need to stay in here.”

You fall back into the glass with a quiet sob. You feel more isolated now than you did before, and you‘re not sure if this feeling is going to go away. You pull you knees to your chest and stare straight ahead as the tears fall, and that’s how you stay there for hours. The door to the basement opens and you look up to see Dean enter. You immediately stand and hold your hand out as if that will warn him to stay away.

“Don’t come near me.”

“Strange says I’m safe from you.” Sadness befalls you, and you look down in shame. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s true, though. I’ve become a monster.”

Dean walks closer to the glass with sorrow written on his face.

“I’m sorry for telling you to take it. I just wanted my brother back.”

“I know. That’s why I did it.” Dean puts his hand over the glass, and you lay yours over his, but the glass cracks under your powers. You recoil back and cry silently. “You should forget about me because I don’t know how long I’ll be trapped like this.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I really like you, Y/N.”

“You like me?” you sniffle.

“Yeah. I want to take you on dates and kiss you, and I can’t do that until you get better. Sam, Cas, and Rowena are here working with Strange to figure out something.”

“Okay,” you nod.

“I may have done this to you, but I’m going to make it better.”

“What if that means destroying me to do it?”

“We’re not going to do that.”

Dean turns and leaves the basement to join the others upstairs. You go back to sitting on the ground without the tears. This time, a headache forms in the back of your head like it’s throbbing for your attention. You grab the sides of your head and ground your fingers into your hair, yanking on the strands as if that will get the throbbing to stop.

“Get out of me head! Get out! Get out!”

You pound your head with your fists and repeat the same two words over and over again. You pull back your wrist and see the green stone shining brightly, begging you to use its power. You look at the crack in the glass and practically hear it calling to you. You stand and put your hand against the crack, allowing your powers to revert the glass back to rocks and pebbles. You escape through the back door without the other’s knowing, and you stumble into the street. You know what you need to do but your heart is telling you not to do it. An older man passes by you on the street but stops when he sees the pain evident on your face.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m so sorry,” you whimper.

You grab the man and allow your powers to flow through him. He ages rapidly until he becomes a mummy in your hands. You breathe in the life you stole, and you fall back into a street sign from the high. You close your eyes from the intense pressure and when you open them, your eyes are nearly pitch black.

“I need more,” you mumble to yourself.

x

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[perpetuelledaydreaming]

Would've Could've Should've | prologue

listen to: Would've Could've Should've- Taylor Swift| Happiness Is a Butterfly - Lana del Rey (playlist here)

warnings: power imbalance (teacher, student), 20+ years age gap, toxic relationships. Drinking. Implied smut. Grief. As the story progresses warnings will be added.

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fi!!

He was already inside the bar, quite a while there before you entered it. You didn’t notice him at first, not really. You were too spent to notice him first. The dimly lit room, sparsely populated with only a few patrons scattered around didn’t allow you to get a good look at him. 

He, instead, noticed you right away. There was something about you, a melancholy that he himself felt. It wasn’t per se that you’d made it obvious. No. The older he got, the more he simply knew things. Sometimes. Not all the time. Not really, right now as he nursed the whiskey in his hand, he only felt lost. He stole a glance at you, he noticed the way your face was contorting as you stared at your phone for a moment, the way you struggled not to cry for a single second. Eyes changing, a small kind smile, to Jimmy who asked you for your order. 

“A Martini?” 

He liked your voice. He enjoyed the way it was soft, the way you weren’t ordering anyone, he enjoyed the doubt, he relished in it. He enjoyed it when he was young and didn’t know much. It made you seem as if you hadn’t ordered it before. The corners of his lips tugged slightly before he sipped again on his whiskey, looking away momentarily. 

The bartender, an old man that night, brought you your drink silently. You took it and stared at it for a moment. Your mother wouldn’t like you drinking. She wouldn’t agree. It wasn’t you. You knew she was right, it wasn’t your thing to drink on a Tuesday night. It wasn’t you to cut out all of your friends. It wasn’t like you to move to the other side of the country without telling anyone. But the more you thought, without her, who did you really have?

Looking up suddenly, you feel his gaze and turn, your eyes meet his. His eyes were a deep shade of blue. He was approximately in his late forties, early fifties if you weren’t forgiving. His hair was soft and black, with a hint of white in the corners. There was an air about him that suggested he was cold and intelligent. You weren’t sure how to react, you stared at him. 

And then he smiled at you.  

“First drink of the day?” his voice low and raspy as his eyes fell on the Martini. 

If you were honest, it was your first drink in over a year. You hadn’t had time to drink while you were taking care of your mom. As you sat there, you realized that you hadn’t done a lot of things in your life. 

“Yeah,” you breathed out with difficulty. 

He stares when your hair falls in soft waves around your face. He’d seen his fair share of beautiful people but he felt drawn to you in a way he couldn’t quite decipher. A moth to a flame. You shine, sparkling like champagne in the light but then you again, you seemed like you wanted to hide. 

“You?” you asked, watching him intently. 

Beau shook his head. “Not my first,” he confessed. For some reason, he felt self-conscious about the way you were looking at him. He was probably too old for this. In truth, you were thinking he looked lonely too. And for a moment, since your mother, you felt seen. 

“What’s your name?” you asked him, a little bit more forward than before. 

“Beau,” he said. 

“Very French,” you answered, smiling approvingly. 

It didn’t suit him. He seemed to be the type of the men who had a stronger name at first glance but the more you stared at him, you believed you were missing something.  

“You?”

He smiled approvingly as well when you told him. He repeated it, slowly, he enjoyed the way it rolled off his tongue. You relished the way he said it. His eyes crinkle as he smiled at you. A surprising softness in the way he looked at you, made your heart beat faster for a moment. 

“What do you do?”

“Right now, I’m a student,” you answered, honestly. 

Beau cursed himself as his gaze traveled through your whole body. You didn’t give it away. A black pair of heel boots, those jeans, an oversize cream sweater. He understood it was cold, it was December, but you were dressed more conservatively than any of his students. It was also the way you carried yourself, there was a halo about you. You were grown up or you’d been forced to grow up. 

“You don’t look like a student to me,”

You raised your eyebrows as you sipped your Martini. “What do I look like to you?” you asked, giving him a sly side glance. 

Beau’s heart faltered for a moment. At least, that’s what he believed. The way your face lit up, it was a work of art. You were so beautiful, it was almost unfair. It was unfair that you probably hadn’t been born by the time he’d chosen a wife, it was unfair that he hadn’t met you before, it was unfair that he met you today when he’d fought with his wife for what it seemed like the million time this week. 

“I’m not sure,” he answered clearing his throat once he caught that he’d been silent for too long. “You just seemed more mature than for being a student,”

Suddenly, you felt stunned. The statement slices a painless cut in you. He wouldn’t know. He shouldn’t have known that’s what every adult told you since you were a kid. That you’ve always been responsible and mature, that you’ve always been able to relate more to adults, that you never needed someone to take care of you, that you were the one taking care of your mom. For the first time in forever, you don’t relish what he believes is a compliment. 

“It must be a lot,” he said when he figured your mind had gone somewhere else. 

“What?”

“To be as mature as you are,” he answered. “I understand,”

You are stunned, once again. You gaze at him as he takes the last sip of his whiskey and with a sigh, he gazed back at you. You were watching him wide-eyed, searching his features for something. He can see it, the way he just stroked a chord. You were watching him as if he’d known you your whole life. 

 “You want another drink?”

You pressed your lips together as you stared at the Martini for a moment, you tilted your head sideways as you weighed your options. The more responsible part of you thought that you should leave it at that. The other part, well, that other part was the one you’ve been holding back. 

“Thank you,” you said with a nod. 

Beau ordered both of your drinks with a certain ease. He wasn’t like the men you met before. He wasn’t like the boys your age. He didn’t seem cruel. He didn’t seem as insecure as they were. He didn’t seem too entranced by the idea of sex. He seemed like he actually cared. 

“What actually brought you here, if I may ask?” he said quietly as he took another sip of the whiskey. 

“I’m a student,” you answered, drinking your second Martini. “They called me because I’m the best,”

Beau smirked slightly. Nodding, he drank. He savored the way you’d said that you were the best, he enjoy confidence. For him, when he was your age, it seemed like it was the only thing he had. Sure, he was good looking and he was good with planes, but honestly what made him was his confidence. He gazed at you, those eyes looking at him through those long lashes, you felt like a dream. 

“You?”

Beau sighed defeatedly. “Been living here since my twenties,” he said. 

“Never left?”

“Left a lot of times,”

You nodded softly as your eyes took him in. You hadn’t noticed previously, but there, under his leather jacket, you easily could identify the beige uniform. He was Navy. By his age, he was probably an Admiral. You watch him drinking the whiskey, not aware of the way you suddenly tensed up. You could always ask him about it. You could always let him know that you were going to become a student in the next week at Top Gun, you could leave it at this. Selfishly though, you didn’t want to. 

It’d been a while since you’d met someone who actually caused an impression on you. 

“So, Beau,” you said softly. “Tell me about you with one rule,”

His lips tugged upward softly as he watched you, the way you were tilting your head, the way your cheeks were tinted with pink, your rosy lips, that sly smile. 

“Anything you want, doll,” he teased.

He saw you pressing your lips together, trying to drown the smile you felt. He could see how your eyes shimmered at the nickname. Maybe he’d embarrassed you and he truly had, doll sounded like something from the 80s but then again, it’d made your heart flip on your chest.

“Nothing about work,” you said softly, taking a sip and peacefully waiting. 

Beau’s brows furrowed for a moment. He waited, but you didn’t elaborate. A faint alarm could be heard in the back of his mind, but he ignored it. 

“Done,” 

The night passed along. You talked about Queen and Aerosmith. Beau told you how he was never really interested in the Royal Family, you talked about how your mother had told you about Princess Diana since you could remember. You talked about politics but both of you decided to drop the topic soon enough because it was getting to a heated conversation. You talked about ‘One-Hundred Years of Solitude’, how Beau’s father had forced him to read it while you’d stolen it from your mother. You discussed the Yellow butterflies and the way Remedios rose to the sky. He talked about his father and his mother, and how strict they were. You laughed at the stories of his youth, and when he asked you about yours, you told him that you’d been a quiet girl with not many stories to tell. He’d told you that you were still young, that you could still make stories. You wondered if he meant he could be part of them. Then, you talked about what you’re going to do for Christmas and New Year's, you end up telling him that you are going to be alone since you don’t know anyone here and your mom’s gone. 

You don’t expect it to roll so easily off your tongue if you were honest. The warmth of the alcohol fills your belly in such a pleasant way, bubbles climb to your brain and so suddenly your chest doesn’t ache so badly as you tell him that she was sick and had been gone for a month. Beau, who also began to feel like he was levitating around his fifth drink, gazes back at you with a puzzled look. 

When his parents passed away, although he didn’t express much. He always felt comforted by the presence of Lauren and his kids. All of them knew he was sad but he never said anything, all of them knew he needed them. He bit his inner cheek as he recalled those days, the days when he clung to Lauren and his family. It didn’t pass through his mind that he’d been looking for time to get away from them in those days. 

“So, honestly, why are you here?” he then asked softly. “If you’re alone, you could’ve stayed with your friends,”

You shrugged. 

“That’s not an answer,” he said more sternly. You snorted softly while sipping the last of your fifth Martini. In fifteen minutes midnight would come and now you didn’t have it in yourself to be a bit more careful with your words. 

“I don’t want to tell you,” you confessed. 

Beau gave you one of his amused looks. 

“No?”

“No,” you answered shaking your head as you stared at him. His face was lit up with amusement as he stared at you, biting his lower lip. You took a deep breath as you weighed your options, you decided on the latter. “Because you’ll never want to fuck me,”

For a moment Beau thought he didn’t hear you correctly. And then he looked at you, you were dripping beauty, youthfulness. Your eyes for a moment, he could see, were full of lust and that confidence that he now felt so deprived of. There was something inside of him that woke up with you. 

“I didn’t mean,” you began to retract as soon as he didn’t answer. 

Beau shook his head, worried he might’ve offended you and suddenly he held you had. 

Your breathing stopped as you watched his large hand covering yours, holding you. He was cold, goosebumps erupted on your skin as you watched him touch you, then your eyes fell on his. You could see he was trying to hold back, fighting with himself about what he should do. He exhales a sigh. 

“I’m just too old for a girl like you,” he answered softly but he gets closer to you, closer than he’d ever been throughout the whole night. 

Beau, who had been planning to return to his house where his wife was with his three children, was suddenly secretly waiting that you would fight him back on it. He watched you take in the answer as you bit your cheek and nodded softly, for a moment looking away but then scooting closer to him.

“Maybe you’re right,” you answered. 

“What?”

You shrugged but still, he waited for an answer, mostly demanding it by the way he was looking at you. 

“I believe I’m not too young for me to fuck you,” you answered with a Cheshire smile. “Maybe, you’re just too old to fuck me,”

Beau scoffed a small chuckle and for the first time his smile spread all over his face, his eyes crinkled as he watched you in awe, your face lit up in a soft laughter. “I can’t believe you just said that,” he mumbled.

“You’ve given me more alcohol than I’ve had in nine months, this is your fault,” you said shaking your head. You looked around the bar, it was almost empty now. “I’m going to go home,” you finally stated. 

“Let me take you,” Beau said in a hurry as he felt you slipping away. 

You looked back at him for a moment and then down at your hands, his touch lingering. For a moment, you wanted to let him take you but then you saw the gold band on his finger. Swallowing hard you stared at it for a moment. Everything had been so good until that moment, your heart aches at the thought. It wasn’t fair. 

“You’ve been drinking,” you stated as you pulled your hand away, for a moment, the better part of you taking control of yourself. 

“You can’t seem to hold down your liquor,” he answered as he placed some bills on the bar. Nodding towards the older guy while you put on your coat, faster than he expected you to. 

Beau didn’t really know what to do with himself but when he realized, he was closer to you than ever before. So close that he could smell the vanilla and almonds scent from your hair. You tilted your head up, gazing at him for a moment. 

And then just then he realized he never wanted to stop seeing you. 

“If you take me home we will have sex,” you whispered. 

“I don’t see anything wrong in that,” he breathed out. 

You raised your eyebrows at the statement. He didn’t seem to be insincere, he was telling you the truth. But you couldn’t believe it, not even if you wanted to. So, you asked again. 

“You sure you don’t?” you asked, watching him through your long lashes. Beau didn’t answer, he simply shook his head as his hand suddenly fell on your hip. You swallowed hard as you stared at him, pretending that his hand touching you didn’t light a fire inside of you. 

“I don’t want you to fall in love with me,” you finally breathed out. 

A last attempt to dissuade him and yourself, to pull back. But as you heard yourself you knew that it wasn’t true, what you really meant was ‘I don’t want to fall in love with you’. 

“I think it’s too late for that,” 

author's note: I'm so excited about this fic! Let me know your thoughts! I had a depressive episode this week lols. so it's been hard to write but I'm really proud that I've forced myself to write this!

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