#she was cool about it it was actually fine and normal and not awkward at all (to be clear this is not sarcastic)

[vegancas]

i told my optometrist that i’m on t today. she was asking about medications and listed off my supplements, and i said oh i’ve got a prescription for ritalin, and then i was sitting there like ‘isn’t there something else?’ totally blanking and then ‘oh! and i’m on testosterone’ and that’s how i came out to my optometrist i guess

[loveinhawkins]

Steve’s bat bites start to bleed again during the drive out of The War Zone.

It’s a slow realisation, a creeping dampness on his skin.

He stays as still as he can, keeps his movements small and contained when turning the steering wheel; he thinks he mostly gets away with it, manages to park the RV and pitch his voice on just the right side of normal as he tells the kids to scram.

Awareness of his surroundings grows a little fuzzy around the edges, but he senses enough to know that he’s alone—the silence feels heavy, makes his ears ring.

He lifts himself up out of his seat, one hand clinging onto the headrest for balance. The ringing gets sharper, more high-pitched; he shakes his head to try and clear it.

One step forward, then another, and another.

There’s a slight rocking motion under his feet. It feels a little like he’s in a boat that’s docked, constant movement even in the gentlest of waters.

His palms brush against the bathroom door.

“Okay,” Steve whispers to himself.

He hangs onto the sink to keep himself upright—feels the room sway, as if the waters underneath have suddenly become stormy.

With one hand, he finds the knot in the bandage.

“Okay, okay…”

Pulls.

Steve doesn’t think he blacks out, not quite, but there’s a shift, a dizzying tilt… and then, somehow, he’s sitting on the closed toilet seat.

And…

The bat bites must cause hallucinations or something.

Otherwise, Steve cannot explain why Eddie—who notoriously threw up and passed out during a dissection in Biology—is currently pressing a clean bandage against his stomach, staring down at the blood like he can’t look away.

“You’re good, you’re good,” Eddie’s saying.

He’s clearly trying to sound calm, but it’s just coming out strained, like what he really means is this is all a fucking nightmare actually, but we’ve gotta find something to be optimistic about.

“Think it just needs some more pressure,” he goes on. “Yeah, there, see? It’s stopping. Oh, thank God.”

Steve feels more gauze getting wrapped around his middle—if he wasn’t injured, it’d almost be a nice sensation, Eddie’s touch somehow the perfect mix of both firm and gentle.

As he works, Eddie hums nervously.

“Talk to me Harrington,” he says in a shaky sing-song. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging, man, gimme some awkward small talk. Got any hopes? Dreams? Anything I should know?

Oh, so many things, Steve thinks, still light-headed.

But then he really does mull that over: his mind goes to The Upside Down, to belatedly telling Eddie about the hive mind, and oh shit.

“Hey, weird question,” Steve says, “but I’ve not been, like, asking you to make it cold in here or, um, anything like that?”

Eddie blinks. “Uh. No?”

“Okay.” Before he lets the relief of hearing Eddie’s answer sink in, Steve adds, “If I ever do, you need to lock me in here and get out. Tell Nancy.”

Eddie’s staring at him like he’s grown a second head. “Sure. Cool. Cool! Uh, for any particular reason or—?”

“Just in case—like, I don’t feel any different, but—one time, Will Byers, when he was in The Upside Down it, like, infected him? Like a virus. Except more… possession. And they had to kinda… burn it outta him.”

“Ha,” Eddie says. A beat. “Oh fuck, you’re serious.”

“I really don’t have the energy to be messing with you, dude.”

“Sorry. Sometimes you all just say things, y’know? And if I don’t get it, I’m like, well, they’ve been living through this for a while, maybe they’ve got a code going on.”

“I mean,” Steve says, “we kinda do.”

Eddie shakes his head. “So when Buckley said she dealt with a human-flesh-based monster, and the one before that was smoke-related, that wasn’t just, like, a really fucked up metaphor?” Eddie’s eyes are wide, pleading. “Please say it was a metaphor.”

“Sorry,” Steve says sincerely.

Eddie sighs through a lacklustre chuckle. “You’re fine, Steve. As for, uh, being possessed, I don’t think so. You’re no weirder than usual, but—”

“Wow, thanks. Means such a lot coming from you.”

“—you were a bit, like, out of it for a few seconds, but it just looked like you were gonna faint on me. Um. How’re you feeling now?”

“Good,” Steve says. When Eddie raises an eyebrow, he tacks on, “As good as I can be, I guess. Still.” He groans slightly as he stands, goes back over to the sink. “Better check.”

“Check? What?”

Steve runs the water as hot as it will possibly go, until the steam is evident. He sticks his hand right into the stream, hears Eddie hiss as the water scalds his skin.

“Okay, yup. Not possessed.”

“Fucking fantastic. Now I want it cold,” Eddie says.

He takes control of the faucet, nods for Steve to put his hand under the now cold water.

After a minute or two, Eddie sighs and collapses onto the toilet seat himself.

There’s a squeak as Steve turns the faucet off—his skin’s probably not had the good of the cold water for nearly long enough, but it’ll do.

Eddie’s tipped his head back so he’s facing the ceiling, eyes closed. Steve watches him with sympathy; he really must hate blood.

“Eddie. You can go.”

“Mm, nope,” Eddie says without opening his eyes. “I’m fine right here.”

“Suit yourself.”

Steve turns back to the sink, frowns at the tiny mirror above it; there’s black spots on the glass, but he can make out enough. Christ, the bags under his eyes are horrific.

“Relax, Casanova,” Eddie says, almost as if he’s heard Steve’s thoughts. “You look good.”

“Uh-huh. Think your brain’s fried from being on the run.”

Steve leans against the sink with one hip, finds Eddie looking at him with a small smile.

“Yeah, probably. Or maybe being on the run just suits you.” Eddie’s eyes flicker down. His smile falters. “You know, in an ideal world,” he says conversationally, “you’d be in a hospital getting stitches.”

Steve scoffs. “In an ideal world, I’d be in bed sleeping.”

“Amen to that,” Eddie says lightly. But he still looks sombre. “Seriously, though. If it gets… you know. I’d drive you.”

“To the hospital? What are you gonna do, Eddie, wander up to the front desk? Sounds like a real interesting way to get arrested.”

But Eddie doesn’t leap at the chance to make a joke.

“Steve,” he says softly. “I mean it. I wouldn’t care.”

“That would sorta ruin the whole priority of hiding you.”

“That’s—” Eddie huffs. “That’s not the priority.”

“Huh, that’s funny, cause it is in my book.” Steve nods at the door, to his whole world just outside. “One of many.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “And your name better be right at the top, Harrington.”

Steve hums.

“In bold. Underlined.”

“Whatever you say.”

Eddie groans quietly, runs a hand down his face. “You worry me, man.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“I know. Just…” Eddie hesitates. “Don’t go off alone. You know?”

Steve thinks it over. He steps forward and offers Eddie his hand.

Eddie takes it.

When Steve pulls him up, he stumbles a little, as if he feels like he’s on a boat, too.

“Oops, sorry.” He grabs onto Steve’s forearm for balance. “Think this should be the other way round, man.”

“Hmm, I don’t think so.”

Steve leads the way out of the bathroom—doesn’t mention the fact that, really, they’re both holding each other up.

There’s a bottle of water left in the back. Steve twists the cap off. Drinks.

“You too,” he tells Eddie.

“Huh?”

Steve considers him—thinks of the little flare of panic he felt when watching Eddie walk through the woods, tiptoeing around vines. How he had a sudden instinct to catch up to him, to make sure he wasn’t alone.

“I’m making a deal,” Steve says. “I won’t go off alone if you don’t.”

He lifts the bottle up as if making a toast—drinks again then passes it over to Eddie.

For the slightest of moments, their fingers brush; Eddie’s rings skim over Steve’s knuckles.

“So what’s this?” Eddie asks. “Legally binding magical water?”

Steve shrugs. “Cool metaphor,” he replies.

You say you just turn heel and run, Eddie. But sometimes I think if there was a fire, you’d run towards the flames if it meant no-one else got hurt.

Eddie smiles. Tilts the bottle towards Steve.

“Guess it’s a promise, then,” he says.

He drinks.

Steve prays that it holds.

[kirikeijii]

𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠

Tsukishima x reader

Synopsis: Imagine this but it's you!

cw: fluff, not proofread

Somehow you tutored Tsukishima Kei, the smartest guy in your class with an average of 98.84 last year. You were always a helpful child, you'd teach anyone your teacher recommended but when you heard his name come out of your advisor's mouth. You were absolutely shocked. "The Tsukishima Kei needs tutoring?"

"Yes. . ." She said sitting on her seat slowly. Your advisor was very awkward with it. You then looked behind you with furrowed eyebrows to see the blonde sitting on a chair with a smile on his face. That smug look you sometimes hated. Well, you know how there's a thin line between love and hate?

Yeah, you were tiptoeing on top of that rope. Sometimes you felt like he'd actually be fun to hang out with. You felt like his close friend could rant to him and he would listen intently while giving advice. You just felt like he could be a vulnerable person if he wasn't an asshole all the time.

You turn back to your advisor giving her a faked-up, sickeningly, sweet smile. "Fine, but I want extra credits." Your smile drops into a poker face. "I- fine, extra credits on your upcoming project-" Your advisor crossed her arms before you cut her off. "Projects, Plural." You smiled at her again.

Your advisor looked behind you, pissed off. Like she was looking at Tsukishima for help but when the boy looked away your advisor looked back at you. "Fine, Projects." You weren't normally like this, but if you were gonna tutor the most stubborn, arrogant, asshole your school had to offer, you needed it to be worth your time. You smiled again at your teacher before dragging the boy out of the class to the library. "God, this better be a shit ton of money." Your advisor whispered.

"So, what are you struggling with?" You asked him with pure curiosity while picking up books from the shelf in the library, making the boy carry them all. "Just some. . . math. . ." Kei said with hesitance "Math?" You look at the boy one eyebrow raised. When you realized you had taken out many books, you tried helping him.

"No, it's all good," Kei said, smiling at you. The one you've never seen before because of how genuine it was. You looked away quickly feeling yourself blush. "Let's find some seats. . ." You said quietly, trying to get away as soon as possible. Soon enough you found seats by the library window.

The desk was a long one, with stools facing the windows. You sat down with a relieved sigh. "Where are you having trouble?" You placed your head on your hand, which rested on the long table.

Tsukishima's mouth hung open, dried up by the cool air the air condition put out. "Calculus. . ." The boy could see your eyebrows furrowing at his statement. Naturally, because it was 2 periodical tests ago and he passed both those tests even scoring higher than you. "I forgot. . ." he added.

You opened your mouth giving a small "ahh". You were still very suspicious of him but you couldn't care less. You were getting extra credits. This might be what you need to graduate top of your class or even your whole batch. "Okay, let's start." You opened the textbooks and started with what the boy remembered.

A few minutes later you could feel eyes staring at you while you yapped about the formulas. You continued for a few more minutes because the boy was humming with every formula you taught him but you could still feel his eyes on you and not the textbook that's when you got annoyed.

"Did you get it?" You looked at him and smiled sarcastically. The boy hummed again "Great. . . I think I got it, but just in case. . . Tell me the whole thing again I wasn't listening." He smiled slyly at you.

"Are you messing with me?" You groaned a little loud at what he said. The boy nodded his head slowly, unsure. "Show me your math exam, right now." You demanded. "I don't have it?" He looked around hiding his bag behind him. You narrowed your eyes at him stating you were serious. "Okay, I didn't fail my math test."

"Then what the hell are we doing here?"

"I wanted to hang out with you." He smiled at you, leaning his head on his hand. "We literally could've done that another way." You deadpan at him. "Yeah, but what's the fun in that? C'mon, I know a spot at the park. We could eat?" He raised his eyebrows.

A sigh came out of your mouth, indicating defeat. "what did you even hear when I started talking about calculus?" You asked when he choked on saliva randomly. Your eyebrows furrow when the librarian shushed the both of you on the way out. It honestly made you laugh at the boy.

A few years later in college, you asked him about it again, you figured he'd open up since you've been dating for 2 years now. Turns out all he heard was "blah blah blah, formula, formula, I'm so pretty and I like you but for some reason, I'm always upset at you."

The moment you heard those words you burst into laughter in your shared dorm. He knew you were never going to let it die, even mentioning it from time to time, even going as far as mentioning it at your wedding leaving him looking like a tomato in a suit.

ᯓ★ I love this trend so much but I also love Tsukishima so why not mix it. Thank you for reading! | Masterlist

[papercorgiworld]

Whipped for their tutor

The requested Blaise, Draco and Tom version

The guys are appointed a tutor and they are absolute whipped for her. Reader obviously plays a little game with them.

Read the Mattheo, Theo and Enzo version here.

Warning: suggestive

Blaise

“Honestly professor, it’s not my fault. I’m a dedicated student. I don’t mess around. I take this class very seriously. I just got preoccupied with a potions essay.” Mcgonagall judges Blaise through her glasses, not impressed by his excuses and so done with Slytherins and their talk. “Mister Zabini, you will see a tutor, twice a week.” Blaise sighs, but nods. “I’ll ask Nott to explain everything to me.” Mcgonagall almost faints at the suggestion. “No, let’s not. I asked Miss (y/l/n) to free a few hours in her schedule for you.” 

Blaise almost chokes. “(Y/n)?” Mcgonagall nods sternly watching the student in front of her get a little nervous. “Is there a problem, mister Zabini?” An awkward chuckle leaves Blaise’s lips as he unconsciously loosens his tie. “No, she’s fine, perfect… normal, uhm, good, she’s intelligent, I mean.” Mcgongall folds her hands and sighs. I need a raise, putting up with these students isn’t healthy. “Well, I’ll ask her to meet you tomorrow after class.”

*** 

Keep cool. You’re a cool cookie, Blaisey-boy, just act smart, no just be smart and impress her. Blaise pep talked to himself as he waited for you in the classroom the professor had reserved for the two of you. A soft laugh from the hallway drew his attention to the door as you appeared waving goodbye to your friend, before locking eyes with Blaise and giving him a gentle smile. As you entered Blaise stood from his chair, making the corner of your lips tug up in amusement. “Blaise Zabini.” He introduces himself, making you chuckle. “I know and I’m pretty sure you know my name as well.” She knew my name. “Yeah…” He trails off as he can’t keep his eyes from wandering, your uniform fits you perfectly. 

You elegantly take a seat opposite of the boy who fails to take his eyes off you and almost stumbles into his chair, watching you. “I actually already know all the material. I reviewed it earlier. I’m smart like that.” Blaise leans back in his chair doing his best to sound impressive and look calm. You purse your lips and let your eyes linger on his white shirt hugging his chest, before a teasing smile tugs the corner of your mouth upwards. “Let’s review your last test then.” You suggest as you pull out his test from your bag. Damn you Mcgonagall, this is not gonna make me look good. 

“Well there’s far more interesting stuff we could do.” Blaise suggests doing his best to regain his casual cool, but his confidence falls as you slide the paper towards him pushing your chest against the table and giving him a perfect view of all things he can only dream of. “Maybe…” Your voice sounds like honey, but then reality hits. “If the review of this test goes well, we’ll have plenty of time for more interesting material.” Ooh, you, baby, are very interesting material. 

“The first question didn’t go well, so how about you try and give a correct answer, since you’ve already reviewed it beforehand.” Reluctantly Blaise pulls his eyes away from your chest and to his failed test. As he is about to make an effort at an answer you elegantly slide your heels against his leg, but your face stays professional, patiently waiting for an answer.

Stutters of a half answer was all you got in the end and maybe some drooling, but it was obvious to you: this Slytherin needed a bit more tutoring. 

Draco

“Outrageous! I don’t need a tutor! Who does Mcgonagal think she is! Wait until my-“ A grinning Pansy interrupts Draco. “Oh please do tell your father how you were so hungover that you failed every test for an entire week. I bought a new black dress and I just know I would look fine as hell, weeping over your dead body after you tell your father this.” Draco rolls his eyes and is about to say something snappy back when he sees you come into view. He shamelessly stares, it was his god given right as a Malfoy to stare at anyone he liked… but he gets a little nervous when he notices you’re walking towards him. “Hi there Malfoy, how are you?” “G-go-good. I’m good. How is-are you– How are you? That’s what I mean.” You chuckle sweetly  at the stutter puddle that you had turned Malfoy into. Mattheo, who was leaning against a wall behind Malfoy, has his cigarette hanging from his lips, his eyes adoring you. “Professor Mcgonagall asked me to tutor you so I reserved a classroom for us this evening. Meet me there, 7p.m.” You hand Draco a note but he’s too busy daydreaming to notice. Pansy jumps in taking the note with the classroom number and the needed books for the tutor session. “He’ll be there.” Pansy smiles, Draco gives you a weak dreamy smile and as you turn Mattheo utters an awkward “bye”. Making you shake your head as you walk towards your friends.

“Real smooth, Draco.” Pansy snaps, turning towards Malfoy. “You think so?” Draco questions, immediately realising Pansy was mocking him by the mean glint in her eyes. “Yeah, great first impression.” Mattheo jokes, making Pansy give him a stupid look, silently reminding him of his awkward goodbye. “I don’t want to be tutored by her.” Draco complains. “She’ll think I’m stupid.” Pansy scoffs. “After watching what I just watched, I’m convinced you are stupid.” Mattheo then leans closer to Draco. “If you really don’t want to go… I could use some tutoring.” Draco’s brows knit together in annoyance, but also realises that he really does not want to miss out on a chance to be alone with. “A tutor can’t fix the problems you have, Riddle.” Pansy snaps.

***

Draco came prepared, he had a plan. He was a slytherin afterall. He had messed up a few tests, but he knew very well how to study so he arrived early that evening and got his books out, ready to impress the smartest and most beautiful girl in Hogwarts. He had spent a ridiculous time in front of the mirror making sure his hair looked messy but in a good way, like he wasn’t trying too hard, but he was definitely trying. When you opened the door to find Draco Malfoy dug deep in his books and notes, you had to say you were slightly intrigued. His eagerness and slightly unbuttoned shirt definitely made him attractive. 

This should be fun. You gave Draco your most innocent smile when he looked up from his books. “You’re early. That’s a good start.” Draco caught himself smiling like a fool at your compliment and straightened his back to regain his nonchalant act. “Yeah, I just thought I would summarise the latest chapter and mark any questions I have.” Your playfulness ebbs away for a bit when Draco has you convinced that he’s taking this tutoring session seriously. Maybe I thought wrong of Malfoy. However, Draco is quick to show you his usual self. “Turns out I have no questions. I understand it all fine.” He closes the book in front of him and leans a bit back in his chair, before continuing with a smug voice. “I saw you in the stands at my last quidditch game. Great game right?” Ugh, Malfoy… why are you so full of yourself…

“Yes, great game. Berkshire played exceptionally in that game.” You reply without hesitation, swiping that smirk from his lips. “You should introduce me to him sometime.” You play, avoiding his gaze on you as you place your books on the table. “He’s- He’s not that- that good, you know. He had a good day, that’s all.” Draco counters somewhat hesitantly, wary of how you slowly close in on him. Your hand brushes his shoulder as you move to stand behind him and lean closer, reaching for the summary in front of him. Your cheek was so close to his that Draco didn’t dare move. He felt his whole body heat up as your left hand rested on his shoulder. Your sweet perfume made him even more captivated as you hummed sweet sounds while scanning his summary. 

“Looks good, but you don’t focus enough on comparing the different switching spells.” You conclude after reading and you turn your head slightly to face Draco who turns red now that your lips are so close to his. “I-uhm- I know- enough.” You smile sweetly at the slytherin and let your hand resting on his shoulder slide a bit down to his chest. “Then explain it. That way I’m sure you understand and we can do other interesting things.” Now Draco’s body wasn’t just heating up, his mouth was going dry, his heart was racing and his pants were getting rather tight. 

You patiently stare at Draco, but you know very well that the poor guy is losing his sanity under your touch. “I-I-I… I know nothing.” Draco eventually blurs. You smile satisfied with the result of your work and pull away from him to take a seat next to him. “Well, let me explain it to you then.” 

Tom

“What was I supposed to tell the professors? Apologies, I missed a week of classes, but I was busy helping our supposedly dead father break people out of Azkaban.” Mattheo looked meekly at his brother, wondering what else their father would demand of his brother or even him. Annoyed with Mattheo’s saddening expression, Tom changes the subject. “Anyway I’m stuck with a tutor now.” Immediately a chuckle escapes Mattheo, but one stern look from Tom turns Mattheo more serious. “Poor tutor.” 

“Maybe I could use a spell and just extract the knowledge from her head.” Tom suggests, like it's the most reasonable approach. “Her?” Your tutor is a she?” Tom nods, surprised that that is what his brother gathered from his statement. “Yes, (y/n) (y/l/n) will be tutoring me. According to Dumbledore her grades are exquisite and so she’s been assigned to get me up to speed on all the material that I missed.” A smirk forms on Mattheo. “(y/n) (y/l/n). Nice. I would pay attention to her.” Tom rolls his eyes, finding himself way too superior to waste his time drooling over you. “Of course, you would.” 

***

“Are you really going to tutor him?” Hermione asks, her eyes going wide as she refers to Tom Riddle, emphasising the seriousness of the matter. “Of course she’s not.” Ron says, as you simultaneously answer. “Of course I am.” Both stare at you, but you turn and walk in the direction of the reserved classroom. “What if he murders you?” Ron asks, immediately exaggerating the situation.

“Now why would I do that?” Tom’s calm voice sends shivers down your friends’ spins, making them turn on their heels to see Tom casually walking up to them. “When you gossip and accuse people, make sure you're not doing it in the middle of a hallway, where everyone can hear you.” Tom walks past them and ignores their judgy staring to give you a polite but obviously forced smile. 

With your friends now left behind in the hallway, Tom carefully observes you as you enter the classroom and place your books and notes on a desk. The slytherin was quick to notice that your skirt was a little higher that Hogwarts regulations demanded. As prefect he would normally have something to say about it, but for you Tom would let it slide this time. “I know you’re intelligent enough to study most of the material yourself, but some things can’t be explained in books and need to be practised so I suggest we start with some spells.” Your voice sounds deliciously sweet to Tom and you elegantly take a few steps towards him when you notice he was staring a little. “Sounds good.” Tom says, but there was something uneasy about his voice. He felt himself captivated by your eyes and there was an unusual pause for a man always quick with his words. 

You observe him quietly and bite your lip a bit as he stands rather stiff and unmoving. “Your wand.” You whisper, closing the space between you two. Tom looks at you questioningly for a moment before remembering that you were his tutor and that whatever he was imagining wasn't actually happening. “Oh, right.” You know very well that you almost have him under your spell. Just one little move and you would have Tom Riddle wrapped around your finger. 

Part of Tom knew you were playing games, but he found himself enjoying your little game. You had his attention. “I will show you how to cast the spell Mcgonagall referred to earlier in class.” Tom nods, trying to focus on studying rather than the perfect figure standing so close to him. Without warning you place a hand on his biceps and slowly move it down to his underarm to finally hold his hand, holding his wand. Your back is now pushed against his as you guide Tom’s hand to cast the spell. However, the Slytherin is not hearing a word since he’s too focused on getting his heart down to a normal rate. He was terrified that you would figure out how out of control he felt. He could not let his stoic image fall because of one teasing tutor. “You understand?” You break his train of thoughts, gently tilting your head. Your eyes meet his and he’s sure there’s a challenging glint in your eyes. He smirks, confident that’s not fallen for you, but his arrogance disappears when your brows knit together questioningly. “Tom, did you follow?” He finally manages to pull away from your eyes and look at his hand in yours. His cheeks heat up. No, he hadn’t followed at all and now he looked like a complete idiot. Your fingers gently move. “Don’t worry, I’ll explain it again.” You softly lick your lips and smile, making Tom curse himself internally. She’s winning.

Picture source: https://pin.it/62WhX4ivf & https://pin.it/6FeGzeu5D

[missmonsters2]

🥶

WandaNat

Pairing: WandaNat x Fem!Reader

Warnings: awkward!reader. clint slander. WandaNat no mercy.

Note: i miss them

Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Count: 999 (🧍‍♀️)

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

This was your worst nightmare—trapped between the bodies of two incredibly hot, kind, and funny women. 

And no, it wasn't in the sexy way—your brain refused to even let you go down that route. You'd implode at even the slightest thought of it. 

This was Clint's fault, you quietly seethed, plotting his gruesome murder that could later be turned into a true crime podcast. Laura will have to be a widowed single mother, and the children will have to grow up fatherless, but surely it was for the best. 

"Come down to visit us!" Clint said to you, your mind mimicking his voice unflatteringly. "It's been way too long since you guys came to stay with us."

It was a normal occurrence; you thought nothing of it. You, Wanda, and Natasha often went to stay with Clint and his family quarterly. Natasha visited more with her girlfriend, Wanda, and they invited you every time, but you settled that four times a year was enough. 

It was usually fun, and the time spent was enjoyable, so you really had thought nothing about it.

Until Clint decided he was actually the incarnate of the devil and condemned you for some undisclosed sin. 

"Oh, you three are cool sharing a room, right? The other spare bedroom is under renovation. I mean, one of you can take the couch but I highly don't recommend it with what the kids have spilled on it over the years."

No, it wasn't okay, you wanted to say at the time, but Wanda and Natasha nonchalantly waved Clint off and told him it was fine, and the conversation breezed on, never to be returned to again. 

Why would he invite all three of you if there wasn't enough space!? You tried to tell Wanda and Natasha that you could drive to the nearest hotel at night, but they looked at you strangely and asked if you hated them. It was jokingly, but you could hear a tinge of hurt in their voice, which silenced you from offering to leave again. 

But now you were suffering. 

The bed was way too small for three people but left enough room for just a couple of inches to keep you from coming into skin-to-skin contact with either redhead.

You stared at the ceiling, despite being unable to make out any details of the room in the darkness. 

Why the fuck were you in the middle?

You should've been on the edge. At least then, you could hang half your body off it to keep some distance. 

You started at the edge of the bed—make no mistake. But then Natasha came to your side and asked you to scootch over. You assumed she preferred sleeping on the right side, so you started to make your way down to the other side. But then, to your horror, Wanda climbed in from the other end, effectively trapping you in the middle. 

The words were caught in your throat as you tried to force them out and ask if you could have the edge, but Natasha and Wanda mumbled their goodnights before promptly falling asleep. 

This was unacceptable; you mentally cried. This was—weird. You know that Wanda and Natasha have been together for ages, and they probably didn't care, but it was strange to be in the middle of them like this. You're way too awkward for this. 

It brought up the unwanted feelings you've been trying to get rid of for months. 

The worst part was that it was winter, and this room was so fucking cold. Was Clint going through financial hardship? Why isn't there any heat in this room?

You wished him ill, you wished him ill, you wished bad things upon Clint Barton. 

You shifted, trying to pull the blanket up higher and shrink yourself to retain some of the heat. You turned on your side, facing Wanda's back, and frowned. You could practically feel the heat radiating off her and wanted to scoot away from her. But you couldn't. You'd scoot right into Natasha, who was also radiating heat as she faced your back.

At this moment, you hated them for being so unaware of their temptations. 

You swallowed. Moving a little closer to Wanda wouldn't be too bad, right? Just to steal a bit more of her warmth, so you could fall asleep and wake up early to get out of bed. 

You scooted a little closer, your nose just inches away from her back since there wasn't much wiggle room. Her heat emitted off her like a goddamn fireplace, and you sighed a little at the warmth on your nose and the parts of your cheeks. 

It was still pretty cold, and you shivered a little. 

Your movement seemed to wake Wanda as she lifted her head to look around at you. You looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Turning back, Wanda lay her head back down and shut her eyes with a yawn. 

You started to scoot back to where you were, but Wanda grabbed your wrist from under the blanket and pulled it over her waist as she shuffled back into you.

The warmth pressed against your front jolted you, and you were stiff, despite how good it felt. 

"любимая, she's cold," Wanda mumbled in the dark as she threaded her fingers through yours.

Wanda was clearly speaking to Natasha because the redhead behind you shifted and moved closer until she was pressed against your back snuggly. Her arms wrapped around your midsection as she tangled her legs through yours. 

You wanted to die. 

You wanted to kill Clint Barton and then run into oncoming traffic. 

"Um," you croaked. 

"Is this better?" Natasha mumbled sleepily, and she was so close you felt her lips move against your shoulder. 

No.

Yes.

No.

"Uh," you dragged out before finally deciding with an awkward stiff, "Yes."

It was warm—almost too warm now. You closed your eyes with a silent groan. 

You weren't getting any sleep tonight.

[ducktoo]

Syncing Dream [Aespa x M!Reader]

9. Reveluv

Note: hold on, you’re reading the right series. Just enjoy lol

Masterlist here

The buzz of excitement had been building for weeks. Aespa’s highly anticipated collaboration with Red Velvet was finally here, and it seemed like the entire company was on edge with excitement. But none more so than Y/n, who was—by all accounts—a certified Reveluv. He had tried to keep his enthusiasm under wraps, of course, but anyone who worked closely with him knew that his particular bias for Seulgi was impossible to hide.

As Aespa prepared for their big day, Y/n could feel the familiar nerves creeping in. Not because of the responsibility of organising such a large-scale collaboration, but because he knew he’d be in close proximity to Red Velvet’s Seulgi—the one and only.

“Y/n, you’re looking unusually peppy today,” Giselle teased, noticing his attempt to hide his excitement as they got ready in the studio.

“What? No, this is just my normal face,” Y/n mumbled, fidgeting with a clipboard.

“Uh-huh,” Ningning drawled, smirking. “Your ‘normal’ face that happens to glow whenever we mention Seulgi-unnie?”

Y/n’s ears turned red, but he didn’t have a comeback ready. He was too busy mentally preparing himself for what was about to happen: hours of rehearsals, and meetings, and potentially humiliating fanboy moments. Great.

Despite trained there at the same time as Winter, he actually never meet Red Velvet. He only became a fan when he left for a while.

So for today, he is both a manager and a Reveluv.

As the door opened and Red Velvet stepped into the studio, Y/n’s heart leaped into his throat. He could feel the energy shift as Aespa greeted their seniors with deep bows and warm smiles. Karina and Winter exchanged polite words with Irene and Joy, while Ningning and Giselle bonded instantly with Wendy and Yeri.

"Oh, Y/n-ah!" Minji, their manager, greeted him excitedly. "Finally, my first junior is working with me."

"Hi, noona. I'm excited as well." Y/n bowed. Suddenly, Minji scooted both of them into the side.

"Have fun gawking over our Seul." Minji smirked. "The girls bailed out on you for comedic relief."

"Of course they do…" Y/n muttered.

"Anyway…have fun!" Minji exclaimed before turning over to the girls. "Seulgi-ya! Can you come here please?"

"Ok!"

And then, there she was—Seulgi.

Y/n had met idols before. He had spent countless hours with Aespa and other artists, coordinating schedules, handling logistics, and ensuring everything ran smoothly. But this was different. Seulgi was, well... Seulgi.

"Seulgi, this is-"

“Y/n, right?” Seulgi smiled as she approached him, her voice as warm and friendly as he’d always imagined. "I heard from Minjeong about her hardworking best friend."

Y/n blinked, his brain short-circuiting. “Y-Yeah! I mean, yes, that’s me. I’m Y/n. Manager of Aespa. Yep, that’s who I am.”

The girls of Aespa exchanged knowing looks, barely suppressing their giggles at Y/n’s obvious awkwardness. He tried to keep his cool, reminding himself that he had a job to do. But internally, he was screaming.

Seulgi just smiled wider, clearly amused by his reaction. “Well, it’s nice to meet you officially. We’re really excited about this collaboration with our junior.”

“I-I’m excited too! Really, really excited,” Y/n blurted out before clearing his throat, hoping to regain some semblance of professionalism. “I mean, on behalf of Aespa, we’re all really looking forward to this.”

Seulgi chuckled softly before heading over to join her members, leaving Y/n standing there, frozen in place.

-

Trying to focus on logistics when Seulgi was right there was proving to be difficult. Every time Y/n glanced in her direction, his heart would skip a beat, and it didn’t help that Aespa, particularly Ningning and Giselle, seemed to be enjoying his internal struggle way too much.

“Idiot, are you okay?” Winter asked, feigning concern as she watched him fumble with the equipment setup.

“I’m fine, Jeong” Y/n muttered, clearly not fine. “Just, uh, making sure everything’s perfect for... you know... the performance.”

Karina smirked. “For the performance? Or for Seulgi-unnie?”

Y/n shot her a withering look, but the effect was lost when he nearly dropped his clipboard. Giselle and Ningning couldn’t hold back their laughter anymore, while Winter just shook her head, clearly enjoying his suffering.

"Stuff you all."

As the rehearsals went on, things only got worse. At one point, Y/n found himself standing too close to Seulgi during a break, and he nearly knocked over a mic stand trying to back away gracefully. Seulgi just laughed it off, but Y/n could feel his face burning.

At the end of the day, though, everything came together beautifully. The chemistry between Aespa and Red Velvet was electric, and the joint practice was nothing short of magical. Y/n had been so focused on keeping everything running smoothly that he had barely processed how incredible it all looked until he saw it from backstage. Watching both groups in perfect harmony, dancing and singing together, was a dream come true—not just for fans, but for him personally.

As the performance ended, Y/n stood in awe, his heart swelling with pride. Both groups had nailed it, and the crowd’s reaction was proof of that.

-

The after-dinner was a blur of get together and shared excitement. Both Aespa and Red Velvet were in high spirits, celebrating their bonds with food and laughter. Y/n, still riding the high from the practice, was doing his best to keep his cool, but the occasional glance at Seulgi kept his fanboy tendencies in check.

Ningning, however, wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “So, Y/n,” she started with a sly grin, “I saw Seulgi-unnie looking your way during practice. You should totally ask for a picture.”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard. “What? No, I can’t just... I mean… Ya Ning, it's mean to give me high hopes.”

“She’s right,” Karina chimed in, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “It’s your chance. You’ve been a fan for years, right?”

“Yeah, and we can all tell,” Giselle teased. “You’ve been holding it together pretty well today, but come on—don’t miss this.”

Before Y/n could protest, he found himself being nudged forward by the girls, his feet carrying him toward Seulgi before his brain could catch up. His heart pounded in his chest as he approached her, still unsure of what he was going to say.

“Seulgi-sunbaenim,” he started, his voice a little shaky.

She turned to him with that same warm smile, and Y/n felt his nerves melt away—just a little. “Yes, Y/n?”

“I-I was wondering,” he stammered, “if it’d be okay to take a picture with you. Just... you know, for the memories.”

Seulgi’s smile widened, and without hesitation, she agreed. “Of course! Let’s take one.”

Y/n could hardly believe it as they stood together, smiling for the camera. The girls, watching from the sidelines, couldn’t contain their giggles, knowing how much this moment meant to him.

Afterward, Y/n stared at the picture on his phone, barely able to process what had just happened. It wasn’t just a photo—it was a treasured memory, one that he knew he’d look back on for years.

-

The night continued with more laughter and celebration. Red Velvet and Aespa were mingling, the two groups bonding over their shared experience and the success of their collaboration.

At some point, Y/n found himself sitting with both groups, listening to the girls talk about their favourite moments from practice. The atmosphere was relaxed, the tension of rehearsals and preparation long gone.

Seulgi, sitting nearby, caught his eye and gave him a knowing smile. “You did great today, Y/n. It’s not easy organising something like this, but everything turned out perfect.”

Y/n, still reeling from his fanboy moment, could only nod. “Thank you, Seulgi-sunbaenim. It was... an honour.”

"Ayy, call me Seulgi-noona, now. We're way past acquaintance at this point."

"Ah ok…Seulgi-noona.."

"…Ya Seulgi, you broke him." Minji joked.

"Unnie, you're so mean." Winter followed suit.

As the evening came to a close, Y/n found himself quietly reflecting on the day (after finally coming into his sense). It had been a whirlwind of excitement and nerves, but in the end, everything had come together in ways he never expected.

He smiled to himself, the photo of him and Seulgi saved on his phone like a cherished trophy. Today had been a dream come true—and he knew that, no matter how many more events he organised in the future, this collaboration would always hold a special place in his heart.

…Of course, it doesn’t top the first picture of him and Winter smiling together when they first joined SM.

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc! as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER EIGHT — SEWN UP

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you'd need a hacksaw to cut the tension between you and eddie, but that's not your weapon of choice this time around. a newspaper pitch, a patchwork girl and a tasteless prank all work together to make things ever more awkward between you and the boy you keep senselessly calling your friend. content warnings: MINORS DNI, THIS IS NOT SAFE FOR YOUR PURITAN EYES - reader is an ex-bitch on a journey of self-discovery through being an even more specific kind of bitch, angst in the form of an elizabeth munson mention, miscommunication, lacy engaging non-platonically with someone other than eddie, mention of lacy's surname and dad's name, REEFER RICK CAMEO, billy hargrove slander as per, violence, a humiliating prank, smut in the form of public hand stuff (f!receiving), me feeling insane about this chapter word count: 14.3k

Dear Mom,

She hasn’t got warm hands. She hasn’t got the kind of smile that draws people to her. She hasn’t got a kind word for everyone, no matter where they come from. She hasn’t got a lot of patience. She hasn’t got a fixed sense of herself–well, she does kinda. But, not totally. Not yet. 

She’s not like you.

Other cheerleaders wore ponytails and they’d bounce. But when she wore a ponytail, it swung like a sword. She used to be cruel and exacting, but now she’s just exacting. She’s honest and observant to a degree that’s, like, almost psycho. She’s a cold front, but she laughs like a lightning strike. I feel like thunder, powerless to do anything but roll after her. Can’t help myself. 

She knows what she wants, she thinks. Other days she doesn’t. I keep trying to tell her that’s okay, in ways where I don’t actually have to use the words. My words wouldn’t be as good as her words. Her words burn clean through me like a lit tip of a cigarette. 

But she does have your book. 

Y’know, I always thought it was kind of creepy the way some guys would try and look for their mom in other girls. 

So this might be a good thing. Less Oedipus-y, more ea–… 

Shit. I was gonna say something I’m so sure you’d smack me around the head for. But you’re not here to do that. I might be in better shape with this girl if you were.

Anyway. I miss you. 

Eddie Munson stands in the midst of an incredibly awkward aftermath. 

See, for two people so purportedly self-assured, he in his freakshow roguishness and you in your prim-perfect knife-edge sharpness, you’re both entirely dogshit at acknowledging… well… anything. 

You both tried to snap back to normal so quickly, with Wheeler and her science experiment pregnancy scare smashing through the ice. But the water underneath that ice is still freezing cold– and you’re both pretending you’re not gasping for air, pretending like you don’t remember gasping for each other’s lips. 

This is totally cool. This is totally fine.

And then Eddie comes to see you at The Bookstore, which has become just as routine as nearly never brushing his hair, and sees you fixing your seller’s tag to your pick of the week. Your face in that arresting, self-conscious smile that he wants to melt off with the blowtorch of his mouth. 

It’s The Patchwork Girl of Oz by L. Frank Baum. 

Now, he noticed that you would habitually drop writers’ names into conversation like they were your lit professors– Didion said this, Bukowski said that, Bronte yadda, Burroughs yadda. Always some genius-adjacent, formative-thinking, socio-politico-boffo brainwad, more often than not with a substance abuse kick that you romanticized from a safe distance.

But then you unearth this book, a green clothback cover yellowing with age and roughness, red and yellow inlaid titling blasting out a name he ought to know. It makes his visual memory brrrrrrring! like a bright red tomato shaped kitchen timer.

The Patchwork Girl of Oz was with Elizabeth Munson wherever she went. Her records were her plane tickets, her escape to another world, but you couldn’t take your records with you to the hospital. Escaping to Oz was a decent substitute. She must have read it a bajillion times; she even took to calling Wayne Unc Nunkie after the elderly munchkin who only ever had one word for anybody. And whenever Eddie would drop an egg when they were baking or come running through the house with his knees all cut up, she’d coo, “Oh, my li’l Ojo the Unlucky!”

The book lingered everywhere– on the kitchen counter of the house on Pennsylvania,on the vinyl seat of the booth at the now-shuttered Benny’s when she could afford to take Eddie for a treat, on her bedside table. 

Up until the end. 

It knocks the wind out of Eddie when he sees it on the display shelf. He does a bad job of hiding that. 

“What, too shocked to make fun of me?” you say, perching yourself on the rickety stool behind the counter, and your voice betrays a little embarrassment. “That’s a first.”

“I–... huh?” He tears his eyes away from the book long enough to catch the specks of blush high on your cheeks.

“It’s not my usual flavor, I know, but I’m capable of whimsy too.”

“Why that one?” His limbs feel stony like Unc Nunkie’s, as much as he wants to languidly lean over the counter and bother you like he always does. 

You shrug, but you tilt the opposite shoulder. A reverse, a peek behind the looking glass. He notices that about you, which goddamn shoulder is your shrugging preference. 

“I think it was one of the first books I kept checking out of the library when I was little,” you say, glancing back at the display, “It’s about this poor little kid who has to find a way to reverse a spell on his uncle who’s been turned to stone, and the eponymous patchwork girl is–”

“I know the story.” It comes out a little blunter than Eddie was intending it to. So much so that it knocks you back a beat. 

“Oh,” you say shortly, eyes flaring down at the counter. “No need to cut me off mid-stream about it.” 

Eddie winces, knowing he’s coming across as weird and stilted but with no idea how to safely climb down. “No, just– I know the story, yeah. My mom…” That is not a safe dismount, dummy! “...she… liked it a lot.”

“Yeah?” your tone stays even, yanked back from him a little. He wants to be like, sorrysorrysorry. “She ever read it to you?”

“A bunch, actually.” 

“No shit.” The corners of your mouth tick up. “Wanna hear something super dorky?”

Just the mere invitation of your little smile loosens him up a bit. Eddie twists a ring around his finger, head kicking to his shoulder as his foot kicks to the counter. “Always,” he says, squinting. 

You straighten your spine up on your stool and clear your throat. Hand goes over your heart, like you’re about to recite the damn declaration. Your eyes shutter closed. 

“Here’s a job for a boy of brains– a drop of oil from a live man’s veins; a six-leaved clover; three nice hairs, from a Woozy’s tail, the book declares; are needed for a magic spell, and water from a pitch-dark well– the yellow wing from a butterfly to find must Ojo also try; and if he gets them without harm, Doc Pipt will make the magic charm; but if he doesn’t get ‘em, Unc…” your crack one eye open. “...will always stand a marble chunk.”

Eddie is silent for… for a while. For a good handful of heartbeats, for a beat so long that makes you knit your brow up, your eyes needling into him. Eddie’s looking at you with rose-colored soft focus. His elbows are eagerly pitched on the counter now, chin in his hands. The last person to recite those words to him was his mom, her voice raspy and tired but still willing to read to him. She hadn’t smelled like herself. It was sad.

And now, your voice, with all its snippy chainmail thrown off, gone all soft and lyrical and dedicated. 

He thinks about a littler you, one he could vaguely pick out of a lineup if he really, really tried, criss-cross applesauce and pouring over that book so often that that little spell jams itself into your brain. 

The mage before she donned the mink coat.

Eddie is looking at you and can’t force his heart out of his throat. 

Well, until he can.

“Ew,” he cringes.

“What?!” you exclaim, your eyes getting all incredulous and kind of mad. 

“And they call me a fuckin’ nerd, what the hell was that?” Eddie’s laughing, mocking, not with his whole heart. But it’s enough to make you scoff, irritated with him again. 

See, you thought you were being cute and he knows you thought you were being cute. He needs to put you back in a place where you’re marginally unlikeable enough to just be a friend. 

Restore the natural order. Don’t think about how he wants to recite that same verse back to you in front of an ordained Elvis in Vegas. Because he would, in a heartbeat. If he wasn’t committed to not being stupid. 

Christ, you’re pretty. Christ, he’s gonna do something stupid.

“You are… completely undateable, you know that?” he nods ferociously, eyes trailing you as you cross out from behind the counter and head for a box of books that need to be shelved. All uh-huhs and sure, Eddies. The bell on the front door jangles and a customer passes behind him. 

He yells after you, voice traveling down whatever winding path you’ve taken through the stacks. “You with your black and white movies and your twat rock and your Wizard of Oz… baby, what crowd are you even playing to?” 

“What crowd am I playing to? What crowd are you playing to?!” you seethe, shuffling the ten-tonne box of books down the aisle with your feet. “Fucking baggie-pushing, guitar-brutalizing, board-game-...maker-...upper!”

“Woah. Wit’s unmatched as usual, Lace.”

This fucking guy. This fucking guy. You try and do one darling little thing, you just recite a little piece of a book his dead mom used to read to him or whatever, and you get verbally bashed! God forbid, god forbid you let the fucking drawbridge down for half a second! This blows! 

You’re trying to be less of a bitch, in case you idiots didn’t notice!

It’s kind of inexplicable, how sensitive you’re feeling about this. Could be that since you kissed and since you pinkie-swore with Nancy Wheeler in the bombed-out boys bathroom, you kind of felt as if you were standing on a blade’s edge with Eddie. Not knowing where to put your hands, not knowing how much or how little to joke around. Not entirely happy with your moment of madness at the Ecker trailer. Not entirely happy that it hadn’t happened again. 

But you’re not about to apologize. Not to him. Don Rickles in a battle vest over there. Must he always just poke you like that?!

“You’re undateable!” You shove a bunch of books aside on the shelf. “Me, I’m cu–...”

Right through the shelf, a customer stares at you. Your voice dies in your throat because, unfortunately, he’s looking right at you in your flurry of annoyance toward Eddie. And unfortunately, this stranger, he’s a little… 

“What were you gonna say?” he asks, closing Gravity’s Rainbow. 

“Cute.”

Guy smiles, doesn’t break eye contact with you for a second. He’s wearing a sweater. He looks fresh out of somewhere stone walled with crawling ivy. “I’d attest to that.”

You forget about Eddie– just for a second. Gesturing to Gravity’s Rainbow, you say, “Gonna attempt to finish that?”

“What’s that mean?” His grin is infectious, or maybe you’re just starved for this kind of attention. 

“Nothing,” you say, with a little more tongue than you need to, “Just, I don’t know of anyone that’s ever finished that behemoth.” 

Well, you don’t know of a lot of people that read the way you do either. But, digression. He raps a knuckle against the cover of the book and for some reason, you feel it in your belly. 

“I always finish,” he tells you. 

“Do you now?”

That’s the longest you’ve been quiet in a hot minute, and that’s the kind of thing that gets under Eddie’s skin. Chain on his jeans jangling, he starts off into the creaking labyrinth of lined-up bookcases. 

“What, did you expire back here or something…” he mutters, a little whine in his tone– play with me, play with me, even though I’m being kind of a dick to you–

He sees you, a book lying lax in your arms, your body swaying to and fro and you’re–

“--talkin’ to yourself, Lacy? Great look. Real honeytrap, if you’re lookin’ to catch some imaginary di–”

“Eddie,” you grit at him, and he spots the whole other human male you’re talking to through the stacks. Well, not just talking to. Not with that body language. 

This dude tilts his chin to Eddie. “Hey, man. I remember you. Didn’t you used to sell dimebags in the woods outside school?”

Fire flares in Eddie’s gut. He vaguely recognizes this guy– class of ‘83 or ‘82, not remarkable enough to be hateable but now, he’s certainly collegiate looking enough to be… distracting to you. So, annoying to him. 

“Why, man? You lookin’ to buy? Or just cruise some high schooler tail?”

“Eddie!” you hiss again and he scoffs like, really?! You turn back to this… whoever the fuck. “C’mon, I’ll check you out.”

“You’ll check him out, huh?” Eddie sneers, bearing over you as you pass him in the aisle. Body heat breezing right by, face a mask of sheer disgust. Impulse talks; it totally wants to just grab you and throw you behind him and– well, he hasn’t thought that far ahead yet. But he’s creative. Who the fuck even is this guy? Where did he come from?

“That you?” this guy says, jerking his head toward the staff display, toward The Patchwork Girl of Oz. “Lacy?”

“To my friends and co-conspirators,” you say, ringing up that godawful Pynchon book. 

“Which one was that guy?” he asks, watching you jot out his receipt on the carbon copy pad because for whatever reason, Ivana’s cash register is from the fucking 1800s and she refuses to upgrade to anything with a thermal printer. “Friend? Co-conspirator? … boyfriend?”

You wrinkle your nose. And don’t exactly answer, but it’s enough confirmation for him. 

“Good. Say, why don’t you jot down your number on this thing?” He pushes the receipt back to you. “I can keep you updated on my Pynchon progress. You can… see if I’m good enough to co-conspire with.” 

You like this approach. In fact, you love this approach, because you hadn’t been earnestly picked up in… forever. And he has this certain je ne sais quoi about him, something that screams moved out of state for college. You stay grinning, biting your lip for a good breath or two after he leaves the store. 

Then Eddie appears in your peripheral, like some terrible harbinger of embarrassment. 

“Undateable, huh?” you say, fully aware that he was earwigging on that whole exchange because he’s a nosy bitch and he can’t help himself. Glutton for gossip. 

“You don’t have to throw yourself at the first person who walks in the store just to prove a point, baby,” Eddie tells you, this big face of condescension. You want to smack it off him so bad your palms are itching. 

You huff and backtrack to where that box of unshelved books sits. “Maybe I’m tired of waiting around.”

—

Ronnie Ecker and Robin Buckley are looking each other in the eye, wolf-whistling furtively when you elbow open the door of the gym. 

“You’re flat. I’m telling you you’re flat,” Ronnie’s insisting, an adorable three inches away from Robin’s face. 

“I can’t be flat! A mouth whistle cannot be flat!”

It’s marching band practice. You don’t know what the hell goes on in here and you know better than to ask. 

“Would you two get a room already?” you call, heels clicking across the glossed wood of the gym. These dorks have all got their feathered hats and bibs on, a kind of half-assed dress rehearsal for some pep rally they’re having on Friday. You missed the bulletin– kind of stopped paying attention, actually. Extracurricular distraction is a hell of a drug. 

“Excuse me, this is a closed–” that’s the voice of Miss Genovese, the band teacher, stomping down from the bleachers in these tragic little loafers with the pleather peeling off. She makes it about halfway toward you, then this exasperated look washes right over her. The teacher dashes for the double doors and you point after her with a freshly painted red index finger. New lease on looking good. 

“And that is?”

“Like, the third time in the last hour,” Ronnie shakes her head, taking her flamboyant little hat off. “Biggest running theory is morning sickness.”

What, is pregnancy like, catching or something? you’re about to muse.

“It’s almost contagious, right?” Robin says, tugging at her clip-on collar, “I mean, first your whole thing and now–” 

Ronnie doesn't even have a chance to gesture for her to ixnay! before she slams pause on herself, eyes wide and all shit, did I say that out loud?! Your eyes narrow in return. That’s suspicious.

“What whole thing? My whole what?”

Ever and eternally knowing when to call it, Ronnie holds a hand up before Robin can even start to scramble an apology and serve it to you. Panther versus a precious little puppy dog– the fight ain’t even fair. 

“Nothing. Scuttlebutt bullshit, the usual,” she rolls her eyes, throws a sympathetic glance to Robin who winces and retreats. Huh.

“What’s going on with you two?” you ask, crossing your legs over the bottom rung of the bleachers.

This actually makes Ronnie’s expression soften a little– her eyes race back in Robin’s direction and you swear you catch a blush. “Also nothing! Compound nothing. Why, does it look like…”

Lips purse into a little satisfied grin. Knew it. Toldja. Point to Lacy. “Looks like whatever you want it to look like.”

Ronnie reaches forward and waves her feathered hat in your face– stop being so observant! You cough in protest– ew, I don’t know where that thing has been! 

“Whatever! What brings you to geek church?” 

“That’s what they’re calling it now?”

“Stick around, we’ll start speaking in tongues.” 

“Satanic Panic bringing about a fun new turn for the pep rally! Put some God back into that wind instrument,” you croon. “No, I actually wanted your thoughts on something.”

Ronnie raises her eyebrows and you feel like you oughta mirror her. You’re not usually one to seek out a second opinion, but the more you’ve gotten to know Ronnie, the more you see that she’ll tell you how it is. Especially now that you’ve dispersed with the whole intimidating it-girl cloud and she’s stopped pretending to be shy.

“I know. I’m shocked too.”

“I’m honored,” she swings her shoulders in girlish delight, “Dish it up, Doevski.”

“Okay, so,” you clap, hiking forward on your creaking bleacher, “I’ve been seeing this guy–”

“--this is the bookstore guy?”

A blink and a beat. “How’d you know about that?”

A face that has Eddie told me with footnotes of and he was kind of jealous scrawled all over it stares back at you. “I ‘unno, maybe I overheard…”

“Doesn’t matter.” You slice a hand through the air, no time for this right now. “Facts are facts, I’ve been hanging out with this guy,” interesting change of phraseology, considering, “and he’s a college guy–”

“If they could see you now.” The royal court of Hawkins, obviously. Older guys are generally an accomplishment. But Ronnie’s half-jesting. 

“--I know, shut up. But, he mentioned something that would absolutely rock my college applications is a really, really great–”

“--feature in the Streak?” you’d gasped out in the back of his Ford Cortina (how very European!). College guy’s mouth was on your neck and his hand was inching into your shirt, playing at a faux placket of pearl buttons. Boys can never tell a real button from a fake one, apparently, even if they go to an East Coast school. I mean, shit! You’d gleaned enough information from him over a shake at the diner; relatively well-to-do family that lived near the Wheelers on Maple and kind of underwhelming taste in lit for an English major. 

But he maintained eye contact and listened to your witty little bon mots, even if he didn’t… laugh at them. One thing led to another and thus, the backseat college advisory-slash-makeout session. 

“Yeah, yeah, they love that shit…” he’d said, moving to your mouth in order to swallow any forthcoming words. But his words had piqued your interest more than his fingers had. 

“What about an underdog story?” you said, eyes kind of hazing over in the middle distance. 

“Sure, underdog, great…” college guy grabbed ahold of your leg and tugged you into him, “We can talk more about it later, okay?”

“Okay–”

“–okay?”

Ronnie grimaces. “I didn’t need that much detail.”

“Yes, you did.” You stare at her. “I’m a storyteller.”

Ronnie chews the proposal over a little, cheeks kind of bunched up in confusion. Behind her, band geeks badly hide their hickeys and exhibit too-gangly, too-obvious body language. No inspiration to be tapped from there.

“An underdog story… on the society pages? Like, who could you possibly–”

You smile that awful, conniving smile, because you came in here armed. “Ye of little faith.”

“Oh, no,” Ronnie says, and honestly, you’re a little taken aback by that reaction, “Hellfire?”

A shrug pulls your shoulders right up, rapidly on the defense. “Why not, right?” 

“Why not– Lacy, you almost guillotined Jeff that one time he asked you.”

True that you hadn’t had the inches of article to spare for Hellfire Club in not-too-ancient history, but, “That was then, this is now! World’s changing– and it’s topical!”

The whole Satanic panic thing really did tickle your funny bone; and you saw yourself having a little fun with that by turning the focus on Hellfire. Subverting Eddie’s cult-leader mythos to show that he is just a kid who might have a propensity for telling a good story, surrounded by other kids who want to get a word in. You’re not looking to turn the tide on his reputation or anything but maybe… y’know. You could do the admirable journalistic thing and scratch the surface a bit. Show what you’ve learned. 

It’s a challenge. You love a challenge.

“And it’s a good excuse to get in Eddie’s face,” Ronnie’s voice breaks through. 

There is a lonnng beat, one you hold like the last shoes in your size at a sample sale. Your mouth keeps going to make the words yeah, right or it’s not about him! or y’know, something to exonerate you from the notion.

“I know he isn’t…” Ronnie trails off, coming to sit next to you. “that he’s kind of being weird to you right now.” 

Go ahead and feign that ignoramus, girl. Shoulders quirking and all. 

“Oh. Is he?”

And then Ronnie says maybe the dumbest thing on the planet, regarding the abominable sitch between you and Eddie Munson. 

“You should just talk to him.”

“Ecker, there’s fruitless efforts and then there’s barren wasteland,” you scoff, “Guess which category proposing this to Eddie falls into.”

“That’s not what I–”

J’excuse, Ronnie, but you don’t care! Because this isn’t actually about anything other than getting all of those dice-throwing dorks, including Miss Ecker herself, into your damn paper. Okay?

“We have to ambush him! Element of surprise, that’s it,” you smile primly and hop off the bleachers. “I’m just going to show up at Hellfire, photographer in hand and– he won’t have a choice, will he?”

Ronnie’s expression is a mask of reproachfulness. You don’t let it shake you. You’re a cat playing with a now-endless ball of yarn, and you’re unshakeable. 

“He’s such a sucker for attention,” you say, tossing your hair, and it sounds a lot more like you’re convincing yourself than anyone else in this echoey gym, “He won’t be able to resist.”

—

Reefer Rick doesn’t call, unless it’s an emergency. All of his communication is inbound, or passed through a shoulder check and a goofy smile at Melvald’s, or a nod of the head across the pool table at The Hideout. He doesn’t frequent there so much, because Bev knows he’s a pool shark and ever since ‘Nam, his ears are a little too sensitive to all that metal racket, man! By all means, rock on, but by then I gotta go rock-a-bye myself to sleep, alright? Anyway, that’s how Eddie knows to ride over to his place, if it’s not through a call he’s placed himself. 

You need me, kid, you come and find me. 

So when Eddie gets a call that says, “We gotta pow-wow, ese,” his nerves are set on edge. Not that he wasn’t feeling bad enough, what with the fact that some douchebag in a Cortina had picked you up and dropped you off to school the last couple of days. What with the fact he had actively dogged the car down a little bit of the road from the trailer park with his van, resisting every temptation to just run it all the way off into a ditch. And what with the fact he didn’t know what to say to you about that without it coming out in an anti-missive of jealousy! jealousy! jealousy! so what he did say to you was… nothing. 

You two can’t maintain a consistent line of communication to save your lives, he realizes. There’s too much left unsaid, and the both of you are too stubborn or too scared to say any of it. Or even think it, in his case! The amount of times he’d had to slap himself sober, his brain going into overdrive thinking, if I had just told her… It’s a ‘friendship’, if you can even call it that, based on barbs and bad behavior and doing things because you know you shouldn’t. For the thrill. Right?

Like. Whatever. It’s not like he’d made tapes of a half dozen Black Sabbath albums because you mentioned you wanted to ‘study up’ on that ‘monster music’ he’s making. It’s not like you’d given him an annotated copy of Still Life with Woodpecker because he wanted to throw some ‘nonsensical curveball shit’ into a later Hellfire campaign. 

It’s not like Eddie missed you– he just… should have seen this coming, is all. He’s used to getting left in the dust while people move onto better things, or whatever. 

God, Munson, your voice taunts him from somewhere in his hippocampus, need some help nailing yourself to that crucifix?

Anyway, fuck, Rick called him. 

Rick had gotten out of lockup about a month ago– some truncated charge or another that Eddie didn’t bother asking too much about, mostly because… well, Rick hadn’t really been himself. Larger and brighter than the sun itself, the great and powerful lion of a man that oozed life ain’t shit if you ain’t havin’ fun energy, Rick had kind of dimmed. Lost a lot of weight while he was inside. Came back a little bit twitchy and fluent in Spanglish, for some reason.

Eddie was worried, because of all the adult figures in his life, Rick was meant to be the one with levity. He’d lost out on a fun uncle when Wayne stepped into his father-figure role. Al was nothing but a dangerous bit player. Rick, he could rely on. 

Thinking back to that infamous day when he had gotten loaded at Lipton Landing, before he picked up you and Ronnie, before he… well, you know the rest but, Eddie had sensed that Rick could use the company. He kind of tried to poke it out of him, whatever was wrong. Didn’t work. They had just watched The Godfather in a tense-ish silence and doofed a lot of joints. Sorta freaked him out.

Eddie’s crushing gravel on the descent to the infamously slanted Lipton Landing for his summons. There’s a hum that seems to traverse the window panes, a fond plucking work that could only belong to Link Wray. He puts the van in park and jogs up the steps to the front door, bracing himself for the pungent plume of skunk smoke that always greets him.

“Eduardo,” Rick’s voice curls around the greeting like smoke curls out of his mouth and he yanks Eddie over the threshold. Door slams, arm tightens around his shoulders. “You’re here.”

Rick’s always a handsy sorta guy–not like that!–but this grab makes him seize a little. 

“You rang,” Eddie says, voice lilting, “Everything okay?”

Rick clutches him by the shoulders and looks at him for a long, long time. Uncomfortably long. How has he managed to puff on that joint for this long without choking long. 

“No.”

And Rick begins a shuffle toward the kitchen. Eddie follows in an awkward half-step, headache threatening to bloom someplace in the back of his skull because he does not know how much more of this vagueness he can take! 

“Does it have anything to do with why you called me down here? Because, shit, I would love to get a straight answer out of someone for once!” A mirthless chuckle follows, trying to soften his desperation. 

A flick of the refrigerator door and Rick places two beers on his kitchen counter, hands bracing against the surface. “Then let’s sit crooked and talk straight. It’s about your…”

Hss. Eddie takes a notoriously mis-timed sip.

“...neighbor girl.”

Ffflp– Eddie wishes, just one day of his goddamned life, he could act cool at the mention of you. Even the suggestion of the mention of you. But no, he’s got PBR streaming from his nose like a moron and a look on his face that says uh-oh, spaghettio!

“That’s what I was afraid of,” says Rick, taking a knowingly smooth drink from his beer. 

With the heel of his hand, Eddie wipes away his spluttering mess and fumbles around for a crumb of nonchalance. 

“I don’t know–”

“Eddie,” Rick levels. God, Eddie hates it when adults are adults, and Rick hates having to act the adult even more. 

His shoulders drop. “What about her?”

“Well, when I was in the pen–local, I’ll have you know–I got approached by a very interesting man with a proposition I was powerless to refuse.”

With some trepidation, Eddie mumbles, “Oh, yeah?”

“Someone– well, let’s say me and this someone have a friend in common…”

“Rick–” Eddie’s attempting the leveling thing, but he’s not as good at it as Rick is. Or as you are, for that matter. And you’re who he’s attempting to imitate here, even if he won’t admit it.

“--a certain mutual business partner, if you will–”

“Rick.” Eddie tries to punch through the tension with the big man’s name. “It was Lacy’s dad. Right? You can just say it was her dad.” 

Rick’s brow sinks into a wrinkle. “...Lacy? The fuck kind of a dumb name is that?”

“It’s a nickname.” Why does Eddie feel defensive.

“The fuck kind of a dumb nickname is that?”

“They call you Reefer Rick.”

“That is a calculated business decision, a calling card if you w–”

“Rick. Can we close in on the point, here?” Ooh! Seems to actually work this time, much to Eddie’s relief. “I only got so many if you wills left in me.”

“Si, pronto,” Rick nods with apologetic understanding; he’s such an empath, this guy, “Long and short of it is, her pops offered me a little bit of cash and some assistance, iffin’ I promised to keep an eye on her.”

“Assistance…?” Eddie murmured out of the side of his mouth. It’s all in the way Rick says it! “Like…” Hand a loose fist. Jerky-jerk. 

“Eddie,” Rick chides, “Assistance gettin’ out. In prison, that is just called bein’ sociable. –anyway, I have this conflict of interest, with the whole surveillance thing.”

“And what is that?”

“You.” The way Rick drops it is obviously meant to cause some kinda ripple effect of realization, but Eddie’s still confused. 

“So you… didn’t take the money?”

“Huh?” Now Rick’s all confused. “Of course I took the fuckin’ money! What kind of a chump do I look like, man? What I’m getting at is, I knew that rattin’ on her also meant rattin’ on you.”

“Wh– why would it…” 

“I got eyes everywhere, man. Dig? I’ve seen what’s been happening.” 

Eddie’s heart leaps into his larynx. Eyes everywhere. And the truth was, you two had been stupid enough to be a lot of everywhere, thinking your respective trailers were the only hot zones. The Bookstore, the Hawk, Main Street Vinyl, Family Video, the diner, you name a Hawkins establishment and it has probably seen Eddie Munson and Lacy Doevski good-naturedly bickering in its aisles. 

He wonders if Rick even had eyes in the Ecker trailer. Ronnie could be a Lipton informant. That girl can hold a secret about as well as Wayne Munson can hold his liquor, which is gracefully. 

“Nothing’s been happening, we’re just–”

“Eddie.” Like a bulldozer, this guy. “I know Ivana pretty well. You ain’t hangin’ around that bookstore for the good of your health.”

“So what, you’re gonna–,” Eddie can feel himself starting to scramble, starting to sweat, backed into a corner like a hunted animal, “...tell her dad that we went to the movies a couple of times? That I go to her job, that I– that we’re–”

“What are you?” The way Rick puts it to him– rock, meet hard place. Should this really feel like such a tough question to answer?

“Friends.”

Rick draws up to his full height (tall, mountain man) and looks at him like he just shoved a cream pie into his face.

“It doesn’t matter, okay!” Eddie froths over, like a snapping dog, “We’re barely hanging out– anymore– so you can… you’re not gonna tell him anything, are you?”

Rick’s hands slowly, slowly rise, urging him to calm the yapping. No need to get into such a tizzy. Which Eddie wishes he could believe.

“‘course not, man,” he shakes his head, “Ray Doevski only needs to know what Ray Doevski absolutely needs to know.” Eddie can feel a little more weight behind that sentence than he’d like. “No reason you need to figure into this story.”

“That– that’s it? You’re not gonna tell him about u– about me?” 

“You’re in enough of a shitheap as it is, is how I see it.” A beat. Rick takes him in; really takes him in. Feels like an embrace, his stare. Concern uncrinkles the ever-present smile in Rick’s eyes. 

“Eddie, you care about this girl?”

Eddie’s mouth attempts to form around an answer, but he’s just blinking into nothing. Does he care about you? Does he care about you? He wants, needs to say no, to pfft you off, but every molecule is screaming otherwise. And Rick can sense it, operating on the extraterrestrial level that he does. 

“Then I’m real sorry.” 

“For what?” 

As if on cue, car wheels on gravel shuck Rick’s attention away from him. His eyeballs jitter in his head, heading for the door– Eddie close behind him. “Sorry for what, Rick–?!”

“Little bit for that, little bit for… this.”

Standing in the window of Rick’s living room, these two watch an offensively red muscle car skew into the driveway, making a mockery of Eddie’s beat up van. The driver’s door pops open and the first thing Eddie clocks is a blinding glint off some brand new aviator sunglasses. 

The second is that trademark Munson smile. 

—

“This is exciting!” Nancy Wheeler says, kind of flatly but with a conviction buried deep under her curled bangs. 

On the table sits two piles of playing cards, one steadily growing and one steadily decreasing. 

You two had taken to playing gin rummy when staring at paper layouts became a little too much. Technically, she actually had a say in layout and you were just nosy, but it’s a decent excuse to hang out. Though, both you and Nancy had this incredible tendency to hyperfocus on detail so hard that neither of you could pull the other out far enough to look at the big picture, so one day she tossed a deck of cards your way and said, “Deal!”

“I know,” you say, trying to focus on these melds of suits you’re making– that discard pile is looking poor, “Fresh turn for me, y’know? Less fluffy, more Didion.”

Nancy snorts softly, swapping out a card from her hand. “Who does that make Eddie? Charlie? Or Linda Kasabian?” 

A smile dances across your lips and you shrug, reaching for a cigarette before you go for another card. Usually, smoking in the newsroom was prohibited, as it was prohibited on most of Hawkins High grounds, but whenever that deck came out, you felt it was appropriate for at least one of you to be smoking. Gave a kind of Torchy Blane feel to the whole scenario which fit you and Wheeler pret-ty keenly, if you did say so yourself.

“That’s not what I was talking about, though,” Nancy says, poking Fred Benson’s empty mug toward you to use as an ashtray. 

Your eyes narrow; this could be a play to distract you from a winning hand. 

“It’s not?”

“No…” she puffs out another soft scoff, meeting your eyes over her fan of cards, “I mean the college guy.”

“Why is it exciting?” and you do want to know why Nancy thinks so. She’s a mile wiser beyond her years, even precocious enough to keep in step with you most of the time. You’d like her take. 

“Well, it’s what you wanted, right?” she tells you, watching you puff your cigarette and dig into the stock pile. “Somebody older, decidedly not a grabby high school boy– but someone with more experience, both with girls and with being outside of Hawkins. And the fact he goes to Vassar means–”

“He probably eats kitty like a maniac.”

Nancy lets out this full-bodied Merlot of a laugh, only a little color dashing over her cheeks. She’s gotten used to you being provocative on purpose because it gets a laugh out of her. So far grown out of the prude shoes you were sure she was still sporting. You’re proud of her. 

“Not exactly what I was getting at but– more sensitive to the female perspective, sure.” But then she registers what you forgot you’d even dropped. “Hold on, probably? You mean you haven’t–...”

You shrug. It’s a little withdrawn on your part. 

“Oh,” Nancy says, and seems to be leaning a degree or two towards unsurprised. That ruffles your feathers a little bit. Again, with the frigid thing. You couldn’t shake it. 

“No,” you emphasize, shucking your pitiful melds back again. “It's not as if we haven't–done things. I've copped a handful. Time is of the essence, and I take, y'know, a little more time to get there.”

“So no return on investment...?”

"Not... yet."

Nancy almost tosses her cards at you, the way she jabs them through the air. “You? You, the one who’s been preaching Betty Friedman to me, you haven't been getting–”

“Yes, me! Did you not hear me about time and the essence?”

“I know, it’s just– a little surprising.”

There have been exactly three instances of almost you tying your panties to the rearview mirror of college boy’s Ford Cortina, so to speak, and you’ve come out of each one with this desperate echo of oh well! Maybe next time! careening around your skull. Like you’re trying to convince yourself that by virtue of him not being in your grade, this has been a worthwhile way to spend your time. And listen, no misunderstandings here, it has! At least, part of it. It usually starts like this– the two of you grab some shitty diner coffee or some shitty diner food and then he takes you around in his car for a turn or two, admiring that famous Hawkins scenery (see: shuttered businesses and if you’re really lucky, that one mangy fox that feasts on the overflowing trash can near the Big Buy). You talk (you mostly talk) books and movies and say something that should be a hook of conversation but usually ends up with him screwing his face up in amusement and saying something along the lines of, “God, you’re so beyond this place.”

Which, duh. You’ve been saying this. This is the raft upon which your whole identity floats. 

The exchange dies in the air and he puts his hand on your leg and that is just… wonderful. He’s a solid B on the kissing GPA, and he’s cute and sort of funny, even if he doesn’t rally back jokes the way you’d… sort of gotten used to. Sometimes he makes a halfway-interesting observation about like, Philip Roth or somebody. But when it comes down to the minute of it, it still feels like going through the motions. Fumble bra strap, catch nail on his zipper, crank back passenger seat to climb in the back. Hey presto, you’ve distractedly jerked off a boy once again. 

You are not entirely sold on the fit of his hands on your body, even if he doesn’t look at you like he’s just solved a Rubik’s cube.

In fact, he kind of looks at you like you’re precious. Virginal precious. Innocent precious. Which you’re not totally sold on either. 

Nothing about him that makes you fantasize about what his mouth might feel like on you. What your fingers might feel like wound around his curls. His hair doesn’t even curl. There’s just nothing about him that calls for your full attention.

“Think there might be a reason for that?” Nancy, your annoyingly perceptive Nancy, presses. Goddamn intrepid girl reporter. She hasn’t stopped staring at you with that smug little look. You haven’t answered the question. “And it might be… living across the way from you?”

“Tch. What?” you snip. “I’m… having fun. What?”

“Nothing,” she smiles. “Just… gin.” 

She lays out her dazzling melds, complete with a measly goddamned three in deadwood cards and you toss your own bullshit hand to the side. A dumb amount of spades that add up to nothing scatter across the desk. An accusatory finger jams in her direction. 

“You are a fucking card shark.”

“Nope!” Nancy says, popping her ‘p’, “I just know a really great set when I see one.”

Reaching into Fred’s mug, you crush your cigarette with a little too much force. Now, how would Nancy have a read on that? you think, oblivious to your own obviousness. (Like a neon sign. Like a circus tent.) 

You hadn’t even reminded her of the catastrophic events of her thirteenth birthday which led to a whole lot of this awkwardness, which, now that you thought about it, actually implicated her in the crime of you kissing Eddie Munson ‘til you were breathless in Granny Ecker’s closet. 

If you hadn’t been born and had a birthday, I wouldn’t be in a spiral over some boy with a curl pattern like a fucking backwoods libertine. 

“You’re not clever,” you tell her, but she’s looking at you all cleverly, “Like. You’re clever, but I need you to know that you’re not clever.”

With flicking fingernails, Nancy picks up your discarded cards and folds them neatly back in the deck. 

“I’m just saying,” and the tone she takes is a little gentler now, “don’t… let yourself miss out on something just because, I don’t know, the thing you’re currently having fun with is what you think you want. What you feel you want and what you think you want are two very different–”

“This isn’t entirely about me, is it?” you realize, defenses peeling down a little bit. The Nancy and Steve of it all had been looming since your (admittedly triumphant!) visit to the war memorial that was the boy’s bathroom. Still no sign of that place getting fixed, by the by. And ever still, Nancy hadn’t told Steve about their little mission. Many a reason for that, you were led to believe. Not a lot she wanted to dissect, though.

Nancy’s face scrunches up and she stops packing the cards. 

“No. But let’s pretend like it is.” 

A groan escapes you as you sink back into your chair, a twinge of pain running along your shoulders.  

“Nance. This is all so much more complicated than you realize.”

“Try me.”

You toss a hand through your hair, slapping your palm down on the desk. 

“Fine. But if I tell you this–”

A hand rises out between the two of you– yours, pinkie extended. 

“Not a word,” you press. 

Nancy clamps her finger around yours in a way that enforces how super-serious she is about this. The reason your usual reserve doesn’t hold up under that x-ray stare of hers is because you can tell she actually gives a shit. She’s not looking for gossip. She cares. Which is still an entirely alien feeling to you. 

So the whole thing spills out. Steve’s party, the record store, getting locked up in Eddie’s trailer and getting locked up in feelings, Roane County Quarry’s incredible acoustics, the friendship that made you fold all the neatly arranged origami parts of yourself out toward him only to realize you had no idea how to fold them back. The kiss. The subsequent awkwardness of said kiss. The college guy. The relative radio silence. The fact that…

“...I don’t feel like myself when he’s not around,” you say, lighting a fourth cigarette off your third. “Isn’t that silly? I spent all this time painting this like, fabulous eggshell of myself then this wild-eyed, smart-mouthed, catastrophic ass smashes it clean open and now–”

“All the college boys couldn’t put you together again,” Nancy nods. “You’re a very beautiful Humpty Dumpty.” 

“... does Humpty Dumpty die in the end?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be teaching it to kids.”

“No. They should know. The fall comes for us all.”

There’s a suspended silence. You get this feeling like you’ve emptied your purse on the table and you still can’t find that thing you’re looking for, despite sifting through everything. 

“How does that even happen?” you question, biting at the skin on your little finger. Not Humpty Dumpty, the Eddie thing. It comes out idle, but you pray that Nancy, with her feelings scalpel and surgical precision, doesn't decide to answer it. 

Instead, she says, “You need a photographer for that piece.”

Thatta girl. Your dimmer switch turns up. “Fred hasn’t even okayed it yet.”

“I’ll deal with William Randolph Hearst, okay?” Nancy says derisively and tosses her eyes to heaven. She pushes her chair back. “Ask Jonathan Byers.”

“He hasn’t taken photos for us in a while,” you remark, eyes searching Nancy. She’s readying herself to leave, so totally dodging this line of questioning before you can even cast it. Clever. 

“No, he has not,” she sighs, winding her scarf around her neck, “But he’d be good for this. He knows how to capture action. And his kid brother plays DnD with mine, so this’d be, like… nice for them.” 

And this is just as much me making amends with Jonathan Byers as it is you, backwards as it may seem, you nearly hear her say. Or you’re making that up. 

Shame Nancy is so dead set on becoming the next Nellie Bly. Under the right circumstances, she’d make a hell of a normal person. 

Good thing you prefer freaks.

—

Jonathan Byers is a notoriously hard boy to get a hold of, it turns out. Nancy passed along his number (which, you actually already had but you didn’t bring that little detail up) and when you finally punched it in on the yellowing phone nailed to the wall of your trailer, it rang and rang and rang. 

Which, after the fourth time, was just rude. Do the Byers have a thing about not answering the phone, or something?

“Jonathan!” you holler across the parking lot, emerging from the passenger side of Nancy’s car this time. 

College guy was decidedly busy and despite the hanging tension, you’d toyed with the idea of asking Eddie for a ride. Alas, the boy in the Dio patched battle vest was nowhere to be seen. His van hadn’t been there since the weekend and he had been MIA from school the last couple of days, actually, which was itching at you. 

It also made you miss when you had a goddamn set of wheels at your disposal. 

Anyway, Jonathan looks at you with flaring eyes, kind of like you’ve just stuck a shotgun to his snout and there’s no hope of him making a getaway. “Um…”

Now, keep in mind that these are the first words you’ve spoken to him in a measurable high school forever, so his surprise is entirely justified. It’s just not within the beam of your patience right now. 

“Hi. Can we chat?” you say, falling in step with him as you head towards the front door. You don’t bother asking for permission, and forgiveness won’t be necessary. “I was hoping you could help me out with a piece for the Streak.”

Blink, blink. Jonathan’s grasping for words– seems to be a lot of that going around lately. 

You strike your hand through the air. “Let me put it to you like this– you are going to help me out with a piece for the Streak.”

“Why?” he asks, and it’s prickly. 

“Becauuuse,” you draw out, “I need a photographer. And god knows whenever Nicole attempted to work a lens, those snapshots were so out-of-focus they looked like an optical illusion.” 

“And, you’re not talking to Nicole right now,” Jonathan nails you, but not totally. In your mind,  you revisit flashes of Nicole recounting, in gloriously erroneous detail, those photos Jonathan had taken of Nancy. You had pretended to be scandalized and rolled your eyes, thinking what’s a little peep show among losers. 

“Even if I was,” you say, dogging Jonathan all the way to his locker, “I still wouldn’t ask her. This is important to me.” 

That avoidant Byers reserve stands strong, with Jonathan grabbing books in hurried succession. He is trying to get away from you, but that’s not happening without an emphatic yes! 

“I don’t even really–” 

“Take pictures anymore?” you pfft, pointing to his messenger bag, “Twenty bucks says your camera is in there and the film’s half shot.” 

“I don’t have twenty bucks.” 

“Me neither,” you shrug, “Spent it on that new Echo & the Bunnymen.”

Jonathan hesitates a bit, fingers strumming against his biology textbook. A thread of something long forgotten by the listening booths of Main Street Vinyl tugs between you both, but it’s not weighed down by the prospect of will we kiss about it. He kind of smiles. 

“What did you think? I haven’t gotten down to hear it yet.”

You thought it made you want a flowing dress and a place to prance. Like if the more whimsical end of Fleetwood Mac didn’t exhaust you. Those last four tracks snapped your heartstrings like suspenders, with comical aplomb. 

“Grandiose! That ‘Killing Moon’ song? It’s got Jonathan Byers written all over it,” you chirp, and mean it. “I’ll make you a copy if you put that camera to work for me.”

He shrugs, but you can see you’re wearing him down. “I’m not much for shooting pep rallies.”

“Liar. Wheeler says you’re top banana in the action shots department,” you counter, “But how about players? I think I want some portraits, too. Non-corny ones.”

“What team?” Jonathan screws up his nose. The distaste for jockery runs deep, and rightfully so. 

But you shake your head, face curving into an expression of near excitement. 

“No team. Better, and worse, depending on what side of the cafeteria you’re sitting,” your hands splay out, and for god’s sake, you feel like Munson himself, “Hellfire Club.”

Jonathan looks like his record’s skipped. Eyeballs sort of jiggle in his skull and he mouths, oh, like the association of you between Hellfire should mean something. Suspiciously like Nancy, and just suspicious period. Your eyebrows start to inch towards one another. 

“What’s that look? Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“Um,” he dillies, then dallies, “Sure. Yeah. You know, my kid brother loves DnD.”

Ah, yes. The other Byers boy, the one who’d gone missing all that time ago. You remembered. Actually, you remembered not being able to figure out how you should feel about it– how you should act, other than falling in line with the majority of people who were giving Jonathan shit at the time. You regret that now, with a chill that runs right down to your toes. 

“Could be cool for him to see, no?” you try, corner of your mouth lifting, “A little niche in the midst the high school horrors. To look forward to, y’know.”

The look on Jonathan’s face is more than a little bit screaming, that’s rich, coming from you, you were the high school horror. But he shakes it off, because he’s nicer than you are, even though he doesn’t need to be. 

“Yeah… whatever you say, Lacy. When do you need me?”

You tell him Friday and he agrees, much to your satisfaction. You’re just about to punch him on the shoulder like teamwork, buddy! before he saves you such a wildly out-of-character display by dodging toward his homeroom. 

You sail toward your locker like the bastard that’s risen alongside the cream, only to be greeted by something… strange. Scratches, all around the maudlin gray paintwork of your combination lock. Like it’d been tampered with, or something. A blaze of paranoia burns at the base of your skull, and you instinctively try to recount where your journal is… in your bag. Phew. Fine. This could be… anything. 

Fingers reach forward to twist your lock, and with the slightest touch, the door is forced open by a push from the other side. A flash of bright red, then SPLAT. Yellow, SPLAT, blue, SPLAT, SPLAT, SPLAT! You shriek a real ear-piercing shriek as at least a dozen water balloons spill out of your locker, hitting the floor with an obscene smack. Water dashes everywhere, and you’re barely able to move out of the splash zone in time. 

“What the fuck!’

Within seconds, there’s a hubbub and a crowd’s gathering, trading sickening snickers with one another as you peer into the dark of your locker. You gingerly step through the puddle, suede boots irreparably spattered, and yank the door the whole way open. There, sat atop your schoolbooks and a stray water balloon that hadn’t made the fall, is a horribly familiar set of test tubes.

In one of them sits a squirt of blue liquid and that offensive strip of plastic. And scrawled across it in clumsy black marker? 

IT’S A FREAK!

Realization hits you like Carol did, making your head swim among all the murmurs of oh my god… and gross! and told you–trailer trash and unconcealed cackles. A voice sparks up like a sizzling ember in a swathe of darkness. 

“Where’s your baby daddy at, Lacy? Get tossed in the slammer with your old man?” 

The languid tones of none other than Billy All-Balls-No-Brains Hargrove drift by you, sailing right past the back of your head as you stare a hole through the innards of your locker. Then, your stupid hippocampus gears up– Robin, mentioning ‘your whole thing’ while Genovese baby-barfed her guts up, Ronnie urging her to shut the fuck up, even Jonathan Byers was privy to this hot little piece of gossip. 

This theory that you were up the spout with Munson Junior Junior. 

How many people had seen you, stupid little you, coming out of that drugstore hiking that Advance box over your head like the championship cup? Seen you hopping into Eddie’s van– and out of it, and back in again on what now seemed like countless occasions? 

Nobody could have suspected it was Nancy’s test, because nobody saw her. They saw you. That was the whole idea. You just didn’t consider the blowback.

“What’s going on out here?” the softly-coated concern of Ms Kelley rings out in the hallway, doing absolutely nothing to disperse the peanut gallery that’s set up around your locker. 

“Lacy?” her voice points to you. Even the goddamn guidance counselor uses your beloved nickname.  

You don’t react. You don’t even know what you’re doing until you come to a couple of paces down the hallway, feeling the thin, straining rubber in the palm of your hand. Your footsteps make heavy, wet, slapping noises against the linoleum as you follow the half-slouched shouldered swagger of Billy Hargrove down the hall. 

Down, and down, and down towards the boy’s locker room and he doesn’t even register it, and you don’t even register that Ms Kelley is still calling your name–your full name, now–until she’s two dozen paces behind you, losing you in the throng of students making their way to class and you shove past half-dressed seniors in the locker room who guffaw at you in a way that feels like a knife in your gut and you yell, voice shaking–

“Hey Billy!” 

And launch the water balloon, making square contact with his smug face. 

“Cute fucking prank!”

His reaction, predictably, is way too slowww moooootion for your fucking liking, so you don’t even give him a shot to fully wipe his face off and mumble, “What the fuuuuck is yourrrr probbbblemmm, ssssllluuuutttt…” 

You just go for him with the ferocity of a jumping jackal. Hands ball in his stupid sleeveless flannel (it’s winter in Indiana, you West Coast jackass!) and you shove him against the lockers with– well, with the strength only an ex-cheerleader brimming with suffocated rage would have.

Metal clatters and one empty unit even careens over like a big tin domino and you say, “Come up with that idea all by yourself, you fucking nimrod?”

Billy just smirks at you in half-speed, mullet sopping, as if this is a come-on. “I had a little help.” 

It occurs to you that right here, right now, you could sell Nancy Wheeler down the river. You could be the you you once were, and you could say, well, primo observation skills, that pregnancy test wasn’t even for me! 

But you don’t, because a pinky promise is a fucking pinky promise.

You let go of Billy’s shirt. Step off. “You’re pathetic,” you spit, but it feels more pathetic coming from you. All that molten blood in your veins makes you want to eviscerate him and whoever else was involved in orchestrating this stupid, stupid, stupid prank. But you come up lacking. Fuck!

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes and you start to rush out of the locker room– but you’ve given Billy a reason now, and he’s gonna follow you. 

“Shit, are you crying? Those hormones must have you really messed up, huh?” he faux-croons, the thunk-thunk of his poseur motorcycle boots following you to the back entrance, by the sports equipment. Your eyes are streaming freely now, lashes frantically blinking a path to vision. 

But Billy isn’t letting up. And like the Pied Piper of slimeballs, he’s drawing followers– not least of which include Tommy Hagan. 

“What about that college dropout you’re banging, Lacy?” his nasally tone slices through Billy’s tarry taunting. “He know you’re knocked up yet?”

“Jesus Christ, Doevski! I’m impressed,” Billy laughs, “Just how many loads are you taking?”

An abandoned baseball bat lies on the ground, having rolled out of the sports closet; instinct behind the wheel of your personal van, you stoop to pick it up and shove through the doors. You can nearly feel the breath of Hargrove and Hagan and all of these horrific, horrific boys with nothing better to do than to torture you hot on the back of your neck. 

“Not yours, that’s for fucking sure,” you manage, your voice thick. The bat, at least, feels solid in your hand. 

“It’s fun not being frigid, ain’t it, Lacy?” Billy goes on, and you squint against the sunlight as you round the building. “Tell me this, Munson teach you how to suck cock yet? ‘cause if not, I got a little time on my hands.”

Forging ahead, you cross the tarmac of the parking lot. The soft frost hasn’t even totally thawed out yet, sparkling atop the paintwork of Billy’s blue Camaro.   

“That a fact, Billy?” you say, tears drying in quick streaks in that brisk morning air, leaving rivets in your made-up face.

You use your momentum to launch one foot onto the hood of Billy’s car, then the other. You nearly slip against the icy exterior, but steady yourself fast. Bat dangling at your side. Stomp. Stomp. You stand on the roof, and turn to face this congregation of assholes. You do not let sense set in, despite it threatening to inch through the white hot flame of your rage.

“What the fuck are you doing,” Billy outright cackles and Hagan and company guffaw along with him. 

“Billy,” you sigh, a little breathless from the speed at which you’d booked it from the locker room to the parking lot, and the sheer vigor of your shock, awe and rancor, and everything else, “What the hell am I supposed to do with your limp dick in my mouth? Chew on the fuckin’ thing?”

Billy repeats himself, a touch darker now. “What the fuck are you doing.”

“I’m serious!” you say, a little shrill, a little stomp to punctuate that last word, “One thing you can say for Eddie Munson, is at least the motherfucker can get hard!” 

Motorcycle boots advance towards you, and you point the bat at him like a broadsword. 

“Do not. Come any closer. Or I’m gonna start doing some serious damage to this ugly piece of overcompensation.”

“She’s bluffing,” Hagan crows, and you turn your flaming glare on him. You wish you had a mirror– you wonder if crazy becomes you. Billy takes a pointed step forward and you raise the bat above your, head bracing for action– that’s enough movement for him. 

“Gimme that bat, you stupid fucking cunt–!” But Billy’s cut short by a body barrelling into the side of him, knocking him askew. A jangle of denim and leather. The bat slips a little in your grasp. 

“Get the fuck off of me Munson–” 

“No way to talk to a lady, Billy!” Eddie gasps, tossing Billy back and letting his limbs hang. “You kiss Karen Wheeler with that mouth?”

Billy rounds on him like a triggered animal, spittle flying.

“Some fucking lady!” he snarls, “Got downgraded to that trailer park and now her snooty ass is spreading it for half of Hawkins! Desperate! Stringin’ you along like the dumb piece of shortbus shit you a–”

Activated, you throw that bat to the fucking wayside and scramble off the fucking car– nobody talks to him like that! 

But you’re not fast enough, nobody’s fast enough, nobody can compete with how huge and booming and definite Eddie’s voice sounds when he says, smile glimmering, sun breaking through the bleak midwinter… 

“You know what I like about you, Hargrove?”  

THKUNCK. Bone to bone, fist meet fucking flesh–

“Nothin’.”

A scuffle goes up, and Eddie can’t even feel the hits of Hargrove’s hands connecting with his face, chest, ribs, wherever– all he can feel are your arms locking in vice around his waist, putting yourself in the eye of the storm in order to yank him back.

—

You got an elbow to the crown of the head, which isn’t too bad, even if you feel like a cartoonish lump should be rising there. But look at these other guys. 

Billy with a black eye that’s bulging up rapidly, Eddie with a split lip and more than a couple of scratches on his knuckles. In that fray, he hadn’t exactly considered the implications of punching a guy with all his goddamned rings on. The implications being that shit hurt like hell. There is this radiating pain in his hand, not letting him unfurl his fingers completely. 

There’s also this radiating feeling of dread cloaking his entire upper half as you sit three-to-the-wall outside Higgins’ office. You had, in Eddie’s estimation, incredibly bad timing. 

See, considering the events of his past week, he was slowly making peace with the fact that he should probably be avoiding you entirely, even if that meant he died a little inside. He should have been doing that from the jump– but you, unbuttoned and reckless now apparently, kept requiring interventions so you didn’t get killed, or worse. 

And Eddie couldn’t help himself when it came to you. Especially not when you were standing on top of Billy Hargrove’s sick Camaro, swinging a baseball bat and getting called some shit that no one should ever be calling you. 

You’re out of control. Totally unsheathed. End of your rope. Unlaced. 

And he’d do just about anything to keep you safe. 

Even fuck up his guitar-playing hand. Which is also his…

“I can’t believe you fucking suckerpunched me,” Hargrove mumbles from your left. “With those ugly fucking rings on.”

Eddie can’t help himself, the last shred of propriety knocked out round about the time a knee to the ribs had winded him. “Aw. Billy. Don’t be so hard on yourself–”

“Eddie…,” you start, tone warning in a way that makes him want to pinch you, kind of. He leans towards Hargrove, meaning he’s leaning over you. Hair brushing across your shoulder. You notice that it smells distinctively skunkier than usual. Camping out at Lipton Landing?

“--honestly! You’re no sucker!” he implores, eyes shining in jest, “You totally had that coming!”

You hear Billy seething from his end, Eddie snickering from his and launch a well-timed arm in front of both of them before they can snap at it again. 

“Cut it out, assholes! This is becoming increasingly more pigheaded.”

“And you’re the voice of perfect reason now, huh?” Eddie sneers, not giving you much breathing room. “Where’s the bat at, Babe Ruth?”

“In the parking lot, waiting to finish you off,” you grit back, nearly nose-to-nose with him, because you don’t know how to digest the guilt of his aching fingers. 

“What are you mad at me for?” Eddie hisses, a smirk threatening to break his scowl, because he doesn’t know how not to provoke you.

“Knocking her up, probably,” Billy mumbles from the side. 

“Shut up, Hargrove!” you both snap, eyes never leaving one another. 

Higgins’ door creaks open and a quietly livid Ms Kelley says, “Lacy.” She jerks her head, motioning for you to up and at ‘em. You do, but not without one last look at Eddie, cradling his hand. Round, bottomless irises meet yours for a moment, then dart away with an impact that thickens your throat. 

His poor hand, you find yourself thinking.

“He needs an ice pack…” you find yourself mumbling, Kelley shuffling you into Higgins’ office. The principal sits behind his beat-up desk, fingers steepled. You absently wonder if he’s been campaigning for a new, shinier, possibly more oaken desk because this doesn’t paint the picture of threatening figurehead that he so clearly wants you to tremble under. 

You accidentally kick the thing, crossing your legs as you sit. “Sorry.”

“You should be,” Higgins declares. Here we fucking go. 

“Permission to state my case?” you attempt. This hadn’t been your first time in the principal’s office; minor classroom infractions, a saccharine we’ll do everything to help that we can after your dad’s arraignment, but this time was certainly the worst. 

“Denied,” he shoots you down.

“Permission to submit a plea of temporary insanity, then,” you try, patting at the sore spot on the crown of your head. “You know this doesn’t bode with my track record. You think I climbed on top of Billy Hargrove’s car completely compos mentis? Please.”

A tense silence from Higgins’ and Kelley’s end.

“You saw what Hargrove did, didn’t you? That disgusting prank?” 

Again, nada.

“I’m a honor student, for Chrissake!” you exclaim, and Kelley plucks herself from the windowsill behind Higgins’ desk. 

“Were an honor student, Ms Doevski,” she corrects. “Your grades have been slipping since– the events of the last couple of months. You’ve dropped cheerleading, you’ve made really puzzling false claims about peer tutoring, you…”

“Yes! Yes, the events of the last couple of months, if by which you mean familial imprisonment, then yes, I’ve been a little distracted!” 

Higgins kicks back in his seat just as you hitch forward in yours, too angry to be pleading but too desperate to defy. His turn to mutter here we fucking go.

“I can turn this around,” redirected to Ms Kelley and her ever-sympathetic expression, “I can turn this around.”

“College applications deadlines are within touching distance, Lacy.” She of little faith. 

“I know that!” As if your hands aren’t itching every time college guy mentions Ithaca or… wherever the fuck it is he goes. As if that isn’t a crack in the assuredness that you were going to take flight out of this town in a spectacular fashion.

“Ladies– can we dispense with the hysteria and deal with the here and now?” Higgins insists and you and Kelley, despite your opposition, share a look.

World class, this guy. Top of his field, asshole-wise. 

“Two week suspension should do it,” he says, jotting something down. 

You open your mouth in protest and Kelley quells you– you’re in no position to start bargaining down. 

“Technically, she didn’t do anything,” and for good measure, but pressed, “Sir.”

“She climbed on top of that boy’s car with a baseball bat!” Higgins barks; now who’s hysteric?! “She had intent to do harm!”

“It was justified.” You can’t help yourself. 

Kelley stares him down, and that woman’s charm is something that should be studied in a fucking lab, because he relents right away. 

“Two weeks of Saturday detention, then. Christ. Am I going soft?”

You shake your head, all the knots in your body releasing just a little bit. You try to dig out what’s left of your once-famously refined charm, while simultaneously dashing towards the door before he can change his mind. 

“Au contraire. You’re a paragon of masculinity, sir. Regan could take a hint. Door open or closed?”

Higgins grimaces. “Send in Hargrove. Tell Munson he’s suspended. I don’t have time for both of those pricks today.” 

Eddie’s voice travels through the crack in the door. “I heard that, sir.” A beat. “I miss you, sir.”

You bite back a deeply reluctant laugh and jerk your head toward Billy. You’re up, champ.

Then, it’s the two of you. You and Eddie, Eddie and you. Alone, save for the ever watchful jam jar eyes of Janice the secretary. Eddie is still nestling one hand in the other like it’s a baby bird with a broken wing. Shit, you really hope it isn’t broken.   

“You’re suspended. They told me to tell you.” It’s a statement made to turkey-stuff the silence more than anything. 

The way Eddie lolls his head back makes you want to reach out and push it in the opposite direction. You don’t know why. 

“You’re a regular town crier, ain’t ya.” 

“Hear ye, hear ye.” 

A leaden pause. Your hearts might have thumped both in time just now.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks.

“No leaving school grounds,” Janice unhelpfully squawks. 

Eddie gets up, drawing himself to his full height. Your eyelids flutter. There’s a little purple around that cut on his lip, which you bet is starting to throb something awful. You feel dwarfed beside him, and he uses his good hand to turn you by the shoulder and shuffle you past the nosy secretary’s post. 

“I meant the sick bay, Janice,” Eddie pelts, giving each vowel sound a hard flick. “I’m wounded. And she’s apparently pregnant. Or didn’t you hear?”

—

The nurse’s office is tiny and cramped, smelling of bleach with a glaring fluorescent overhead. Eddie has a hard time figuring out why anyone would come here to feel better. Especially given that Nurse Lydia is barely ever present. 

Eddie carpes the opportunity to slam himself down on her rolling saddle chair, gliding into your path as you try and snoop around for first aid materials.  

“I don’t think you should be driving that thing,” you remark, “You could be concussed. You’re acting concussed.” 

“It’s keeping me awake!” 

Eddie watches you, digging through drawers and pulling out tongue depressors, your teeth making an indent into your bottom lip. Your eyes are doing that darty thing, quietly frantic in place of an apology. You don’t know how to say sorry you got wailed on by Hargrove for me. Instead, you’re acting like he’s bleeding out. 

“Lace, just wait for the professional.” 

The clip of your nickname makes you toss your stare over your shoulder, hardness framing your eyes like mascaraed lashes. Eddie stops rolling around at once.

“I am the goddamn professional, as far as you’re concerned.” Your little chin jerks towards the exam table that’s beat into the corner of the room. “Get on the bed.”

Whack-a-mole. Woodpecker. Other euphemisms for his cock developing a pulse. Eddie has to physically restrain his jaw from dropping. 

“Yes, Nurse Ratched.”

Scoffing out a little fuck you!, you go about scrambling together supplies and Eddie obediently launches himself onto the bed, the ancient thing creaking beneath him. When you finally approach him, you seem to be holding a lot of alcohol pads. 

The look before you admit to a shortcoming is one he wants framed. You always flick your eyes around like a guilty cartoon character, like Betty Boop on her way to gaining a doctorate in the pretentiousness of the English language, and pout. Lean your neck in, like you’re swearing him to secrecy. 

“I actually don’t know anything about first aid. Beyond the rudimentaries.”

Eddie chuckles. “You were a cheerleader. You were getting thrown in the air a whole bunch, if I recall. Feels like you should know how to like, resuscitate.”

“Rudimentaries, I said!” and you grab his injured hand a little roughly, alcohol pad torn out and ready, “Like, I obviously know alcohol disinfects a wound, ice for a bruise… I don’t know how to, like, reset a bone. Besides…” 

You inch closer to him now, wiping at his torn and tender knuckles a little too carefully. They’re just stupid cuts, Eddie thinks, his breath beginning to shallow. 

“...that Cat People remake was premiering at the Hawk the day we had first aid training. Like I was going to miss that.” 

He can feel heat radiating off your body, a core change for cold little you. Feel the fabric of your skirt brush the rip in his jeans. A little choked, he mumbles, “Cat People is a remake?”

“Based on the 1942 original,” you nod, flicking the tiny used pad in the nearby trash can. “I like it. But I like that David Bowie song more.”

“That song sucks.”

“You’re injured and wrong. What a shame.” Your fingers close around Eddie’s wrist and slowly, slowly press his forearm to his chest. “Keep that elevated.”

“It’s not broken,” and he’s staring at the quiet tremble in your bottom lip.

“Could be sprained,” head cast down again, tearing open another pad, and he can smell your hair, “Does it hurt?”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away, because he’s waiting for you to look back up. Because he thinks he’s going to carpe something else. 

You fall for it, and your eyes sucker him in. He feels weak in the joints. You repeat yourself. “Does it hurt, Eddie?”

He just nods, boyishly. Nearly passes out when your fingertips tilt his face towards the light. Skin buzzing underneath them, you peering at his mouth like you know what you’re doing. The slit in his lip feels raw and strained. 

“This’ll hurt, too,” you murmur, and he feels your breath against his jaw. A sharp prick from the alcohol against his cut doesn’t make him wince– worse. As you swipe the cotton against his bottom lip, he whimpers. Unh.

Oxygen stops short in your throat, hearing that. That noise. It sends a wave of motion through your lower body. You’re leaning awfully close to him, closer than you need to be. In fact, his knees are settled either side of your hips. How did that happen. When did that happen. How did you allow this. 

How are you allowing your fingertip to trace against his lip, alcohol evaporating without a hope or a prayer. How are you allowing yourself to look at him through the fan of your lashes, his injured hand still obediently propped against his chest. His good hand pressing into your lower back.

You taste the vagueness of the disinfectant on his lips as he presses them into yours. 

Jerking back, you’re not far enough away from him to create a distance that matters. All you see are Eddie’s eyes, flickering open, apologetic in themselves. About to tell you he’s sorry.

No.

Hands fly, one woven in the curls at the base of his skull as you kiss up into him, tongue an impolite peak. This is not the closet; this is arguably far more dangerous, with the nurse’s door still open a courteous gap. This is the harsh light of day. This is Eddie’s hand moving your skirt further up the curve of your ass. 

He’s grabbing onto you as best a one-armed man can, and your hand travels in turn. A jagged, fevered path drawing up his thigh until, under your palm, is the hard outline of him. The pressure of your hand over the denim-bound curvature of his cock makes him groan sharply, the sound pressed against your cheek. 

Face angles back for a look at him. Because this is bad, mindless, reckless, stupid. And he’s always worth a look.

You spot a tiny speck of blood on the pink of his lip from where his cut had split. 

And your curious tongue flicks at it. 

Eddie’s eyes flare. You, unable to unglue your stare from his, suck his lightly bleeding lip between yours. Fragile. Crushable. 

He did this for you. 

No one’s ever cared, or known you enough, to do something like that for you.

Desire moves you like a shockwave and your hand leaves his crotch to help you clamber onto the exam table, clamber into Eddie’s lap. 

Downright idiotic. 

You cast a glance to the door, Eddie’s fraught breath puffing against your neck. 

Thought you were a smart girl.

You look right into his face, the poster boy for sheer distraction, pre-occupation, skin-searing annoyance, nervous charm, surprising wit, magnetism, oh my… and feel his fingers edging far past the hem of your skirt, past the binding top of the thigh-highs you’re wearing because it’s fucking laundry day and stopping at the gusset of your panties. 

He can feel how wet you are.

Lips a breath away from each other, one set bleeding, one set housing a gasp. Eddie nudges his forehead against yours, the both of you blind to consequence.

“Just friends, right?” His breath is jagged and unconvinced, and your hips kick toward his hand. 

You do not answer.

Unbruised fingers push the fabric covering your radiating heat aside and you have to tighten your grip around the back of his neck so as not to tumble over. Eddie is not deft, because this isn’t the moment to be deft. He plunges two fingers into the plush of your pussy and looks to you with pleading eyes. Eyes that say, is this good, eyes that say, don’t make a sound.

You nod in the affirmative to both and he drags his digits out slowly. Rhythm picks up and you’re clenching around Eddie’s hand in a matter of minutes, lower muscles seizing and het-up moans being gratefully swallowed by him. Pad of his thumb moves to create rough, clumsy friction against your clit that elicits a sharp, high, wanton ah! from you, grinding against him in an unquenchable search for more.

“Does he do this? Does anyone do this for you, Lacy?”

Eddie’s eyes keep searching you for approval and you’ve lost the ability to appease or deny him– all you know is the blind, nonsensical want that’s pouring out of you is being lapped up. Lapped up. His tongue, you want his tongue everywhere, but it’s working at your earlobe, your neck, sucking, whispering, “Just friends? Lacy?”

And when you cum, it’s fast and hard and suffocating, an achievement you’re close to angry at him for– because no one has ever been able to break you apart that fast. 

Or at all.

He can never know. He’d be so insufferable about it… some bare fragment of a thought passes through your brain, synapses busy firing elsewhere.

You’re rocking against him through the crest, pressing your forehead to his with such a force that you’re frightened it’ll splinter, you’re murmuring, “Eddie… Eddie, d–hmn, fuck…”

And you can tell by the way he’s attempting to press his body against you that he wishes he hadn’t bust that stupid fucking hand of his, so he could hold you properly– and you’re right. You’re right, you’re always fucking right, but you told him to keep it elevated and he’s going to do what you say.

He’s got no choice when it comes to you. 

He needs you safe. Needs you happy. No matter what.

Which is why he’s got to pull this bullshit move. 

Eddie is patient and watches you regain a little consciousness, faster than he’s sure you’d like. He extracts his hand and, sticky with you still, wipes it on the thigh of his jeans. Heart thundering in his ears, he tugs you into one more breathless kiss and wonders if you can still taste the rust sharpness of his cut in between your lips. He’s strangled himself against cumming up till this point, and this doesn’t help matters. An imperceptible spot of pre-fun lies in his lap but the thing is, the really fucked thing is–

Eddie gently shoves you away, mind silently babbling for the right thing to say. I’m sorry is something you’d see right through, get off is too harsh, oopsie is too fucking whimsical–

But you, ever-perceptive you, you realize your place. Knock yourself back into reality so fiercely that he’s afraid it’ll bruise you, lovely, awe-inspiring you that just softened into his hands like that. You clumsily clamber off the exam table in a hot flash of rejection, which– no, god, no, he doesn’t mean that…

“I–”

“No, I know,” you grit, prickly all over. Thumbing at the edge of your blurred lipstick. “I know. I certainly know.”

Eddie dares to look at you and you dare to look back at him. His lips looking worse off from you, but at the very least kissed. At the very least kissed, but you could cry with the empty feeling inside you. A cavern of a girl. You nod curtly, like this is the conclusion of a particularly charged run-in of acquaintances, not like you wanted him to swallow you whole moments ago. 

Slipping out of the nurse’s office, you run right into the myth that is Nurse Lydia. 

She looks tan. 

“He’s,” you struggle, “He’s waiting for you.”

—

Cheating out sick from school and taking a shift at The Bookstore following the latest in a series of apparently neverending aftershocks was probably not the smartest call– but hell, you’re fresh out of smart calls.

Ivana smells a rat, and she doesn’t take to rats lightly, so she gives you your space. 

The morning ticks on at a pace that feels supernatural; like you’re witnessing outside of your body, like you can’t orient yourself in the right direction. You attempt to arrange and rearrange poets from alcoholic to puritan. You sell someone a copy of The Fountainhead without giving them their free blistering evisceration of Ayn Rand. 

You’re at a loss. A shameful, dangling loss that almost makes you feel pious. Like you should go to confession. 

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned… I let my one-time best friend, current-cloudy object of my affection get beat up for me then bring me to climax in the nurses’ office. 

You retread the same sentence in your over-thumbed copy of Save Me the Waltz like a table corner you keep stubbing your toe on. 

We couldn’t go on indefinitely being swept off our feet.

You said it, Alabama. Something’s got to land.

And, because someone down there wants you dead, land it does. 

The bell of the store’s door clashes upon opening, and all of the energy draws toward one magnetic point. A shock of silver hair, standing on end catches the lamplight, glowing almost eerily. 

You feel a zzzzip of static. The air feels charged.

He doesn’t face you right away. Kind of slinks into the place, edging along the shelves. 

“Say, Lacy. Ballpark me somethin’,” his Southern drawl is barely contained within the Midwestern flatlands of his accent, bursting through the baseline like a corpse that hasn’t been buried deep enough. “How long… do you think…” His fingers tap along the worn spines of the display, creeping closer to the counter, “...it would take… to read all these books?”

The lilt of his voice is so familiar that you recognize it instantly. Even the way your name falls out of his mouth. Like a funhouse mirror, a distortion of a voice you’d come to…

Well. Let’s not get into that. Let’s get into this.

A roguish smile with a couple decades of road wear on it and a tacky Hawkins High class ring on his finger. You could’ve sworn Eddie told you he dropped out. 

“How many years in the big house with nothin’ better to do?” He finally stops and pivots on his heel. The way he looks you over makes you nauseous and lightheaded, like he took a long, long sip out of you. Jammed a straw in your jugular and sucked. 

Lot of blood play happening ‘round these parts.

“Hello, Al.”

“Hello, sweetheart. You filled out.”

author's notes: christ alive. i mean WELCOME BACK! i really missed you guys. happy new year, thank you for keeping me on the level with writing this chapter, it was so much FUCKING harder than i anticipated! was it too much warped angst? are the feelings complicated? does the pope shit in the woods?!!!!! you betcha. anyway, be seated for today's lesson - "less oedipus-y, more ea--..." there is an ending to that joke that i felt was too crass for the moment but if you can guess it you win a prize - the patchwork girl of oz is the seventh book in the wizard of oz series by l. frank baum! obviously. it's actually a laugh riot, you should check it out. scraps, the eponymous patchwork girl, is a full tilt lunatic who's kind of a bit of me. but theoretically, the patchwork girl made out of a thousand different scraps of everything else... bit of lacy innit - the mage in the mink coat is self referential lmao we've gotten to THAT point in the story - gravity's rainbow is a book that guys i dated used to recommend to me constantly which is like infinite jest for people who are ran through - i'm really fucking with college guy at this point, making him drive a ford cortina. because i think it is ugly - the plot of the annotated book that lacy gives eddie, still life with woodpecker by tom robbins, is... interesting eye emoji eye emoji. tom robbins also wrote even cowgirls get the blues which was adapted into a feature film starring, say it with me, robin's mom - the link wray song that soundtracked the lipton landing visit in question - "charlie? or linda kasabian?" go ahead and read the white album by joan didion for me wouldja buddyroo, just like lacy and nancy already have - fun fact, i played a two person game of gin rummy with myself to get into the mindset for this chapter. i suck at it - torchy blane is another one of my pre-code wonders-- glenda farrell plays an intrepid newspaperwoman, and this character actually went on to inspire lois lane from superman - and I KNOW some of you are going to be mad at lacy for fucking college guy, but... shit happens when you're a booksmart lovedumb eighteen year old that can't face up to her feelings! i don't wanna hear it! - fred benson i love you baby! i'm almost sorry i called you william randolph hearst, newspaper magnate and all around lunatic and the inspo behind the diss track citizen kane, but i'm not! - nancy wheeler has a photo of nellie bly in her locker where a photo of her beau should be - so echo & the bunnymen's 1984 album ocean rain is obviously most famous for the killing moon (jonathan byers you ARE my donnie darko) but may i point your attention to motherfucking seven seas - OH YOU KNOW I (EDDIE) HAD TO DO IT TO 'EM. this was shameless but i've had this in my heart for over ten years babe - for the purposes of this timeline, you know eddie is keeping higgins in pills. which is why he hasn't been kicked out of hawkins high so fast his lunchbox would combust - nurse ratched, obviously from one flew over the cuckoo's nest and that ill-fated ryan murphy series....tf was that...but also from this fucking sick tune! - save me the waltz is by zelda fitzgerald! my loves, thanks for hanging in for this chapter. i know it was a wait, but i hope you enjoyed! i also know it was a little more angsty pants than my usual fare-- but look baby. we need grist for the mill, okay? as always, reblogs, comments and likes are FIERCELY appreciated! love u all so much. my little hellcats. to die by your side etc

[jayujus]

rent a boyfriend! - chapter 4

— 04 cocktail party!!!

written ~ 1.0k + smau

heeseung adjusts his tux, sweat building at his nape from nervousness. who would have thought that he'd be taking a girl out that he met from a sketchy site?

he rings her doorbell, unsure if the flowers are too extra or not.

a few seconds later, y/n opens the door, flashing a bright smile at him. honestly, she's surprised he is actually real herself even if she did not really question it. he is a fine man, especially in the suit he is wearing right now and in person. a small smile forms on his face as he hands her a bouquet of dahlias and roses. y/n's smile grows even bigger as she grabs the bouquet from him, pulling him into a hug as she steps outside her apartment.

"this dress is so pretty on you." he whispers in her ear as she links her arm with his, as if they've been a couple for so long. "you look good too."

exiting the luxurious apartment building, y/n is met with heeseung's NOT white van. his car was fairly nice, a black bmw. "you didn't bring a white van?" heeseung raises his eyebrows as he opens the door for her. "did you want me to?" y/n doesn't say anything, putting on her seatbelt. "this is a nice car." heeseung hums, "i got it as a gift by my brother," y/n nods, giving him the directions to the building.

__

once they arrived in the building's huge parking lot, y/n tells him some reminders. "my parents are going to want to meet you right away, just be normal. please," heeseung hums. "don't worry!"

he helps y/n step out of the car, "should i leave the flowers in the car...?" heeseung shrugs, "are you going to come and get it later?" y/n thinks for a few seconds, "actually, i was wondering if you'd be able to drop me off tonight. you don't have to! just wondering." she asks nervously, which makes heeseung blush. "i'll drop you, no worries."

immediately when y/n enters the building with heeseung by her side, she hears her mother rushing excitedly to her, some of her drink spills on the way. "oh my god! y/n! is this the boy you were talking about?" y/n hums, "this is heeseung." her mom flashes a big smile at him, "hi heeseung, we should talk a little bit. i will go find your dad, y/n." y/n sucks in her breath, mouthing a 'sorry' to heeseung before her mom walks away.

about two minutes later, y/n's mom comes back with her dad, who greets heeseung. "you are a very handsome man, surprisingly. my y/n has never had a boyfriend before, so i was worried who'd she bring." y/n covers her face in embarrassment, hinting at her parents to stop talking. "what do you do? what do your parents do?" heeseung purses his lips at the bombarded questions. "i study law. my parents run a family restaur-" y/n elbows heeseung, "his parents are doctors." y/n's parents smile, "wow! that's really cool, y/n, you did a good job finding him." y/n smiles awkwardly, dragging heeseung away a few seconds later.

heeseung furrows his eyebrows when y/n told a lie.

__

heeseung ended up meeting a lot of y/n loved ones tonight. he first met her parents— which was awkward, her friend group, her aunts and uncles, and her sister.

when heeseung excuses himself to the restroom, her sister, jinah, asks, "where did you meet him, y/n?" y/n quickly comes up with another lie. she won't have to see heeseung again after tonight, right? it won't matter. she'll send him the money and they won't talk again. "we met at the mall! yeah! he offered to pay for my stuff so it just went from there...." she smiles awkwardly and jinah knows she's lying. she can tell but she doesn't say anything about it right now. the last thing she wants her baby sister dealing with is more stress than their parents already give her.

when heeseung comes back, jinah excuses herself and the two just hang out by the food, munching on some of the chocolate covered-strawberries while talking about whatever.

"i honestly thought you weren't real, my friends kept saying so. your hair color kept changing in every picture." heeseung chuckles. "my friend sunghoon dyes my hair for me," y/n hums. "i like this color on you." he blushes, jokingly flirting with her back.

"do you want to dance?" heeseung nods and y/n grabs his hand, pulling him with her to the dance floor.

__

the party ended and it was around 1:30 am. y/n was hugging her friends goodbye before being left with just her sister, parents, and heeseung. "heeseung, it was good to meet you. you seem like a nice man and you make my daughter happy, thank you." heeseung smiles at her mom and dad, bowing at them.

he also bows to y/n's sister, "get her home safely." y/n's dad says, to which heeseung nods. "don't worry, mr. jeon. i will."

heeseung considers placing a hand around her waist. he really thought she was the prettiest girl ever but this was only for one night, that would be too awkward.

"thank you for doing this for me, actually. i'll send you the money when i get home." heeseung purses his lips, "you don't need to send me the money, it's fine." y/n raises an eyebrow as she enters his car. "what? no, i'm paying you." heeseung protests but there is no point because y/n continues arguing back.

"i rented you for one night, so i have to pay you." heeseung doesn't say anything else but mumbling an 'okay.'

"you make a pretty good boyfriend, to be honest. do you have any girl you're interested in?" heeseung hesitantly shakes his head. "what about you?" y/n shrugs. "beomgyu's cute but he doesn't like me."

"the atrocious man you posted?" he jokes and y/n jokingly slaps his arm. "be nice!"

"he fumbled, seriously he fumbled." y/n blushes and turns to face the window, "tell me about it."

a few minutes later, they arrive at her apartment building. "want me to walk you in?"

"you don't have to," heeseung asks again and y/n says the same thing, so he just helps her out of the car and she gives him a quick hug. he hands her the flowers he got for her. "goodnight heeseung." she smiles, "goodnight."

prev | next | m.list

KAIA'S NOTE sorryy this isn't proofread and i'm not the most confident in my writing skills 😣 also if im unable to tag you anymore i wont be able to keep you on the taglist 💔💔

TAGLIST (CLOSED) @leep0ems @yyawnjun @saursoob @heerinnie @wvnkoi @heeslut4life @sunghoonnsupremacy @ramenoil @chxrlvspp @wonniestars @beommii @kwiwin @dimplewonie @eleanorheartschishiya @sunkislove @jaeyunluvr @txtlyn @aishigrey @simjyunnie @oldjws @baevsxii @sumzysworld @iamliacamila @yvrikoo @hotsforikeu @w3bqrl @jiaant11 @caryssoverhere @boutyouwonu @aespaslut @nishislcve @neocockthotology @erehkinnie30 @icepshrince @26796i @defnotfertilizedtoesw @kissezfornamjoon @ghostiiess @lprww @stilesks @k1ttylvr @rantiii @rikizm @kgneptun @jjunae @aerivrs @bomi-ja @dani-is-tired @ttylxox2 @i-yeseo

copyright © jayujus 2024 all rights reserved

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

Steps Towards - Carlos Sainz

<word count - 3007> |part 1 - Scheming|

You didn't say anything else, and neither of you made the effort to move. Both of you were comfortable, and moving would probably result in awkwardness, and you wanted to avoid that as much as humanly possible. 

After a few more minutes, his hands still gently playing with your hair, Carlos spoke. "I should probably start getting ready," he said, moving his hands away. 

"Yeah, I probably should too," you said, knowing you'd have to be watching the practise sessions for the day. "Y'know, to get ready, we actually have to get up," Carlos teased, nudging you. 

"Oh yeah, sorry," you mumbled, moving away from him and sitting on the edge of the bed. You were trying to hide the blush of embarrassment that was flushed on your cheeks. You heard the bathroom door close behind him, and you took a minute to compose yourself. 

Were you really just going to move on and pretend that didn't happen? Maybe that was for the best. It would affect your professional relationship, and that was the last thing either of you needed. 

But, you loved every second you spent near him. And last night, even if you only knew about an hour or two of it, made your heart flutter in ways you didn't imagine was possible. He just had this thing about him, but you couldn't act on it. He was your job, not your future. 

Caught up in your thoughts, you didn't even notice Carlos exiting the bathroom. "Y/N?" he said, but you didn't hear him. "Hey, you alright?" He asked, as he appeared in front of you. He was ready for practise, Ferrari apparel clad. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," you weakly smiled at him, trying not to look at him in fear of never being able to look away. You had kept your cool since Carlos had started driving at Ferrari, so you could keep it up for now. 

"The bathrooms yours," he told you, towel drying his hair as he walked back around to his side of the bed, perching on the edge. "Thanks," you said, collecting your clothes for the day and going inside. 

It didn't take long for you to get ready, and when you left the bathroom, you saw Carlos getting his jacket on. "I'm going downstairs for breakfast with Charles before we leave for the track, you coming?" 

"Thanks, but I have some online meetings to do before practise," you said, getting your laptop out and setting it down on the dressing table so you could sit properly. "What are you going to do for breakfast?" he asked, leaning against the wall. 

"I'll probably just wait until lunch, I don't have any time to grab anything now," you explained, sitting down on the chair. "Call room service, I've got it covered," he said. You never normally got room service since the hotels that you were booked were normally quite fancy. And expensive. 

"You sure?" you asked as he opened the door to the room to reveal Charles, just standing there. "Yeah, of course, get whatever you want," he said, waving you goodbye. Shortly after, there was another knock on the door. "Come in!" you called, thinking it was Carlos since he had left his key or something.

"Cleaning service," the old lady said, pushing her cart into the room. 

"Yes please," you smiled at her as she got to work. She stripped the beds down and cleaned up the glasses of water on the tables. When she was done, the bed had been made and the whole room looked camera ready. 

"Have a nice day," she said as she approached the door to leave.

"Hey, wait a second," you called out to her, and she stopped in the doorway. You scrambled to find your purse, and when you did, you plucked a few notes out of it. "Here, thanks for this," you said, and she happily beamed at you. 

"Thank you very much," she said, tucking the notes into her pocket and wheeling the cart away and down the hall. You had around fifteen minutes until your meeting, so you picked up the phone and ordered yourself a stack of pancakes. 

They arrived within ten, so you had to eat them as quick as you possibly could. You may not have finished them, but you certainly would after the first meeting when you got a break. Your laptop started chiming, and you accepted the call as the faces of your co-workers appeared in boxes on the screen.

Meanwhile, Charles and Carlos were sat downstairs, scanning through the menu to see what they wanted. "So, how did it go?" Charles asked, a cocky grin spreading across his face. 

"How did what go?" Carlos shrugged having already decided that he wasn't going to give Charles anything. "You sharing a room with Y/N," he said, kicking Carlos' shin under the table. "Nothing happened, as I'm sure you'll be disappointed to hear," 

"Come on, nothing? Nothing happened?" Charles asked, desperate for a bit of gossip. He had been urging Carlos to ask you out for a few years now, and he finally thought his planning skills had paid off perfectly. Well, they had, but he didn't have to know about that for now. 

"No, nothing happened," Carlos said, sipping at the water from his glass. A part of him felt smug knowing that you had slept in the same bed and woken up, entangled in each others arms and he wasn't letting it slip. 

Charles just looked at him, a dejected expression painted on his face. "I don't know what you were expecting," Carlos smirked, absolutely reveling in Charles' disappointment. 

"Well it's a good job we still have a few nights, and I'm not planning on letting you back in the room any time soon," Charles said, thinking he still had the upper hand in the situation. Carlos had a feeling that this was how it was going to be for the weekend, and he had to admit that he was looking forward to it. 

"That's fine," Carlos said, not letting any sort of emotion show on his face.

"Oh I'm sure it is. I noticed the rooms only have one bed, don't think I let that slip my mind," Charles said, thinking he had finally cracked the code. "Pillow walls are a wonderous thing, Charles," Carlos smiled, watching as Charles slowly started to get irritated.

"Just ask her out already please. Then I won't have to do these kinds of things to you," Charles pouted, sighing. "I work with her, I am not going to ask her out."

"That's a bullshit excuse and you know it," Charles scoffed.

"Oh yeah? Why do you say that?" 

"Because you wouldn't care about any of that if you really liked her," Charles explained, smiling at the waiter who brought them their breakfast. "Maybe I don't like her as much as you think I do," Carlos said.

"Carlos, you look at her like she's the only person in the room and the look on your face when you see her is like a lovesick teenager. You're crazy for her, and everyone can see it," Charles said, tucking into his avocado on toast.

"Can they?" Carlos winced, knowing Charles had him on that one. When he looked at you, he never wanted to tear his eyes away. "You hardly try to keep it a secret. Everyone knows. Well, everyone except her," Charles said. 

"And that is how it's going to stay," Carlos said, as if it were an instruction that had to be obeyed. "Are you really that blind? She's got it bad for you, Carlos," Charles said as if it were a commonly known fact. "No, she doesn't,"

"Wait until you hear what I'm about to tell you then. I heard Y/N talking to Maria from the marketing team in the garage last weekend. They were giving their opinions on the drivers, and Maria asked about you. Y/N said, 'I can't say anything, I pretty much work for him'," Charles started explaining, the excitement in his voice was evident. 

"And I'm not surprised she said that, it was perfectly reasonable answer," Carlos tutted, continuing with his breakfast. "But you haven't let me get to the good bit yet. Maria pressed on a bit, since we all know you like her. Then Y/N said, 'He's lovely, he's cute. What more could I want?'" Charles giggled. 

Carlos tried not to let his happiness show on his face. "Charles you're acting like a teenager, it's not a big deal," Carlos said, dismissing his words.

"Not a big deal? I have just proved to you that she likes you back and you are telling me it's not a big deal? Sometimes I wonder about you, Carlos, I really do," Charles shook his head, wondering why his friend was so quick to dismiss the words he had wanted to hear all along. You liked him back.

But surely you didn't? You only said that because Maria had pushed for it, right? "Charles, Y/N and me is never going to happen," Carlos said, but it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself of that over it being something he truly believed. 

"But it can, you just need to take a chance. So what if it's awkward after? At least you tried. But I have a feeling it would be far from awkward, though," Charles said. Carlos stayed silent, his head and heart fighting for control. His heart told him to take the leap, but his head held his limbs still, not letting him soar off the edge.

"I'll think about it," he mumbled. Thankfully, the conversation moved on from you, and onto what they were feeling for this weekend. Just as they were finishing their breakfast, Carlos dropped some of his down his shirt. 

"Oh shit," Carlos sighed, setting his knife and fork down. 

"Mate really?" Charles laughed, passing him some napkins to try and wipe the stain away. As expected, it just made it worse. "Do you have any other shirts?"

"Yeah, but they're back in the room. How long do we have until we leave?" Carlos asked, still trying to wipe the stain away. "We've got like, five minutes," Charles chuckled. 

"Y/N should still be in the room, I'll call her," Carlos said, finding your number in his phone and dialling it. You were still in a meeting, but you weren't going to miss the call. "Sorry, I have to take this. I'll be quick," you said, standing from the chair and putting the call on mute. 

"Carlos, what's up?" you said.

"Could you bring me down another shirt? I may or may not have spilt my breakfast on it. I have a few spare hung up in the wardrobe," he explained.

"Yeah, I'll be down as soon as I can," you said, putting the phone down and springing into action. You went to the wardrobe and found one of his Ferrari polos hanging there, just like he said they would be. You took one and swiped the room key off the table and ran down the hall and down the stairs. 

You needed to make it quick so that you could be back to the meeting as soon as possible. Your eyes darted around the cafe downstairs when you reached it, but you couldn't spot any scarlet anywhere. 

Instead, you turned around and headed to the foyer. In the distance, you spotted the two drivers sat in some chairs as they waited. "Carlos!" You called out, rushing over to him. "Here," you said, handing him the shirt. "Thank you, you're a lifesaver!" he smiled, standing to take it off you.

"Are your meetings done yet?" he asked.

"Not yet, I'm still in one. I've just put myself on mute so I can come down here," you told him with a smile. "Oh sorry, I didn't know. I'll see you at the track later, yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah, but I won't see you before practise, so good luck. You too, Charles," you smiled, looking over at the man from Monaco. "Don't get into any PR disasters while I'm gone!" You called back to him with a laugh as you went to skip up the stairs again. 

"You can't convince me she doesn't like you," Charles said, standing from his chair, "I'll meet you outside, the car should be here any minute," he continued, walking out of the glass doors to the outside entrance. "Yeah, alright," 

You went back to your room, but the meeting was almost over. You hadn't missed anything important, just the timings of some of the interviews they would be doing next week. Those were the kinds of things that were put on the post-meeting emails anyway. 

You didn't have anything else to do, so you thought you might as well head to the track. Collecting all of your stuff, you called a cab and it drive you to the track. By the time you had gotten there, Charles and Carlos were already in their cars, ready for the first practise. 

You watched through the practise and stayed in the Ferrari motorhome, since it was a nice space to get some more work done. You didn't have anything to do, so you started scheduling interviews for in a few races time. 

"Hey," you heard, and the couch next to you sunk under someone's weight. Turning to the side, you spotted Carlos, who was still in his race suit. "Hey, nice work out there," you smiled, closing your laptop and giving your full attention to him.

"Thanks, and thank you for earlier. I didn't mean to pull you out of your meeting or anything," he said. "Don't worry about it, it was a boring meeting anyway," you laughed, looking as a smile formed on his face.

"Can I get you dinner or something? As a sorry and a thank you," he asked. This was kind of him taking a chance, because he thought he'd be able to gauge how you felt by your reaction. "Carlos, you got me breakfast, that is more than enough. And don't be sorry, it was the perfect excuse to stretch my legs," you smiled. 

Your heart was beating a million miles a minute right now, and you could barely think straight. Surely it was just him being nice, but maybe it wasn't. Just maybe it wasn't. "But that was before I distracted you from your meeting. Come on, it'll be fun," he said in a sing-song tone, nudging you. 

"Yeah, alright. How does Sunday night sound?" you asked, smiling. You were trying not to kick your legs about and squeal out of pure joy. "Perfect, I'll pick you up from our hotel room at seven?" he asked, standing back up as his engineer approached him. 

"I'll see you there," you laughed, watching as he waved and walked away. 

"Someone's looking cheerful," the voice of Maria said from next to you. She had taken the spot Carlos was just sat in. "Just having a good day," you said, not wanting to tell her anything. Maria could be a bit of a gossip, and word around the garage spread like wildfire. You didn't want people thinking this was more than it was, and you didn't want your job to be put in jeopardy. 

"You sure that doesn't have anything to do with a certain Spanish snack?" she giggled. Maria knew you both liked each other, and she was trying to play matchmaker like Charles. Only she didn't lock people out of hotel rooms to accomplish that. 

"No, simply a good day," you straight up lied, before getting up and heading over to the cafeteria to grab a snack, leaving Maria to speculate. 

Carlos was stood in the back of the garage, finishing up with telling his engineer about how the car was feeling and the things he wanted to change for the next practise. Just as he had been left alone, Charles appeared beside him. 

"Hey mate, a few of us are going for drinks on Sunday night, you wanna come?" Charles asked, leaning on the wall next to him. "Sorry, I've already made plans," he said, desperately not wanting to tell him what he was actually doing. 

"With who? You don't have any other friends," Charles teased, causing Carlos to scoff at him. 

"I do have friends, you just don't know them,"

"Then who are you going out with?" Charles pressed.

"A friend," Carlos kept his answer short. He didn't want Charles to tease him if he told him he was taking you out to dinner. "A lady friend or just a friend friend?" he winked.

"Just a friend friend," Carlos said, hoping he wouldn't see through his lies and leave the subject all together. "What are they called? Have I met them?" Charles asked. 

However, Carlos was side-tracked by spotting you out of the corner of his eye. His gaze was trained on you as you walked through the garage and out the other side. He just loved the way you moved and how you walked as if you hadn't a care in the world. 

"Oh my god you did it, didn't you?" Charles asked with a huge, beaming smile on his face. 

"Did what?" Carlos said as if he were oblivious to the fact he had just gotten completely side tracked by you. "The person who you're going out with just walked past, didn't they?"

"Yeah, they did," Carlos grinned, looking down at his feet to try and hide his excitement. Charles patted him on the back, "Took you long enough! Where are you taking her?"

"I don't know yet, I only asked her half an hour ago. It was just to say thank you and sorry for pulling her out of her meeting, " he grinned, keeping his voice down so that no one around them could hear. "Keep telling yourself that, and I'm still not letting you in the room," Charles said. 

"I know you aren't, I know," Carlos shook his head. He hadn't even thought about the fact that you'd be sharing a room for the rest of the weekend. The rest of the weekend. 

A/N - I was never intending this to have multiple parts, but here we are! There will definitely be a couple more parts, rest assured.

Tag List! @omgsuperstarg @arisainz @avengersheart @styles-sunflower @tagteamedbitch

|masterlist|

[showtoonzfan]

Also yeah this new Hazbin cast is not it man. I’m sorry. Most of them either sound flat, don’t fit with the character design, or are just not as good as the original. Angel and Alastor I especially don’t like, Alastor sounds so nasally and Amari just can’t top Bosco’s performance, with Bosco not only was he good but when Alastor was threatening, he SOUNDED threatening. I may have made fun of Al’s design, but Bosco’s voice is what made the character interesting and threatening for me. With Amari’s voice he just sounds beyond silly and I can’t take him seriously.

Blake Roman is literally just intimidating Kovach, except this time Angel just sounds forced and awkward. It makes you wonder why Viv just didn’t get Kovach back since it’s obvious she wanted to find someone so similar to him, and then you realize…oh yeah, Kovach wasn’t on Broadway or is a big singer. Micheal was really good at what he did as Angel too as everyone has already said so Viv fumbled the bag SO hard with these two it’s sad. I’m especially pissed about Alastor cause Bosco was the reason he was my favorite character and now he sounds so cringe.

Husk and Vox are played by two very talented actors/singers but their voices just don’t fit with the character design, though I’m not that against Christain Borle as Vox, the voice doesn’t fit the twink design but at the very least they got a man who sounds like a full grown adult playing a full grown adult lmao. Husk is a different story however, because it feels like Keith was picked to play him just because he was famous and nothing else. Back in the pilot, Viv had a specific voice in mind for Husk and she found it, aka Mick. He perfectly came off as an old washed up grumpy alcoholic, and Keith’s voice kinda just…erases all that personality. Sure Keith’s voice sounds cool but that’s it, it’s style over substance.

I wish I could say more about Charlie and Vaggie but I’m not sure what to say other then they kinda sound forced and awkward too, and I hate saying that cause they’re also played by two very talented actresses. Stephanie B played Mirabel from Encanto, she’s had voice acting experience before so I hope she ends up sounding good in the actual show. Erika meanwhile…I hate to say this but other than her singing voice there’s nothing really special about her as Charlie compared to Jill Harris, though even with Jill I never felt any strong feelings towards her performance.

Adam meanwhile, dear GOD I was right about him looking bad in animation form, his design sucks so fucking much. Fans were right, that’s Alex Brightman’s voice, he seems to be using his normal voice but just a tad deeper. He’s the only one who’s a fine choice, though I really wish we got to hear him as Pentious here!

But yeah in terms of the voice cast I’m just disappointed man, really disappointed. It makes you really realize how talented the pilot cast was. They were so good cause they were all chosen for a reason that wasn’t just “they’re famous” and it fucking sucks how bad Viv fumbled everything.

[miley1442111]

hii would love smth with sydney adamu x reader if ur still taking requests!! like literally anything just need more syd content haha

omg thank u for requesting sydney, there's like nowhere near enough stuff for her? like guys... she's amazing. anyways, I hope you enjoy, it's kind of short, so sorry about that :)

no-show

a/n: lowkey spoilers for season 2, episode 3- sundae, also I didn't really think of male! or fem! reader while writing so just imagine what you want :)

summary: sydney asks if you want to join her and carmen on some food tasting, how could you say no?

pairing: sydneyadamu x reader

warnings: general fluff, talk of parents dying, brief mention of lupus, brief mention of cancer, mention of crushes.

She was pretty. But… she was also technically your new boss. You, a new person on the waitstaff at The Bear, had been hired a month ago. For the past 4 days, you had been building the tables and chairs along with your new co-workers, they’re fine, all pretty normal people- nothing to write home about. But Sydney, your boss, she was amazing. She had been the one to orient you in the restaurant. She showed you where everything is and how everything works, but you were sure you’d forgotten all of it. You were too busy watching her.. You pushed those thoughts out of your head, for now, you just had to keep your head down, get to opening night. All anyone is focusing on is opening night. So, you keep working and finish the last table, when you notice Sydney standing and talking with Carmen. Carmen Berzatto was strange, in your opinion. He barely talked to her, yet she was his ‘business partner’? He refused to even send her a text when he basically told you all to start taking down walls more than a week ago, and she was rightfully upset. He walks away from her with a nod and you get up from under the table. She comes up behind you as you stretch your aching back. 

“Do you want to come with us? We’re just- our pallets are fucked and-” she starts to explain.

“Yes,” you say, probably too eagerly. 

“O-ok. Cool,” she smiles. “I’ll grab my stuff.”

You smile and follow her to the lockers. “So, where do you plan on going?”

“Just some places around, I know some people, Carm knows some people,” she shrugs and the nickname she has for him irks you slightly. There can’t be anything going on between them, right? 

“Will we wait for him?” You ask, pulling your jacket on.

“He’ll catch up,” she decides, leading out the back door and into the cold Chicago air. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

A train ride, a short 10 minute walk, and a conversation with a waiter later, you sit across from Sydney, conversation flowing freely. You feel… comfortable with her. She’s awkward in an endearing way, kind in a way that's foreign to you, and so deeply interesting that you feel like you could talk to her forever. The food arrives, and it’s the best thing you’ve tasted in a while. Considering you’ve been living off of the same meal for the past three days (meal prepping is the only way you eat), this is like actual gold dust. Clearly your reaction doesn’t stay in your head, your eyes closing in satisfaction.

“Good right?” Sydney grins from across the table. 

All you can do is nod. And internally kick yourself for being so embarrassing. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Carmen has been long forgotten. He was supposed to show, he didn’t, boo hoo. You don’t care. Sydney doesn’t care. Your day with Sydney has been nothing short of perfect. Good food, good company, and now, good ideas- on Sydney’s part, you were basically just here for the food and her. 

“So, what’s your favourite food?” Sydney asks, just on the walk back to The Bear. 

“Can I be honest?” You chuckle, a warm feeling within you shielding you from the cold. 

“Of course!” 

“When I was a kid, my mom made these nachos with like-just random cheeses on them, and then we’d dip them in this spicy sauce until our tongues would go numb,” you recounted fondly. “I forgot to ask for the recipe before she died.” Sydney’s face falls, and you can’t help but feel that you’ve ruined the moment, the day too, maybe. “S-sorry, I didn’t- it just slipped out-”

“It’s ok. My mom died too,” she explains slowly. “Lupus.”

“Cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” she smiles softly as you both stop just outside the restaurant. 

“I was like 10, it happened a while ago-”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. 

“I’m sorry too,” you smile, the sound of blood rushing filling your ears. You want to kiss her. You want to kiss her so bad. So, you do.

You reach and hand out and cup her cheek, pulling her in to kiss you. She gasps at the sudden contact, but kisses back all the same. She tastes like the mint the last restaurant gave you both. Her arms wrap around your neck, a smile on her lips against yours. You pull away, opening your eyes. 

She looks beautiful, a smile on her perfect lips. The lips you just kissed. 

“Thank you for today,” you smile. 

“Thank you.” 

“For what?” you chuckle.

She rolls her eyes and kisses you again.

Wow. What a good day. 

[ornii]

Hi how about an Enid Sinclair x Male! Reader. where both are werewolves and wake up together one morning after a full moon night in the woods[Not with clothes on, of course]. They haven't talked much to each other before but they know each other anyway Enid knows everyone. Throughout the day, both remember what happened and that there was nothing "bad" about it. They talk to each other in the evening, with Enid finally confessing to him that she actually thinks it's a bit of a shame that it didn't happen. The reader just looks at her in amazement while she says with a wink that she feels more for him. He can only grin and says me too when she already pounces on him and wants to catch up on things that didn't happen.

In the Pale Moonlight

Enid Sinclair X Male Werewolf

It was all a blur at the beginning, the sudden racing of your heartbeat. The heavy breathing you started to do, you couldn’t control this primal urge overcoming you suddenly. Your head began to bound with the sound of your own blood rushing from your heart, your eyes dart upward to the full moon. In that instance you immediately recognized What was transpiring. You attempted to stand up to reach the door, only for your feet to expand out of your favorite pear of slippers. Your body hair growing and in places no body hair should exist. Your only salvation was the wolfing chamber, specifically made for situations like this.

Leaning against the wall, you attempt to make it to the door of your dormitory to get outside, it you could only make a few steps before collapsing, and your mind slowly going blank, the howl of the night was the last thing you could make out before it was over. You had no idea how much time passed before you slowly began to regain control, feeling the dirt in your claws, on your feet.

Finally regaining normal vision you watch your hairy arm slowly revert back, the ill moonlight shining on the forest, slowly you sit up, eventually looking at your surroundings to figure out just where you’re at, your eyes do catch something as well, a hand. Since the moonlight had its own reflection and light, the shadows casted by the darkness hid much but you leaned in to get a closer look, until you were met face to face with a girl. You both keep back with a small scream. She looks down quickly, realizing she’s naked and covers her body. You advert yourself eyes.

“Shit! Im so sorry!” You say, trying not to let the embarrassment stop you from doing the right thing, you felt the cool wind against your back, your spine, and also realize you’re naked. You back into the shadows of a few trees to hide whatever shred of dignity and manhood you had.

“I’m really sorry about that..” you mutter. The girl, also shrouded by a few trees tries to be a bit more pleasant.

“I-it’s fine, I didn’t know I’d wolf out..” she said. When you looked more at her face you recognized the uniqueness of her hair, and the beauty of those teal green eyes, you couldn’t mistake her anywhere else.

“Enid?” You asks, and she slowly nods.

“Yeah, and you’re (Y/n).” She said, Enid was the social butterfly, if you could call her a butterfly of Nevermore so she’s the need to know kind of type of girl. You two stood a bit away from each other, trying not to let hormones and curiosity take over.

“So, first time wolfing out?” You ask, immediately realizing it’s a dumb question, you attempt to take it back but she answers.

“It is.” She says..

“Oh…” you murmur, you looked up to see the moons position and your tracking training kicks in.

“It’s gonna be daylight soon, we should probably get back to our dorms.”

“Yeah..” Enid agrees and you both move out of the moonlight but quickly back in, it was an awkward few tries before you decide to cut it short. “You should just go first.” You say.

“Okay, you aren’t gonna peek or anything will you?”

“Of course not, promise.” You turn around to face a tree and Enid hesitates for a moment, before leaving. You hear the rustling leaves and you think for a second, you decide this might be your only chance and you spoke up.

“Hey, Enid?” You say, she stopped and turned to see you were still staring at the tree.

“Congrats on, wolfing out.” You say, while it was embarrassing to be naked in the forest with a boy you barely knew, his words of encouragement meant more than she expected. She couldn’t help but smile at this.

“Thanks.” She, in a much happier mood, headed back to her dorm before the sun could expose anything, you quickly made haste after she made a good distance away from you.

The sunlight rose on the next day, and you were trying to remember most of your wolfing out. Sitting in class you were staring off into space, trying to remember most of it, it was a haze for the most of it, but you could remember that it was mostly running, howling and, fighting? Mostly just horsing around with Enid. Thankfully you didn’t harm anyone or her. Hopefully this was something you could just shove into the back of your mind and forget, but you couldn’t and you had to confirm your theory. Late In the evening you approached Enids form room and with caution, knocked. Knowing there’s a possibility you could run into her roommate, Wednesday was a nightmare.

“Hey.. uh, Enid? It’s (Y/n).” You say, “Can.. We talk?” You ask. Your hear it unlock and out comes Enid, more casual wear and still had the pink dye in her hair.

“Cmon.” She says and you enters, noticing the split of color and lack of on the other side of the room, definitely Wednesdays side, best for avoid it, might be cursed or something. You take a moment to sit on Enids bed as she approaches.

“There’s, something I’ve been meaning to ask you, I thought a lot about last night, I’m glad I didn’t hurt you or anyone. Do you remember last night?” You ask, she looks more bubbly than before.

“Yeah, it was.. Rough. Not like that kind of rough just, fun.. I really enjoyed it actually. I’ve never wolfed out before and I had someone to wolf out with.” Enid stated, and she looked you dead in the eyes and with the most obvious hint, said “It’s a real shame we couldn’t do anything else~” she winks and a sudden hotness rushes over your face. You blink a few times and put on a smile.

“Well, feelings mutual.” You say, and she takes the opportunity to close in. Sitting on your lap, you feel her palms land softly on your shoulder and her lips close in, reciprocating her feelings, your arms coyly wrap around her lower back and waist and feel her soft breath against your lips. Her eyes closed and you shut yours to feel her lips embrace yours, her soft giggling in your ear hummed. Lying on her bed, it was the perfect time for you two to catch up on the events that could have happened last night

[moamidzyism]

one for the road (h.kk + k.th)

part six: party animals written • 749

warnings; alcohol mention

the party is in full swing when you step inside the itz house with yunjin and wonbin. the heavy bass reverberates through your chest, and the air is thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat. strings of fairy lights dangle from the ceiling, casting a glow over the sea of people packed tightly into the living room, their bodies swaying in sync with the beat.

at the door, lea enthusiastically thrusts jello shots into people’s hands, her wide grin welcoming every person that walks through those big front doors. “you made it!” she exclaims, wrapping you and yunjin in a tight hug. the sugary sweet scent of vodka lingers around her, and even though the party started only an hour ago, it’s clear the iota theta girls pregame hard. as she pulls away, lea sways slightly, catching herself with a giggle, her glazed eyes betraying just how much fun she’s having.

the next wave of people bursting through the doors pushes you and your friends further into the house, bodies pressed against you, the heat overwhelming. you look at yunjin, who just pulls you onto the dancefloor.

somewhere between the music and the second round of shots that you couldn’t say no to, you lose yunjin to some girl on the dancefloor and wonbin to people yelling about beer pong in the backyard. you find yourself wandering aimlessly, the slight buzz of alcohol makes you feel a little unsteady.

eventually, you stumble into the kitchen. the usually pristine iota theta zeta kitchen is crowded and chaotic like the rest of the house tonight. people are pressed together by the island, empty beer cans and solo cups litter every surface, and the floor has a grimy, uncomfortable stickiness under your feet.

you weave through the crowd, your eyes searching for the cooler in the corner.

as you reach for the last can, your fingers brush against someone else’s, and time seems to stop.

looking up, you meet the eyes of a boy. his gaze is soft with an intensity that catches you off guard. his dark hair falls loosely over his forehead, and his big, expressive eyes hold yours for a beat too long, making your heart skip.

“uh, you can have it,” he says. his voice is low and smooth as he nudges the can towards you.

you blink, quickly gathering yourself, trying to steady the thoughts racing in your head. “no, it’s fine.” you mumble, a bit more flustered than you intended. you let out a small laugh, awkward. you feel a flush creeping up your neck. “i think i’ve had a little too much tonight.” you hand it back to him.

“i mean, we could always share?” he proposes, his eyebrows lifting ever so slightly.

“sure,”

without missing a beat, he grabs two red solo cups from the counter, filling them evenly with the last of the beer. as he pours, he glances up, a small smile lighting up his face. “i’m taehyun, by the way.”

you can’t help but mirror his smile as you take the cup from him. “y/n.” your fingers brush against his again, the touch lingering a little longer this time.

“did you come here alone?”

you shake your head. “i just joined itz but my friends ditched me already.”

he chuckles, taking a sip from his cup. “yeah, that tends to happen here. but itz is pretty cool though.”

“they seem nice,” you shrug, “well from the three seconds i’ve been around them.”

“they are,” taehyun’s eyes briefly scan the room before his gaze settles back on you. “if you’re alone, you could always hang out with me and my friends.”

“as tempting as that sounds, i was actually thinking about leaving to go get food.”

“can i come?” he asks.

“what about your friends?” you raise an eyebrow, laughing softly. “wouldn’t you be missed?”

he waves a hand dismissively. “i think they’ll survive.”

normally, you would brush him off. you are usually so guarded. you would never leave your friends to go anywhere with a random man you met at a party. but there’s something about the way he looks at you. there is something warm and genuine in his eyes that makes your walls falter. before you even realize what you’re doing, you nod.

“okay, sure,” you agreed, your smile widening. “so, what are you in the mood for?” you asked him as the two of you walked out of the kitchen back into the party.

“anything still open.”

ʚ♡⃛ɞ another tale of boy likes girl... but so does his best friend. previous masterlist next

comment or send an ask to join the taglist for this series! fill out this form to join my permanent taglist!

[scorpiussage]

The Lost Footage of You | Part 2 (Tom Buckley/OC)

Pairing: Tom Buckley (Red Lights)/OC

Summary: Tom gets called to a review a very odd case involving a young woman and some unexplainable found footage. 

Warnings: Violence, very dark themes, smut

Part 1

V.

Tom is there waiting for her when she gets released from the psychiatric facility. Despite regaining her freedom, she looks terribly lost as she shuffles around awkwardly in the intake atrium. 

“Hey,” he greets with a small wave. 

She gives him a weak smile in return. 

“I heard your house is still cordoned off. Do you have anywhere you can stay?” He asks gently, trying to not scare her off. 

Unsuccessfully it seems, because she starts to walk away from him and he panics, “You could stay with me!”

“If you want,” he quickly adds when she turns back around to look at him. 

It’s a bit of a standoff as they regard each other and she contemplates her options. Eventually she says, “Fine.” 

…

Tom normally doesn’t feel self conscious about his warehouse apartment, but he desperately wants her to feel comfortable. He starts trying to give her a tour but it becomes awkward quick because his apartment is an open layout. 

“Here, I’ll take your coat,” he immediately jumps to fill the silence. She absentmindedly hands him her jacket while looking around his apartment. 

“Cool place.” 

“Yeah I–uh–got a good deal on it,” he realizes too late that he doesn’t actually have a place to hang up coats, so he just drapes it over the back of a chair. 

She turns to look at him with that sharp gaze of hers and he thinks she going to scold him about what a slob he is. (It’s what his last girlfriend did.) However, instead of digging into him about his general lack of organization, she asks, “Aren’t you worried?”

His voice cracks in nervousness, so he clears his throat, “About what?”

“They think I killed all those people. Aren’t you worried I’ll kill you too?”

She’s so earnest in her concern, her shame and guilt so evident that he has no idea how they even suspected her in the first place. He approaches her slowly, like how one would a skittish mouse, “I’m not afraid of you.” 

Kissing her feels like the most natural thing in the world; like coming home. 

“Do you trust me?” He asks, his thumb tracing the seam of her lips. Her tongue darts out to taste the appendage, making his gaze darken with arousal. 

Her answering nod is timid, but her voice is firm when she says, “I do.” 

He pulls her into another kiss, this one searing hot and bellying his desires. She moans into it, a soft sound that he endeavors to hear more of. Reaching down, he grips her under her thighs, hoisting her up so that she can wrap them around his waist. 

In the distance he can hear what sounds like popping, but he ignores it in favor of the way she tastes. He seats himself on his couch, placing her on top of him. His hands drift up to grip at her hips, the tips of his fingers teasing up under the hem of her t-shirt. 

That’s all the prompting she needs to let him guide her hips down until she’s grinding her core against the bulge in his pants. She pulls away from the kiss to gasp his name, her hips starting a solid rhythm that will have this ending far sooner than he wants to. 

“Fuck,” Tom hisses. This is the most turned on he’s been in a long time. Everything about her is driving him wild; her smell, her voice, even the way she tastes. 

Before she can pull him into another mind blowing kiss, he stops her, “Wait. I wanna do this right.” 

He gently nudges her off of his lap before standing up. He grasps her hand in his and leads her up the stairs to the loft where his bed is waiting. 

She smiles at the sight, “Not a couch person?”

“No, no, normally I don’t mind, but I wanted you to be comfortable for when I do this.” 

She’s still processing his words when he pushes her down onto the bed. He’s quick to crawl up between her legs, nudging his nose against her legging covered sex. 

“Tell me this is okay,” he practically begs, his voice raspy and desperate. 

Her fingers thread through his hair, tugging on his locks encouragingly, “Please, Tom.” 

She barely gets his name out before he’s tugging off her pants and underwear. She tries to shyly close her legs, but he shoulders his way between them. He guides her hands to re-tangle in his hair and he looks up at her with hooded eyes, “Use me.” 

He immediately begins devouring her, licking and sucking up her juices like it’s his last meal. Her hips begin grinding against his face and tongue and he can’t help but moan at the actions. Fuck, he loves eating women out. 

He slowly eases a finger into her while he sucks at her clit, obsessed at the way her cunt flutters around the digit– squeezing it like the most wonderful of hugs. His name is being chanted at him and her grip is unrelenting in his hair. He might actually cum just from this. 

He pulls away to slip a second finger into her, pumping them in and out and rubbing that spongy spot inside of her that has her letting out a high pitched keen and arching off of the bed. If he were paying attention, he would’ve heard what sounded like glass shattering in the distance. 

“Fuck, do you know how perfect you are?” He tells her and chuckles when all he gets in return is incoherent babbling. 

Sitting up, her iron grip in his hair releases and her hands fall limply by her sides. Her face is flushed so prettily and her chest is heaving in these great big gasps. He runs his free hand up her stomach and under her shirt, groping one of her breasts and timing his squeezing of it with the rhythm he’s fingering her with. 

“Tom,” the way she says his name sounds like she’s begging for him. Normally he’d spend quite a bit of time on the foreplay, kissing and sucking and rubbing her all over. But he’s so uncharacteristically wound up, like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t do something about it. 

Removing his fingers from her, he starts tugging at the button and zipper of his pants, her hands joining his in pushing the offending fabric down his thighs. She immediately grips him, her soft hands pumping him up and down–squeezing the head on the way back up like she’s trying to milk every last drop of cum from his cock. 

They work together to line him up with her fluttering cunt, Y/N being the one to notch the head in her entrance. He manages to take his time pushing into her, easing back and forth so that there’s no discomfort. The lights in the apartment (and around the block) flicker as he seats himself fully inside of her. The two of them are completely blind to it, though, their entire beings with each other in this moment. 

He shoves her shirt up, pushing her bra with it. Her tits are perfect, and as juvenile as it is, the vision of them alone could be enough to make him cum. He buries his face between them, giving a playful bite to one as he starts fucking her harder. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulls him up so that their lips reconnect, their tongues meeting in a filthy dance and their breaths mingling. 

“Let me–fuck– let me know where you want me to cum,” he demands while hauling her hips up and driving into her at a punishing pace. 

She manages to get a strangled ‘Pull out!’ in-between her squeals of pleasure. 

He barely pulls out in time, his cock already spurting all over her belly before he’s even really wrapped a hand around it. 

“Fuckkkkkk,” he groans, dropping his head to rest in the crook of her shoulder. He settles even more deeply on top of her when her fingers begin carding gently through his hair. 

“What’s going to happen to me?” She whispers out fearfully. His only answer is to hold her more tightly because even he isn’t sure where things will go from here. 

…

Tom is reluctant to leave the following morning. She watches him from a cocoon of blankets on the couch while he dallies about. He’s doing everything he can to put off making his way to the police station to finish his viewing of the video tapes. He has one more to watch today and he’s sure it’s from that night. 

“I’ll still be here when you get back - I’m not running away.” 

Tom’s head jerks up to look at her, his brow pulled down in confusion before he realizes what she means. She thinks he’s reluctant to leave because he’s worried she’ll run off. 

“No, no that’s not-,” he stutters, trying to figure out what to say, “I’m not worried about that. ‘Just don’t really want to leave you is all.”

He doesn’t exactly have the words to explain his complex feelings about his role as a paranormal investigator in her case. He can tout her innocence all day, but he doesn’t know if he can convince the police of the same thing. 

Coming to a decision, he moves forward and pecks a kiss to her forehead, “I’ll be back soon.” 

He heads out the door only to come to a sharp stop right outside. 

All the cars along the street have their windows broken out. He runs to his car, also with broken windows, and is relieved to see nothing has been stolen. A sudden memory of last night rushes to the front of his mind and he rubs his face with a groan. 

His powers haven’t ever done destruction quite on this scale before but it’s obviously the cause of this. How embarrassing. 

Opening his car, he quickly brushes the glass off his seat before starting on his way to the police station. He wonders to himself while he drives if his and Y/N’s gifts feed off each other; if somehow they amplified the output. 

As he pulls into the station he realizes he’s going to have to run some experiments with her later about it. (Likely with more sex - not that he’s complaining) 

It’s early on a Saturday a morning and so the station is far quieter than usual with only a hand full of officers manning the desks and all of them either half asleep or fully. The front desk officer recognizes him and just waves him through without taking his eyes off his phone. 

In the unused interrogation room, the box tv with the stack of video tapes waits for him. One set off to the side, a mental note to himself that it’s the only unwatched one. He holds his breath when he pushes it into the VCR. 

It starts midway through a conversation with one of the victims. 

“-oh uh, we actually don’t really want this filmed. I hope you don’t mind,” the man says while eyeing the camera nervously. He about 40 years old and balding, there are other men behind him of similar disposition. 

It’s quiet for a moment as Y/N seems to contemplate this request before she says, “Um, sure.” 

The camera doesn’t get turned off though, instead the view changes to the inside of her bag as she shoves it in there, still recording. 

Things are quiet and muffled for several minutes before the screaming starts. It’s not the men who’s screaming, though, it’s Y/N and it’s perfectly clear she’s begging the men to ‘Stop’. 

Tom can’t see what they’re doing to her but it can’t be good. No woman screams like that for no reason. 

After a while she goes quiet and the tape continues recording the inside of her bag until it runs out. 

Tom feels like vomiting. 

When the VCR spits out the tape he stares at it for a long while.

 When he was a child, he’d made a vow for himself. That he would stop all the psychic con artists he could and that he would protect anyone he ever found to be like himself. It wouldn’t be until he was much older that he would remember that, and here he is in a very particular sort of situation. 

They’ll never believe her innocence, this he knows for fact. Women like her– people like them, don’t have the fortune of being celebrities like Silver was. Because when confronted with the real thing, people will only feel fear. 

Coming to a decision, he grabs all of the video tapes and shoves them into his bag. 

The walk out of the station is just as easy as the walk in was, in fact, he’s certain the man at the front desk didn’t even register him walking out. Still, though, he tries to look natural as he gets back into his car and starts driving away. 

When he’s far enough from the station, he guns it back to his apartment, already making a mental list of what he needs to grab. 

Y/N is sitting at his kitchen counter flipping through one of his books when he comes barging in. Her little jump of fear and the accompanying squeak would be adorable if this wasn’t such a dire situation. 

“Grab what you can, we’re leaving.” 

Her jaw drops and she stares at him with wide eyes before what he says really registers and then she’s hopping up and helping him grab essentials. 

She stops him at one point, resting a gentle hand on his arm and looking up at him with those big mournful eyes, “Where are we going to go?”

He presses his head against hers and says, “Wherever we want. Far away. And while we’re driving there’s something I have to tell you about.” 

Later, when they’ve stopped for the night and he’s thinking things over, he wonders if they were drawn together. If their powers are magnetic forces pulling their lives onto the same track. 

Whatever it may be, they’re here together now and he’s no longer alone. He’s finally found another like him. 

THE END.

[bnhaficsforthesoul]

could you possibly do jiro headcannons? SFW and NSFW

she's such an awkward girlfriend, she's embarrassed easily and flustered by little things

but she always tries to appear cool and casual, as if you even holding her hand isn't making her heart beat out of her chest

she always tries to find ways you make you equally flustered, so if you're not embarrassed easily expect her to be angrily pouting at you after her failed attempts

even after years of dating, while she has calmed down a lot, a random kiss or compliment still makes her blush

she isn't the most openly affectionate person, but she tries to find ways to show you she cares

no matter what she always has your back, even if she can't find the words she's supporting you

she loves posting you on social media honestly, she loves having the Rockstar gf vibe and she can't be a gf without you

she definitely writes music about you and for you all the time. she isn't always willing to show you, but she has a notebook full of random lyrics and whole songs all inspired by you

she would probably only show you them on a special day, like your birthday or anniversary. she summons all her courage to sing one of them to you

she would totally put you on one of her album covers once she's like fully confident she's gonna marry you one day

she's kind of bad at initiating physical affection, so you'll usually need to take the lead for that.

she kind of likes if you have a more dominant personality, she likes being able to turn her brain off and trust you with her wellbeing

at first she was a little self conscious about her ear jacks, like even if you find her pretty what If you secretly wish she looked 'normal'. she never tells you this though

she's pretty crafty in other ways too, she probably really enjoys making jewelery or customizing her own clothes - so she does for you too

it's fun seeing her come out of her shell more as you are together longer. like no, she isn't shy necessarily, but she's never been the most open person either. so when you get to the day where she's singing in the car with you, she's kissing you unprompted, she's expressing her feelings comfortably, you think it's insane how far she's come

she likes dates where the two of you can be alone. like stargazing, picnics, drive in movies, just more personal things

she's not big on pet names, she only really calls you by your name and is fine with you using her name. she isn't overly opposed to you saying them as long as it's nothing to cringey

if the two of you ever shared a cute moment where a nickname could sprout from, that would be different though. then she's okay with it

nsfw

she is definitely on the submissive leaning side, she much prefers to let you take control

she isn't overly kinky either, but she probably likes occasional slight bondage like handcuffs

she isn't a masochist, but it does turn her on when you're especially dominant with her

she would want to experiment with some other kinks, nothing too out there, but like slight impact play or choking, she'd wanna try

she's kind of loud during sex but she sounds so pretty. she's nervous to actually say anything, never wants to dirty talk, but she's moaning non stop

she's turned on kinda easily too, just a rougher than usual kiss or a slight grope to her tit's and she's already getting a little wet

she doesnt know how to initiate sex at all. she could be dripping wet feeling like she'd die if she didn't get fucked, and her 'hints' will still be attempting to send you telepathic messages

she is a horny drunk, and this is the only time she is every dominant and outwardly horny

aftercare is super important for her, she loves to cuddle and watch TV or something on one of your phones and just feel close

[melodygatesauthor]

Worth the Risk - Part 2: The Hot Tub

bfd!Santiago "Pope" Garcia X f!Reader

Series Masterlist - AO3 LINK

Summary

It's night two after you and your best friend's dad had a...moment together. You're staying there for another night, and Santi can't seem to keep his hands off of you.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, forbidden relationship, reader is in her 20s, best friend's dad!Santi, Santiago is a dirty man y'all, not much else to say, smut, depraved, corruption kink, oral sex

Word Count: 5.1k

It was the morning after your rendezvous with Santi. You were nervous to leave Maria’s room now, not sure what the vibe would be when you went down for breakfast. There was no discussion afterward about whether you would be going along pretending nothing happened, or if this was a thing now. Surely Santiago would want to put this behind him.

You weren’t stupid, you knew you couldn’t tell Maria, but you hadn’t figured out if there would be a repeat or if last night was a one time thing. Part of you hoped for it to happen again and again, another part of you, the part that cared for your friend, knew that it shouldn’t happen ever again. You wondered how Santi felt. Did he want to do it again? Or was it just something wild he needed to get out of his system and now it would all go back to normal?

You weren’t prepared for the most awkward breakfast of your life. One where you sat there in the same clothes Santi had fucked you in the night before while you sat across the table from his daughter, your best friend. He was clearly refusing to make eye contact with you. You never even saw him peek at you from your peripheral. You were tense, every nerve ending standing on high alert in your body. You tried not to tremble when you took a sip of your water.

Maria didn’t skip a beat though, continuing to talk nonstop, clearly unaware of the tension in the room. She was going on about the guy she was seeing from school, and how he wanted to take her to the movies that night, a fact that piqued both you and her father’s interest simultaneously. Normally you’d be upset that she was going to ditch you to spend time with some guy, but this could work in your favor…if Santi wasn’t done with you that is.

“Maria, that’s not nice to leave your friend when she’s only visiting for a couple days.” Santi scolded.

“I know, and look,” she looked at you, “you are more than welcome to come if you want. I just know that being a third wheel can be so awkward.” She said, biting into one of her pancakes.

“No, actually…” you looked over at Santi who averted his gaze the moment your eyes sat on him for more than a millisecond. “I have some stuff for school I gotta do and I wasn’t sure when I’d get a chance so that’s perfect.”

“See dad.” Maria said in a sassy tone that you knew pissed Santi off.

His jaw was clenched, “Maria, you don’t get to see her very often.”

“I’m literally grown dad, if she’s cool with it then I’m going.” Maria rolled her eyes.

Santi let out a frustrated huff, “Fine, you go straight to the movies and then you come right back. Thought I raised you not to be so rude.” 

“That was mom.”

“Well she did a shit job.” He wiped his mouth with his towel and stood up.

Your eyes locked where you knew his cock was sitting behind the fabric of his sweats, right at eye level. You looked up at him, he had seen you looking. Maria was on her phone, totally oblivious to the sexual conversation you were having between her dad’s eyes and yours. Santi looked down at you, slack jawed and eyes dark.

I want to suck your cock, Mr. Garcia. You were saying. 

You’re a bad girl, that isn’t happening again. You imagined he was thinking.

That is what he was thinking. Santi saw you looking up at him with those big twinkling eyes. You looked so damn innocent he could hardly stand it. He thought he could at least get through breakfast with you before he started feeling like he wanted a repeat of last night. Now he was imagining you on your knees in front of him with your lips stretched out around his girth.

“Maria, don’t make your friend do the dishes again alright?” He broke your gaze and started to walk away.

“Fine.” She groaned as Santi started up the stairs. “Hey dad?” She yelled to him.

“Yeah?”

“Can we use the hot tub?” She asked, getting up from the table.

You heard a long pause, and then you heard Santi come back downstairs. He looked at Maria, to you, and then back to Maria again. You watched his throat bob anxiously.

“Uh, I have to clean it, it's really dirty.” He protested, looking at you to see if you were buying his bullshit.

You weren’t, and neither was Maria.

“No it’s not.” She protested. “I just used it yesterday morning, it’s fine.”

He looked at you, eyes drenched in lust before looking back at Maria. You could see he was trying desperately to forget about last night, but unbeknownst to Maria, she was making that nearly impossible. Now he would be stuck trying not to watch you while you bathed under the sun in nothing but a skimpy bikini.

“Oh yeah…I thought…whatever, just go.” He sighed, finally making his way over the stairs.

“I mean, we don’t have to use it if he doesn’t want us to.” You figured if he really wanted to put it behind him so badly then you should probably try too, no matter how badly you still wanted him.

“No, he’s just being weird. I don’t know why he’s acting like that.” She said in an irritated tone.

You, of course, know exactly while he was acting like that. You and Maria went upstairs, after she finished loading the dishwasher, and you both put on your bathing suits. She was kind enough to let you wear her black one which, admittedly, left little to the imagination. As you were walking out you saw your phone light up on her desk and you grabbed it, your mom had texted asking you to call her.

“I gotta call my mom, I’ll be right down.” You explained to Maria who headed out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

She just wanted to remind you to pick up some milk from the grocery store on your way home the next day which you were sure could’ve been sent as a text, but your mom notoriously called for the simplest things.

You stepped out into the hall and nearly collapsed when you saw Santi come out of his room. You’d almost forgotten that you were wearing a bikini until he looked you up and down with his lips slightly parted. He stepped up to you, a gesture you weren’t expecting. You thought he would hide again, trying to avoid you. He hooked a finger under the strap around your shoulder and ran down the string. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“You enjoying yourself, huh sweetheart?” He asked, trailing his finger down under the thin fabric and brushing it against your nipple.

“M-Mr. Garcia.” You bit your bottom lip and closed your eyes. The slightest moan escaped you.

“You had to wear the skimpiest little bikini you could find didn’t you?” He pulled his finger back, letting the strap snap against your chest and then crossed his arms.

“It’s not mine.” You stepped back.

“You don’t seem like you’re trying very hard to stop this from continuing.” His brow furrowed.

Your eyes looked down and saw the shadow of an erection in his sweats. You thought once again about how big it felt inside of you while you were bent over the island counter. You felt your cunt flutter with need. You pressed your lips together tightly to keep another moan from escaping.

“Neither do you.” You said finally before gliding down the stairs quickly, trying to avoid making the situation even more awkward than it already was.

The hot tub was relaxing, and uneventful. You half expected Santi to make some excuse to get in there with you both, but that would’ve been too bold, not to mention incredibly awkward. Your body felt like it was vibrating with desire, you couldn’t stop thinking about him, no matter how hard you tried.

Maria was going on endlessly about things you wished you cared about, things you should care about, but instead you were thinking about all the ways you wanted her dad to make you come undone. You felt like a bad friend. In fact, you were a bad friend. The worst part of it though, was you were so wrapped up in thoughts about Santi, you weren’t sure you cared about what she had to say.

It wasn’t just the fact that you’d slept with her father either. You and Maria had started growing apart since you’d left for college. She stayed at a local school and you were going to a place out of state. You’d been more focused on your studies while she was worried about boys. You’d always heard that friends grew apart after highschool, but you didn’t think it would happen to you. Her self absorbed attitude certainly didn’t help your friendship either.

After thirty minutes of listening to her drone on about her date that evening, you said, “I have to go to the bathroom, be right back.”

You were feeling flustered, unable to shake the thoughts of Santi buzzing through your mind, and decided you’d better go take care of yourself in the bathroom quickly. You couldn’t stop thinking about him touching you since his finger had brushed against your nipple just a little while ago. You wanted him so bad you could hardly stand it anymore.

Santi was nearly beating his head against the wall, trying to figure out how to get over this little thing the two of you had going on. It was a mess, and he knew it couldn’t end well for either of you. He had to be the more mature one, he couldn’t let this continue. He felt confident in his decision to keep his hands off you until he stepped out of his room and saw you walking up the stairs with your body all wet and glistening.

You stared at him for a moment, like you were frozen, until you finally found the words to say.

“Sorry, just really had to use the bathroom.” You said, realizing now that you weren’t wearing a towel.

Santi shook his head slowly. You were breathtaking, and such a tease.

“So fucking stupid.” He rushed forward and pulled you in for a bruising kiss. You gasped, melting into his touch, “I know what you’re doing…I know exactly what you’re doing.”

Santi moved quickly, tugging your bathing suit bottom to the side and then pulling his own sweats to his thighs. You wrapped your arms around his strong shoulders as he lifted you and sheathed his cock deep inside your soaking wet cunt. You tossed your head back, trying desperately to keep yourself from crying so loudly that Maria, and the whole neighborhood, would hear you.

“So fucking wet, been thinking about me all morning? Huh?” He fucked you hard and fast, the muscles in his shoulders rippled under your hands.

“Yes…oh-fuck-yes.” You pressed your lips together tightly.

“Course you have hermosa, of fucking course you have. You’re such a little tease, can’t get enough can you?” He grunted with every powerful thrust.

You leaned forward, holding onto him tightly while he continued splitting your hole open right there in the hallway. His cock was stretching and resizing you still. It felt good despite the dull ache. His hips slapped against your rear, echoing down the stairwell. You sat back again, looking into his dark hooded eyes before you leaned in to kiss him.

“I don’t think you’ve been very good do you?” Santi adjusted himself so he was holding you with only one arm so he could reach his hand up to squeeze your jaw, keeping your lips from touching his. “Maybe when you act right I’ll give you what you want.”

“Mr. Garcia, please.” You begged, looking into his eyes.

He was hitting so deep, forcing sharp whimpers from your lips. You wanted to feel that closeness, that softness from him. He wasn’t going to give it to you, that much was clear. His lips pressed into a thin line while he looked at you.

“Oh cariño, wish you could see how desperate you look right now.”

“Hey…!” Maria yelled your name from downstairs.

There was a brief and panicked pause where you and Santi stared at each other wide-eyed. You pushed him back, feeling empty when his cock was out of you. You quickly tugged your bikini bottoms back over yourself and you watched him pull his sweats back up. He padded on bare feet back to his bedroom and silently closed the door, leaving you alone in the hallway.

“You up here?” Maria said, coming up over the stairs.

You must’ve looked stupid just standing there. You turned around and gave her a quick, and not very convincing, smirk. Your best friend chuckled when she saw you.

“What the hell are you doing? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“What?” You giggled nervously. “N-no I just…um…I realized I just started my period and I don’t have a tampon.”

You felt every hair on your body stand up.

Maria’s entire posture relaxed, “well why didn’t you just say so! Jeez!”

While the rest of the evening was uneventful, that didn’t stop it from being awkward, and it certainly didn’t stop you from feeling the unnerving tension over the dinner table while you sipped your water. Santi kept looking at you, you could see him out of your peripheral. You wondered if Maria ever stopped talking, though you were glad that she managed to break up the silence, saving it from getting even more awkward the closer it got to her leaving for her date.

Surely Santi had been upset about being unable to finish in you earlier, as upset as you had been without a doubt. You’d spent the day trying to ease the ache between your legs by ignoring him, but every glance he passed sparked your arousal once more. You wondered if, when you were finally alone, he was going to be as mean as he was in the hallway earlier.

You looked over at him. His brow was furrowed while he took a long gulp of his water. A droplet fell onto his chin. You watched as he swiped it away with a finger and then plopped it in his mouth. Your lips parted slightly, letting a soft and breathy exhale to escape you.

“Oh! Shit, sorry I have to go.” Maria said, forcing both you and her father to look in her direction.

You looked at the clock. She was supposed to leave five minutes ago. Maria stood up quickly and walked over to her dad, giving him a kiss on the forehead before waving to you both and heading out the door. An anxious air fell over the room now that she was gone. You didn’t dare look to your left where you could feel Santi’s piercing gaze. What if he’d changed his mind since your meeting in the hall?

“Gonna go work on my homework.” You said, standing and starting for the stairs.

Santi grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks and pulling you back toward him. You heard him slide his chair out and he put you on his lap. His cock was so hard, prodding against you through his sweats and your shorts. His hands were immediately explorative, one hand grabbing your throat so he could leave wet kisses on the other side easier, and the other hand wasted no time tucking into the waistband of your shorts to search around for your clit.

You whined, arching your back into his chest when he found the spot that had been tormenting you all day. His thick and dexterous fingers started their work, swirling around your sensitive nub masterfully.

“Mr. Garcia…it feels so good.” You whined, churning your hips into his hand.

“Course it does, sweetheart.” He growled into your throat.

He slipped one of his fingers into your hole, dragging it over your walls in a delicious rhythm. You reached a hand up and grabbed a fistful of his curls, pushing his face into your throat even more.

“Think you can handle more? Hm?” He stuck another finger in your tight hole. You gasped, “there you go, how do you like that?”

He kissed your neck, slipping his tongue to wet your skin with every pass. You lay your head back over his shoulder, giving in to him completely, unable to physically support your own weight anymore. You bit your bottom lip, stifling a groan that rumbled up through your chest. Santi moaned over your throat. His kissing became more rough, nearly bruising your skin.

“Mr. Garcia I can’t…please…someone will see-”

“Shhh. Remember what I said before? Need you to be a good girl for me now.”

He started pumping his digits into you faster, so hard you started whimpering, mouth wide open into the dining room. His lips were working on you, suctioning the soft skin from your neck into his mouth before releasing it. It’s like he wanted to get caught. If Maria saw that, she’d know it could only come from one place.

“I can feel you fucking soaking through your shorts hermosa, you’re a messy little thing aren’t you? Hm?” He kissed softly on your shoulder.

“Yes, yes, messy…mhm.” You weren’t able to form a proper sentence to save your life. You were too focused on Santi’s fingers fucking you open.

“I can feel your tight little pussy squeezing around me, you gonna come for me? I know you want to, must’ve been a long day for you after we got interrupted.” He moaned, shifting his hips under you, “I know it was hard for me not to sneak you off to my room and fuck you into the mattress.”

“Wish you did…wish you fucked me Mr. Garcia.” You felt the heat pooling in your core, white hot as it seared through you.

��I bet you do cariño, bet you want me to fill you up again too.” He was breathing so heavy in you ear now, “fuck.”

“Yes, yes I do!” You felt it, you were right there. “Yes!”

Your cunt crushed his fingers while your body fell completely limp against his frame. Thankfully he was still holding you in place, otherwise you would’ve fallen to the floor. Your mind went white, while you came down and your breathing slowly turned to normal. When you opened your eyes and turned to Santi, he held an aroused gaze. He pulled his fingers out of you.

You turned around, straddling Santi on either side of his powerful thighs. You reached a hand down and grabbed hold of his cock on the outside of his sweatpants. A breathy moan escaped him, brushing over your face softly. You leaned in.

“Can you teach me?” You asked gently, “how to…how to…”

“Tell me sweetheart, use your words.” He reached up and cupped your cheek with one hand, and dropped the other onto your hip, squeezing tight against the meat of your rear.

“I want to take you in my mouth Mr. Garcia, please.” You asked as innocently as you could muster.

Santi gulped, looking up at you with adoration instead of his usual smug grin. He pulled you in for a gentle kiss, entangling his tongue with yours softly. He stayed like that, melting his mouth into yours passionately while you churned your hips over his erection idly. He moaned into you, squeezing your hip tightly.

“Think you can handle it cariño?” He asked, eyes darting between yours.

“I think so, I want to try.”

“Okay then, get down on your knees hermosa.” He ordered, tapping your side.

You did as you were told, sliding off his legs and getting down on your knees. Santi pulled his pants down, shucking them off his feet and tossing them aside. You were in awe. You’d felt his cock, but you’d never had the opportunity to really admire it until now. It looked even bigger than it had felt when you had it inside of you.

“Take it slow at first, figure out what you can handle.”

He spread his legs wide and pressed a gentle, though very large, hand against your cheek. You shuffled on your knees in between his thighs. You took him in your hand, unable to fully cage your fingers around his girth.

“It’s so big.” You said, gulping the excess saliva that had formed in your mouth at the sight of it.

“I know sweetheart, just take your time.”

You noticed a bead of precum forming at the head, so you started with that. You brought your soft tongue to the tip, dragging it over the slit and collecting the sweet fluid that had collected there. It tasted good. You’d never done anything like that before and weren’t sure what to expect when touching it to your tongue, but you were pleasantly surprised.

“Go ahead and get it all nice and wet. That will help.” He said in a gentle tone.

You looked up at him before looking back down at his cock. It throbbed in your hand. You dropped a glob of spit over the head, watching it trickle down the sides. You moved your hand just enough to let it coat the entire length. Santi groaned in response. You gripped over it again and slid your fingers around to make sure it was nice and slick.

“F-fuck, there you go, that’s really good.” Santi moaned, churning his hips upward to chase your closed fist. “Now put your lips around it.”

He brushed the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone, giving you a sense of comfort. You felt small suddenly, unsure how this was going to go. You weren’t even sure if you’d be able to get your lips all the way around it, but you tried anyway. Opening wide, you took him in. Your lips stretched out the further down you got. You felt your tongue splayed out across the underside. Santi let out a breathy whine in response.

“That’s it sweetheart…so good. Mm, what a pretty little mouth.” He looked down at you with that same look he had before. “See how far down you can go.”

He held the back of your head as he guided you forward. You moved slowly, enjoying the taste of his cock while you lowered yourself. You stopped when you reached the threshold of your throat. You were certain there was no way he could go further.

“You need to relax your throat, can you try to do that?”

You gagged but tried to stay on it. It was too much though, you shook your head and came back up for air, coughing in the process. You felt embarrassment wash over you. You wanted to impress him, showing him that you knew what you were doing, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen. The truth was that you had no idea what you were doing.

“Sorry, I suck I…I really don’t know what I’m doing and-”

“Sh sh sh! Cariño!” He looked at you with a furrowed brow, “you’re doing great, try again.”

You sniffled and nodded. You weren’t sure if the tear that trickled down your cheek was from your gag reflex being activated, or if it was from your shame. Santi swiped it away with his thumb and gently pulled your face back to his cock.

“You need to go back down, breathe through your nose, and relax your throat, okay?” He raised his eyebrows at you.

You nodded, “yes.”

“Okay, try again for me.”

You let out an exhale while you readied yourself to go back in. Opening slowly, you took his cock past your lips once more. His girth felt good filling your mouth, stretching you out again. He moaned deeply, muttering fuck, and pushing in just a little on his own. You remembered that he told you to breathe in through your nose, and it helped.

“That’s it, breathe sweetheart, you’re doing so…oh fuck…so fucking good.” He was gripping your head a little tighter now, “look at me. Wanna see those pretty eyes.”

You looked up at him. Your eyes were watering as you tested the limit of your throat once more. You gagged, but quickly regained control and stayed with your lips wrapped around him. You felt warm tears start trickling down your cheeks. Santi wasn’t even bothering to brush them away anymore, he just smirked at you, that same cocky grin he always had.

“Why don’t you touch yourself? Keep sucking my dick while you do.” He instructed, never letting his eyes leave yours.

You obeyed, tucking a hand into the waistband of your pants and swirling a finger around your clit. You moaned over his cock when you did. It got easier as you went down again and again, letting his thick member push down throat when you relaxed. You just had to remember to keep breathing through your nose.

“Oh cariño, you’re a fuckin’ natural, feels good. You sure you’ve never done this before?” His voice sounded wrecked.

Santi held onto your head now and started bucking his hips upward. You didn’t mind, you could handle it. You squeezed your eyes, feeling the burn of your mascara running down. You tried so hard to keep them open for him.

“So pretty sweetheart, such a good little girl for me…fuck…love when you choke like that.” He thrusted upward again, forcing a grunt from you. “Think you can take a little more?”

You nodded as best as you could.

“Course you can, go get on the couch for me. Hang your head off the front and put your legs up the back cushions.”

You gasped for air when he released you. Spit connected your lips to his cock in slick strands. You took your hand out of your shorts and stood up. Santi stood too and gave you a deep kiss, despite your mouth being completely covered in saliva. He gestured for the couch. You got yourself into the position he’d demanded of you, letting your head hang off the edge of the cushions.

“If this is too much, you need to just tap my leg, ok?” He asked, looking down at you.

“Yeah, ok.” You said, looking at him from upside down.

“Touch yourself, and lay your tongue out flat for me.” You did both, returning your fingers to your swollen and needy clit while also splaying your tongue out on your chin as wide as you could.

Santi ran the length of his cock against your tongue, reveling in the way it felt against him. He pushed himself into your mouth, and you were shocked when his entire length slid easily into your throat. You still gagged a little, and you had to breathe in between the moments that his balls brushed against your nose, but this was easier. Santi reached forward, pressing his palm to your throat gently.

“Feel that? I can see my cock in your little fucking throat cariño…shit.” Santi was a mess, rutting his hips into you faster.

He leaned forward, keeping his cock in your mouth, and tugged your shorts upward over your thighs. He swatted your hand away and started rubbing your clit with his thumb. You grabbed the couch cushions for dear life. Feeling your throat being resized by such a big cock in combination with Santi’s skilled fingers working on your clit made your body tremble.

“You gonna come for me one more time? Want to feel you screaming over my cock sweetheart, come on.”

You moaned in affirmation. Santi’s fingers kept working on your clit, swirling in circles over the burning nub. You arched your back into his touch, desperate to feel that sweet release once more.

“I want you to swallow everything I feed you…you got that? Every…last…drop.” He let out a sharp exhale, but never slowed his pace.

Tears were still running down your face. You churned your hips into his fingers, greedy for more friction, which he provided. You were there, so close, ready to feel yourself go limp once again in ecstasy. Santi could tell, just from the way you squirmed under him, that you were about to come undone.

“Be a good girl alright? You’ve been a little fucking tease all day, now you can make it up to me.”

His hips stuttered but his fingers didn’t stop working on you. You felt your cunt clamping down around nothing while Santi’s cock pumped into you and stretched out your throat. You were screaming, just like he’d asked, muscles vibrating around his length. His groans of pleasure were louder than they’d been last night when he fucked you against the counter.

Even if you didn’t want to swallow his load, which you did, you wouldn’t have a choice. He shot it directly into your esophagus, not leaving you with the option to spit or swallow. It didn’t matter though, you were happy to take whatever he gave you, all you wanted to hear were those words. You wanted Santi to tell you that you were a good girl.

“Fuck sweetheart…”

He pulled out of your throat when he was finished and helped you to sit up straight on the couch. Santi pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger before he kissed you deeply. It felt so good, you didn’t want it to end, but you knew your time was running out. Your friend would be coming home soon.

“You were such a good girl for me, go get yourself cleaned up before Maria gets home. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

----

When you left Maria’s house the next day to return home, you’d completely forgotten the milk that your mother asked you to pick up. You were going back to your college dorms the next day, and you wondered how long it would take for you to stop thinking about how badly you wanted to get in bed with Mr. Garcia again.

You thought after a few days of classes you would be able to forget all about him, but your phone buzzed on your way in one morning almost a week after your last meeting with him. You opened it, and saw an unrecognized number had sent you a text.

Unknown: Can’t stop thinking about you sweetheart.

Part 1 - Part 3 (coming soon)

Triple Frontier Masterlist

bfd!Santi Masterlist

Taglist (if you would like to be added or removed, please let me know!): @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @my-secret-shame, @thatmomwitchfriend, @alexxavicry, @ryebreadsworld, @welcometostayingawake, @jake-g-lockley, @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @bloodredwolfsbane, @minigirl87, @ahookedheroespureheart, @romanarose, @360iris, @grumpyahjumma, @kingtwhiddleston