#taking everything in me not to get the venus shoes

[grave-st0ned]

they just keep coming ahhhhh

presale is tomorrow (mar 8th)

[lightsoutmatthews]

Ignored - Auston Matthews

summary: Auston leaving you alone at an event leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

pairing: Auston Matthews x female!reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: angst, fighting, swearing

------------------------

Your heels clacked quietly on the pavement of the silent streets of Toronto. There weren’t many people around at this time of the night, especially in winter.

You left the event a few minutes ago and made your way back to your home, after Auston ignored you almost the entire time since you got there.

You showed up together, at this point the Toronto scene was used to you being at his arm during events, and he sat next to you through dinner. His hand softly rubbing over your thigh as he listened to whatever sponsors the team had put on his table. They had introduced themselves to you, but their names had left your memory second after they finished speaking.

After dinner he got called away to speak more sponsors. You stayed at the table with the promise of him being back in a few but he never returned. You saw him work around the room, chatting with different people. Sponsors, team executives, teammates, but his eyes never went back to you.

It was like you left his mind the second he got up from the table.

At first it was no big deal, you knew he had obligations as the teams captain and superstar, entertaining sponsors at events like this being what he was obligated to do but usually he was checking in on you, at least occasionally. He included you in conversations, kept you close and checked if you needed everything.

Not today though.

Willam stopped by at one point, made sure you were fine, Mitch raised an eyebrow at you when he walked past but nothing from the man you were supposedly here with.

So, after two hours of sitting alone you had enough and left.

Not that Auston noticed.

---------------------

According to your phone it wasn’t that far from the venue to yours and Auston´s home and a 40-minute walk to clear your head sounded exactly like what you needed right now.

Your feet hurt from wearing heels all day, but you still decided to walk. Thankfully the streets were still lit, and you were walking alongside a main road with cars passing every now and then, backroads you definitely wouldn’t have take at this time of the night.

About 15 minutes into your walk an all too familiar blue car stopped next to you. You didn’t stop walking, even when the passenger window lowered, and you saw your boyfriend shoot you a death glare from the driver’s seat.

Of course, he didn’t stop driving, keeping pace with you, the streetlights reflecting in the windshield, the cars lights lighting you the way more than the streetlights ever could.

“Get in the car,” he bit but you still kept on walking. “What are you thinking walking around the city alone at night?” He continued.

You still ignored him.

Seconds later he parked the car and got out, jogging up to you, grabbing you by the waist to finally make you stop. "What´s gotten into you? Why the fuck did you just leave without saying anything?” He hissed. “Let me go,” you bit back.

“Are you insane? Get in the car right now.” You rolled your eyes at the anger in his voice. “I´m not debating with you and I´m not letting you walk back home alone, get in the car for fucks sakes.” His eyes glinted in the light of the streetlights. Anger written all over his face.

You wished you had the energy to argue with him but after the evening you have just had you were tired and just wanted to crawl into bed. “Babe, I can see that your feet are hurting, so just let me take you home and we can debate whatever your problem is at home.”

His words pissed you off. Like he was accusing you of being the problem. At the same time he still cared, he noticed the little detail about your shoes being uncomfortable, it made you feel better, just slightly.

His grip on your wrist was still firm but when you didn’t acknowledge him his face turned into a concerned frown. You knew he was almost at his tipping point when his brows furrowed, and his forehead wrinkled in the way you knew from previous fights.

His jaw clenched before he spoke again. “I don’t know what the fuck your issue is but get in the fucking car because if you don’t, I will drag you inside.” You knew he was serious. He wouldn’t hesitate to put you over his shoulder and carry to the car himself, no matter how it would look to any bystanders.

So, to prevent a scandal around the Leafs superstar you obliged, stomping towards his car. Heels clacking extra loudly which had him let out a long breath.

------------

The rest of the drive back to your home passed in silence. Your head leaned against the window, streetlights blurring together as you starred out at the passing buildings. Him clenching his hands around the steering wheel so hard you could see his knuckles whitening in the corner of you eye.

Back at the house, the car parked in the garage, you got out without acknowledging him. Taking off your shoes in the hallway, letting out a small moan when your bare feet touched the cold floor. A strong but welcomed contrast to the pain your shoes were giving you.

You put your coat and clutch back in the hallway closet before making your way into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. After, you took a right to go upstairs, locking yourself in the bathroom to get ready for bed.

You heard Auston move behind you but still paid him no mind. The fight that would undoubtedly follow soon something playing on yours through every step you took and every action you did.

30 minutes later you had gotten rid of your make up, went through your skincare routine and put on your pajamas, one of Auston´s old Leafs shirts that was so large on you it could count as a dress.

When you returned to the living room he was nowhere to be found. Felix was lounging on his dog bed in the corner of the room half-heartedly raising his head as you entered but not making a move to get up and properly greet you.

The lights from your bedroom upstairs lit the upper half of the staircase, telling you that your boyfriend was in there, probably taking his suit off and getting ready for bed himself.

Sitting on the couch, not ready to face him, you wrapped your arms around your knees and placed your head on them. The emotions of the evening crashing down on you, the scenes playing in your head on loop.

What was he thinking? Why did he leave you alone like that?

Deciding that you were too tired to have the argument tonight you grabbed the fuzzy blanket and wrapped it around your body. Laying down on the few pillows you looked out the big windows, snow slowly started to fall outside, casting the outside in a peaceful atmosphere. Much different to the tension you felt inside.

With the remote next to you, you turned on the electrical fireplace, setting a timer for it to shut off in 30 minutes just in case you fell asleep. It cast the room in an orange glow, throwing oddly shaped shadows on the walls.

You closed your eyes, trying to let calmness and sleep overtake you, listening to the quiet crackle of the fire but soft steps on the stairs had you open your eyes again. You didn’t move, but you knew he was standing right there, on the other side of the couch.

For a while no one said anything. Both of your heavy breathing filling the air around you, the tension so high it could be cut with a knife. “Come to bed,” was the sentence he broke the ice with. You stayed silent. “Or at least tell me what your problem is.” You huffed.

“It was really nice talking to you at the event today, and so nice of you to spend some time with your girlfriend between chatting up sponsors.” You didn’t know why you decided to be petty. You were tired and just wanted to sleep.

“What are you talking about?” he stepped further into the room. You sat back up, shooting him a glare. Another huff before you flicked the blanket away. “Do you even remember taking me to the event?” You argued, turning to face him as his eyes narrowed immediately.

“Again, what the fuck do you mean?” There was a harsh bite to his voice. “So, you don’t.” He stepped further into the room, the gleam of the fireplace reflecting in his eyes.

He ran his hand over his face. “Babe…” he stopped, probably not knowing what he actually wanted to say but you saw a hit of realization hitting him, his features tightening.

“You´re mad because I didn’t talk to you during the event today?” You didn’t miss the hint of accusation in his voice. It made your stomach clench.

When you didn’t answer he huffed just like you did minutes before. “You´re being serious?” His tone almost mocking. “Yes, Auston, I´m being serious. How do you think it looked to your teammates, our friends, when I was sitting at a table alone for two hours because all of you were busy mingling.”

You took a deep breath before you continued. “Why did you even bring me, none of the other guys brought their girls.” When your voice got quieter towards the end of the sentence his eyes softened, just for a second.

“You know how that stuff works, you´ve been to plenty with me, why is it suddenly bothering so much, that you go out alone and rather decide to walk home than to wait for me?”

“Because you left me alone, Auston,” you yelled, emotions finally boiling over. “Yes, we´ve been to plenty events together over the years but not once didn’t you look at me the entire time we were there.” Slapping your hands over your face you tried to hold back a sob that was threatening to leave your mouth. “I was sitting there alone for two hours while Mitch and Willy and basically every by passer threw me pitying looks. Because they knew I was there with you, but you paid me no mind.”

A few beats passed in silence. You could feel him starring down at you, processing what you just thrown at him. When you looked back up remorse had taken up his face. “Babe…” he repeated. You knew he was about to break out into an apology.

“Save it, I´m done talking about it. I don’t want to hear your empty apologies. Especially, not after you all but accused me of being the problem.”

“No, let me explain.” You held up your hand to stop him. “I said I´m done talking about it. I´m tired, I just want to sleep. Let´s talk about it tomorrow.” You rubbed your temples to try and stop a headache from approaching.

“No, we will talk about this now, I´m not going to bed like this,” he insisted. Letting out a loud sigh you got up and walked to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, just to escape the situation. The bright overhead kitchen lights stinging in your eyes.

Of course, he followed. “Don´t run away." a deep breath followed. "Look, I´m sorry. I don’t-,“ He stopped, rubbing his hand over his face and through his hair. “I don’t know what got into me. I didn’t do it on purpose, I was just so wrapped up in my shit today.”

“Auston, I´m going to bed, I´m getting a headache, sorry.”

He let out a defeated sigh. “Fine, we´ll talk about it tomorrow. I´m sorry.” His head dipped; shoulders hung low. Regret written all over his features.

When you made your way back to the couch, he stopped you by softly gripping your wrist. A strong contrast to how he gripped it earlier in the night. This time you let him without shouting. “You take the bed, I´ll stay on the couch.”

“You have a game tomorrow, I´m not letting you sleep on the couch in your own home,” you argued quietly. Exhaustion overtaking your body, strength to keep up your strong stance no longer there.

“It´s your home too.” He slammed his fist on the kitchen island, his sudden outburst making you shiver. “Fine,” you sighed, tired of arguing. “I take the bed.”

You grabbed the water bottle you left on the counter and your phone before heading upstairs. The weight of everything crashing down as soon as you closed the bedroom door behind you.

You wondered if you overreacted, just for a second, but you knew that you didn’t. He did leave you to fend for yourself.

But at the same time you knew that he was in his head a lot recently, a goal drought in his incredible season nagging on him. But still nothing about this evening made sense to you.

--------------

You tossed and turned for what felt like hours, tiredness leaving your body as soon as your head hit the pillow. Overthinking something that had followed you through your entire life. You also missed Auston´s warm body next to yours. How he held you tight at night, how his chest was like a personal furnace during the cold Toronto nights.

Turning and tapping your phone screen to see the time for the tenth time. It was shortly after one am. Hours since you´ve gotten home. He was probably already asleep.

The bright light coming from the device, illuminated the room in something cold. Your wallpaper starring at you.

The memories the picture held made you feel warm. You were cuddled up in his lap, a bonfire taking over one half of the picture, the other half the two of you on one of his obnoxiously large lounge chairs. Mitch and Steph were visiting when it was taken. One of the best weeks you had spent together during the summer.

Following a few more minutes of starring at it you gave in and flicked the blanket aside. You knew you shouldn’t go downstairs. There was still talking to do, emotions to let simmer down but you missed him in bed next to you.

A road trip kept him away for the past week, the next one coming up a few days from now. You didn’t want to let him spend the few days he had home on the couch.

Silently you tapped down the stairs, making sure you wouldn’t wake him if he was still asleep, but when you saw his face lit up by the screen of his phone you knew he wasn’t.

The snow was still falling behind him, only being able to see it because of the lamps he had put in the garden. But they were almost covered by the amount that had fallen already so it was darker than usually.

“Come to bed, Aus.” The nickname something you used to extend an olive branch.

He lifted his head, looking as exhausted as you felt, like the stress from the day came crashing down on him like it did on you upstairs earlier.

Felix lifted his head as you took the last step. “Sorry for interrupting your beauty sleep,” you chuckled at the dog who let out a sound almost sounding like a huff.

Walking over to the couch you sat down on the far end of it, facing your boyfriend head on. “Please, I don’t want you on the couch the few days you are home,” you plead.

He looked you over once, twice, three times before letting out yet another sigh.

“I don’t want you on the couch either,” he argued back.

“Then let´s both not sleep on the couch.” You grabbed his hand that was resting on his thigh closest to you and intervened your fingers. “We still need to talk about this tomorrow, but let´s just go to sleep, we´re both exhausted.”

Deep breaths followed as well as another stretch of silence. “Yeah, okay.”

He swung the blanket back and left it in a tussled mess on the floor before he put his arms under your knees and on your back picking you up.

You yelped at being lifted up by him with ease. “I can walk on my own.” He just laughed.

“Take it as my first apology for tonight…” he took a beat. “I´m really sorry, baby.” He placed a soft kiss to the top of your head, so faint you barely registered it.

When you were nestled in bed minutes later, he had you pulled flush against his chest and even though there was still lingering anger in your chest, you let him. Relaxing into his touch, covering his hand with yours.

“I love you.” He whispered into your hair, probably not knowing if you were asleep or not.

“I love you too, Auston. But we still need to talk about this tomorrow, I´m still angry.” He pulled you tighter into him. “Yeah, we will. I promise."

[rafeandonlyrafe]

bodyguard

words: 2.1k

warnings: bodyguard!rafe, pop star!reader, gun mention, attempted kidnapping, brief violence, fluffy

you take a deep breath, clenching the microphone in your first. no matter how many times you perform, you still feel a rush of anxiety.

it all disappears when you step out onto the stage. you give the crowd a wave as the cheers erupt. you look around the packed stadium, reminiscing on what it was like to play smaller venues until your hit single and big break.

your in ear piece begins the countdown to your music as you lean down to reach out to a couple fans in the front row, looking past your personal bodyguard who insists on being in front of the stage despite the venue providing security.

you begin to sing the first song of your set, turning your attention to the entire crowd as your backup dancers come out, flooding the stage.

the show goes by so quickly you almost miss the feeling as you step behind the curtain, despite the exhaustion creeping into your bones.

“here.” your bodyguard hands you a water bottle, a straw already pushed inside, knowing you prefer it over drinking straight from the rim.

“what would i do without you rafe.” you chuckle. he was the first bodyguard you ever hired, having had your ass slapped one night and deciding you needed someone to watch your back.

“probably be kidnapped.” rafe shrugs, making you roll your eyes, used to the playful back and forth banter.

“and if it weren't for me, you'd still be in north carolina.”

“perk of the job.” rafe says, referencing the three continents you've visited with him in tow, soon to announce a world tour that will visit all major cities with enough time in between to actually enjoy the traveling.

“dressing room or straight to the bus?” rafe asks, following you as you begin to walk, stepping past the stagehands rushing to disassemble the set and get it on the move.

“dressing room. left my crocs in there.” it's routine, rafe entering the dressing room and doing a sweep before letting you in, even if it's just to grab your shoes and leave.

“wait, gonna change them before we go to the bus.” you tell rafe, the arches of your feet hurting from dancing in heels. rafe gives you his arm to hold as you bend down to undo the straps before slipping out of the glittery stilletos and into your comfortable, well worn, crocs.

rafe peeks out the back door. “there's some fans by the fence. we going right to the bus or stopping to sign?”

“stopping to sign.” you know it's not possible to show your appreciation to every single fan, but you're certainly going to try your best to greet every person who helped you become the pop sensation you are.

rafe pulls two sharpies out of his pocket, one black and one silver and hands them to you before swinging the door open.

the mini crowd erupts into screams as soon as they see you. you're sure these must be fans who didn't get a chance to attend as there's no way they could have cleared from the venue this quickly.

“hey everyone!” you wave as you walk to the chain link fence, knowing rafe is right at your back, just in case anyone gets handy. it wouldn't be the first time an excited fan reached through an opening and refused to let go of your wrist.

you begin to sign everything offered to you, even seeing a fan who brought your original ep you used to send to record labels.

“can i get a picture?”

“of course!” you smile, taking the phone that is passed through the slot and snapping a selfie with the happy fan.

you continue down the line, about halfway through when you shiver, the adrenaline wearing off and the cold of the night air seeping into your bones, especially since you're still in your stage outfit which doesn't give you much coverage.

you should have known rafes eagle eye would see, because he's soon shrugging off his jacket and placing it over your shoulders, of course the crowd awwing. 

rafe has gotten quite a bit of attention as your bodyguard, considering he follows you practically everywhere, he's photographed by fans constantly.

you were worried at first when you continued to skyrocket in fame that rafe would become uncomfortable or overwhelmed and you'd have to find someone new that you felt comfortable with, but hes stuck by your side the whole time.

“okay, sorry guys i gotta go!” you wave to everyone, having signed or taken a picture with everyone who gathered by the back exit fence.

you quickly rush to the tour bus, the corset of your outfit beginning to press in uncomfortably.

you don't have to use your words to tell rafe what you're about to do. as soon as he does a sweep through the bus, having you wait in the front next to the drivers seat so you could run out at any minute, you head to the back and take a shower, washing away your makeup and the pounds of hairspray added to your bangs.

you get changed into pajamas, knowing you're scheduled to hit the road tonight. it probably would be easier to fly private, or even just buy a jet, but you like the tour life of driving around and try to be environmentally conscious where you can.

you head back into the common area, rafe sitting in his usual spot on the couch, his gun that usually remains holstered to his hip now sitting on the counter. 

it scared you the first time you saw it. you knew you hired an armed bodyguard, but to have a gun just sitting there was not something you were used to.

“here.” rafe grabs a bag from the counter you didn't even notice.

“you got me fries?” you ask excitedly, taking the bag and quickly pulling a fry out, letting out a low moan when you take a bite and realize it's still hot.

“ill add personal assistant to my resume.” rafe smirks.

“resume? you leaving me?” you laugh, plopping down on the couch next to rafe. 

“never.” he vows. when rafe originally began to work in security, it was a way to get away from his dad, to have an excuse to leave at night, and now he can never imagine going back home to the life he once lived.

conversation shifts to upcoming plans as you finish off your fries and let out a yawn.

“alright, bed time.” you stand up and stretch, eyes closing as your back elongates. you completely miss the way rafe has to readjust his pants.

“goodnight.” rafe says as you give him a wave and head back into the bedroom, closing the door for some privacy as you flop onto the bed and delve beneath the covers, falling asleep easily knowing you're protected.

--

“aw, yes!” you hiss, looking out the window as the bus pulls into the rest stop. “back in the midwest baby, you know what that means.”

“what?” rafe questions, joining you to look out the window. he's dressed casually and not in all black like usual when he's working since today is just travel, and the light blue shirt he's wearing is making your heartbeat a little faster, even if you try to ignore it.

“tim hortons!” you exclaim. “we've got to get their sour cream glazed timbits. they're like crack.”

“and what would you know about crack?” rafe scoffs.

“alright, just because i didn't have a bad boy past like you doesn't mean-” you're cut off by rafe laughing. “okay, okay.” you hold your hands up. “i don't even know what it looks like.”

“that's what i thought.” rafe places a hand on your back as the bus comes to a stop. “now come on, let's get your timbits or whatever you said.”

you head out so happy and in such a rush that rafe doesn't remember to grab his gun, figuring nothing could happen at a rest stop early in the morning with practically no one around.

“hi!” you smile at the worker as you enter the building. she seems to half recognize you but doubt herself. “can we get a 10 pack of sour cream glazed timbits and another 10 pack that's a mix of the other flavors?”

the worker nods and begins putting it in the system as you turn to look at rafe. “just in case you don't like the same as me.”

“okay.” rafe laughs, stepping a bit closer to you as you pull your card out and pay.

you step to the side to wait, watching with excitement as the timbits are scooped in.

“thank you so much!” you take both of the cardboard containers and follow rafe back outside. the morning sun is shining brightly, causing you both to squint.

rafe turns quickly when a van suddenly squeels to a stop right behind you.

he watches in horror as the door swings open, his long stride causing him to be too far away to immediately grab you as he takes off into a sprint.

you feel the hands around your waist before you even contemplate what is happening. you scream out, looking to rafe and seeing the worry in his face as you're being pulled backwards into the back of the van.

“rafe! rafe!” you squeal, kicking your legs and trying to hit your attacker, throwing the box over your shoulder to try and get him to stop, but you're overpowered.

the man is just about to slam the door shut, trapping you in there with the stranger when rafes hand stops the metal and shoves it back open, his bicep rippling with strength.

“duck.” is all rafe says, but you understand instantly, trying to get as low as possible as his first surges forward, connecting the attackers face before pulling back and continuing to punch until his grip on you loosens.

rafe grabs you instead, and you move quickly, pressing yourself against his body, molding yourself against him as your arms and legs wrap around his torso. 

as soon as you're out, the van speeds away, knowing they've lost their one chance to get you. rafe moves quickly, running back towards the tour bus with you gripping onto him tightly.

you manage to hold in your tears until you're shut inside the safety of the bus. when the crying comes, it comes hard in sobs that make rafes chest physically hurt.

“i got you.” rafe sits down on the couch, keeping you in his lap as he tries to comfort you, hand rubbing up and down your back. “i got you baby.”

you cries are so loud rafe isn't sure you can hear him, especially when you start to hyperventilate.

“hey.” rafe takes your face in his hands, seeing the fear in your eyes as you struggle to actually take it any air. “take a breath for me, you're gonna pass out.”

you try, you really do, but you can't control your body as you continue to hyperventilate. rafe doesn't know what to do, he needs some sort of distraction or way to make you stop.

his face surges forward, his body working before his mind does as his lips press against yours, pressing a smashing kiss against your mouth.

you stop instantly, mind settling as your lips move against his, upset when you have to pull away to take in a gulping breath of fresh oxygen.

“it's okay.” rafes thumbs smooth over your cheeks. a mutual understanding comes over you both. this was bound to happen, and you don't need words to talk about what your relationship just became. “i got you. i got you.”

you nod, breathing deeply, finally able to control your body as you inhale and exhale until your lungs are full enough to lean forward and kiss rafe again. he doesn't hesitate for even a second before kissing back, his arms moving to wrap around you, pressing you further into him to deepen the kiss, only pulling away when the door shuts, your driver back in her spot.

“you okay?” rafe asks, his voice soft as he looks at you.

“i think after some more kisses i will be.” you giggle, cheeks blushing.

“and some timbits?”

“oh my god, those fuckers have them!” you gasp, your eyebrows scrunching together, making rafe laugh.

he presses a kiss against your lips, barely able to stop smiling to do so. “are you more mad they tried to take you or more mad they successfully took your donuts?”

you roll your eyes. “the timbits, duh.”

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry @wearemadeofstardust0

[danibeanie]

solar return observations! 🙊

🙊-a lot of people talk about mars 2nd house being a placement where you spend carelessly on money, but no one talks about how your style improves drastically with this placement. Mars Is in a venusian house after all , so you might find yourself dressing more like the sign your mars is in.

ex- leo mars might dress with pieces that are more extravagant like bold colors.

ex-taurus mars might dress with the intention of comfort and more relaxed colors.

🙊-uranus in 11th house is a very clear indicator of your friend groups always changing/ hanging out with people you never expected too.

ex-I had this my senior year of highschool and I was jumping from friend group to friend group😭 (all fun tho since it was my last yr and I wanted to venture out)

🙊-moon conjunct saturn is going to be a year that’s slightly depressing. when I had this I had the tendency to be very hard on myself.

ex-6th house, with your routines, health/fitness, anything that involves you working

ex-7th house, partnerships with others/lessons

🙊-having a stellium in your 7th house for that year means that your NEVER going to be lonely. You tend to attract friendships with out even trying.

🙊juno conjunct descendent is meeting someone that could potentially be your partner , but still learning a lot from them since it’s the opposite to your ascendent.

🙊jupiter in 7th house is a sign of healing and realization when it comes to partnerships

🙊mars conjunct chiron is healing through your anger/ having more trouble with masculines that year.

ex- I went through a huge heartbreak and I was reluctant to dating anyone for the rest of the year, AND I was venting out my anger.

🙊moon in libra and people are DEFINITELY gonna find you more charming that year.

🙊any leo placement for the year will get you more attention genuinely 😭

ex- I had venus conjunct mars and I really felt like a star (BUT IM A STARRRR)

🙊saturn in 1st house is maturing.. literally growing up and having to do things YOURSELF if u want to see progress.

ex- I have this rn for my solar return and not even kidding you, I’ve had to make decisions when it comes to work,school,friendships. I would always depend on other people to help me out, but I’ve been taking action on my own and learning how to do things myself.

-also you just want to be alone this yr , not even in a bad way , your just a bit to yourself.

🙊sag rising is you feeling like a baddie and always down to do anything/ feeling more freedom

🙊virgo rising is a bit more serious and I felt studious yet very critical of what I was doing that yr.

🙊cancer rising is EVERYONE loving you and comments on “she’s so nice”

🙊pisces rising so FAR is feeling very empathic about everything and putting yourself into other peoples shoes. ALSO check where your rising falls into your natal chart.

ex-I have this on my 10th/11th house and I noticed that most of my friendships this year have been other people taking advantage of them etc. so I have to come and help them out.

[studioeisa]

omg "what? me? jealous? never." with junhui please! 🫶🫶

ⵌ actor!jun x actress!reader. ⵌ word count: 988 ⵌ notes: co-stars, secret relationship, pet names ('pretty girl'), suggestive joke, all my favorite tropes in a drabble. i miss this man sooo bad.

Jun loves award shows.

He loves having an excuse to dress up, loves getting to interact with other groups a little more openly, loves the special stages they get to put on. And if his gorgeous girlfriend happens to be a special emcee, well— that only makes it a much better night.

He's not allowed to be too excited, of course. He's always careful not to blow his cover. At most, the boys just seem to assume that you're his favorite co-star.

If only they knew that Jun's had the privilege of your heart for the past couple of years.

There's a bit of a thrill in sneaking around, in having to pull out his acting chops. Tonight, Jun lies about having to go to the bathroom, fields Minghao's invites for accompaniment, and navigates through all the other tables. Your text had been the only prompting he needed. It's like a waltz; his eyes on your back, the distance he keeps.

You side step in to a corner, behind a curtain, and he follows. The entire venue of idols, of actors, of Korea's biggest stars are none the wiser.

Jun's hands find immediate purchase at your waist. "Hey, pretty girl," he greets smoothly, that bright smile of his already lighting up his face.

You'll probably only have three minutes, but three minutes is all that Jun needs. He doesn't waste time. "Saw you on the red carpet earlier. You were stunning," he hums, his face going to nuzzle the underside of your ear.

"I think you're a little bit biased," you shoot back, unable to resist a jab. Your facade of annoyance is betrayed by the smile that's threatening to fill your own face. "But I think I can let it pass for tonight, 'specially since that suits of yours looks so good on you."

"I'd look even better out of it," he says unrepentantly. His arms tighten around your waist, holding you close when you try to pull back and away.

You let out a groan. Jun laughs softly.

Jun's lips brush against your jaw, then down the line of your throat. His nose skims your skin as he takes a breath. "You smell nice," he mumbles.

Cinnamon, sugar, vanilla. The same scent as his own cologne.

"You got me this at your Japan stop," you answer, your hands resting at his hips. It's not much, but it'll have to do for now.

"I should get you a perfume every time we have a stop abroad," he says.

"Yah, don't do that. You have expensive tastes. And you already get me too many things whenever you're on tour."

"What's the point of being an established artist at my big age if I can't spoil my pretty girl a little?" he grumbles petulantly. He tilts his head to press a kiss over your pulse. "Besides," he adds after a moment, "I like that you smell like me."

Smelling like Jun was just another one of those things. His subtle reminders in the form of innocuous couple items that only the two of you knew about. Cologne and perfume with similar notes, matching silk pajamas, rubber shoes from the same line. A quiet litany of mine, mine, mine in your every day lives.

You give a bright, warm laugh as you mumble into his hair, "I'll wear it more often, then."

You are so bad for him. A walking, talking dopamine rush. Everything about you makes Jun feel a little lightheaded, a little dizzy. Like he's had one too many to drink.

But you're also the one who sobers him up, the one who always says, "We should probably get going."

"Do we have to?" he whines. His arms around you tighten. He knows the answer to his question— yes, yes, you have to go. But he can't help wishing otherwise. "Five more minutes?"

Your nth sigh of the night. Even then— "Five more minutes," you concede.

His hands flatten out against your back, holding you more snugly against him. He could stay like this forever. Just your warmth against him, the scent of you in his nose, the sound of your steady breaths in his ear.

But you say five more minutes. And so he counts down from ten in his head. Ten, nine, eight…

Jun pulls back after the countdown and steals a long, deep kiss from your lips.

This was what it felt like to be alive. The way his blood pumped faster, his heart thumped harder. The way that your very presence made everything else seem dull in comparison.

The feeling only intensifies when you move closer. When you arch against him in that way you know he loves. When your fingers run through his hair.

Jun is all but breathless. He pulls away after long enough, leaning his forehead against yours. "I'm a terrible influence on you," he pants against your lips.

Your hand slides down to his face, your thumb ghosting over his mouth. "You got some on you," you grumble, and it takes him a moment to realize that you're fretting over lip gloss.

"Leave it," he says. "I like smelling like perfume and looking like I got kissed."

You shoot him a glare. He gives you cheeky grin.

When the two of you part, Jun is relegated to watch you from his table. You're radiant up on stage, perfectly composed and charming. You have stellar manufactured chemistry with your more recent co-star, and some of the boys decide to tease Jun about it.

"Looks like you've gotten replaced, Junpi," Jeonghan sing-songs.

Soonyoung nudges Jun in the side. "Jealous that you've lost your favorite co-star to Kim Soohyun?"

Jun barely stops himself from bursting into laughter. Replaced? Co-star? His members don't know the half of it. Jun absentmindedly runs a thumb over his bottom lip, where traces of you still linger.

"What? Me, jealous?" He breaks out into an innocent smile. "Never."

୨ৎ * GAME, SET, PLAY ! ( JEALOUSY ) DRABBLE GAME.

[sheepispink]

Love grows (Where My Rosemary Goes) ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི COD MASTERLIST Part of the Sweet As Sugar Series

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི simon riley x (afab) baker! reader (final chapter)

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Another date is planned however is promplty ruined, leaving the both of you trying to do your best in the situation. Thankfully, Simon's a sweetheart, and you love him too much to let him go for a second.

a/n: this is the final chapter guys, im so upset that it's ending but thats why this chapter is extra long lol. also yes the title is based on that song, it actually inspired a large majority of this fic WC: 7.4K

cw: period comfort

PREV

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Simon was confident— really confident. After the initial embarrassment of suddenly kissing you, it came with a wave of pride for flustering you so much. He had so many doubts when he first realised he actually wanted to pursue you— unsure if you’d even consider him an option, given his stark silence around most. Of course, there was the matter of his work too, and everything else that came with being a man like him. Sure, he was a little—a lot— messed up in the head, but he knew to himself he’d never hurt you; that’s the one thing he could trust.

There was no need to take you out on an abundance of dates when being with you like this was satisfying enough, however, he really did want to spoil you at least a little. An expensive restaurant or maybe he could even take you down to London for a weekend; the ideas have been spilling into his head every night just as you’ve been telling him about all the fun activities you want to try with him. But he’s still not able to get a suitable amount of time off, so a night out will have to do.

He had considered booking out a really fancy venue, but you seemed like you’d get shy if you were thrown on the spot into that, so he thought what better than in the comfort of your own town? Maybe he could even bake something for you— not that he was half as good of a cook as you were, but damn, it’s the thought that counts, right? His mind has been occupied trying to think of the perfect idea for his last few days of training. In fact it was so much so that Price stared at him in confusion when he let out a curse from walking straight into a door. He was still annoyed about that, but he was more concerned about how he’d ask you. What if he was jumping the gun, and you wanted to take things really slow? Though.. He did kiss you straight up and you certainly didn't complain about that.

So eventually you had received the text, telling you to meet him next Friday for dinner at a restaurant near your bakery. It wasn't too fancy, but he knew they served some damn good food, and he was willing to buy you the entire menu if you so wished. Of course, you were over the moon about it, spending the majority of that evening looking for the perfect outfit before settling on something a little formal yet casual all the same. You bought a brand-new pair of shoes to complete it, and now you try the outfit on literally any chance you get just to make sure it’s perfect.

——

“Hi Simon.” You’re practically grinning from ear to ear, and it’s not even Wednesday yet, only Saturday; not to mention how your voice is practically brimming with excitement. He steps forward, noticing how your hands are planted on the counter like you’re impatiently waiting for him to come even closer. 

“Someone’s excited.” He hums and, before he can even order, you have the paper bag filled with his usual placed upon the counter along with a freshly brewed black coffee. 

“Can you blame me? The whole week I haven't seen you.”

Simon loves the little frown on your lips when you say that, especially because you haven't failed to drop subtle hints every time you text him about wanting him to stop by. Life’s been particularly hectic the past two weeks, but you’ve been so understanding about all of it; at least you’ll be very happy on Friday with what he has planned. 

“I know, ‘m sorry about that.” He takes the coffee cup gratefully, quickly sliding his payment in the tip jar before you can swat his hand away like you always try to do. “I’ll call you tonight, okay?” Content, you nod along, joyful for a sliver of his time even when you know he’s working hard for something that’s being planned soon. You know he can't tell you much, so you appreciate any sliver of information he grants, but you’d rather take his time than answers.

——

The door jingles faintly as another customer enters; it’s midday on Wednesday, and you’ve been baking all day whilst your family runs the shop. Simon’s finally got a lunch break that he can actually sit down for, and so he makes his best decision which is to facetime you. As always, the pair of you talk about whatever, and you do your best to smile wide, fingers sticky as you knead your knuckles into the great pound of bread dough.

Although, Simon’s been growing a little concerned, repetitively watching your brows furrow when you think he’s not really looking at you, or trailing off into silence when you run out of things to say. “Hey, love.” You hum in return, shaping the dough into smaller bun sizes, movements a little more sluggish than per usual. “Are you okay?” Immediately, your eyes snap up and stare forward at him, almost like you’re frozen, before nodding your head quickly and returning to the dough again.

 “Yeah.. yeah, I'm fine. Why?”

If he had doubts before, he was positive now as you falter, eyes drooping a little more. “You're exhausted. What time did you go to bed last night?” There it is, his lieutenant tone coming out and making you frown at him as he uses it against you. 

“Only ten thirty.. That’s not even that late.” You groan, moving the phone to face the ceiling so he stops scrutinising your eye bags.

“And what time did you get up, huh?”

“Seven thirty! It wasn't even that early.” You’re right though, and he can't even be mad. That’s around nine hours of sleep, which is plenty for your age and what you need. So why do you look like you’re about to topple over and use that bread as a pillow?

“You’re not lying, are you?”

“Hey— I am not!”

He sighs, knowing he’ll likely not get much farther like this, especially if it really wasn't your fault. It’s only Wednesday, but still, he really doesn't want you to be ill for Friday. “Make sure you look after yourself okay? Sleep earlier if you have to.”

And then he’s gone, probably rushed away from his already short lunch break. You sigh quietly, upset he’s gone but also feeling like you somehow annoyed him. Guilty, you shove your earphones in, an uneasy feeling settling in your gut.

——————-

It’s Friday evening when he drives by, stopping outside the bakery. The lights are off, signalling you’re probably upstairs finishing up. He sends a quick text over, letting you know he’s arrived whilst he leans against the passenger door. A bouquet of flowers is held behind his back, similar to the ones on your prized mug— he just hopes he really has the right ones, and you're not actually allergic to them or something. Then you arrive in your pretty outfit, his eyes raking over your form as you smile at him, lips glossy. As you walk down the steps, he can't help but notice how tired you look despite the attempt to use makeup to cover it up; there’s no way he is just going to let that slide. “Hey, hey wait.. You do not look good at all.” He frowns at you, taking one of your smaller hands in his and pulling you forward as he looks over you. 

“I don't look good?” You freeze, staring at him like he just insulted your entire existence, which he may as well have if you heard that correctly. The sound of your voice sounding so hurt is enough for him to realise his minor mistake, chuckling softly as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Not..what I meant, sweetheart. You look absolutely stunnin’ but… also exhausted, are you sure you’re up for this?”

You blink at him, as if not believing his words in the slightest. “I told you the other day I was fine—can we just go?” The words tumble out, and you noticeably wince at your own impatient tone— you did not mean to say it like that.

  For a second you pause, eyes glancing everywhere as you try to save it, but he just nods his head, pulling the bottom of his mask down again and placing the bouquet in your hands. “Alright, alrigh’. And these are for you, pretty girl.”

——

Despite his reaction, the ride is silent apart from the soft sound of your favourite music playing, though it only serves to make you feel all the more guilty. The restaurant isn't too far away, only a half an hour drive, but it feels like forever especially with how quiet the two of you currently are right now. Annoyingly enough, there’s absolutely no parking nearby, making him mutter a curse beneath his breath before doing a U-turn and parking two streets down. “Sorry, love. Gonna have to walk it.” He looks a little disappointed as he gets out of the car with you following behind before he can open the door for you—that’d make you feel even more guilty. Your small purse is clutched in your hand as you shake your head, trying your best to make up for your behaviour. “T-that's fine, really. I can walk.”

The streets aren't quiet today, a couple of teenagers laughing loudly and a few retail workers finishing their shifts, packing to go home. It’s only seven, but you have no doubt that it’ll only grow louder as more people celebrate the arrival of the weekend. It’s going fine now—at least you think it is. Simon’s talking with his voice low, something about a shop he saw when driving through the other day. Ever since he had fixed up your entire bakery, he’s been oddly intrigued by every deal he sees, tempted to keep himself busy and with the best tools too of course. In your head, it’s his own strange way of spoiling himself. 

You’re really trying to pay attention as he tells you the homeware store nearby is shutting down— you’re hanging onto every word, you swear— but every time another shot of pain riles up your abdomen your breath hitches.  After the first time it happened, he had turned to you in concern, and you pretended to cough, saying you needed to clear your throat. Contemplative, he eventually insisted that you drink some water before he began speaking again, hand gently holding yours as he looked at the restaurants you pass. 

“Hm.. Pottery painting? Didn’t you want to try that out? Maybe you should come here next time.”

“Oh yeah.. I- I should. Hey what about that store across the street? Do you think they got any good antiques to decorate the shop?” Okay, you may have baited him to look away whilst you’re half-keeled over from another stomach cramp–your hand fighting its hardest not to squeeze his one. “Maybe I can have a look later.” He hums in response, turning his head just a second after you stand back upright and smile at him like nothing happened.

Though, you would be incredibly stupid to think you could fool an SAS operator of all people, let alone one that loves you.

His steps have frozen to a stop, the Lieutenant in him coming to show why he has that title when he eyes you down suspiciously, watching every twitch in your demeanour when you look at him, swallowing sharply. “You’re not okay, are you?”

 “What? I’m fine. What kind of restaurant are we going to? I’m already getting hungry just thinking—” You cut yourself off when you notice how his eyebrow is very clearly raised beneath the mask, silently questioning you. He’s not actually mad.. You hope, though you don't get a second longer to consider it before another sharp pain stings your abdomen, making your hand clench your hip. You know that was his last straw when he grunts, Adam's apple bobbing as he watches your features form a grimace, clearly in pain. 

“You’re going home.” He states simply, squeezing your palm in his before pulling you back in the direction you came from. 

“Wait, but it’s not that bad, it’s only a little..” He shakes his head when you grasp his arm, trying to plead with him, but he only picks up the pace instead.

Soon enough, you’re back down the second street, his hand now resting on your lower back as he walks with purpose. His eyes are set forward as he scans the road ahead, narrowed as if he’d kill anything that’d come before the two of you.

“Simon.. Are you mad at me?” 

You look nervous to even ask, a hitch in your breath at each of his sharp and sudden movements and the worst is when you discard his nickname like that. He looks at you, the way you stare at him like you’re going to snap in two if he says anything wrong. Don't you see how much you worry him?

“No.. No, I'm not. Just get into the car, okay? We don't need some fancy dinner when you’re not feelin’ right.”

——

The car is cold, just like this night is, even if it’s been plenty sunny all week. It’s seven thirty now, stopped outside a small Tesco express whilst you wait for Simon to finish up inside. For once, you’re terribly regretting all of this. You’ve never been in a relationship, hell you don't even know what you’re supposed to do in one let alone all of this. If you hadn't messed up the day you avoided him and made him give you reassurance, you’ve definitely done it now. He’s never usually this quiet, and there’s no other explanation than him growing fed up with your antics. After all, who the hell agrees to go out to dinner just to not be able to because of some stupid, stupid cramps?

This was all too much but damnit you were too far away from home now to just run and hide like you always did— like a damn coward does. With thoughts growing more and more self-deprecating, your eyes become wetter by the second until you hear the click of the car door, and you almost immediately sit up straight, sniffling down any prior feelings. Simon opens the driver door, sitting inside before he wordlessly drapes his jacket over you and passes you one of those instant hot chocolates from the machines. He has a little plastic bag with him, one that he doesn't show you the contents of and only places in the backseat. “You were shiverin’.” He shrugs, looking at your confused face before starting up the car again and reversing out of the car park, back towards your home again.

——

“I’ll be back.”

He left you in your apartment whilst he went back to the car, leaving you anxious as you slowly made your way into your bedroom. This place was a mess, and if he was going to spend the evening here—if he even wanted to— this was not going to happen in the slightest. So, even whilst your eyes brim with tears and your lip wobbles, you place away the clothes left out when you were getting ready earlier, along with the random accessories strewn around. As you put away each item, your sniffles only grow even more, almost convinced Simon thinks of you as some weak naive girl; at this point, you were stupid to think you could make this work.

“What are you doing?” He stands in the doorway, blinking as you make your bed, pulling the duvet to each corner and straightening out the creases. “My apartment is messy..” You mumble out, but he only shakes his head again. “No.. No, stop. You’re not well, just… change into your pajamas or something comfy.” Then he’s gone, into the living room to deal with the rustle of something. Meanwhile, you try your best to not sob whilst you put on your warmest jumper and comfiest pajama bottoms, terrified of the ending of this. 

———

Swallowing sharply, you walk towards the couch, noticing him hunched over his phone, looking intently through the UberEats app. He’s done practically everything for you: from driving you back and forth, treating you to a meal and now even buying you something else you can eat just because you're an idiot who can't just push through something as stupid as cramps. Never has he made you lift a finger when he’s perfectly able to do something for you. What do you even do? You make lunch for him every so often, yeah, you had given him some things to help deal with his insomnia that one time, and you always give him something good to eat when he comes down. But is that all? Compared to the things he’s done for you, even when he waves it off as nothing, was far more strenuous than the stupid chicken buns you perfected just for his sake.

Did you even really deserve him? 

The thoughts choke your throat up, making you hesitate right outside your bedroom door. Should you beg for his forgiveness, for being such a bad girlfriend to him? That’d just pressure him to say it’s alright, give you sweet reassurance again— guilt-tripping him. What if this was all a big guilt trip? You had proven you were nothing compared to him, and so he felt forced to comply and help you. That only makes your breaths grow uneven, the seed of doubt growing in your mind as you sniffle to stop your nose from running. 

Stop seeking attention.

Trying to swallow down the guilt that clogs your oesophagus is near impossible, and you’re not even sure if you can face him knowing the person you actually are. So, your hand settles on the handle of your bedroom door, hurriedly deciding on hiding away before you cause him anymore trouble. 

“Cute pajamas.” There’s a smirk on his lips as he walks up behind you and looks at the little bunnies embroidered onto your t-shirt and trousers; he’s feeling a lot more relaxed knowing you’re safe at home now. “C’mon, sit on the couch. I was thinking we could order chinese, been a minute since I’ve had that.” He mutters, gently taking your arm in his hand and leading you over to the couch. You follow, teeth clenched together like you’re frozen in place, whilst he nudges you to take a seat. Though you don't ever reply, making him turn away from the snacks he’s set up on the coffee table, looking back at you properly.

“Hey—hey, what’s wrong?”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks, staining your skin as you meet his worried gaze, only feeling all the worse each second he looks your way. “Si- I— I’m sorry!” You blurt out, unable to get anything else out as you begin to messily sob into your hands, leaving a salty taste on your tongue similar to the pit of guilt swirling in your stomach.  He stands there dumbfounded, unsure how to react, since he’s never had to deal with someone seeking comfort from him before. Sure, he’s given you reassurance, but this was different— you wanted him to make you okay again, or at the very least calm you down.

“What is there to be sorry for?” He blurts out, standing awkwardly before you with his hands hanging useless at his sides. Should he reach out? He wants to, but he’s not sure if that’s the right move. Simon always thought he was confident in what he knew, and he always has been with each cock of his gun and swing of his knives. Of course, he knew a relationship was new territory, but he hadn't thought it’d move this fast.

“I ruined the whole evening! You always do everything for me and all I do is give you some stupid tea at the end of the day. An-and you introduced me to all your friends and I can't even show you off to mine because I barely have any that aren't just my parents' friends.” You cry out, rambling so fast your lungs can barely keep up, forcing you to take in long breaths to compensate for it. 

“I’ve done nothing for you! And I can't even walk down two roads to go to dinner with you, which is something you actually want for once because of my stupid period!”  He watches, silent, as you choke on your last words, sobbing again into your hands and very clearly overwhelmed. 

Though, that just explains absolutely everything to him. He had a small inkling, but he didn’t want to be that guy who only assumed because you were a little more ticked off than usual. The couch sinks beside you as he sits down, making you look up at him with teary eyes. “I could argue every single one of those points wrong, but I don't see the need to” He states simply, making you look up at him with teary eyes, curling a protective arm around you and pushing your head to lean against his side. 

The hand around your shoulder reaches up to dry the tears spilling down your cheeks. “No offense, but you’re gonna have to come up with a better argument than that for me to leave you, sweetheart.” 

 “And.. you warned me two weeks ago to not believe anything you say if you start bawling whilst on your period.” Now that elicits the smallest huff of laughter through your tears, instantly remembering that yes, you did in fact say that.

It had been late, and you were messing around with him, but he could tell you were slightly serious when you texted him that evening. You had warned him that you tended to get a little over your own head sometimes, and he told you the same—take his messages past one am with a pinch of salt. After all, it’s been more than once that he’s hurriedly woken up Soap for an emergency that had sprouted from his darkest dreams, and the Scot had to sit down with him and explain nothing was happening at all.  So, he definitely understood that the brain was a strange thing, one that did things you didn't always mean. Though, if you hadn't warned him he’d most definitely spend tonight and the next month reminding you everyday that you do so much for him. For now though, his concern was making you feel okay again, and if you still felt those doubts in the next few days when you were feeling better, he’d be happy to debate how you’ve been nothing but perfect for him.

Although, even after all of that you still look hesitant, like something is seriously lingering in your head. “Tell me what’s wrong–I’m here to listen.” It’s true, he promised you he would, and he was here right now, patiently waiting.

“W-why did you suddenly send me back to the car? And you just– you barely let me get a word in–” That’s what had spiralled the self-depreciation out of control, that and overthinking that is. Though, it is pretty hard to think straight when your stomach feels all queasy and sharp pains keep attacking your abdomen. He realises now the mistake he had made, his breath stuck in his throat as he listens to your words. “I thought you were angry with me..” You eventually mumble out, still sniffling whilst the tears escape your eyes.

 How stupid had he been? 

“I..I’m sorry, love.” His hand tightens around your back, fingers gently pressing into your skin. Of course, you had over thought it, probably analysed each of his little actions too. He had been the one to encourage you to communicate with him, and he didn’t even take his own damn advice. “I’m a bloody idiot.”  Guilty, he lets out a long sigh, his hand retracting from behind you. Now it just gently rests on your hand, almost as if asking for permission again.

You watch as he rests his head in his hands for a moment, rubbing at the bridge of his nose before he turns his head to look at you, your watery eyes and tearful expression. It breaks him all over again. “Honestly.. All I was worried about was getting you home so you could be comfortable again. I rarely communicate on the field regarding the reasons for my actions– I just expect them to follow.” It was true, he had mindlessly assumed you’d just understand and follow, like one of his damn soldiers. You weren’t one of them, and you should never be demanded to just ‘understand’ with such poor explanation on his part. 

“That wasn't right of me to expect that of you. It was never my intention to scare you like that, love. I’m sorry.”

His words are slow, and they don't blame you in the slightest which feels like a massive step away from how everyone has usually treated you. In fact, the apology is so raw, his hand still tentatively resting on yours as he looks so distraught at the realisation. After a second or two, the weight beneath your eyes finally rests, sinking as you droop your head. “I.. Thank you. I just– I knew I was getting over myself but I didn't know what to think of your actions. That.. makes a lot of sense, and I don't blame you– I was just worried I guess...”

Even though you’ve accepted his apology, you still look pretty pent-up, fingers slowly rubbing the hem of your shirt. “C’mere, love. Just ‘cause I explained, it doesn't take the hurt away. You have the right to feel upset.” He watches your hand grasp his, locking your fingers together as your thumb quietly traces the cracks in his skin and the folds in his joints.

“Listen to your body, not me.”

So you do, you sniffle again until you’re silently sobbing into the shirt your hands are tightly grasping the back of. When he follows your lead, tucking you close to him again, you bring your knees up onto the couch to shelter yourself beneath his bicep, warmth radiating off of him. You only begin settling down to sniffles once the pit in your gut fades, and you’re beginning to feel lighter. His hand rubs your back slowly, in comforting circles, whilst he whispers soft words in his ears. He’s no pro, but he does know that you deserve all of this and more. 

You're quiet now apart from the occasional inhale from your snotty nose and coughs to clear your choked throat.  “Feeling better?” Silently, you press your knees to your chest as you sit up properly though still staying close to his comfort and security he provides.

 “Yeah, a lot better.” Your voice is all clogged up, a little raspy, but you’re okay and that’s all that matters.

——

The food delivery driver is only a few minutes away now, but you’re feeling icky as it is so you excuse yourself after the long comforting silence to head into the bathroom. There’s tear streaks all down your face, cheeks puffy and eyelashes damp, yet there’s no weight on your chest, and you no longer feel the burden of guilt swarming you. 

After splashing your face with cold water, you already look a little more put together, but no less pitiful. Though..it’s not like he’ll care anyway, it’s Simon— he proves your anxieties wrong practically every day. Your lips pull up into a small smile, looking back at yourself in the mirror before you turn, opening the door to return to your man.

“Si?” You look around just to hear him hum. “Right here, love.”

He peeks round the wall of the kitchen, gesturing you to come over to where he’s taking out all the boxes. “Woah— how much did you buy?” He doesn't seem as fazed as you are, glancing down at the four containers of each different dish he bought. “Hm? This is a normal amount.” 

Normal?? You were only two people, and he had bought enough to feed your whole family and the stray foxes that lingered around. 

“Here, you can eat these two.” Your jaw drops the moment he slides two, massive, containers before you. “What?!”

———-

You’re still giggling like an idiot when you sit down on the couch again, your plate piping hot and his container steaming. “Alrigh’ stop laughing at me.” He tries his best to be stern, but he can't help it when your eyes are all lit up like that, repetitively fanning yourself with your hand because you’ve laughed so much your cheeks are burning. 

“I can't— it’s just so silly–”

He places the container onto his lap so he can reach over to squash your cheeks inwards to shut you up at long last. “Yeah yeah, I know I'm an idiot. I’m just used to having Soap and Gaz who stuff down two containers each and then a third between them.” He huffs out, slightly embarrassed that he had forgotten you physically couldn't eat that much if you even tried. 

You’ve stopped giggling enough to take a bite of your food when he replaces the fork in your hand with the packet of ibuprofen, making you look at him in confusion. “What?”

“Take them, you’re obviously in pain.”

That makes you raise a brow at him, then down at the tablets and then back over at him again. “Do you think I can't handle it? I’ve had periods for like years, Si— I can handle any of this.” You huff confidently, crossing your arms over your chest as he gives you an just as hardened stare. “I never said you couldn't handle the pain, it’s called making it easier for yourself—“

“Yeah but I wanna see how long I can last without it.”

“You what?” This time he does actually look at you like you’re crazy. But then again, you are right, your body not his. “Just.. just eat the food please.”

———

It’s safe to say that he made sure you took the painkillers the second he saw you clutch the pillow beside you again, doing his best to not roll his eyes when you were still adamant on not taking it. You end up feeling a lot better when it finally kicks in, just leaving you content with your head resting on his broad shoulder. 

He leaves to pack the food away before returning with one of your plushies, more specifically the giant penguin that he had won for you. How could you ever forget that day? “Smells like you.” He chuckles, burying his face into the fur before laying it down beside you who instantly clutches it tight. “I’ve slept with Pingu every day.” You hum, resting your chin above its head and loving how perfectly it fits in your arms. It truly is your favourite thing in the world– apart from Simon that is.

“Only you would name it after that crappy cartoon.” Your jaw drops, offended as he plops himself down on the couch beside you, stretching his legs out as he turns the tv on. “Pingu was legendary, thank you.”

“Uh huh, the penguin who’d make a snoot snoot noise at anything and was as stubborn as you when I denied a pastry.”

“I’m not stubborn– it’s called caring for you.” 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” 

—-------------------------

One of those crappy game shows are on again, they’re ones you’d usually switch off, but Simon always gets way too invested in them.  “That was definitely the wrong answer” He scowls at the contestant, before switching to a grin when his own guess was right. 

Every time he picks correctly, you get a firm rub up and down your side, and when he gets proven wrong.. you get a squeeze that makes you squeal. His eyes never leave your form when you join in too, chiming in now and then with your prediction, and he kisses your head when you get it right. Though he doesn't fail to notice how you squirm occasionally, shifting uncomfortably to find the right position and failing.

The show has ended and so, his focus has snapped back to you all over again. Out of nowhere he stands, heading into the kitchen and rummaging through the bags he must’ve brought inside when he went back to the car. Then he disappears into your bedroom, before returning to grab your plate and walking back over to place it in the dishwasher. 

“Hm?” You perk up, peeking over the armrest as he continues to move around the room before stopping infront of you. 

“C’mon.” Before you can question what he’s doing, one arm is tucked beneath your legs and the other behind your back, holding you upright. “Woah—hey!” He takes the moment to press a kiss to your lips, making you momentarily stop squirming before he carries you into your bedroom and places you beneath the covers with ease. On the bedside table there’s a steaming cup of tea, some menstrual products and your water bottle filled up to the top beside his own, perfect for when you get thirsty at night. Oh, and obviously some more snacks and the chocolates you were munching seconds ago.

You blink in surprise whilst he tucks a hot water bottle beside you, along with Pingu,  before pulling the covers up to your neck. He grabs the remote, turning on the tv, but this time moves to Netflix, flicking through the series till he settles on the one you’ve been talking about with him. “You call me if you need anything, yeah?”  He teases, fluffing the pillows behind your head. 

“What? Where are you going?”

“Clean up a little, get my bed situated on the couch. I’ll come say goodnight.”

“You—what? No way.” You grab his hand and pull him towards the bed, putting so much force only for him to barely move an inch. Huffing in exasperation, you grab his other hand and tug him. “No way I’ll sleep alone when you’re right here.”

You wanted him here? With you? When you’re like this? Sure, you’re dating and all, but he didn't expect you to want him to stay. He had accidentally made you cry multiple times today and probably pushed your stress levels to the max by simply not explaining something like an idiot. Plus, he always likes to be left alone when he is feeling particularly vulnerable— was this not the same?

“Please?” You plead, and he immediately relents, slowly nodding before gently manoeuvring you to lean back properly.

“Fine, fine, only if you finish your tea. I don't want to hear of a sore throat tomorrow.”

———

It’s late, and you’ve finished your tea now, getting ready for bed. He stands in the bathroom, like he had on your first date, staring into the mirror. If he slept beside you, he could keep the mask on, just half hitched up his face. If he really wanted to, that is.

But was it right? He’d be laying right beside you, so close and the most intimate he’s been with anyone for years, only to keep his mask on. It wasn’t insecurity; it never had been, either. But it was all so strange, he didn't know what to do and, to be honest, he was slightly nervous.

“Si? You almost done? I gotta pee..” You mumble from the doorway, the door swinging open as you lean on it, making you stumble forward. Thankfully, you catch yourself, immediately noticing how he stands before the mirror, dressed in the spare clothes you insisted he keep in the closet. But what you’re more focused on is his hand that lingers near his mask, curling up the edges. Though when he hears you he immediately drops it, nodding without even looking back at you.

You step forward, like a mouse with how silent your feet are. “You don't have to if you don't want to. Whatever is more comfortable for you.” You whisper, gently curling your arms around him, with your head thumping gently against his back. It feels nice, hugging him like this— like you’ve wanted to since the day you met him. 

“Thanks for always looking out for me, Simon. Even when I'm a little bit teary and loopy.”

That gets a small huff out of him, but he continues to stare at the mirror, now focusing on your hands that settle on his side before lightly grazing your nails against him. “If you’re attempting to tickle me, it’s not working.”

“I was not—Okay, I was. How are you not ticklish at all?!” You huff, and he turns around, pinching your cheeks before shaking his head at you. “Go on, do your business. I’ll go make sure the bed’s warm for you.”

———————

Clicking the bathroom door shut, you walk back over to your bedroom, eyes all drowsy. It’s almost ten now, and even if that’s not your usual bedtime, you’re about to make it from how shattered your brain is. You were a tiny bit embarrassed, to say the least. After all, you had burst into tears because he simply did the right thing—to take you home. But then again, it’s Simon and, even if you actually got angry at him for cancelling the plans, he’d have let you punch his chest until you’re satisfied. On the comfort of your couch of course, not outside where the cold would get to you.

Your slippers patter quietly as you walk inside, noticing the main light has been turned off. That’s perfect because your eyes are straining with every second you’re still awake. A yawn threatens to come forward, but you immediately brush it off when you see him. He’s sitting on one side of the bed, wearing only a black t-shirt and sweatpants, on his phone that he usually never touches except for emergencies, of course.

A smile immediately breaks out on your face, failing to be contained as you just stare for a moment, stepping forward until he glances up at you properly, a hint of hesitance in his eyes. “Ready to sleep?” He tries his best to stay as casual as before, you can tell that, but you’ve lost all sense of words so you just quickly nod along, still locked onto him like he’s a painting anyone with a sane mind would fawn over.

“I love you.” You blurt out, crawling atop the bed and making his head turn back to you, surprise written over it. It makes you want to giggle, so very hard, knowing you can now see every little etch that formed his face, the curves, the sharp edges, even properly see his brows now. You love even more that you can make his face change, surprise him, excite him, make him smile. 

“What’s all this about?” Of course, he ignores the obvious, suddenly looking downwards as he opens the covers up and drapes them over you. He still sits atop, almost hesitant to get under before you catch his hand. “Nothin’, just admiring.” You hum, intertwining your hands with his that he rarely leaves bare, apart from the softer moments like these. They’re calloused, and strong, yet so, so, soft whenever they come to handle you. 

After a bit of nudging, he finally gets under the covers, making you sigh with content as you shuffle your way over to him. “You don't mind if I cuddle you, right?” The excitement is written all over your face, clearly wanting to try this with someone for years now, and who would he be to deny? “Jus’ tell me what you want me to do.”

He was expecting you to want him to hug you from behind, or maybe you’d sleep across his chest, but you’re both facing each other in your little bed, and you’ve got your arms tight around his torso and your nose pushed into his neck. He feels your gentle pecks against the scar too close to his throat, down to his collar where many knives have grazed and even on the curve of his shoulder where a bullet had once been lodged. You squeeze him tighter with each one, his own hands tightening on your back.  “Thought I fed you enough—with all of that food.” He  grunts, quieter than usual and you didn't miss his breath hitching when you kissed him again, your nose rubbing against him.

“I’m always hungry.” You hum, grinning, before you pull your head back, staring at him head on. You’ve always loved his eyes, probably because it’s the only thing he would allow you, but this is more than that, looking at him like this. Brown, rich, and full of secrets, enough to make you smile all silly again. You lean forward, kissing his nose full force like he always does to catch you off guard. It cracks a smile on his lips, and he has to avert his gaze for a moment before he turns into some lovesick fool. 

“I think you’re supposed to be sleeping, miss—”

Before he can finish, you’ve caught him in a kiss, your hands curving up his jaw and thumbs cold against his face. It’s a sensation he hasn’t felt in years, skin against skin, and it feels exhilarating. When you break for some much-needed air, you push your palms into his cheeks, squashing his face before giggling at how his lips have been forcefully pursed. 

Rolling his eyes, he scoops you up effortlessly and pushes you back against the mattress, pinning your hands against the pillows. “You are so–”  He huffs, but it breaks once he sees your wide-eyed expression, and he has to drop his head to contain himself, his body wracking with each shake of laughter. You’re soon flattened by his heavy build, squirming beneath him until he relents and rolls onto his back to let you settle properly. Though, he does grab your hands, restraining them for a moment longer. 

“You gonna behave and sleep now?” He raises a brow at you, his face full of so much emotion that it momentarily stuns you. 

“..Only if you sleep over tomorrow as well.”

“If I get you a pretty ring, we can do that every day.” Finally, he sets your hands free, letting you settle them over his body properly before you yawn drowsily. 

“Don’t need a ring to convince me.” Your face is squished comfortably against his heart, which may as well have legal rights to you at this point. His eyes soften as he watches your eyes droop, his hand sinking beneath your shirt to rub at your lower back, knowing you’re likely still all achy. 

“I love you too.” He returns the sentiment, one hand placed atop your head like it wasn’t a phrase but a vow– a promise. Never in his life did he think he’d ever be in the place he is in right now, and despite Soap’s constant words of wisdom that life is full of surprises, this was one of the things he deemed impossible. Yet here you were, the only person who could make him smile like his heart was light again, and the only one who he’d go to the end of the earth and back for. You’re here, the prettiest girl in the damn world, and you’re next to him. 

Though, he’s even more grateful for who you make him as a person. Just today, you’ve changed him for the better, and since you’ve met him he’s learnt so much in the little things that he probably couldn't even count them on one hand. You didn't fix him, no, you healed him, bettered him as a person until he was here, feeling worthy of someone’s love. He’d never be perfect, nowhere close but he’d sure as hell get close with you around.

“I love you.” An whispered oath, and he kisses your head as the day finally catches up to you.

You’re the only one who could ever make him say those three words because—even if the nightmares ate at his mind, the battlefield consumed his limbs or fate took its revenge on him— he loved you and that’s enough to leave him with peace for the rest of his life.

--------------------

buy me a coffee!

bonus drabble

a/n: i cant believe one small drabble turned into this and after five months, we finally finished it!!!! this is the first cod series i've made and i've loved every single chapter I've put out. It makes me so upset to see it go, if im being honest, but i know it's for the best. If anyone does have any ideas for reader and Simon please leave them in my askbox! I will do my best to at least try to write it up as a bonus chapter but for now, this is officially the end. Thank you for all of your support on this series, you have all been so so sweet and i hope you all experience a love as sugary as this one <3

taglist:

@hidden-treasures21 @bieberismysoulmate @gallantys @tessakate @galactict3a @krispymagazinepizza-blog @silas-aeiou @kupids-arrow @enfppuff @oydan @keytofu @vogueprincess @roastyyytoastyyy @pythonmoth

[adispit]

Notes in the air

bttm m reader x punk guitarist

sypnosis: you meet a punk guitarist and tension seems to simmer in the air…

kinks: edging, orgasm denial, anal fingering, handjob, cream pie, public sex (not rly tbh)

note: week one of kinktober, enjoy!

Discipline had always been a part of your life when it came to playing the erhu. As the known virtuoso of the Shanghai Orchestra, you had been told that every note you made had to be with precision, grace and to be perfection, itself.

Your earliest memories were of disciplined practice sessions with your father, who’d been an erhu player himself. The one who had carved the essence of the elegance of playing the instrument into you through countless sessions.

That’s why the underground punk scene should have meant nothing to you.

And yet, here you are, standing on the edges of a dark, buzzing, dingy venue that stinks of sweat and alcohol. The sharp neon lights that seem to burn itself into your retinas, accompanied by the thick smoke that hangs in the air.

The sharp hum of an electric guitar fills the air, a stark contrast to the soft and calming melody of the orchestra that you’re used to.

You shift uncomfortably in your polished shoes, glancing at the stage, and that’s when you see him—Lan Yu, all messy hair streaked with electric blue, a cocky grin on his face as he commanded the air to come to a standstill with the raw and sharp energy of his guitar.

He’s nothing like you. And yet, for reasons you can’t explain, you can’t take your eyes off him.

You didn’t plan to stay. You didn’t even want to come. But a colleague convinced you—something about expanding your musical horizons. Something about meeting a special guitarist they had been raving about lately named Lan Yu.

Now you’re regretting it as you try to navigate the chaos around you, the crowd pressing in on all sides. The venue is too loud, too chaotic, and everything about it feels wrong.

But then, Lan Yu starts to play. And you stop thinking entirely.

His fingers fly across the strings of his guitar, each note wild and reckless, like he’s barely keeping control. It’s nothing like the disciplined movements you’re used to. It’s messy and raw and… captivating.

You don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until the set ends, and people start to move around you. You feel out of place, unsure why you haven’t left yet.

And that’s when you hear his voice. Low, teasing, and far too close.

“First time at a punk show, huh?”

You blink, turning toward him, and find Lan Yu standing there, sweaty from his performance. He grins like he owns the world and is close enough that you can smell the faint trace of sweat and leather on him. His presence is magnetic, and it makes your chest tighten in a way you’re not used to.

You nod stiffly, trying to regain your composure. “It’s… different.”

Lan Yu laughs, a sound that sends an unexpected shiver down your spine. “Different good or different bad?”

You glance away, feeling oddly exposed under his gaze. “Different loud.”

His smirk widens, and he steps closer, the scent of leather and smoke lingering around him. “Yeah, you look like someone who prefers things a bit quieter. Don’t worry, 宝贝, you’ll get used to it.”

The nickname—sweet, playful, almost mocking—makes something stir in your chest, but you force your expression to stay neutral. “Don’t call me that.”

Lan Yu’s grin doesn’t falter. “What? You don’t like pet names? Relax, 宝贝, it’s just a little fun.”

There’s something about the way he says it, about the way he looks at you, that sets your nerves on edge.

You’re not sure if it’s annoyance or something else entirely.

You start showing up more often. You tell yourself it’s because of the music, because you’re curious about how someone like Lan Yu creates such… chaos. You didn’t really know if that was true though.

You find yourself watching him—watching the way his body moves when he plays, the way he commands the stage with a raw, unfiltered energy that sends the crowd into a frenzy.

The way sweat glistens on his skin under the harsh stage lights, the way his eyes would scan the crowd, sharp and alive, and sometimes, they would lock on yours, holding your gaze just a moment too long.

He always notices.

And every time he catches you staring, that smirk of his gets a little wider, a little more knowing.

One night, after another one of his explosive sets, you find yourself lingering near the back of the bar. You don’t know why. Maybe you’re hoping to slip away unnoticed, or maybe you’re hoping he’ll find you.

And of course, he does.

“You keep coming back,” Lan Yu says, appearing next to you like he always does—suddenly and without warning. “What’s the deal? You into punk now, or… something else?”

You glance at him, trying to keep your expression straight, but there’s no denying the way your heart quickens at the proximity between you. The tension hums in the air, electric, like the sound of his guitar. “I’m just… curious.”

Lan Yu raises an eyebrow, stepping closer, his voice dropping an octave. “Curious about me or the music?”

You shoot him an annoyed look, trying to ignore the way your heart seems to hammer against your rib cage, how your stomach seems to coil in on itself. “Does it matter?”

He laughs, low and rough, and the sound makes something twist in your stomach. “Not really. Either way, I win.”

Before you can respond, Lan Yu is suddenly much closer, his body heat palpable. “You’re way too serious, you know that?” he murmurs, his breath ghosting over your ear. “Mind telling why you keep coming huh, 亲爱的?”

Your heart is pounding now, mind racing. You try to stay calm, but Lan Yu’s closeness is doing things to you, stirring something he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

”You’re… impossible,” you manage to squeak out, your voice coming out weaker than intended.

Lan Yu smirks, eyes flicking to your lips for a brief moment before meeting your gaze again. “And you’re too stiff.”

He brushes his fingers against your arm, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through you. “Loosen up, 宝贝. The world won’t end if you let yourself feel something.”

Despite everything, you start letting him into your world, too. You invite him to your rehearsals, curious to see how someone so wild would react to the world of traditional Chinese orchestra.

To your surprise, Lan Yu sits quietly in the back, watching you play with an intensity that unnerves you. He’s always so loud, so chaotic, but in those moments, he’s silent—focused on you, and only you.

One evening, after a performance, you catch him waiting for you outside the concert hall. The city lights casts a soft glow around him, making him look almost… ethereal, though you’d never tell him that.

“宝贝，你真是帅死了.” Lan Yu’s voice was low and teasing, but there was something darker in his eyes as he leaned against the wall, watching you with a lazy grin.

You roll your eyes, though the warmth in your chest betrays you. “Would you stop calling me that?”

“Nope.” Lan Yu smothers you into a tight embrace, and you catch a faint scent of his cologne, the world seemingly melting away. “Not until you stop blushing every time I do.”

Your breath hitches, and you turn away, hoping the dim light will hide the blush creeping up your neck. “别乱说话.”

Lan Yu chuckles softly, pressing his lips lightly to your temple before pulling back. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said, his voice dropping to a rasp. “I already know.”

The next few days, you try to immerse yourself back in your rehearsals, hoping that the familiar rhythms of the erhu will ground you again.

But Lan Yu has taken root in your mind, his voice, his touch, his teasing smile replaying in an endless loop that makes your pulse quicken at the most inconvenient times.

And Lan Yu? He isn’t making it any easier. He keeps showing up to your rehearsals, casually draped over a chair in the back, watching you with that infuriatingly smug grin, as if he knows exactly how much he is getting under your skin.

One evening, after the orchestra had finished for the night and the rehearsal hall was nearly empty, you find yourself alone with Lan Yu once again. The silence between the both of you is thick with unspoken words, tension almost unbearable.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Lan Yu remarks, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

He stands near the window, the soft glow of the city lights behind him casting his features in sharp relief.

You look up from your erhu, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’ve been focused.”

“On what?” Lan Yu’s gaze is intense, like he can see right through your carefully constructed facade.

“On my music.” It is the truth, but even as you say it, you know it isn’t the whole truth. Your music has always been your anchor, but now it feels like something else has shifted, like your music has taken on a different meaning, tied up in the growing tension between you and him.

Lan Yu’s smirk softens into something more thoughtful as he crosses the room, coming to stand just in front of you.

His fingers trail along the edge of the instrument, a faint smile playing on his lips as he looks down at the delicate craftsmanship of the erhu.

“You know, there’s something beautiful about how precise you are,” Lan Yu murmurs, his voice lower now, almost intimate. “The way you hold the erhu, the way you control every note. But don’t you ever get tired of control?”

You can’t seem to muster any words to reply him. You know what Lan Yu is doing, but it doesn’t stop the effect it has on you.

“Control is necessary,” you reply, voice strained, though even you can hear the uncertainty creeping in.

Lan Yu’s eyes gleams as he leans in, closer now, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Is it? Or is it just an excuse to keep yourself from feeling too much?”

The question hits harder than you expected, and your grip on the erhu tightens. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, though even you weren’t sure if you believed it.

Lan Yu doesn’t back down. Instead, he moves closer, until you can feel the heat of his breath against your neck. His hand comes up, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, the touch sending a jolt of electricity through you.

“Maybe you just need someone to help you let go,” Lan Yu whispers, his lips barely an inch from your skin.

Blood is rushing to your head, breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. You can feel the pull between the both of you, the magnetic force that has been building for weeks, threatening to snap.

Your mind screamed at you to pull away, to reassert control, but your body… your body was betraying you.

Without thinking, you reach out, grabbing the front of Lan Yu’s shirt, pulling him close. For a moment, you are chest to chest, the air between him and you charged with unspoken desire.

Lan Yu’s eyes darkens, his grin fading into something far more serious as he looks down at you. “Finally,” he breaths, his voice rough with need.

Before you can second-guess yourself, Lan Yu closes distance between him and you, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that had been simmering just beneath the surface for too long.

The kiss is messy, intense, all the tension that had been building, finally breaking free.

Your hands are fisted in Lan Yu’s shirt, pulling him closer as you kiss back with an urgency that surprises even him.

The sharp edge of the erhu digs into your side, but you don’t care.

All you can focus on is the taste of his lips, the feel of his body pressed against yours, the way Lan Yu’s hands grips your waist, grounding you and setting you on fire all at once.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are breathing heavily, eyes locked. Lan Yu’s lips are swollen, his eyes half-lidded with desire as he looked at you like he wanted to devour you whole.

“See?” Lan Yu whispers, his voice rough, his thumb brushing gently across your bottom lip. “Letting go doesn’t feel so bad, does it?”

You don’t answer, can’t answer, not with the way your heart is pounding, not with the way Lan Yu’s hand has slipped under your crisp, ironed shirt, fingers tracing the skin of your waist in a way that leaves you breathless.

Lan Yu chuckles softly, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “I’m not going anywhere, 宝贝. You might as well admit you want this.”

Your chest tightens, torn between the desire to maintain control and the overwhelming urge to give in Lan Yu.

Lips parting, but before you can utter a single word, Lan Yu’s mouth is on yours again, kissing you deeper, more insistent, like he is determined to make you surrender completely.

A muffled whine slips out as you press yourself flush against Lan Yu. The fabric of the his ripped jeans feels hot as you feel it rub against your fevered thighs through your dress pants.

You sag into the arm wrapped around the small of your back. All of your joints feel like jelly at the soft touch caressing you.

Your erhu lies on the floor, forgotten. You can’t believe you’re doing this, doing this in a hall you just performed a solo in front of your father an hour ago. He would be furious.

“Pay attention, 宝贝.” Lan Yu shrugs at your shirt as you stare at him dazedly through your eyelashes. The cold air hits your feverish skin as you shed your pants, pulling a sharp gasp from your spit slicked lips.

Your leaking cock springs out, begging for his attention, earning an amused huff from him. His thumb snags at the tip of your dick as it circles, collecting precum.

“Please- hahh, oh god.” You keen, all semblance of propriety leaving you as you throw your head back, hands digging into his shoulders with the concert lights shining down at you above.

You feel the oncoming orgasm approaching like a tidal wave about to consume you in its entirety as Lan Yu wraps his rough, calloused hand around your sensitive cock and picks up in pace.

Your nerves are alight, like a firework soaring through the night sky as a choked cry is ripped from you, echoing through the hall.

Suddenly, it stops.

The high you were riding on suddenly crashes into the cold hard ground as you’re left reeling in confusion.

A crushed, strangled sound leaves your lips.

“Lan Yu, w-what was that for?” Your flushed face is pulled into a confused frown.

“Sorry, 宝贝. Can’t have you coming so soon.” Lan Yu lets out a throaty laugh, hands settling into the dips of your back, making your hips jerk as you swallow down an angry protest.

You’re gently guided to grip the hard plastic handles of a nearby seat with arms that feel boneless as your ass is presented before his roving eyes.

His slender fingers, used to strum the guitar, are coated with your precum, which prods and breaches your rim. Two of them continue their way into you, pressing forward with gently, twisting lightly each time they meet a spot of unyielding tightness.

Lan Yu manages to sink in the whole length of his middle and forefinger into you, the pads of his fingers dancing over your prostate, your quiet whimpers shifting to continuous groans as you grip onto the cold plastic, hips quaking.

“Ah-Ah-Ah! L-Lan Yu!” A series of choked sobs are ripped from your throat, voice shattering.

“Not yet, 宝贝.” He soothes, fingers now replaced by an emptiness that seems to gnaw away at you. You’re just barely teetering over the cliff into pure ecstasy, inciting a raw sob from you, body burning up like a livewire.

Before you can even catch your breath, Lan Yu sheathes himself into your warmth in one go. The stretch burns, feels so good. “好乖啊，宝贝.” Lan Yu purrs, chest heaving and sweat soaking his top as he pulls back and meets your rippling flesh.

Moisture gathers in the corners of your eyes as you writhe in tandem with his thrusts just dragging against your prostrate perfectly. Your chest rises and falls rapidly under the new onslaught, each exhale punctuated with a moan.

You’re barely holding on by an inch now, nails scratching at the plush material of the seat as you twitch and buck at the ministrations chipping away at you.

“Close…!” Your voice cracks sharply.

“听话.” Lan Yu groans, nails painted black raking down your sides as he loses himself in the tight, warm heat of your insides repeatedly clenching and unclenching around his cock.

“Let’s come together, 宝贝.” He adds as he slams into you, burying his dick deep in your ass as the rhythm of his thrusts began to stutter.

You hum out an incoherent slur through the haze of lust that seems to cloud at your mind and render you mute, as drool trails down your chin. You’ve been reduced to a squirming mess, ready to burst at any moment.

Finally, Lan Yu stops and hot cum paints your hot, pulsing walls as he lets out a low growl of satisfaction. Then there’s the moment where you freeze, scrabbling at the edge, before tipping over. Your whole body jerks violently and you arch your back impossibly as you finally feel the sweet release.

“Lan Yu!” You let out a hoarse yelp.

The first pulse is a hot dribble, and then your cock splatters cum all over the seat, the floor. Strings of semen paint everything in white as you come and come, crying out brokenly.

“K-kiss me…” You growl frustratedly as you weakly glare at him, no bite in your voice as you bask in the afterglow of your well-deserved orgasm. “And no more doing this at the concert hall!” You add, as he presses you into a chaste kiss that muffles his laugh.

Translations and more!

宝贝 - baby

亲爱的 - my love

宝贝，你真的是帅死了 - baby, you’re so amazing (literal translation is handsome but in this context he’s praising you)

别乱说话 - don’t speak nonsense

好乖啊，宝贝- baby, you’re so obedient

听话 - be obedient

Lan Yu’s name in Chinese is 蓝羽.

The erhu (二胡) what reader plays is a Chinese two-stringed bowed instrument. Here’s a reference.

note: that’s week one of kinktober!!! Lan Yu is such a dream honestly haha, he’s one of my more green flag ocs!

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated 🫶

[cyberseong]

after hours.

pairing: seonghwa x f!reader

genre: smut/pwp, established relationship, idol au.

warnings/topics: there’s quite a bit of plot before it gets to the actual smut, seonghwa is pissed in the beginning, somnophilia, but everything is consensual, slight dacryphilia, dry humping, unprotected sex, plot twist(?) at the end ig.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: hi! this fic is slightly proofread but there’s still a possibility that there might be minor errors, but regardless, enjoy!!

seonghwa quickly exited the dressing room and back into the waiting room backstage; y/n was not present, so he began to check other locations such as the makeup and hair rooms and the small kitchenette.

he eventually concluded that she was simply not in the building.

seonghwa dialed her number over 10 times, each going directly to voicemail. anger was bubbling up in his throat; what reason would y/n have to leave the venue, especially after that was the only thing she promised not to do?

“hey, i know you guys don’t plan on leaving right away— but i’m tired, and… y/n is waiting for me at the hotel. so i’ll be leaving early. everyone did great and i’m so proud of all of you, but we’ll speak more tomorrow!” seonghwa tried to sound the kindest he possibly could, knowing the circuits in his mind were about to overheat and spark with fury and betrayal. he definitely didn’t want the rest of ateez to see him like that.

he ran out of the side door, immediately rushing to their van where their manager was waiting. “hey, could you take me back to our hotel early? i– i’m really not feeling well,” seonghwa’s words came out fast and nearly incomprehensible. the manager looked at him with worry, but he quickly nodded and started driving. their hotel was only 3 minutes away by car, so it didn’t take long for them to appear in front of the building. to seonghwa, however, it felt like ages until they reached their destination— he had no idea what y/n was doing right now, or even exactly where she was, and that thought alone was killing him.

as soon as the vehicle went into park, seonghwa jumped out of the van, quickly thanking their manager before rushing into the lobby. he entered the elevator, which, thankfully, was completely empty. he was way too distracted for fan interactions at that moment. his sole objective right now was to see his girlfriend.

slowly, the elevator approached the hotel's highest floor, and as soon as that ‘ding’ was sounded, seonghwa bolted out through the elevator doors and into the hallway. he found his way to room 1117, where he tapped his keycard against the door and opened it once he heard the lock click.

the room was dark, but he noted that the shoes y/n wore to the show earlier were the first thing he saw when he walked in. that was a dead giveaway that y/n was in this room.

“y/n. care to explain to me why you left the venue mid-concert? i’ve been looking everywhere for you, i mean you could’ve left a text, or a note, or someth– oh.” seonghwa’s confronting words quickly came to a stop when he realized y/n wasn’t listening; she was sleeping peacefully on the king mattress that swallowed the entire room. she wore one of seonghwa’s oversized animal crossing shirts and, from the dark out line of her hips and thighs, what seemed to be nothing but underwear on the bottom half of her body.

seonghwa’s entire being shivered at the sight— even imagining y/n coming back to their hotel room to wait for him like this sparked arousal within him. he took a deep breath before quickly kicking off his shoes, trying to get into the bed with the least movement and noise possible.

as his eyes had gotten a chance to adjust to the room's darkness, seonghwa could fully take in the view before him. the shirt had bunched up around y/n’s waist, presumably from moving around in her sleep. she wore a white lace thong that didn’t even try to cover her ass— seonghwa whimpered at the glimpse alone, his pants getting tighter with each thought that formed in his mind about y/n and he just knew he had to do something other than whine quietly like a bitch in heat.

seonghwa held his hips close to y/n's, thrusting up slightly in hopes of feeling any form of friction he could get against his dick. one hand of his rested on your hip as to hold it in place; the other remained over his mouth to block any of the sounds he was making from the oversensitivity. it’s not like an effort to keep quiet would work anyway— seonghwa’s lips were only a few inches from y/n’s ear, and they both knew seonghwa was rather vocal whenever he was worked up. the soft yet violent bucking of his hips against y/n’s soft skin caused her to move in her sleep a little, but seonghwa was too far gone that he couldn’t get his body to stop. tears began to drip from his eyes as his eyebrows furrowed, not being able to handle the feeling of his clothes against his overstimulated cock anymore.

his whimpers were no longer even given an effort to be held back anymore as he pushed his pants and boxers down his legs, using precum as lube before sliding carefully into y/n’s pussy in hopes that it wouldn’t wake her from her slumber. seonghwa couldn’t hold his moans in any longer as he bottomed out— his mind was overwhelmed in such an amorous haze, feeling as if nothing he was doing could help him reach his release. he couldn’t even thrust properly, which led to his hips randomly bucking harshly against y/n’s cervix. he was subconsciously holding a strong grip on y/n’s hips to the point where he was almost sure there would be bruises in the form of handprints in the morning. he placed is face against the crook of y/n’s neck in attempt to muffle the noises that proceeded to slip from his lips, causing vibrations to spread through y/n’s body. seonghwa felt y/n push back against him slightly— the unexpected movement caused him to snap as he immediately felt his body reach it’s climax. he thrusted deeply a few more times before pulling out, immediately painting his cum across y/n’s ass. his frame twitched violenty from overstimulation as he laid on his back, attempting to catch his breath and come down from his climax.

after a few seconds of silence, y/n turned onto her other side to face seonghwa. propping her head up with her arm, she confronted seonghwa. “you could’ve woken me up, you know i wouldn’t have minded.”

seonghwa jumped at the words— he had been way too fucked out to realize that y/n was awake. “what? wait, how long have you-”

“how long have i been awake?” y/n giggled slightly, placing a soft kiss onto seonghwa’s lips before she continued speaking, “since you came through the door, hwa.”

[macfrog]

birth of venus sex on fire chapter twelve

these two mean the world to me. thank you for coming on this journey with them. i hope you enjoy.

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: if you love something, you let it go.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, alcohol consumption, lurve, fingering, masturbation, cum eating, oral (m receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, size kink, daddy kink, praise kink, cursing, some angst, soft!joel, cocky!joel (we missed him!)

word count: 12.6k

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“Alright, let’s get into it.”

He sits on the other side of the table, legs crossed and balancing the notebook on his knee. Twirls a pen around his thumb, catching it without looking. He’s too busy scanning the page in front of him, the list of questions he’s about to drill you on.

Let’s get into it, he says, and then stares silently at the scribbled lines.

Your shadow splits a shard of sunlight across the office. Knee jerking, palms clammy and fingers twisting around each other. You glance down at your outfit – the pointed heels Martha swore went with your dress, the jewelry she promised didn’t look tacky – and straighten your skirt.

Let’s get fucking into it.

“What are your responsibilities in your current role?” he asks.

You swallow. It feels like sandpaper. “Well, uh…”

He doesn’t look up. Not to ask the question, not to wait for your answer. Just stares down, spins the pen, bites his lip until it turns white.

Focused. Razor sharp. You’re not even in the same room.

You turn on your heel and begin pacing. “I manage my boss’s schedule, from nine a.m. Monday to nine p.m. Sunday. I get everything in order, plan out his days, make any bookings. I take calls, I answer emails, I…”

He’s still not looking. He bounces his foot, leather shoes catching the sun. His watch face leers back at you. There’s not a mark of ink on the paper in front of him.

“Hey,” you click your fingers, “Are you even listening to me?”

Joel shakes the frown from his face. “Huh? Oh,” he clears his throat, straightens in his creaky chair, “Yeah, I’m listenin’. I’m…I’m here.”

“Come on, man,” you huff, “You said you’d help me out.”

“And I am. I’m helping you out.”

You glower. “What did I just say?”

His shoulders wriggle. “You know…paperwork, and…Is this –? Is this really what they’re going to ask?”

“I don’t know,” you groan, collapsing into the couch opposite. Your arms cross, like some crumpled tantrum of a woman. “I found it online. They’re all art director questions, supposedly.”

He turns the notebook around. The first sheet flops over.

“Describe yourself in three words,” Joel recites.

“I was gonna go creative,” you count on your fingers, “driven, and then I couldn’t decide between perceptive or observant.”

He squints, tongue clicking against his teeth. He stares at your raised fingers. Thoroughly unimpressed.

“Right,” he stands, “Yeah, I don’t know, kid. A company like this, taking on a new art director, and this is what you think they got waitin’ for you? I mean, what’d I ask you?”

You scoff, twisting to watch him cross over to the window.

Between the sun and your deflated spirit, he stands like some kind of god. High up on the top floor of his skyscraper, towering over the streets. Towering over you.

He’s haloed by the blazing sun. Light arrowing from behind, spilling all over his wide shoulders and dipping in every fold and crease of cashmere. The northern compass point, the magnetic pull turning everything towards him.

Joel’s fingers snap, a hair away from your nose. “Tip number one: don’t stare at the interviewer like that. Asked you a question.”

“Wasn’t staring,” you mumble, shifting when he sinks down at your side. “You really don’t remember what you asked me?”

“Of course I do. I’m asking if you do.” He fiddles with a thread on the couch at your back.

You straighten as though his hand might be iron hot. “I remember…remember you asking what success looked like to me.”

Joel nods once.

“Remember you asking why I wanted out of my old job.”

“Yep.”

You flick a finger around the office. “I remember you asking what I’d change in here. How I’d make the office better. But I don’t know what interior design has to do with being an art director, Joel.”

He smiles. “This,” he shakes the pad, “is generic bullshit.”

“Generic bullshit,” you echo, pinching it from his grasp. You read over the bullet points – your strengths, your weaknesses, how you do under pressure.

“Yes,” Joel says. “Doesn’t tell ‘em a thing about you. Well,” his eyes widen, “I guess it tells them you tried searching their damn questions, the morning of the interview.”

A small, tired sigh falls from your lips. You melt back into the couch, horizontal under Joel’s extended arm. “I just want to be prepared,” you whisper. “I want to be the best person they meet.”

“What makes you think you ain’t already?”

“Well, for starters, I don’t even know which three words describe me.”

He chuckles. “How about more than capable? Hm? The dream assistant. Future art director.”

“Cheesy,” you mutter, batting him away. “I just…I really want it. I want something that feels like mine, you know? And I know I’d be fucking good at it.”

He falls quiet. He thumbs the corner of the pages, knuckles brushing against yours in a way that feels deliberate. Feels familiar.

It’s as though he might turn his hand, open his palm for yours to slip safely into. Lock his fingers through yours, squeeze once for good luck, twice to double it – and a third time, to tell you something he knows would make you flee.

But you don’t flinch, and neither does he.

Instead, he pulls himself up – a mighty groan as he straightens.

You bite back a snark about his age. Stupid fifty-year-old boss, stupid old bones. Stupid smartass.

Joel whips open the bottom drawer of his desk – the one you’d come to know as his junk drawer – and heaps diary after diary on the mahogany surface. Their leatherbound covers and splintered spines, the warped pages packed between.

With a tiny ha (and a click in his joints that you notice even from across the room), he pushes himself back up.

“September, September…” the pages flutter between his thumbs, “…September second, right?”

“What are you –?”

“Here,” he says, and reclines back beside you. He slides the diary into your lap. “September second, two o’clock.”

Your eyes narrow, following an inky trail linking geometric sketches and games of tic-tac-toe; the words college and assistant, a crude drawing of a house.

“So…” your lips purse, “…on September second, you were doing no work and doodling in your planner. What about it, Joel?”

He taps the top of the page, finger settling right below a name.

Penned in his neat handwriting – the trademark font that, after three years, you’re used to finding on sticky notes and signed with the letter J. It’s underlined, then boxed in by more scribbled lines. So familiar, you barely even take it in at first.

You blink twice.

It’s your name. Your full name.

“This is the day of my interview?” you ask.

Joel dares one fleeting glance at your lips. “Mhm. These are the notes I took, the day we met.”

You look down to the diary and back again. Almost an entire page of nonsense scribbles, hieroglyphic trains of thought bleeding from one drawing into another.

You frown. “You really didn’t listen to a fucking word I said, did you?”

He chokes on a laugh, shaking his head. “You had the job before your ass hit that chair, genius. All that interview was, was playing ball. Seeing how hard you could swing.”

But you’re more confused than you were before he emptied his desk. You flick through the book, spine dangling loose from the pages.

There are no other notes, no other candidates’ names – only reminders for Lunch with Mom and Massage 10AM. Meetings with past clients, deadlines long gone. One obnoxious, hot pink gel pen autograph in May, marking Martha’s birthday.

Yours is the only name he bothered to jot down. The only interview he thought to memorialize – in a gallery of distracted doodles.

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

He plays with his tie as he admits it. Nervous schoolboy, avoiding your eye like he did back on Maple Street. It’s a side to him you didn’t know existed, not until a few weeks ago – and seeing it again, you realize how much you missed it.

“There were four other interviews before yours. Every single one of them sat in that lobby waiting for Martha to call down. You –” he taps your hand, “– you got in the elevator and brought yourself up. You remember how shocked Martha was to see you?”

Sure I do, you think.

She stared you down the entire walk over to her desk. She stuttered and stammered her way through a sentence, once she realized who you were. She kept peering over the top of her monitor to steal glances at you when she thought you weren’t looking.

“I…I just thought I looked a nervous wreck,” you tell Joel.

He hums. “Well, you stood up when I opened my door. You held your hand out first. You were scared shitless – I knew you were – but you never lost your footing. You got no idea just how impressive you are, all by yourself.”

He taps on the sheets in your lap. “Now – find me a question on your list that tells them all that.”

It’s not as if you don’t know how these things go. You’ve sat in on plenty of interviews with Joel before – catching anything each quivering candidate says that might’ve slipped through his net, placing bets with yourself on who he’ll pick.

After a few months, he started asking what you thought.

You came to notice the discarded resumes of men you’d deemed sycophants, ladder-climbing leeches in tight, tawny ties – in piles to be shredded. There wasn’t a suit in the building that you and Martha hadn’t been asked to screen, before they were even considered for hiring.

Joel has the sharpest bullshit detector you’ve ever known. You don’t get to where he is without the radar for it. He knew exactly which guys were assholes of the highest order – he was just making sure you always did, too.

Stupid, stupid smartass.

A polite knock at the door interrupts your thought.

“Joel?” Martha calls, “Joel, your ten o’clock is here.”

He curses under his breath. His eyes shift sideways. “Who the hell is my ten o’clock?” he mumbles.

“Salazar,” you whisper, lips closing around a giggle. “Quarterly, remember?”

“Goddamn it,” he groans. He stands up, holding a hand out to pull you to your feet. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I’ll be an hour, tops. We can pick straight back up.”

“It’s okay,” you slot the diary and notepad under your arm, “I should get back to work anyways.”

“Calmed your nerves, at least?”

You smile. “Sure.”

“Liar.”

“Tip number two: don’t ask dumb questions, Miller.”

“Oh,” he scoffs, “We’re starting a list now?”

“Mhm. Three can be: don’t doodle during the interview.”

He elbows you towards the door, leaning close. “Four,” he murmurs, “Don’t get yourself fired.”

You grin as you slip outside.

“You couldn’t handle this place without me.”

Mr. Salazar loves to tell a story.

Joel’s still stuck with him, almost two hours after the guy showed up. With a pointed finger and something that felt as sacred as a blood oath, Martha made you promise you’d leave on time.

Whether we’re still in that office or halfway to Timbuktu, do not wait up. Just go, alright? Or I will hand you your ass, sweetheart.

Thirty minutes out, you’re pacing back and forth. Body humming with jittery nerves, what feels like a glass ball of anxiety rolling around your stomach. A text from Rand weighing down the phone in your blazer pocket: Ready when you are.

You suck in a ticklish breath. “Fuck,” you exhale, jamming your knuckle into the call button for the third time.

The wall rumbles as it delivers the elevator straight ahead. The doors part, and your distorted reflection stares sheepishly back at you.

You blink.

She blinks back.

Your shoulders life with another fractured inhale – and so do hers.

Some tiny, half-there version of yourself. Shrunken and shriveled. She moves when you move, only with half the confidence and double the pressure on her shoulders. She looks like she needs a wine date with Martha.

Scared fucking shitless, you think. Three words to describe me.

The doors close again, swallowing her whole, and –

“Nope,” you decide, spinning on your heel.

The shades are tilted enough to obscure the three figures to shadows: Joel, rocking mindlessly in his chair, Salazar talking with his arms, and Martha hunched at the other end of the couch – losing the will to live.

She’d probably welcome the excuse, to get the hell out of there.

Your knuckles rap against the door.

The investor’s lively cadence never slips – where there’s an audience, there’s a show to be had. He twitters on even over the grounding bass of Joel’s voice, the quick click of Martha’s heels.

Her shadow crosses over to the door and she whips it open. Her voice is a sharp whisper.

“You swore to me, you’d –”

You shake your head and grab her arm. Nervous, you mouth, trying to pull her over the threshold.

She won’t fucking budge. She plants herself in the doorway. Her chin lifts, eyes narrowing to study you down her pointed nose – and then she glances over her shoulder.

One second, she exaggerates the shape of the words, holding a finger up.

“Martha –” you hiss, but the door is already closing, and her shadow is already retreating.

You spin around, dragging yourself over to your desk. Another breathe squeezes past your hammering heart, trembling as you let it go. Your phone buzzes again.

This is pathetic. It’s pitiful. You bulldozed your way this far – against all your good sense. Red wine antidote, all that courage now feels more like a weak-kneed hangover.

You fiddle with a pen holder. Your body feels flimsy like rubber.

The door opens again.

“Hey,” Joel says, turning you to face him. He doesn’t look you in the eye – just slips your purse from your shoulder, squeezes your hand. “Walk with me.”

“No,” you wobble in his grasp, “Your meeting –”

He links his arm through yours, locking elbows. “Martha’s got him talking about some ski trip. We got ten minutes. Walk with me.”

Your breath sputters. “I can’t – I can’t do it.”

“Can’t do what?”

“I’m flapping, Joel.”

“Flapping,” he repeats, and the word never sounded more ridiculous than it does with his Texan twang. “What are we flapping over?”

He sways as he walks. It’s no different, no less comfortable than it was a few weeks ago. Just you, Joel, and the Parisian sunset. The light swimming in the Seine, the sweet air circling you both.

Your heel scuffs against the carpet. “You know,” you catch yourself, “just this potentially life-changing job interview I have in, like, twenty minutes.”

“Huh,” his brows quirk, “No big deal, then?”

Your eyes roll. “It wouldn’t be, if you hadn’t given me some big speech about not losing my footing. Now look at me. I’m all over the goddamn place.”

“Take it in baby steps,” he says. “Let’s just get you there first. All you gotta do is walk in like you’re already part of the furniture. Like they’ve been wondering what goes at that little desk.”

“You said the CEO is nice?”

“She is,” he reaches for the call button, “Likes red wine and racecars.”

Your brows flinch. “She likes…What?”

Joel smirks. “I didn’t say we talked for long. That’s all I got on her.”

He drags you into the elevator, hitting the button marked P. Your reflection stands a little taller, little straighter next to his. Mimicking his posture; the still stance and level head. The coolness you’re sure wouldn’t slip even if the world ended tonight.

“Look at that,” he mutters. “You made it to the elevator.”

“Shock,” you whisper, hugging yourself.

You face each other, inches apart. Nerves and momentum upsetting your equilibrium. The bones of the building drum up your spine as you plummet, floor numbers blinking down to zero.

Joel rests his ankles either side of yours. He knocks your feet softly, smiling fondly when you lift your head.

“Read over their website on the drive over,” he says, in the same polite voice he uses with clients. “Their values, the way they operate. Names and faces, all that shit. Keep it fresh, okay?”

You force your cheeks into a flat smile. “Okay.”

“Look at that,” he says. “Killer smile. Getcha any job anywhere.”

“Gross,” you giggle. “Did you wonder, before you found me?”

“Did I wonder what?”

You tilt your head. “What went at my little desk.”

He itches his nose, laughing into a closed fist. He’s blushing, though he’s trying hard to hide it. “Sure,” he shrugs, eventually giving in, “Knew it must be somethin’ pretty special. And you were.”

The elevator dings, and the doors rattle open.

Joel taps your heel and you sulk, leading him out into the garage.

Rand catches sight of you instantly. He jumps out of the Rolls, a wide grin on his lips, and balls his fists. “How we feelin’?” he asks, giving them a hearty shake.

“Little nervous, aren’t we?” Joel replies, patting your arm. “But we’re almost there.”

You’re holding onto him again. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“We’re still in the building,” you utter, tracking Rand’s kiddy jog around the car.

Joel turns, lips at your temple. “Closer than you were five minutes ago, baby.”

The driver grabs the door, turning his palm to usher you inside. “Figure we’ll get there with ten minutes to spare. Always good to be early to these things, right?”

If it weren’t for the six-inch heels on your feet and the seven-figure man on your arm, you’d reach to tighten backpack straps that aren’t there. It’s the same feeling: first day of school, walking into the unknown. Pushed off by grownups who know better.

You’re a grownup, too, you remind yourself.

The same feeling, and the same determination, too. The resolve to walk in there – bright-eyed and bushy-tailed – and be the thing they’ve been waiting for. Be the thing you’ve been waiting for. So –

“Fuck it,” you decide, slipping free from your boss’s grasp. “Let’s do this.”

“Attagirl!” Rand claps his hands and dances back to the driver’s side.

Joel helps you into the backseat, passing your purse over when you’re settled. “Okay?” he asks, one arm leaning on the roof.

“Yep,” you chirp – a crack in your voice that you both ignore.

“Call on your way back if you feel like it, let me know how it went.”

The strip lighting in the garage strains your eyes. “What if you’re still hearing about Salazar’s ski trip?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t ask dumb questions, remember? If you call, I’ll answer.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper.

He clicks his teeth. You’re welcome.

“Next step, little tiger. Go get ‘em.”

After you interviewed with him, Joel took all of twenty-four hours to offer you the job. He said he would’ve called sooner – that afternoon, if he could’ve – but there had been a holdup with the paperwork. His next question was how soon you could start.

He was that sure.

On your first day, you were shown to your new desk. Wiped clean, drawers bare. A bloated water stain in the wood – the mark of a fern plant Martha thought was treated a little too much like an actual child by your predecessor.

She offered to have Joel order a new desk, but you told her you loved it – water stain and all.

You loved the view on each side – the sprawling city, the sun needling between buildings. You loved Martha’s company, and Joel’s daily ritual of strolling over to stretch his legs and, more importantly, gossip.

The job made you feel grown. A little kid in the big city – yes, sir and no, sir, caffeine for breakfast and paperwork for lunch. It was big enough that you wondered whether you’d really fill it – like you wondered if you’d ever fill your desk.

What supplies did a personal assistant need? You spent more time on your feet than sat at your desk. What knickknacks would you collect?

Well, looking at it all now: a jumble of pinched pens and hand-me-down magazines from Martha. A Wonder Woman stationery set your mom bought you; the chipped Kandinsky mug you make coffee in every day.

A plastic ruby ring, from a riverside stroll in Paris.

Looking at it now – you wonder how it ever all fit. Almost three cardboard boxes, plus an oversized Swiss cheese plant. Your desk is empty again, back to the way you found it.

Because you got it.

You got the job.

Junior Art Director. Jesus fucking Christ.

You were in Joel’s office when the call came through. Laying out travel plans for a business trip, organizing documents into the order he’d need them. Busying yourself purely to distract from playing the interview back in your head.

The entire thing was a blur, the interview – film reel already burning in your memory. One second you were traipsing into the building, the next – strolling back out, sun on your face and spring in your step.

It came back in flashing vignettes: the creative director’s cropped bob, her scarlet lips. The rhythmic dunk of her teabag into her mug, her quiet mhms as you spoke.

Her smile grew wider, the longer the meeting went on. Her tea went cold. She asked to see pictures of your artwork – made some passing comment about your skill being of some use for an upcoming project.

She liked you. Better yet, Joel noted – you liked her.

He walked back into his office just in time to hear the tail end of the phone call. Your shaky thank you, the teary goodbye. He waited until you turned, one hand lingering on your shoulder, and gasped when you broke into a giddy grin.

He pulled you into a bear hug, beats of raucous laughter through his chest. You sniffled into his shirt, staining the material with wet mascara.

What’d I tell you? he murmured into your hair, rocking you side to side. What’d I fuckin’ tell you?

A clumsy mash of work blouses and party dresses fills the office.

Glitzy gold and pressed linen, heels and loose ties. A bottle of champagne on a spreadsheet coaster, an overfilled balloon knotted around your chair. The word Congrats swirled in glitter pen.

Martha fills the latecomers in. She orders everyone to drain their glasses and grab their coats. There’s a dive bar not far, she says, with karaoke and a jukebox. Cheap drinks and heavy measures.

A dive bar. The dive bar. AC/DC and all.

You linger over by your desk, alone, swirling the bubbly in your glass. A little more than awkward, what with the gold party hat your coworkers forced over your head – and the heavy heart it’s doing little to soothe.

Your last day as Joel Miller’s personal assistant is over. As of five-thirty, you don’t belong in this office. Come Monday, you’ll have a whole new job, a whole new title behind your name.

It’s as thrilling as it is utterly terrifying.

Martha had your leaving party organized less than an hour after she heard the cheers from Joel’s office. Proof, you told him, that she’ll be just fine on her own.

Proof, he countered, that she has a very selective work ethic.

He’s in good hands, if her current crowd management is anything to go by. She rounds everybody up like cattle, corralling them into a buzzed herd.

“We are leavin’ in five minutes, alright?” she yells over their babble. “Five minutes!”

Rand dips between the bodies, smiling when he catches your eye. He wanders over, tactically dodging Martha’s waving arms.

“Hi, baby,” he says, arms wide.

“Thanks for coming,” you mumble into his suit jacket, wrists crossing at his spine.

He wriggles his tie straight, keeps one arm tight around your shoulders even when you pull away. “Of course,” he says, a dutiful nod. “You were always my favorite. Don’t tell the general over there.”

You smile, feeling it dampen when your eyes slip back over to the sliver of light under Joel’s door. He’s been locked in there all afternoon – the only proof of life the pacing his shadow has done.

Rand cocks his head towards the shuttered office. “He not coming?”

“No idea,” you pick at a hangnail, “Some emergency, apparently. I haven’t seen him since lunch.”

He frowns, watching as you shot what’s left of your champagne. It’s bitter – a sharp sting all the way down.

“I mean,” you gulp, “he’s my boss. He’s at every other party we have. What’s the difference this time around?”

Rand’s eyebrows wiggle. He swallows his first answer. He knows the difference as well as you do.

Still – he says, “He’s a lot of things, is Joel, but he ain’t an ass. He’ll be there.”

Across the room, Martha lassoes the party – leading them over to the elevator. She pauses, beckoning you over their heads. A thin-lipped scowl on her face, before she’s distracted by stragglers.

“Good Lord,” Rand scoffs, a gentlemanly arm through yours, “Bet you ain’t gonna miss that.”

You rest your head on his shoulder. “Surprisingly, I think I’ll miss her the most.”

As you hover at the back of the bunch, waiting for your very sternly instructed turn to step into the elevator, you glance back at Joel’s office.

The shades are split, pierced somewhere like six feet up. Sliver of lamplight peering through; silhouette of something – someone – staring back.

Come on, you want to call. We’re heading to the bar. Let’s pretend I never broke your heart and you never broke mine. We can dance and kiss like nobody’s watching. We can be okay, you and me.

Martha claps three times as the elevator announces its arrival.

“We’re up, comrade,” Rand quips, and pulls you out of Joel’s sight.

The bar looks the same as it ever did. All chipped mahogany and distressed leather; secret messages etched in secret corners. Slipping between shadow and tacky neon light to order a drink, feeling it hit the back of your skull before you’ve even swallowed the first sip.

It’s no Oasis Wine Bar, but it’ll do.

You’re crammed into a booth opposite some blotchy intern. Kid doesn’t look a day over twenty-one. Martha nudges you closer and closer to the lacquered panel wall, her elbow knocking into yours and splashing your drink over your knuckles.

The group is already a colorful spectrum of drunk: a couple suits slung over the bar, a handful screaming at some vintage arcade game. Rand cuts a merry figure at the bottom of the table, swaying as he garbles to Martha and Deb.

Like a replica of that first night – a playlist of dusty rock tunes, fingertips salty from picking at peanuts. The buzz of conversation fueled by swigs of bitter vodka.

You don’t remember it feeling this shitty, though. This lonely.

The intern leans over the booth, quickly yanking his tie before it folds into a flickering candle. He forces a relieved laugh, then asks, “Are you having a good night?”

“I guess,” you raise your voice over Martha’s cackling, “It’s a little bittersweet, you know?”

His head bobs in a tipsy nod. He looks from face to face, trying to latch onto any conversation that’ll take him. But they all turn away, distracted by some guy in a tropical shirt and his cryptocurrency conspiracy.

The intern stares down at his drink, thumbs tapping the glass.

Poor kid.

You knock on his beer, trying not to look too pitying. “How’s the internship? Liking it?”

He brightens, straightening in his seat. “Yeah, it’s been good,” he chirps. “I’m learning a lot. Mr. Miller is a great boss.”

It’s like being sucker punched by a toddler. Huge blue eyes and rosy cheeks, an unsteady grip around his Budweiser. If he didn’t look so much like a fucking Disney cartoon, you’d lose your nerve.

The alcohol sours on your tongue. “Yeah,” you mumble, sinking back into your seat. “Yeah, he’s – he’s a good guy.”

“Why isn’t he here tonight?” he asks.

“He’s – uh…” You throw a helpless look to your coworker – but she’s too busy showing off pictures of Henry. “…He’s busy tonight, I guess.”

“I’ll bet,” the kid replies. “He’s an important dude.”

“Uhuh,” you elbow Martha’s waist, “He sure is. Would you excuse me?” you ask, and the intern raises his hands. “I’ll be right back.”

Martha and Deb shuffle out of the booth, drinks in hand. You edge your way through the horde to the back of the bar – stopping to refill on the way.

As the muscleman behind the bar tops off your glass, something catches your eye.

Lit only by a flickering Coors Light sign – the red and blue melding into streaks of violet – an iron staircase lingers in the corner. You didn’t spot it last time – or if you did, you were too busy flirting with your boss to pay it any mind.

You drift over, evading the sloshed stagger of one of Joel’s mailroom guys, and click up the steps towards the glowing red of an EXIT sign. Your hip swings into the push bar. The heavy door groans open.

It’s no cooler out here than inside – but it’s deserted. Beer dripping from the lips of toppled bottles, candles wavering in clear pools of wax. A gentle hum from overhead – the string light canopy.

A kitschy little rooftop. A humble hideaway.

Alone, you cross your arms and amble over to the parapet.

The street snoozes, a story below. Leaves flutter along the curb, crushed by the scuffing soles of strangers. Their footsteps echo as they wander off into the dusky night.

No Rolls, you notice. Nowhere to be seen. Not parked on the road, nor in the lot across the street. Nothing but a couple of guys on bikes, standing in the cold light of a store front.

He’s not here. He didn’t come.

He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Whatever emergency he’s dealing with, it’s taken half his day from him. Martha didn’t even bother to ask if he needed coffee, or to fill him in on her neighborhood politics since the new couple moved in next door.

Still – there’s never been anything he couldn’t drag himself away from. Not where you’re concerned. He abandoned an investor for a solid ten minutes last week, just to walk you to the parking garage and tell you shit you already knew.

He could find a way to make it to this, right?

You scoff into your glass, swallow a heavy sip. Swallow back the quiet disappointment, the burden of a broken heart trying desperately to remember the shape it used to be. Before private jets and business trips, before work parties and closed office doors.

Before Joel.

But he swaggered in, didn’t he – suit and tie and that signature smirk. He changed everything, overnight. He fit in all the spaces you thought no one ever would – nestled his way behind your ribcage, kept you warm, kept you safe.

You can’t remember the shape your heart used to be. You don’t fucking want to.

At least, even when you were fighting, he was still in the game. At least he was still sat on the other side of the checkered plain, nudging his king closer to your queen. You never intended on letting him win – but he never intended to in the first place.

He was only ever in it to watch your eyes light, any time he got close.

Now, the board is cleared. Pawns split in two, knights crumbled to dust. And you miss it.

You miss him.

And missing him is – feeling the absence of him in every room. The empty seat next to yours, your empty hand at your side. The weight you know by heart around your waist, the name always on the tip of your tongue.

Missing him is coming up with a million ways that every other man isn’t him. They don’t make you laugh the same, they don’t make you ache. They don’t know your favorite movie; they won’t pull over just to pinch the greasy bacon from your breakfast sandwich.

Missing him is looking for him. Everywhere. Hoping – Jesus, praying you’d walk out of your interview and he’d be stood, arms crossed, leant against the car. Wishing he’d show up again at your door – flowers in hand, kiss on your lips.

Missing him is existing in the negative space he left behind. Flecks of color fluttering in the breeze, fading as though they were never here in the first place.

The door chunks open over your shoulder, and falls closed with a slam. Right on cue. You don’t even flinch when he rolls a chilled beer against your arm.

Missing him is knowing him. Better than anyone ever has, or anyone ever will.

He’s here. He was always going to be here. Because it’s you, and because it’s him.

Joel holds for all of three seconds, then places the beer between your elbows. He leans back against the stone wall.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, taking a sip. His rugged, twelve-hour-day form softens before your eyes.

“I missed you,” you whisper, and he smiles.

“Missed you too, pretty girl.”

You lean in, face smushing into his chest, and snake your arms around his waist.

Joel takes the weight of you like it’s nothing; kisses your head and rests his chin there.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” you mumble, feeling the strange chill of tears on your cheeks.

“Are you kidding?” his voice rumbles through your skull. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, you know that.”

The alcohol lining your gums sweetens. It might just make the initial hit worth the trouble.

“I had a pretty shitty night,” you admit, sneaking a glance at him.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “You ‘n me both. Pretty shitty month.”

His cologne is fresh; woodsy and clean. His rough beard on your skin, his tired collar between your fingers. The landscape of a man you know inside and out.

Joel’s hands lift from your waist, past your ribs and around your shoulders. He lifts the broken heart charm from your chest – so tiny in his large hand, nervously twinkling in the light.

You don’t flinch, this time. Barely even notice his eyes on it.

His expression stiffens. His jaw clenches. His eyes are glassy, lined with tears behind his stone-set snarl.

“I’m sorry for what he did,” he grits, swallowing thickly. “I wanna kill him for it, you know that?”

You lift one shoulder, dropping it with a sigh. “He did what he did,” you hush, “He was a scumbag.”

Joel’s upper lip twitches. Twists, then settles when you trace it with your thumb.

“You didn’t deserve it,” he says. “You didn’t deserve none of what he did to you. You were just a kid, you –”

He lifts his head like coming up for air. Sucks a ragged breath between his teeth, shakes the tears from his vision.

“Hey,” you take his jaw, turning him back to face you, “Look at me. Look.” You flash a cheesy grin, nose scrunched and eyes crinkled. “I’m okay, Joel, look.”

His laughter betrays him, breaking from his chest and shattering the wolfish glare. He cups your head, cradling you against his chest again.

There’s nothing between you, now. No spiteful words or suffocating tension; no hurt and no blame. One heart broken and the other bruised, still beating the rhythm of a language only they know.

Still seeking the other out, through all of it.

“What we had,” Joel says softly, “it can’t have been nothing to you, right? Was it really just…?”

“No,” you shake your head, squeezing him, “It was never – You were never just anything to me. I think…” you sigh, “…I think you just pressed on a bruise I had. A bruise I thought I’d gotten pretty good at hiding. And you just…you twisted your thumb into it.”

“I didn’t – I didn’t know about no bruise,” he says. “It wouldn’t’ve mattered if I had, darlin’, I –”

You take his wrists, following the sleeves of his jacket up to his collar. “I know,” you hold his cheeks, “I know it wouldn’t. But you saw straight through me – and the more you saw, the more you cared. And that scared me.”

He blinks down to your lips. “Why?”

“Because it’s never like that, Joel. No one has ever been like that. I was so scared that I’d fuck it up – that you’d figure me out.”

“You gotta fill me in a little here. Figure you out?”

“All my shit. Blake, my dad. All of it.”

Joel frowns. “You think I don’t got shit I didn’t want you seeing, too? My dad, Avery – that ain’t exactly dating profile material, baby.”

You can’t help but laugh. As raw as an open wound, the most vulnerable conversation you’ve ever had – on the roof of a dive bar, with your boss.

And he’s as fucking breezy as though you just handed him the forecast for the day.

“You’re a better man, Joel, than all of them. You mean more to me than anyone. And before I knew it, you had me wrapped around your finger, and…”

“…And I was pressing on that bruise.”

You wince. “Little bit.”

His tongue prods at the inside of his cheek. He scans the rooftop, glimmers of gold in his eyes, and nods.

“Listen to me,” he says, holding onto you. His thumbs swipe your tears away. “I would not hurt you for the world. I wouldn’t. That goddamn email – I just – I didn’t know what else to do. I panicked, and I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to –”

“Shut up,” he smiles, “I never meant to scare you. I never meant to hurt you. And if we never go back to what we were, then – I guess I gotta live with that. But you? God, baby, I miss you.

“I miss hearing you laugh. I miss being the one to make you do it. I miss talking to you, miss hearing what you think on things. Miss your goddamn Bart Simpson socks ‘n all.”

You turn into his palm, masking your giggle. “Asshole,” you murmur.

“All I want to do is take care of you,” he says. His shoulder jerks, an earnest shrug. “’s all I want. And you don’t make it easy, that’s for sure – fightin’ back at every damn turn. But – I don’t know,” his eyes thin, “Sometimes I reckon it’s what you want, too.”

“Oh,” you wrestle a simper, “You reckon, do you?”

“I reckon,” Joel repeats, bending the word in an exaggerated drawl. “See what I mean?” he tickles your waist, “You’re a pain in my ass.”

Your head tips back with laughter – the first real laugh you’ve heard pass your lips in weeks. Since you were rolling around your bed, poking his ribs for not being able to use chopsticks. A silly, girlish giggle.

The world bursts into color again.

Joel chuckles, too, as you squirm in his grasp. His hands plant on your waist, forehead rolling against yours.

Your lips brush. Your body ignites.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he whispers. “That okay?”

“Shut up,” you echo, letting his lips crash into yours.

He tastes exactly the same as you remember. Strawberry and lemongrass. Sweet, in a way that wakens you. Brightens you, full of life and full of color.

It’s as though only a second has passed since you last felt him like this. Felt his scruff on your cheeks, the warmth of his tongue slipping past yours. Your skin feels like satin on his; your body filling in all the worn gaps that time has taken from his.

Fitting against him like you were carved with him in mind. Chiseled from the same slab of marble, finally found one another through the opaque stone.

He pins you to the parapet; one hand firm on the small of your back, the other at the base of your skull. He leans in, claiming every sense in your body as his own – and you offer them over gladly.

He kisses you like it’s all he’s thought about since that last morning at your place. Like he’s making up for lost time.

Hell, you’re both making up for lost time.

Joel breaks for air, panting against your lips, then instantly kisses you again.

Your hand threads through his hair – the soft salt and pepper, the feathered flicks at the nape of his neck. “Joel,” you kiss him once, twice more, giggling, “We’re like teenagers.”

“I love you,” he replies, kissing down your neck. “So much. So – goddamn – much.”

He trails down to your collarbone, where your chest lifts to meet his hungry lips. He drags teeth and tongue between your cleavage.

There’s a delay in the time the words take to sink into your skin. Like they’re stopping to light every atom of your being first, before they reach your brain. Every bone, every muscle and every cell.

“You…” you breathe, pulling him upright. “…You what?”

“I love you,” he repeats. “That scare you?”

Oh.

“N-no,” you press your finger to his swollen lips, “You…Say it again.”

He pauses. Nods, when he seems to make it up in his mind. His eyes flit from yours down to the mess of your lipstick, and back up.

A man possessed, so it looks, he admits it between labored breaths. “I’m in love with you,” he says. “Have been for a while, I think. You got a terrible habit of driving me fucking insane, pretty girl.”

Oh, shit.

You knew it already. This isn’t news.

He as good as told you in the copy room – and before that, in his office. He told you in Martha’s dining room, told you in your kitchen. He told you every time his lips found yours in Paris, and every time his eyes met yours before that.

If you went back and looked, there’d probably be a trail of clues jotted down in his diary – September second, two o’clock. Great AP score, enthusiastic and friendly. I think I’m in love with her.

He’s always loved you.

It’s just different hearing him say it.

Different to how it felt the last time someone said it to you. Different to how it sounded. There’s no ringing in your ears. There’s no focal shift in your vision.

There’s no…fear.

Joel takes hold of your shoulders. “Don’t run off on me again,” he says, kissing your cheek.

“No, I’m not…I don’t – want to,” you burble, playing with his collar. “You’re just…You might be a couple steps ahead of me.”

“Baby,” he says, a little laugh to it. “That’s okay. I don’t mind. I’m good where I am.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he says, and leans in again. “I’ll wait, as long as it takes.”

You melt into him; his strong hands and steady chest. Teeth taking his bottom lip, releasing it with a little pop. Your fingers twist around his hair, tugging lightly.

A low growl sounds from Joel’s throat. His hips rut against yours, fly of his jeans catches on the material of your skirt.

It nestles somewhere between your thighs. Solid, swollen. Blood hammering beneath denim, grinding into your body. He’s hard.

“We keep goin’ the way we’re goin’,” Joel hints, “and we’re gonna have a problem that ain’t solved so easily.”

You release him, licking your lips. “You think I can’t feel it already?”

He sucks on the skin over your carotid. “You think I ain’t been dealin’ with it for the last three weeks?”

“Poor Mr. Miller,” you pout, “Let me deal with it.”

His cheeks lift, brows drop. Cocky. The Joel you’re used to. The Joel you want.

The Joel you fucking need, right now.

“C’mon,” you slip a hand down his front, cupping the weight of him, “I miss my daddy.”

He squeezes your ass, catching you in a rough kiss when you writhe forward. His teeth graze your ear. “I wanna touch you, baby. I wanna feel you again. This little cunt,” he slips a hand between your legs, “She’s all I’ve been thinkin’ about.”

Fuck.

It was a feeble attempt, anyway – matching his ego. Utterly futile. The guy makes you lose your fucking mind.

You’ve done things for him that you’d never dream of doing for anyone else – would wring their necks for even asking – and here you are, keening into Joel, grinding your dripping pussy into his palm for all the street to see.

“She’s all yours,” you whine, the words tearing from your throat in a desperate plea. “All yours, Daddy.”

“That’s my girl,” Joel murmurs against your temple. “I’m gonna take you home, okay? Fuck you nice ‘n hard, make you feel better.”

You moan against his shirt. “Can we go back to yours, Daddy?”

It throws him for one heavy beat. He pauses, breath hot against your jaw, and then presses a barely-there kiss to your lips.

“Yeah, darlin,’” he whispers. “Let’s go back to mine.”

You push off his chest, cunt throbbing with each step towards the fire door. Fingers locked through his – a siren leading her sailor down the wrought iron stairs of Sam’s Saloon. Swimming through bodies, bathing in neon light, breathing in tobacco and tequila.

Joel eyes the booth where his employees sit – folding spinning tops out of beer caps, wagering bets on who’ll still be hungover come Monday.

He turns to whisper in your ear, when a voice strikes like lightning between you.

“Hey!” Martha yells, waving from the corner booth.

You’ve never wanted her to fuck off so badly.

“Just where the hell do you think you two are goin’?”

Joel stumbles into your side, hiding a teenage sort of glee behind your back. It’s contagious – and it riles Martha even more.

You throw your arms in the air, eyes bulging. Take the fucking hint, Martha. “Home?”

“It ain’t even eleven,” she protests, making to stand. “This is your goddamn leavin’ night – what are you doing?”

But you’re already retreating, following the pull of Joel’s hand around yours. Skin like fire, spattering with every touch. There’s nothing – man, myth, or Martha – that could stop you from following him.

You yell it as you swing through the doors.

“Grabbing a paddle!”

Joel leads you with his hands and with his lips down a neighboring street, where his Lamborghini sits at the side of the road. It blinks to life, headlights blinding.

A bruiser of a car – all bulk and brawn and bullish, like the thing is actually rearing. Something of a sharp smirk to it, the same devilish grin its owner so often wears.

He opens your door, steady hand lifting you into the passenger side, and strides around the car. His hand is back between your legs before he’s even switched the ignition on.

“Get – your damn – seatbelt on,” you giggle, slurring the words against Joel’s lips. “I am not letting you drive me home without one.”

His breath is hot and heady, spilling over your tongue with each punch of laughter from his chest. “Alright, alright,” he concedes, clipping the belt into place. He holds his hands out, awaiting your approval.

When you nod, his fingers slip between your thighs.

“You whore,” you snicker – though the sound scatters when he finds your clit. You grab your own belt, yanking it loose from its holder. “Jesus, Joel –”

“There she is,” he coos, pulling out into the road.

He circles her gently at first, massaging over your panties. Middle finger pulsing over the hood, matching the rhythm of your heartbeat flocking south.

Your back arches; nails dig into his wrist. “Daddy,” you gasp, knees parting. Heat quickly soaking through lace and onto leather. “’m gonna – make a mess,” you croon.

“Make a mess, darlin’, it’s okay,” Joel beckons, knuckles white around the steering wheel. “Driving me crazy, watching you like this. Dirty little girl.”

“Let me…” you reach for his thigh, “…Wanna touch you, Daddy.”

He grunts – a sound of refusal. “Give me one first, baby. Here,” and he hooks the slippery lace to the side, fingers parting your folds, “Let Daddy feel you right here.”

Your knee lifts, leg folding against the door, and Joel pushes inside. Two fingers knuckle-deep in one thrust. You yelp.

“Oh, baby,” he tuts, “She’s so wet. She miss her daddy that bad?”

“Yeah,” you whine, watching the thick shine he draws from your cunt. You lift your hips to open wider – and he slots a third finger in.

“Look at her,” he growls, “desperate little cunt. That feel better, darlin’?”

“Yeah, Daddy,” you mewl, though you’re not fucking listening to a word he’s saying.

You watch, boneless and blathering, as your hand lowers – replacing where Joel’s was on your clit. Rubbing little circles while he fucks you with his thick fingers. Your back curls again, tits threatening to spill out of your dress.

“Keep doin’ that,” Joel instructs, wrist jacking faster. “You’re close, ain’t you?”

“Shit,” you gasp, walls clenching around him. “So – close, Joel – fuck.”

The car slows to a stop. A red glow seeps through the windshield, lighting your smirk in a dangerous tinge.

Your pussy drools onto the leather seat, throbbing over Joel’s hand. Syrupy and honey-sweet, coating him in a glistening mess the harder he fucks you. A sticky sound, the slap of skin on skin, the beats of your moaning in between.

“Look at me,” Joel says, and you tear your eyes from between your legs. “Keep playing with it. C’mere.”

He tilts your jaw with his free hand and slips his tongue past your lips – the taste of him more dizzying than any drink from that bar. He kisses you until you’re right there, sucking on his tongue, teetering on the edge of your first climax. Crying into his mouth to stop from screaming at the ceiling.

“Daddy, need –”

Joel’s wrist pounds against your clit. He laughs across your tongue.

“Come on, baby,” he groans. “Let me feel her.”

“Say it,” you beg, your head lolling on his shoulder. The streetlights begin to bleed into the car. The light flicks to yellow. “Need you to – to say it.”

He nuzzles his nose against yours, turning to let you taste the words.

“I love you,” he whispers, and you break wide open.

The car rolls off again as you come with a violent shudder, crying into Joel’s chest. Daddy Daddy Daddy, fuck me fuck me fuck me.

“I know, I know,” Joel says, riding your high out to the horizon. He stares at the road ahead, only daring a glimpse at the sodden mess between your thighs when you start to come around again.

He works your swollen cunt, fingers gleaming with your orgasm. Slips them over his tongue, licks them clean – and then pushes them back between your sensitive lips.

You rock with the moving car, pulse still rattling your lungs. Your eyes drift down, down: Joel’s spread legs, the shape even bolder in his jeans than before.

You got a terrible habit of driving me fucking insane, pretty girl.

Weak and still quivering, you slip your hand over his belt – feeling his stomach jolt the second you touch it. The dark trail of hair from his navel, the thicker it grows – the harder he tenses.

“Easy,” he clips, adjusting in his seat. “Alright, darlin’. We’re…You’re gonna get us arrested.”

“Good,” you shrug, “I bet you have a good lawyer.”

You slump into his lap, the armrest solid against your ribcage. Trembling fingers loosening his belt, picking at the button of his jeans, husking them loose when he lifts his hips.

“Jesus,” he clears his throat, “Won’t let me drive without a seatbelt, but you’re – you’re fine with – fuck.”

He’s heavy and rock solid, so wide you can barely hold him. Big enough that it takes no effort at all to pull him free. Shaft silky smooth, tip flushed red and leaking deliciously.

Fuck, he’s so pretty. He’s so –

“– pretty, Daddy.”

Joel lifts his hand and holds you at the back of your neck, grip tightening when you dab his head along your bottom lip. “Prettier when you’re playin’ with it, angel.”

Your tongue circles his tip – salt and sweat stirring you from your orgasmic haze. You dribble down his cock, spit racing to the twists of thick hair at his base.

The sound he makes is guttural – a roar of a groan from his chest – when you sink down on him. He fills your mouth instantly, nudging the back of your throat in one.

The car swerves some. Joel curses over your head.

You slip back up – slow. Let your tongue trace every ridge, every vein along the way. All of it perfect perfect perfect – all of it him. Chasing streaks of saliva, the pearly shine of precome beading from his slit.

One hand stroking his hilt, lips suckling around his tip. Kneading his weighty balls – massaging them in your palm, dragging your tongue down to kiss the cushiony skin.

“Pretty girl,” Joel rasps, hips canting to meet every lick, every stroke. “You’re gonna make me come if you don’t stop.”

Mhm, you mumble, gagging around the intrusion. Tears sear across your waterline, spilling from the corners of your eyes. So big, so pretty, so perfect.

He nuzzles deep, stretching the column of your throat wide. “Baby,” he warns, voice sharper, “Baby, you gotta – you gotta stop now.”

Maple, he’d said – that day in your shower. If you say it, I stop.

Say it, you dare him silently.

“I’m gonna – c-come, darlin’,” instead.

Say. It.

“You want that?” he growls, hand surfing over your hair to cup your skull. “You wanna make your Daddy come?”

Your voice flattens, mutes under the strain of his cock. You moan instead, the sound weak and muffled.

“Shit,” Joel says, stomach tensing tensing tensing. “Shit, angel, just like that. Good fuckin’ girl.”

He twitches deep inside. He’s there. Right there.

You slacken your jaw and lick up his shaft, two hands wrapping around it. They slip around the sticky spit, swirling and squeezing while you kiss his tip.

He holds you steady, slowing the car to watch as he fills your mouth.

Two, three warm spurts across your tongue, dripping down the back of your throat. You lap up every drop, tongue swirling the salt around your lips before you swallow it down.

Joel rasps as he steers the car into a dim lot. He strokes your head, jerks when you play a little too much with him.

“Attagirl,” he sighs, “Careful with it. Tryna fuckin’ kill me.”

You giggle, swiping kitten licks at his tip before you slip him back into his underwear. You bat Joel’s hands away, buttoning his jeans and threading his belt back together. Planting heavy kisses into the plush of his tummy.

When the darkness is pierced by flickering fluorescents, you push yourself up.

“Where are we?” you ask, twisting in your seat.

“Home,” he says simply.

A plain man in a dark suit strides over to the car as soon as it parks up. The click of his shoes bouncing off the walls.

Joel swipes at your chin with his thumb. He slips the digit past your lips and you suck it clean. “Dirty girl,” he utters, stealing another hasty kiss before swinging out of the car.

You hop out the other side, tottering around the Lamborghini to meet him at the back.

The attendant’s name badge reads Owen. “Long day, Mr. Miller?”

Joel pats his shoulder in greeting, reaching for your hand. “Long day,” he agrees, and makes for the elevator.

Your head swivels, taking in each lavish vehicle parked under luminous light. Emblems with horses and bulls and wings – plenty more than you don’t even recognize. Each car polished to perfection, groomed within an inch of its life.

Joel flicks the button at the top of the panel. The doors glide closed – smooth and silent. You barely feel it as it scales the building rapidly.

“Wait a second,” you stare at the dazzling PH, “Do you live on the top fucking floor?”

He bites his lip. “Might do.”

You step back. “So you let me bring you into my – my shitty little apartment, and meanwhile you’re –?”

“Woah, woah,” he cuts in. “Your apartment is not shitty.”

“It’s not a fucking penthouse, Joel.”

“It’s a nice apartment!” he protests, squeezing your shoulder. “Do you always gotta be so goddamn dramatic?”

“I bet you could fit my entire place inside your living room. Right? Am I right?”

He clicks his teeth and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Naw,” he says, like a little kid. Twisting his toe into the marble floor. “Dressing room, more like.”

The doors part just in time for him to escape your drumming fists – his boyish snicker filling the cream hallway.

You spill out after him, pulse fluttering dangerously through your veins.

“You know what my place doesn’t have?” Joel says, fishing for his keys. “A poster of Richard Gere. I could use one of those.”

“Oh,” you feign amusement, “Well, you can have mine. I won’t be able to look at it now, anyways.”

He slots the key in the lock and turns. Drinks in the sight of you – on a comedown from only the second-hottest car ride you’ve ever taken.

“Your apartment,” he lifts a finger, “has you in it. It wins, every time.”

Your jaw clenches. Your heart begins a warning drum in your chest. Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t you fall.

Too late, you think.

The door sweeps open, and Joel beckons you forward.

“Ladies first.”

You slip by, stepping into a regal hallway. Smooth stone on either side, dark wood under your heels. All marble and mirror, classy, glassy décor. Golden spotlights which glow to life overhead, the deeper your footsteps echo.

It’s dark, and a little moody. Manly. The perfect marriage of masculine and chic. Cold steel and warm wood.

It looks like him. Classy and luxurious – but homey, warm. Everything that draws you to him, and everything that makes you want to stay.

Joel follows silently at your back, much the same as he did in his little white house. Looking to his feet when you turn back, fiddling with the strap of his watch.

You wander to the end of the hall, where the apartment widens. A towering living room – sylvan and rustic, the same muted tones bleeding through. Cityscape backdrop, pristine glass fire. A coffee table homing ornate vases and books on woodworking; a faux fur blanket over the couch and beside it, a worn flannel shirt.

You love it. You love all of it.

And loving his apartment is probably a bit of a copout, right? The easier way, the safer way to admit something much scarier. It’s just fragments of Joel, after all. It’s all the parts you’ve come to like best.

His heart, his soul. The kid with the freckles and scruffy hair, all grown up. Thrown into a big city, thrown into a big job. Thrown into a million-dollar penthouse – and still, he turns everything he touches into…home.

Joel presses his lips along your shoulder, perches his chin on your collarbone. Quiet, a little bashful – hiding from every secret he’s letting you in on just with being here.

Your eyes catch a brushed-gold frame on the sideboard, and you float over.

Faded by the sun and the years in between, there’s a peachy tint to the photo. A dreamy lilac sky, dark cedars fringing the background. A squint mailbox, cherry red with the name MILLER printed on.

Two boys, one as filthy as the other. Matching denim shorts and lanky limbs. Smeared with paint, in the midst of a brawl which nearly blurs their figures into nothing more than one head of dark hair, the other sandy.

You’d recognize him anywhere, though. Even with his arm hooked around his little brother’s neck.

“Tommy started it,” Joel says, elbowing your side. “See that smudge on the mailbox? He pushed me headfirst into the thing.”

Your chest leaps. “Who won the fight?”

He takes the frame and dusts it with the sleeve of his jacket. “Mom did,” he replies. “Threw the camera down ‘n dragged us inside. Grounded us for a week, made us repaint the entire thing.”

“How is your mom?” you ask.

Joel nods. “Good. She’s askin’ after you.”

“She still asks about me?”

“Yeah,” he says. “’cause I still talk about you.”

It prods low in your chest. Aching, stitching itself back together thread by thread. A wound twelve years in the making, the doing and undoing of everything you ever knew. Family and love; hurt and loss.

It’s okay to lose some things, you reckon. It’s okay to let them go. To watch that beat-up Toyota tear off for the horizon. To leave that man and his ring and the promises he’ll never fulfill.

There’s someone better waiting down the line, anyway. It starts with a page of doodles; it ends with your heart in his hands.

The safest place it’s ever going to be.

You cross your arms around Joel’s neck and pull him against your body. Pull him against the wound.

“I want to go see her again, tomorrow.”

“I think she’d like that.”

“Then I want to come back here and spend the whole weekend with you.”

He swallows. “Yeah. Yeah, I want that, too.”

You kiss him softly.

“And I want you to take me to bed right now, and show me how much you love me.”

The twinkling city is the only light left on this side of the apartment.

Half-drunk in a half-dim room, you stumble in backwards – tripping over thin air and collapsing onto the bed, pulling the six-foot shadow of your ex-boss-now-something on top.

The laughter rumbles from Joel’s chest. “I’m too old for this, pretty girl,” he says, sucking a mark into your neck.

“No big deal,” you titter, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. “I’ll keep you going.”

He hovers over you, watching as you peel the clothes from his body. The heavy clink of his belt on the floor, the ruffle of slacks down his legs. He shakes the shirt from his arms and your lips connect again in the darkness.

Hips between yours, he drags your dress from the hem up over your arms. A hungry glimpse, tongue dabbing at the corner of his mouth – like it’s Monday morning all over again, and you’re on your knees in front of him for the first time.

Back when flirting was as harmless as delivering coffee and running errands. Back when he was one third of a fuck, marry, kill debate with Martha and Deb. Back when neither of you knew these versions of yourselves even existed.

Joel lowers – taking your nipple in his mouth.

“Shit,” you pant, fingers searching for the elastic around his waist.

He helps you tug his boxers off. His cock sways between his legs, smatter of come and damp saliva across your stomach as he guides you up the mattress. He takes the lace from your hips in his fist and rids you of it in quick motion.

“See what you do to your daddy?” he asks, tapping the weight of his cock against your mound.

You reach down, wrapping your fingers around him. He’s stubbornly solid again – throbbing under your touch. He shudders when you swipe a gentle thumb over his tip.

“Already came once ‘n you got him hard all over again,” Joel adds.

You take your lip under your teeth, stroking his cock. Your clit flutters at the thought of him pushing in. The stretch that feels so impossible, the punch of pain each time he reaches the end of your pussy.

It steals a sob from your lips. “I wanna ride you, Daddy,” you sputter, a solid shove on his shoulders.

He rolls onto his back, hands finding your hips as you mount his waist.

“Let me ride you,” you’re panting, lowering onto the dense muscle of his stomach. Quickly coating the trail of pubic hair with a pearly sheen. You rock back and forth, taking the stalk of him in one small hand.

“Let me ride – just wanna ride –”

“Alright, alright,” Joel hastens, sitting upright. He slips an arm around your back.

You whine. “You never let me, Daddy, I just wanna –”

“Shh,” he holds your jaw, “I’m gonna let you. I’m gonna let you, baby. Just gotta go slow, alright? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can take it,” you tell him, hands on your hips.

“I know,” Joel replies, “I know you can. Always do, huh?”

He slides his tip through your core, teasing your entrance. So wide that you can already feel your little hole struggling with just his head. He’s covered in you – your slick blending with his, your breath swapping.

“Three weeks, angel,” he fusses, beginning to edge you down. “Too goddamn long,” he adds, “You know how much I missed this pretty cunt?”

Your pussy sucks his length in, blooming for him. Warm and snug, spongey walls pinching every inch as he penetrates her. Like they’re made for each other, the same way you and Joel are.

“She missed you more,” you gasp, head tilted back to the ceiling. “I missed you more.”

Joel’s teeth pluck at the column of your throat, still raw from the memory of his dick. “Doing so good for me,” he hums, “Little more, okay?”

You collapse forward, boneless and weeping against his chest. The pain and the pleasure hammering through your veins – Joel’s thunder and your lightning. Every nerve on fire, every hair on your body standing to attention.

He holds you steady, hands still locked around your waist, cock still filling you up inch by inch. When your clit reaches the coarse hair at his base, Joel kisses from your chest up to your jaw.

“You feel that, baby?” he asks, two fingers lifting your chin. “Feel Daddy inside you? All of him, darlin’, you got all of him in there.”

You wiggle in his lap, hips aching with the effort of holding his full length. “So big, Daddy.”

Joel tenses, teeth gritting. “I ain’t gonna last long,” he admits, grip firm on your hips.

“That’s okay, baby,” you coo, nudging him back into the mattress. His cock slips from your slit, drizzled with slick. You feel so empty without him – electricity fizzling into nothing, walls clamping around nothing.

You brace yourself over his torso – reaching between your legs to guide him back to your entrance.

Beneath hooded lids, heavy with lust, Joel watches as you drag his tip through your folds. He presses his thumb to your clit, rough circles around the swollen hood, and parts your lips with his fingers.

His cock lines up, and you sink down.

“Christ, darlin’,” Joel groans. He flicks at your clit, his other hand coming up to pinch your nipple.

“I – Fuck,” you moan, bouncing on him. “Feels so – good, Daddy, I –”

You fall forward into the headboard – staying upright only with your fingers locked around the wood. You’re slipping, already barreling your way towards another orgasm.

You grind forward, rutting into Joel’s palm, falling back on his cock. Your spine curls; hands drop to claw at his chest, ground yourself there.

The edges of your vision begin to blur. It’s not like this, it’s never like this. No one has ever fucked you this good, this rough and this loving.

Joel’s balls slap against your ass. He bucks his hips, knees lifting to bump you forward.

“Attagirl,” he says, slipping a hand around your neck. He brings you down, nips at your lower lip. His forehead slides against yours. “Can feel you closing, darlin’,” he chuckles, “You gonna come for me?”

“D-dick,” you hiss.

He smirks. “Always look so pretty when you let go. You don’t wanna show Daddy how pretty you are?”

You writhe over him, biting down hard on your climax.

“My beautiful girl,” Joel murmurs in your ear. “Come for Daddy.”

And it throws you under.

Blinding, deafening. Every nerve in your body overcome, each one flipped to feel only Joel. His cock, buried deep inside, your walls clamped around him; his teeth on your skin, tongue soothing the scrape.

It’s never like this.

Never so euphoric, never such a perfect meld of bruise and bliss. The feeling of your body changing, altering down to the very last atom – blossoming anew. Fresher, purer, lovelier.

When you come back around, you’re on your back.

Legs wrapped around Joel’s waist; arms linked around his neck. He must’ve flipped you, the second you came.

He slips back inside, suckling on the skin beneath your ear, and drives his hips into yours. Ignores your yelps, your short breaths – just fucks into you like you’ll be gone in the morning.

Fucks into you like he’ll never get to do it again. Like he hasn’t been doing it for weeks. He fucks you so hard that it hurts; an ache already burning that you know you’ll still feel walking into work on Monday.

“Good girl,” he chants, over and over. “Daddy’s girl.”

Like a fever come over him – beads of sweat dotting his skin, flush in his cheeks. He fucks you mindless, senseless, wordless. Sobbing beneath him, each word soaking into the next.

Good girl. Good girl. Daddy’s girl, that’s it. Daddy loves you so much, baby. Gonna fill this little cunt up so good.

When your walls pull tight again, your third orgasm flooding from every pore in your body – Joel’s movements halt.

He comes with a painful jolt – his cock shunting into you once, twice, until he’s pumping you full of his come. Twitching deep within you, pulsing warm and messy inside your pussy.

He comes with a sound like song. Your name, entangled in a throaty groan – lips tucked somewhere between your neck and shoulder.

You finally hear it – for the first time in your life.

How it’s supposed to sound: low like thunder, Texan in its swing. No one else, you realize, has ever gotten it right – this right – before. As if only his lips were meant to speak it, his tongue designed to carve around the letters. His vocal cords strung to send the sound to your ears.

It’s his, you decide. Your name – and every other piece of you. All of you. It all belongs to him, now.

“Fuck,” Joel pants, one hand on the headboard to steady himself. He lets it rain down over you: “I love you so much, you know that?”

“Come here,” you whisper, and he falls into your body, “Come love me forever.”

Half-conscious and full bliss, you laze in Joel’s bed – all fucking night.

Strong arms hooked around your shoulders, heart to heart. Breath shared, whispering nothings and everythings in the space between your lips. He’s still buried deep inside, still tucked between your legs.

Bundled in satin sheets, kept warm by his body around yours. Talking shit, poking fun, flirting and fucking around. You play with his hands, sizing your open palm against his. You compare the scars and scrapes on your skin, spill the bloody story behind each one.

“Alright, big girl,” Joel yawns, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m beat. You killed me.”

You snuggle under his chin. “Get some sleep, old man.”

He takes a second to respond. He’s already going. This is probably the closest he’s been to actually sleeping for a good three weeks.

“Love you,” he exhales then, like the thought just lapped past his lips again.

You smile. Take his big hands in yours and lift them closer to your chest, tuck your chin over your interlocked fingers.

Something deep inside you lurches. Tries to escape. You tighten Joel’s grip, as if choking the words on their way up.

Joel’s breathing slowly begins to draw out – tiny sighs passing his lips. Your thumbs trace the short hair between his nose and top lip, combing it, nail ghosting over the lines on his lips.

A warm feeling floods through your body. Suddenly – it starts in your chest and washes over in waves, dousing you and the world around you in a dreamy rose. Like a sunset paints its way across the walls, the glint of gold where the light catches on the tower in the distance.

Peace, you think.

Only – there’s no end to it. No sleek black car to drag you away. No broken promises and half-truths. The ache in your chest pulls gently – a reminder, no longer a threat.

This will never leave. He won’t let it. It’s as safe as you are, now, wrapped in his arms. Nothing and no one to break you apart.

“Joel?” you whisper.

His eyelashes flutter, like even asleep he knows it’s something worth hearing. Like everything you could possibly say – What should we have for breakfast? My foot itches. Did you know Martha box dyes her hair? – it’s all worth hearing.

You gulp. “Joel, I wanna – I wanna tell you something.”

He crackles to life, words melting into one another. “…What is it…darlin’…?”

Your lips morph around voiceless words. Your tongue lifts to the back of your teeth, trying to force the sound out.

It’s everything, you think. You’re everything. Say it. Say it say it say it.

But he’s already dropping off again. He’s already being swept away somewhere you’re too tense to reach. And you’re not brave enough to push through the fog on your own, stick a trembling hand into the unknown and swipe for his.

So you let it go. Watch the words float off somewhere Joel can’t hear them.

You shrink yourself, slotting your head beneath his jaw, your cheek to his chest. He sighs into the crown of your head. His heartbeat thuds a familiar bassline into your ear. Hi, old friend. I missed you.

Maybe in the morning, you can swing by your place and grab a bag. Pack a few days’ worth of clothes, spend the first few mornings of your new career drinking velvety coffee in bed next to Joel. Sharing the mug, sharing the newspaper, sharing the shower when it’s time to get up.

Maybe you should call Martha, and apologize for skipping your party. She can fill you in on the night – the drunken dramas, the secrets spilled. She won’t ask about you and Joel – she’ll just know. And that’s enough.

Maybe you’ll throw the phone to the end of the bed after you hang up, discarded amongst the tangle of sheets, and lie back down next to a still sleeping Joel. Lay your head on his chest, like it is right now. Listen to his heartbeat, run your fingers across the dark hair.

And maybe you’ll think over the same three words currently racing through your head. Maybe you’ll try to piece together a sentence for him to hear, when you’re ready to say it out loud.

Maybe by morning, you’ll be brave enough to admit it to yourself, first.

That…yeah.

You love him.

[emchant3d]

modern au, exes to lovers, transfem stevie harrington

Stevie Harrington is not having a good day.

By all accounts, she should be. Robin woke her right on time by pressing a perfectly made brown sugar shaken espresso into her hand. Nancy and Chrissy got to the venue earlier than expected. The hair and makeup people were on schedule. Their boozy charcuterie brunch during their prep time was perfectly served, the mimosas delicious and the food fresh and light enough to put on her nervous stomach. 

Everything’s gone off without a hitch. She looks gorgeous. She’s got her something old, her something new, her something borrowed, and even her something blue. Her hair’s done in a soft blowout, framing her face but out of the way, ready for the combs of her veil to slip into. Her makeup is elegant, not too showy and not too dramatic, neutral and warm and sweet. And her dress. It’s what she always dreamed of, clingy and silky with a dramatic leg slit and a long train, off the shoulders, perfectly white. She’s staring at herself in the mirror knowing that in forty-five minutes, she’s going to hold the world’s most beautiful wedding bouquet and walk down the most perfectly decorated aisle in the quaintest, sweetest church she could find, and she’ll stand across from her fiancé and take his hands and say “I do” and all of her dreams will come true.

So she should be having a good day.

Because it’s her wedding day, and Stevie Harrington is about to become Stefania Hagan.

Maybe that brunch wasn’t so perfect after all, because she thinks she’s about to puke.

“I can’t do this,” she says, but her voice is so soft it’s barely a whisper and the girls don’t even glance at her. “I can’t do this,” she repeats, and Robin - bless her, her favorite person in the world, her soulmate, her other half, her maid of honor - glances up. 

“What’s that, Evie?” she asks, and the others look over at her, and Stevie stands there beneath their gazes and knows if she just says it again, says I can’t do this, don’t make me marry him, get me out of here, all three of them would drag her to an exit and get her the fuck out.

They don’t even like Tommy. Robin actively hates him, actually, and that should have been enough for Stevie to never look at him twice.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough.

She thinks back to a few days ago, drunk in a bar with a white sash wrapped around her torso, a tiara on her head, and mascara running down her face as she desperately sobbed on Robin’s shoulder during her bachelorette party. That little meltdown wasn’t enough. And she thinks back further, to when Tommy proposed - in public, at a fucking baseball game, on the goddamn jumbotron. Dread had settled in her chest at the sight of the ring (huge, gaudy, she hated it on sight) even as she pasted on a smile and said yes. That hadn’t been enough.

But somehow standing here done up head to toe, about to walk down the aisle in her absolute dream wedding - that’s enough. Because everything about today is right. Everything’s in place. Everything’s gorgeous and going to plan and she should be so, so happy - but it’s the wrong man waiting for her at the end of all of it.

She can’t do this. 

She looks up and meets Robin’s eyes and forces a smile. “I said I need to get my veil,” she lies, and she slips into her shoes (red bottoms, a gift from Tommy’s mother, perfectly white and pointed and it’s her dream day, how can she be throwing this away?) and walks into the other room where her garment bag is hanging, and her veil is there with its delicate detail and it’s scalloped edges and it’s all so fucking perfect she’s going to scream, she wants to rip it to pieces and she wants to tear this dress off and she wants to sob, she doesn’t want to do this, she doesn’t want to get married - not to him. Not to Tommy. 

She could ask for help. Robin would have her out of here in five minutes flat, Nancy would craft an excuse to tell everyone, and Chrissy would cause a distraction. But even that’s too long of a wait. Even that’s too much attention, too much suspicion. She needs to move faster than that. She needs out now.

She quickens her pace as she crosses the room, dress dragging along the carpet, and she snags her phone where it’s sitting on the end table next to an overstuffed love seat, and in three long strides she’s out the door and in the hall and the church has been busy and packed all day but somehow, miraculously, there’s no one here.

No one sees Stevie as she gathers up the fabric of her dress in her hands and starts to walk towards the exit. No one sees as her walk speeds to a jog, and then a run, and then she slams out of a side door and she’s on the sidewalk and she’s sprinting, her heels are going to get scuffed by the pavement but she can’t care, she’s running as fast as she can and dodging people on the sidewalk as they turn and gawk at her and she cannot give them a thought, cannot focus on them even a little bit because she has to get away, escape is the only thought on her mind as she gasps for air, her dress is so heavy and it’s not made for running that’s for goddamn sure, and the last few years with Tommy flash through her mind - every time he’s undermined her or given her a backhanded compliment or policed her, told her she wasn’t feminine enough, told her she wasn’t trying hard enough to pass, told her to just keep it all to herself so no one would know she wasn’t cis, wouldn’t embarrass him by making a scene, all the times that come together to a glaringly obvious conclusion that he doesn’t really love her and she kind of hates him a little actually, and obviously she can’t fucking marry him and–

There. 

A beat-up four-door with an Uber sticker in the window. 

That’ll do, she thinks, and she changes course, shoulder-checking a man and not apologizing for it as she makes a beeline for the car. She pops off an acrylic wrenching the door open and tossing herself into the backseat, and she yells “DRIVE!” at the top of her lungs and somehow, through some miracle, they listen, swerving into traffic with a loud curse and a myriad of honking horns and a quaint, sweet little church growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

She’s gasping for breath, chest heaving, staring out the back window like she’s waiting for someone to follow her - and maybe she is, maybe Tommy is hot on her trail, or maybe Robin is coming to kill her for not including her in her mad dash to freedom and instead jumping in a stranger’s car going God knows where.

“So uh,” a voice says, and she whips around, staring wide-eyed at the brown eyes fixed on her in the mirror, and no, no fucking way– “where to, ma’am?” 

“Um,” she says, and her voice is shaky, cracking a little, she brushes her hair out of her face and stares and– wait.

There’s a beat. The driver’s eyes widen. Recognition flashes over his face at the same time it registers for Stevie. 

“Stevie?” Eddie Munson, her ex-boyfriend of several years, the man she hasn’t spoken to since that fateful night they went their separate ways, is staring at her in shock, not even looking at the road, and the only thing she can think is how he’s just as averse to road safety now as he’d been way back when.

“Eddie,” she croaks out. 

Too many emotions are overwhelming her at once and it feels like the biggest cliché in the world, but honestly, Stevie feels like she’s entitled to some dramatics. It’s her goddamn wedding day, after all.

Her failed wedding day.

Where she just left her fiancé at the altar.

“Oh god,” she manages. Her lower lip wobbles. Her vision blurs.

“Stevie,” Eddie says again, like a warning, and that’s enough to push her over.

She bursts into tears in his backseat.

“Hey hey hey!” he says like she’s a fucking spooked horse or something, which only makes her cry more, ugly sobs that shake her shoulders and drip tear drops onto her dress. “Stevie, honey–”

“Do NOT call me honey right now!” she manages, and he raises a hand in surrender before flipping on a turn signal and finding a parking lot to pull over in. 

“Okay, okay! No comforting pet names, you got it,” he agrees, and he shuts the car off, turning in his seat to look at her, concern painted all over his face and that’s just really not fair, she thinks, that he still looks so earnest and sweet and fucking worried about her.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, urgent and serious, and she shakes her head quickly.

“No! No, I’m - I’m fine, really,” she insists and he proves that he is a gentleman after all, because he doesn’t call her out on the blatant lie.

“Okay,” he says, level, his hand hovering in the space between them like he wants to touch her. “What do you need?” he asks, and she wipes at her face with her hands, swallowing down yet another sob.

“Get me out of here,” she pleads, and he searches her face for - something, she doesn’t know what, because she’s sure all she’s showing him is how much of a fucking mess she is, but he must find whatever he’s looking for.

He gives her a sharp nod. “Anywhere in particular, sweetheart?” he asks, turning to start the car again. She doesn’t call him out on the pet name this time.

“Anywhere but here,” she says, and he puts the car in reverse, pulling back onto the road.

“You got it,” he says, and some of that old charm must kick in - he winks at her in the rearview. She resolutely ignores the spike of emotion it gives her. 

Then she takes a deep, shuddery breath, and opens the group chat to break the news to her wedding party.

part 2

[katyswrites]

put on your records (and regret me)

PART 4 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, fingering, dry humping, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 4.3k

Playlist

You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your safe space, your niche. It’s where you’ve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.

Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks you’re a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, you’re both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why can’t you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?

Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.

TRACK 4

After your encounter backstage with Steve, you consider a few options.

Make a beeline for the roof of the building and try to jump off, hopefully to your untimely death. Or - 

- return to the floor, watch the rest of the show, and act like everything is normal. 

It takes you most of the walk back down the hallway to pick the second, admittedly more logical, option.

You make your way back to the crowd in the venue, shouldering your way through packed bodies and pulling the bottom of your shoes off the sticky floor until you manage to spot Nancy.

“You okay?” she asks, her brow furrowed with worry - you were gone far too long for a bathroom run.

“Yeah, just a long line,” you lie, your voice higher-pitched than you’d like it to be. If Nancy notices, she doesn’t say anything.

You just do your best to stare straight ahead, and pretend to be captivated by the band on stage. In truth, they’re only okay - but it doesn’t matter, because at least you don’t have to look at him up there.

It’s then that you only know one thing for certain - you’re going to have to spend the rest of the school year completely avoiding Steve. That, of course, is virtually impossible. Unless -

For a brief, fleeing moment, the thought of quitting the radio station crosses your mind. In general, it’s the only time you see him - the university’s campus is big enough that you rarely encounter him in any other context. Though, knowing your luck, somehow he’ll suddenly start popping up on your regular walk to class now, making himself known across campus at your inconvenience.

Still… quitting the station really brings the chances of seeing him again down to nearly zero.

No, you can’t - you’re not going to stop doing your favorite thing because of him. That’s how Steve wins - maybe that’s been his plan all along, actually. You wouldn’t put that past him. You want to smack yourself for even considering the possibility - you’re in charge of the place, and you’d screw over a lot of people if you quit in the middle of the semester.

You’re still thinking about Steve, despite doing everything in your power not to. You’re thinking about him as the last band leaves the stage, as you drive home with Nancy, and even later that night as you’re lying in bed, willing yourself to go to sleep.

As you stare at your ceiling, you try to rationalize what happened. Maybe it didn’t happen at all, and it was some strange dream. But, you think about the taste of him, his rough hands wandering along your soft skin, the way he sounded as he -

You sit up, groaning as your head falls into your hands. You’re so unbelievably fucked.

*****

That Thursday, you do something you’ve never done before - you call out of your radio show, for no real reason. Most DJ’s aren’t allowed to call out more than three times a semester. You’ve missed your show exactly twice before this in the last 3 years - once due to having a horrible fever, the other due to your grandfather’s funeral. So, when you call the station to say you’ll be missing your show (and Eddie picks up the phone, because of course he does), he’s surprised enough that you have to pretend you’re sick. You’re not sure he buys your performance, but he just says he’ll cross you out of the schedule, allowing you to keep up the charade.

Still, you can’t stay away forever. You do your best to focus on other things - schoolwork, friends, and not Steve. It doesn’t matter that you keep a keen eye out as you walk across campus, your heart speeding up as you spot another guy with his silhouette and a similar mop of hair walking ahead of you, only to feel relief when he turns around and reveals he’s not who you thought he was.

You still end up seeing him sooner than you’d hoped, though - you thought you’d avoid him until the following Thursday, when you inevitably had to come into the studio and do your radio show after skipping the last one. But no - instead, there’s a meeting at the station this Sunday, because of course there is. You had scheduled it, of course, but that was before what happened at the show.

You just try to put him out of your mind beforehand, instead focusing on the agenda and main talking points - after all, it’s your job. If there’s one thing you love, it’s planning things - down to the minute, if possible. Here’s the problem with station meetings, though - the board meets beforehand, just as a small group, to go over everything before the rest of the DJs arrive. This has always been a bit of an inconvenience for you, thanks to Steve’s exasperating presence - now, you need it about as much as a hole in the head. 

That morning, you’re the first to arrive - that’s to be expected. You unlock the station door and head into your tiny, messy office, pulling out your notes to go over with the rest of the board when they arrive - if they arrive. Perhaps Steve’s poor attendance record would continue today, and you won’t have to deal with him at all. You sigh, spotting the CD box in the corner. Bands and artists mail in their music all the time, hoping to be put on-air in the ongoing new music rotation. DJs can even take CDs home to review them, list some favorite songs, and note the explicit tracks that can’t be played on-air. Then, it’s your job to sort all the CDs by genre and shelve them in the studio, so other students in the station can find them easily. But right now, the box is overflowing - you’d probably have to stay after the meeting to sort it out. You sigh again, bemoaning the less-than glamorous parts of your job. 

You hear the station door open, signaling someone’s arrival. You tense, hearing the footsteps walking towards your office door. It’s enough to make you whirl around, only to relax when you see Darius posp his head in.

“Hey - anyone else here yet?”

You breathe a sigh of relief, shaking your head as you return to organizing your notes strewn across your desk.

“Um, no - I only just got here a few minutes ago.”

He nods, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Cool - hey, did I spot you at Fuze Box on Saturday?”

Even the mention of it makes your adrenaline spike.

“Oh - yeah. You did a great job - emceeing, that is -”

He laughs. “Thanks. I get paid exactly zero dollars, but they said I can have any of their old equipment that I want, since they just upgraded everything. Speaking of which, I think I can score a few new mics to replace the ones without going into the budget - I mean, I’ll talk about it at the meeting -”

“Yeah, sounds good -” you say absentmindedly, eyes widening as you see something on your desk that catches your eye. Darius is still chatting, but you’ve stopped listening.

“Talk about it in a bit -” you add quietly, trying to politely dismiss him. He gets the message and steps out, presumably heading to the lounge. You hear a few more people shuffling in outside your door. But, that’s not what interests you right now. Instead, it the note on your desk, written on the back of an old napkin.

Meet me in the vinyl library, after meeting. After they’re all gone.

It’s not signed, but you can now recognize the handwriting well enough. When did he leave this? 

He must mean today, after the meeting… after they’re all gone. He knows you’ve been avoiding him… but you can’t avoid him here. You examine it for a moment, picking it up and flipping it in your hands. There’s nothing else written, no other information. You crumple it up, tossing it in the small garbage can beside your desk. Your mind is racing - what’s he up to now? You remember the conversation about the vinyl library at the party a few weeks ago, and you feel your face heat. There’s no way he actually wants to -

Your train of thought is interrupted by a soft knock on your door. You jump slightly, and clear your throat.

“Yeah?”

Eddie pokes his head in.

“Hey - everyone’s here.”

You nod, offering a small smile as you grab your notebook.

“Right - thanks,” you say quietly, following him out towards the station lounge.

Sure enough, the whole E-board is there - Darius, Eddie, Argyle, Chrissy Cunningham, Diego Hernandez, Lucas Sinclair… and, of course, Steve.

You cast a glance around the room as you enter, and offer a friendly smile, but decidedly ignore Steve.

“Hey, everyone - thanks for coming out on a Sunday… I hope nobody’s too hungover,” you say, glancing down at your notebook. There’s a sprinkle of laughs.

“Okay, so - you guys know the drill… when the rest of the station members get here, everyone can say their piece about anything important pertaining to their position… I just wanted us to meet first, in case anyone had something specific they wanted to bring up to me, or other members of the board before everyone arrives. Also, reminder that Nancy’s not here today because of her internship, but she gave me her notes…so, what’ve you guys got?”

It’s only at the end of your spiel that you look up, glancing around. Steve is staring right at you - the bastard.

Darius raises his hand - a relief. You call on him, and listen as he starts going on about the secondhand equipment he procured for the station from the Fuze Box. You stare right at him as he speaks, feeling Steve’s stare burning a hole through your head from across the room.

The next hour or so flies by - the larger group of student DJs arrive, and everyone makes announcements. Eddie mentions the new time slot for his training show, Lucas brings up how he needs to take over other people’s slots if they fall during the university’s sporting events for commentary, Chrissy talks a bit about fundraising for the station’s music festival in the spring - pretty typical fare for a station meeting. When you finally get to Steve, you’re forced to finally acknowledge him.

“Harrington,” you say, matter-of-fact. “Any updates?”

Steve just stares at you for a moment, perhaps a moment too long, and shakes his head. 

“Nope - nothing from me.”

You sigh.

“Nothing from the Program Director, at all?”

It’s not fair to do this in front of everyone else, you know that, but you’re too tired of his shit to really care.

He rolls his eyes.

“Nope - I’m already doing my job perfectly - thanks, though.”

There’s a smattering of snickers and whispers throughout the room. You ignore it, holding his gaze as you cross your arms.

“Fine - glad you’re so sure of yourself, Harrington,” you say curtly.

There’s a moment of awkward silence, nobody really sure what to say. You don’t break eye contact with Steve, refusing to surrender. After somebody behind you awkwardly clears their throat, Steve finally relents.

“Fine - um - everyone cool it with the explicit tracks on the air, or the FCC wil be on our asses - I’m looking at you, Munson.”

There’s a cry of protest from Eddie’s side of the room, followed by a series of laughs, and the tense moment has passed.

Steve holds your gaze for a moment later, then you look away. After opening the floor to questions and concerns, the meeting is dismissed not long after, with most students scattering, and a few hanging back to mingle.

As always, a bit of a line forms to talk to you - station members with all kinds questions, like asking when the second mic in the studio will be fixed (probably never), if they can have their non-DJ friends on-air (they can’t), and an abundance of other questions that you have gone over a thousand times already this year. This is typical, and you get occupied enough that you almost completely forget about Steve and his antics. Nearly an hour after the meeting, the last few students filter out, leaving you alone at last. You still have most of the afternoon left, and know you need to get home to finish up some homework and run some errands. You head into your office just to put away the meeting notes, and sigh - the box of CDs is still haunting you in the corner.

It’s better left alone - a problem for another day. You stil give in, and crouch down to pick it up. As you turn to bring it to your desk, you see someone standing in the doorway. You yelp, and the box of CDs goes crashing to the floor.

“Jesus Christ -”

“Nope, just me,” Steve says, pulling himself off of where he’s leaning against the doorframe to help pick up the mess.

“Were you just standing there watching me?” you ask, stooping down again to join him in picking up the debris.

“No - I just didn’t want to make a noise and scare you -”

“Nice job with that” you mutter, placing stacks of CDs into the box.

“So, were you just planning to avoid me forever?” he asks casually, handing you some more albums.

“I’m not avoiding you” you say, refusing to meet his eyes. Even you know that you don’t sound that convincing.

He scoffs. “Yeah, okay.”

You sigh, looking up at him.

“What do you want from me?”

“Did you get my note?” he asks nonchalantly.

“Yeah - you’re like goddamn a carrier pigeon.”

He laughs, a real laugh, and it just pisses you off more.

“Fine? You want to talk? Then talk - I’m busy, I have places to be -”

“Why do you think I don’t?”

You roll your eyes. “Probably because our meeting ended an hour ago, and you’re still here, you stalker.”

“I’m the stalker?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He rolls his eyes, and takes a step closer. “Everywhere I turn, there you are, being a pain in my ass -”

“Oh, so you finally know how I feel!” you retort, crossing your arms. “Am I avoiding you, or always up your ass? Make up your mind, Harrington!”

“Why did you do it?” he asks.

“Do what?”

“You know what -”

You feel your face heat, and shake your head.

“Let’s just pretend that never happened -”

“Why? You seemed to want it pretty bad -”

“Shut up -” you insist, avoiding his eyes.

“Be honest - what would’ve happened if Robin didn’t interrupt?” he asks, his voice lower, rougher. You just shake your head, refusing to look at him.

“C’mon, princess - you can’t just pretend it didn’t happen -”

“Oh, I most certainly can.”

“Well I can’t,” he says firmly, closing the little space there is between you two. “I’ve been thinking about it - about you - a lot -”

“Harrington, just stop it right there - I don’t like you, you don’t like me - we’re not friends -”

“I know,” he murmurs. “My friends don’t kiss me like you did.”

You hear your own breath hitch, and want to kick yourself.

“We aren’t -” 

“I know we aren’t… anything,” he replies, his face close enough that you feel his breath. “You’re stubborn, a pain in my ass, and even a stuck-up bitch sometimes.”

“Hey -”

“But - I can’t get the way you sounded out of my head.”

He slowly extends his leg behind him, hitting the office door with his foot to slam it shut.

“Harrington -” you breathe, his nose brushing yours.

“You gonna push me away, princess?” he asks softly.

You’re barely finished shaking your head before his lips are crashing into yours. You don’t protest, don’t fight him. Instead, you kiss him back, demanding. He smiles against your lips, and groans when your fingers find their way into his hair, tugging on the chestnut locks.

“You’re right - I hate you -” you breathe.

“Shut up -” he grumbles, capturing your lips again.

He presses you against the desk, his hands on your waist. 

You gasp as his tongue enters your mouth.

“I - I can’t -”

“Princess - shut the fuck up, for once, and just -”

He emits a deep, guttural groan, as you bring your thigh between his legs, finding a bulge there. The sound makes you feel warm and tingly.

“Fuck it -” he growls, lifting you up with less effort than you and anticipated, sitting you on your desk. You gasp, and his lips are on your neck.

“Tell me to stop” he whispers into your skin.

“No,” you breathe spreading your legs as he comes to stand between them.

“Thank God,” he sighs, his lips finding yours again. 

“Harrington -” you whine, too turned on to care about your dignity right now.

“I know,” he whispers, his lips swollen, face flushed.

“I wanna touch you,” he murmurs, and it sends warmth right to your core. You nod, and he looks like a kid on Christmas, reaching down to unbutton your jeans.

You know you should stop - that you’ll regret this, that he’ll never let you live it down - but all you can think about is how good his lips taste.

He gets your pants shoved down only a bit, just enough that he can reach down and cup you through your panties. You moan, and he chuckles.

“That’s the sound I’ve been thinkin’ about.”

You smack his arm, and his lips find their way back to your neck. You throw your head back to give him better access.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he mumbles, feeling your panties. “This for me?”

“You - you wish,” you say weakly, knowing how ridiculous it sounds as you’re actively bucking into his hand.

“Can I -”

“Yes,” you breathe, exasperated.

He doesn’t need to hear it twice, pulling your underwear down to meet your jeans, neither even making it halfway down your thigh.

He tentatively runs is finger along your slit, and you whine, gripping his shoulders.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked -”

“Shut up -”

“Why?”

“I don’t need you - fuck - commenting on - just touch me -”

You bring your thigh up between his legs, and he grinds down, his arousal straining against his jeans evident. It spurs him to listen to you, and coat his fingers in your arousal. He moans, and you smile against his lips.

“What is it?” he asks, breathless.

“I finally figured out how to make you - oh, god - do what I tell you -”

“Never,” he insists, his finger circling your clit. You cry out, eyes fluttering shut.

You shouldn’t like this - but you do. You like how he groans and sighs against your mouth, how his nose presses into your cheek, like he wants to devour you. You like that he kisses you like he knows what he’s doing, that tells you he knows how a girl likes to be touched.

So you let him touch you - you let him toy with your clit, slip a finger inside, then two. You clench around him, moaning with every crook of his fingers, every motion of his thumb on your clit. It’s wrong - letting the boy you’ve sworn to hate finger you on your desk, where anyone can walk in. But, damnit, it turns you on, too.

He’s grinding his crotch against your thigh, desperate for friction, and you let him. 

“Fuck - Harrington - m’gonna - I’m close to -”

“Christ - you can’t say shit like that to me -” he growls, his voice wrecked.

You just whimper, grabbing his face and pulling him back in for a messy, desperate kiss. It feels filthy, but you don’t want to stop.

When you cum, it’s sudden, your cunt clenching around his fingers. You moan into his neck, pulling on his hair as he continues his ministrations, working you through your orgasm. He thrusts against your thigh, grunts loudly, then stills.

For a few moments, neither of you speak - the only sound in the room is both of your labored breathing, his heart pounding against yours. 

It takes only a few moments for the reality to set in. You pull back, letting go of him quickly, and clear your throat.

“Um - did you - do you need -”

“No,” he admits, a bit sheepish. It takes you a moment to realize, then you let out a laugh.

“What?”

“You came in your pants? What are you, 13?”

“Fuck off -”

You roll your eyes, and use your knee to nudge him away, shimmying your underwear and pants back up your hips quickly.

He stands back, looking away as he rubs the back of his neck.

“So - um -”

“I should go,” you say quickly, your post-orgasm bliss being overtaken with a distinct sense of embarrassment. In fact, you’re mortified. 

You don’t look at him as you grab your bag, making a beeline for the door.

“Hey -” he starts, his voice hoarse.

“Don’t -” you cut him off, wanting to shrink into yourself - he’ll never let you live this down. Hell, you’ll never let yourself live it down. You stop in the doorway, and take in the sight of him - face flushed, hair mussed, and a notable dark spot forming in his jeans. You smirk when you see it, and look away quickly when he looks down, face going red.

“I - if you ever told anyone I -” 

You scoff.

“Like I’d advertise this,” you say, voice laced with contempt. Before he can respond, you’re gone, slamming the door on your way out.

author's note: hi everyone! I know it's been forever... I took a much-needed break from Tumblr, and writing in general. But, I want to get back into it, because I miss it! Plus, seeing Djo back in action has really given me some inspiration for this fic in particular. I don't know when the next part will be posted, but it won't be crazy long again. I always appreciate likes, reblogs, and comments!

[ghoulangerlee]

Dew's wearing a boot and he's so brave about it!!!

spreading the copiamountaindew agenda again w/ this one. not proofread so if you spot anything pls lemme know I'll be back after I sleep pls forgive me my brain has been fuzzy since my car accident last week!!

----

There's very little time on the road between shows for comfort, but Dew makes the most of it, sprawled out on the couch with his injured foot propped up in Mountain's lap—stabilized between several pillows, one of them being a memory foam one that someone on the crew had picked up shortly after the incident.

Mountain, to his credit, doesn't move all that much, easily keeping the ice pack held over the worst of the injury while the bus continues to putter down the road to their next destination.

Every so often, one of the girls or Rain will bring him a new ice pack when his has gone warm and melty, and Aeon's been pretty great about keeping him held to his medication schedule—nothing too heavy, just ibuprofen and Tylenol on their show days, but there's a promise of something more to help him sleep when they're not stuck on a cramped bus and they can rest in a hotel after tonight's show.

It's not exactly how he'd expected to spend a new tour but well—he's here now, and there's no take backsies.

"Phone's been buzzing," Mountain murmurs, pulling him from his light doze, his hand warm against Dew's bare shin, "Probably Copia calling to check on you again. Might wanna get that." He squeezes gently, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he speaks.

Dew snorts softly, but picks his phone up from where he'd dropped it on the table by the couch, face down and out of the way after his last dose of medication, "Definitely C," he says with a shake of his head as the screen goes dark at the tail end of a call, "Should I call him back or just—"

His phone lights up again, Copia's name splashed across the front, and with a fond shake of his head, he swipes across the screen and answers it, "You're on speaker, C," he says, mostly as a warning, he doesn't really care, neither does Copia—everyone with the exception of V's ghoulette have shared Copia's bed in some capacity, so there's no secrets between them, but he likes warning him anyway.

"Dewdrop," Copia says over a burst of static, "How are you feeling?"

Dew hums, glancing down at his foot propped up on Mountain's lap, "Like shit," he says, "But ready to be off of this bus and at the next venue at least. We have at least thirty more minutes before we're there."

"Ahhh yes the long travel," Copia says, there's something in his voice, a wistfulness that Dew can pick out that sounds almost like longing, "Tonight you'll have a break, yes? It's only a couple of days before you need to get on the road again but I made the schedule for the tour and I remember giving you at least two full nights to sleep in a bed so I expect you to do that."

Dew snorts, "Well I'm definitely not going sight seeing," he says, "Strict bed rest orders when I'm not working. According to the doctor at least."

The line goes quiet for a moment, and then, "How bad is it really?" Copia asks, his voice soft and careful.

"I'm probably doing myself no favors by being on it," Dew says finally, glancing at his foot, there had been some bruising at first, but now he knows it's gone, most of the superficial stuff cleared up by Aeon's magic—the fractured bone however, still present despite everything else. "But the boot will help, people continue to do things with fractures all the time. I'm icing it and wearing the boot. Elevating it when I'm not wearing the boot. I've got people around me taking care of me..." He trails off, bites his lower lip, "I'm probably going to talk to V about shoes with more ankle support though."

Copia huffs on the other line, "Fucking V," he mumbles, "I'm really glad you're alright Dewdrop." He says softly. "When I'd heard you were injured...I was so worried."

"Gonna take more than shitty shoes to take me out, babe," Dew teases, and then, softer, "I miss you. Not having you on stage kind of sucks."

That makes Copia laugh a little, "I'll pretend like I haven't seen photo and video evidence of you having the time of your life on stage and accept that for the romantic declaration that it is," he says teasingly.

Dew goes to open his mouth, to say something, but there's a sound in the background, something he can't quite make out, and Copia's voice coming back over the line.

"Duty calls," he says dryly, with a sigh, "I'll talk to you later, you rest some more. I love you."

Dew hums, presses his head back into his pillow and closes his eyes, feeling a rush of longing and want all of a sudden, "I love you too," he says, "Call me tonight after the show?"

Copia laughs, low and warm, "Of course I will. You and Mountain both."

The call disconnects shortly after and Mountain squeezes his shin again as the two of them settle for the rest of the ride to the venue.

-

They're about forty minutes late to arrive due to several factors that Dew's not aware of, but his foot aches when he finally fits the Velcro straps of the boot back around his leg and foot properly and he leans most of his weight on Mountain when he stands.

They don't necessarily have to get off the bus here, but he's going a bit stir crazy and needs to move around now before he bites someone's head off. Besides, he needs to talk to his guitar tech about a few things anyway, so he lets Mountain loop an arm around him as they take the steps off the bus one at a time, the bottom of the boot thunking heavily against the metal with each step he takes.

He's only a little out of breath when he gets to the bottom, taking a moment to lean against Mountain with his eyes closed to just breathe before they begin the trek towards the inside when he hears a stutter in Mountain's breathing.

"Big guy?" He asks, frowning, blinking his eyes open and looking up at the earth ghoul who's staring straight ahead with a look on his face that Dew can't quite place.

Mountain blinks several times until his eyes go a bit red rimmed, glamored face screwing up into something unreadable before he's wrapping his arm tighter around Dew and using his strength to all but haul the shorter ghoul forward, half lifting him from the ground as he does and when Dew finally looks in the direction that Mountain's looking it all falls into place because—

Oh.

Oh.

Copia's standing there.

He's wearing his stupid red tracksuit, looking rumpled and tired and like he just got off of an airplane flight, duffle bag sitting at his feet, but he's there.

Mountain's barely placed Dew firmly back on his feet before he finds himself sandwiched between ghoul and not-quite-human, wrapped in a tangle of arms as he feels Mountain curl protectively around the two of them, Copia's face nudging the underside of his jaw where he's trying his best to bury himself in his embrace.

"What are you doing here?"

Dew asks that, it's his voice that says it, something choked and not at all normal sounding as he worms his arms under Copia's jacket so he can get as close as he can without being indecent.

Copia doesn't answer at first, just breathes in a few times and then, "I needed to see that you were okay."

And oh.

Oh.

Dew squeezes him tighter, presses his face into Copia's hair, "I missed you so fucking much." He whispers.

Mountain makes a wounded noise around them, "How long are you here for?"

"A few days. Officially, I'm checking in on a few things. Making sure everything is going smoothly. Unofficially, I'm here for you two. To see you, to spend time with you." Copia finally pulls back enough so he can look at the two of them, there are tired lines around his eyes, a redness to them, "I missed you both so much, I was planning to come out later on, but..." He trails off sheepishly, "I've never been good at not being impulsive when it comes to matters of the heart."

Dew laughs then, cups his hands around Copia's cheeks and pulls him into a solid kiss, revels in the feel of his mouth for a moment—a long moment as everything melts away, just the feeling of being surrounded by the two people he loves the most.

When he pulls away, Mountain swoops in too, kisses Copia as well, shorter and less intense, and Dew watches as the two of them trade soft pecks over his shoulder for a few moments, everything almost perfect except for the pain making itself know in his ankle.

He lets it come to a natural end though, leans most of his weight off of his injured foot and onto Mountain until they pull apart, twin flushes on their cheeks, "As cute as you two are, we should probably head into the venue."

Copia leans in and kisses Dew once more, a fleeting and soft thing before he's untangling himself and picking up his duffle bag, "Let's go then," he says and then together, Copia and Mountain move to support Dew's weight more evenly.

The walk into the venue isn't too terrible between the three of them, Dew feels lighter, having Copia there, close again, he feels more complete, as cliche as it sounds, and when Copia drops him off with his guitar tech with a promise to be back once he's properly dressed, pressing a fleeting kiss to his glamored forehead—right between where his horns would be, he feels like tonight's going to be a good night, despite everything.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

The Other Shoe Drops (part 21)

Previous | Masterpost | Next

As much as Jason and Danny did not want to get out of bed the day after their engagement, there were a lot of people who would be very upset if they found out about the engagement through the villain rumour mill, and Harley could not keep a secret like this. So after breakfast they turned their phones back on to start making calls, first to Alfred and Ellie, then Roy, then making their way down the line of various family and friends. They were ecstatic of course and Roy immediately started talking a mile a minute about planning an engagement party for both of them before forgetting to say goodbye before hanging up making them both laugh. 

Who knew when that party was coming and if it would be a surprise party (purposefully or because Roy forgot to tell them), but they were looking forward to it. Roy knew them both really well by then, he would do a good job.

“Should I be upset he just assumed he’s going to be my best man before I had the chance to ask?” Jason joked to Danny. 

“Hey if you don’t want him I’ll take him,” Danny said, draping himself casually across Jason’s lap, letting out a soft appreciative groan when the arch made his back pop a little.

“Fuck off, he’s mine,” Jason laughed shoving Danny’s shoulder, he didn’t budge an inch as he grinned up at Jason.

“Good, I want Harley as my best woman anyway,” Danny agreed easily. 

“She’ll do a great job, your bachelor party is going to be fucking wild!”

“Excuse you, it'll be my Bachelorette! And I’ll go with the Gotham Sirens,” Danny sniffed in lighthearted disdain. 

“Of course it will,” Jason chuckled indulgently. “Have a great time, Beloved. And when you do I hope you’ll wear the new gloves I made for you.”

“You made me new gloves?” Danny asked, eyebrows pinching together in confusion.

“Yes, I made us both new gloves, with bands carved into them so even when we have to wear our gloves over our rings people will know we’re taken,” Jason explained with repressed pride. 

“Aww you sap,” Danny teased with deep affection and pulled Jason down to kiss him  passionately. 

 ---------

They had a week to enjoy life as new fiances, they told all their friends and family and started discussing colours and potential venues. There would almost certainly be legal complications since Jason was pretty sure they were both legally dead, they’d have to hire lawyers to be officially married as Jason Todd and Danny Fenton, but they didn’t want to talk about that now. They were planning to have a long engagement anyway so for now they could just banter about if red was too cliche of a colour. 

But of course the universe wouldn’t let them get to their engagement party in peace before another one of the balls they had in their air dropped on their head. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Danny asked, dangerously soft into the phone. The tone immediately catching Jason’s attention from across the room. He got up and went to sit next to Danny, asking with his eyes if everything was okay. Danny gave him a look and shook his head slightly, then switched the phone to speaker so they could both listen. 

“-know how but they convinced the UN to have a meeting to hear them out. They’re pushing back much harder against the Justice League than we expected and want to prove ghosts are a threat and they’re methods are justified. We didn’t expect them to have enough resources to do anything like this, especially with our more covert operations ongoing.”

At least the voice coming out of the phone was J’onn and the disdain dripped from his tone. Jason thought that if it had been any other member of the JL calling to warn them about this situation Danny might have gone into a full rage. J’onn knew how awful and triggering this was and made no attempt at neutrality like some might, he was fully on their side in this. 

“Ghosts aren’t a threat though. The last time they tried to prove that, Dan and I worked it out without causing any damage to anything. That’s better than most heroes,” Danny responded flatly. “Most people in the world don’t even believe in ghosts, how can they say we’re a threat if we make so little impact we’re not even a certainty!”

“I know, and we will tell them as much. We will do everything we can to make sure the UN sees the GIW for what they are, and no matter what they decide I swear we will not allow their actions to continue unchecked. The Justice League is Moral, not lawful,” J’onn assured the two of them firmly. “I just wanted to ask you permission to use the presentation you gave to the Justice League to give a more human face to the real harm the Ghost Investigation Ward has done.” 

“I’ll do you one better, I’ll attend the meeting,” Danny said flatly.

Silence weighed heavy in the gentle electrical static of the phone, louder than usual in response to Danny’s anger. “I… Am not sure that would be wise,” Martian Manhunter said as gently and reasonably as any parent. 

“I don’t care if it’s wise this is my people we’re talking about J’onn. Someone should be there to represent them, and I think it had better be me rather than Dan or Ellie. She’s too young and he’s… well, Dan.”

Jason could feel J’onn’s hesitation through the phone as he tried to come up with an argument. “I assure you we will represent your case, and Deadman will be in attendance. But I just-”

“J’onn you can’t keep me out. Will it look better if me and Jason show up with you or if we crash the party?” Danny cut in impatiently.

J’onn sighed heavily through the phone, and Jason winced sympathetically, he suspected the Martian had one hell of a headache brewing. “I believe I’ll let you decide your own path,” J’onn said delicately. 

“Thank you, Sorry in advance J’onn. I have a feeling this is going to suck, for all of us,” Danny said. 

“Yes, I am sorry too Hyena. This is not how any of us wanted this to go,” J’onn lamented, and hung up without saying goodbye. He still sometimes forgot human politeness, and the conversation was clearly over.

Danny dropped his phone on the couch and immediately crawled into Jason’s lap and hid against Jason’s chest. When Jason wrapped his arms around Danny he could feel the smaller man trembling violently. Jason made a sympathetic noise and held him close, rocking them both slowly as Danny let out an involuntary wounded-animal whine.

“Breath Baby, breath,” Jason crooned when Danny started to hyperventilate. He couldn’t fast track through this panic attack, Danny needed to work through his feelings, no matter how much it hurt Jason to see his lover like this. It wasn’t, and couldn’t be, about him right now.

They rode out the waves of panic together, with Jason supporting and holding Danny together, and even once Danny was calm again they didn’t separate. Danny lay against Jason’s chest, his breathing slow and deep almost as if he was asleep though Jason knew he wasn’t. He was just too exhausted to panic anymore, so Jason waited for Danny to be ready to talk.

“Will you come with me?” The question softly muttered against Jason’s chest.

“Of course I will,” Jason agreed without hesitation. “I would never let you face this alone.”

“I have to go,” Danny insisted.

“I know Danny, I’m not going to try and stop you. You should be there. You have to know Ellie will probably come too though right? If anyone lets slip this is happening, if she finds out we won’t be able to keep her away, just like you.” Jason reminded, she was Danny’s clone after all. She was just as stubborn and selfless as he could be, and this was her fight too. 

Danny hesitated and sighed. “Well, let’s hope no one lets it slip to her, but be prepared for her to be there.”

---------------

Unsurprisingly they weren’t invited to the UN meeting, and no one communicated with them about it anymore. But that didn’t matter, Jason may not have been as good of a hacker as Timmy but he had still been a robin and he knew his way around a security system. They could have asked Tim for help, but that increased the channels through which Ellie might learn about the meeting and they didn’t want that, so Jason just did it himself and found out where and when they’d need to go to crash the party.

They didn't bother to go through the front door when they crashed the meeting. They wouldn't be let in anyway so they skipped the scene they would inevitably cause at the door and just walked through the wall and into the hall where the leaders were already gathered. They were dressed in full Red Hood and Hyena garb, they had considered coming as Jason and Danny, but Jason was still protective enough of his identity that he would rather not and Danny hadn’t fought him on that.

“Don't mind us,” Danny said cheerfully, waving away the ripple of fearful and angry murmurs that spread through the room. “This decision will affect both of us since we’re both flavours of undead, so we’re here to see how it goes,” Hyena said cheerfully. 

“So have I,” Said a familiar voice from closer to the ceiling.

Danny’s shoulders tensed for just a moment when he heard Ellie’s voice but then he forced himself to relax and turned towards her as she swooped down to join them. “And my little sister Phantasm is here too! Just be glad we didn’t also bring our big brother as well.”

“We don’t have any chairs for you,” Diana told them with gracious resignation, accepting but not condoning their presence. 

“That’s alright, we’ll stand. Or float in her case I suppose,” Hood said, gesturing casually to Ellie when she hovered next to him.

“Right, well, let’s carry on,” Diana sighed, turning back towards the podium.

“What? No! We can’t continue with them here. They are violent and dangerous creatures, it’s like casually having a meeting while there’s a bomb in the room!” One of the GIW representatives blurted. And to his credit, he did seem genuinely scared, maybe he did actually believe the bullshit they were spewing. 

“They are not, the justice league has worked with them multiple times. Phantasm is an established and well loved member of the Teen Titans and Hyena has been an invaluable consultant and ally when we’re in need.”

“Ya, like when you people purposefully released Dan from his containment before he was ready in hopes he would go on a rampage to add some legitimacy to your crackpot theories,” Hyena piped up helpfully. 

“Hyena, that is conjecture, we have no proof that they did that,” Batman warned, low and gentle. 

“Ya, except that they totally did right?” Danny said, getting a scowl for his trouble. He held up his hands in defeat. “Alright, I’ll shut up. Please carry on.”

Everyone continued to shoot nervous looks in their direction, besides the members of the Justice League who were forging ahead and forcing everyone around to keep up or get left behind, which no one could afford. So they carried on the debate with the JL going first, presenting the information they had on ghosts, and the evidence of the GIWs crimes. The evidence was extensive, if the world leaders believed that ghosts were sabient, or even could just feel pain, there would be no doubt about their unethical actions.

Hyena, Red Hood, and Phantasm managed to stay quiet, even while they showed the presentation Danny had made to show the JL. It was Ellie’s first time seeing it, but Danny was so proud of how well she held it together! When he wrapped an arm around her he could feel her trembling a little and her eyes were glistening with unshed tears, but she kept a stiff upper lip and she didn’t make a sound. He wondered if it was cold to hope her emotion would play well to their audience. 

Unfortunately the worst was still to come, because the GIW had to present their case against ghosts, though Danny had no idea how the hell they were going to try to justify their actions. Danny had stopped breathing already because it helped suppress the rising panic as the GIW were called to present. Ellie had stopped breathing as well, and on his other side he could hear Jason breathing fast and shallow, the only one who still needed to breath betraying their collective fear. Danny hated that he caught himself practically praying to Clockwork that this would go well. Surely if this was going to go badly he would have interfered right? He’d done it before.

The GIW agent, a professional looking woman wearing a white dress suitable for business rather than the usual cheap looking white suit, walked to the stand, her white heels clicking ominously on the wood floor. She carried a small stack of notecards and a usb, the contents of which Danny absolutely dreaded. He did not want to know what footage they had, what ‘experiments’ they’d done that they would bring up today. He just hoped neither he or Ellie would have a panic attack.

“Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed leaders. My name is Amy Watson, called agent W, and I’m here to present on behalf of the GIW,” The woman said as she put down her things. “You have heard a lot today about what our organization has done, none of which I will deny. Because it would be foolish to do so with the evidence presented. The Justice League have done their research, and with the information they have I’m sure they’re being genuine. However I suspect  they have been manipulated as well because you were told what we did, but not why, and we stand by all our actions no matter how gruesome they first appear.”

She plugged in her usb and pulled up a clip and Danny sucked in his breath when he recognized himself in the thumbnail, from before he was Hyena. It was a fight with Skulker, there had been no casualties but the show of force was impressive. Then that bitch Penelope Spectra, she really was a piece of work worthy of trying to prove ghosts were evil. Finally him again, as Hyena, fighting Dan, there were no casualties in that fight either but damn did it look bad. And last but certainly not least, footage of them in Penguins bar, which was much worse.

Wait, how did they have the fight? Penguin had cameras but he wouldn’t have given the footage to a government organization. And how would they have even known that would happen unless. Danny inhaled sharply and leaned into Jason’s side. It had been them, they had organized the whole thing for the same reason they had let Dan out. They were hoping that if Jason died Danny would go on a rampage retroactively justifying all the shit that they had done, and even if they hadn’t gotten the rampage they wanted the fact that Danny had actively killed a human in that fight did not look good. 

“Looks like we owe Penguin an apology,” Danny murmured to Jason who scoffed, but nodded.

“Ghosts are incredibly powerful and unkillable by all conventional weapons. They cannot be stopped by even the most advanced of our earth security systems. Without specially developed weapons they are unstoppable, and as those videos show, they are capable of tremendous harm. It is our firm belief that ghosts are simply the imprint people left behind, an emotionless echo no more capable of feeling pain than a recording. But even if it could be proven that they have feeling and thought, and that’s a big If, what we do would still be more than justified in the name of global, maybe even universal defense. 

“Through our experiments, and yes, a few sacrifices, we have been able to develop weapons, shields, and restraints that work on these beings. If it comes down to it, we might just be capable of defending our planet against these extra-dimensional threats now.”

“With all due respect ma’am earth does have defenses against this sort of threat,” Deadman spoke, floating into a standing position and nodding to those around them. “I have been part of a branch of the Justice League known as Justice League Dark for years, we have been in charge of handling all supernatural threats to this world and I assure you we have some very powerful members, capable servants of the public good.”

“Ya including me,” Hyena spoke up, gesturing to paused the video. “All three of those clips you saw involved me, either as I am now or when I was younger since I’ve been the GIW’s enemy number one for years. The first two fights involved no human casualties at all! Penelope Spectra- the spirit in the second clip, is a criminal who probably would have killed someone, but we have our own ways of dealing with our criminals and she is now serving a century in prison for her crimes. Brought to justice by myself and the ghost warden, Walker. The GIW have tried to paint us all with the same brush but we’re not all bad! There are bad ghosts like there are bad people, because ghosts are people, just dead ones.”

“I’m not sure that matters,” One of the world leaders mused, staring at the screen. “If ghosts are such a threat then we need a way to defend ourselves against them. Relying entirely on the Justice League is not always possible, or wise. Some of us might feel much more comfortable with the ability to defend ourselves.”

The Agent W nodded graciously, “Rightly so. Though the American Government has funded our efforts up until now we are willing to share information, or even set up branches in any countries willing to partner with us.”

“Wait, no, that is not what this meeting is about. It is to determine if the GIW and the US government are guilty of violating human rights laws and the meta-protection acts, not to get them new partnerships!” Diana interrupted with barely controlled rage.

“If they have, there are countries that would offer them sanctuary, because they value the safety of their own people over the hypothetical feelings of ‘ghosts’,” Someone else piped up in a tone of barely concealed disdain.

Danny could not believe what he was hearing! And judging from the way Ellie was trembling and Jason had clenched his fists they agreed. 

“You cannot be serious,” Martian Manhunter said. “This is another sovran species who has caused you so little trouble until now that most of you didn’t even believe they were real and you're willing to condone war crimes against them? Outside of an active war zone? Just because they have not been officially declared sapient does not excuse this especially when no independent tests have been done!”

“They’re hardly a sovran species, at best they're a bunch of thugs but truly, they're little more than animals.” Agent W dismissed. “And I assure you we have conducted extensive experimentation, all of our notes have been made available to you to look over for yourself. Please feel free to come to your own conclusions.”

“Conclusions from biased and unethical “Science” are bound to be just as biased and unethical,” Batman added in his low familiar rumble. But Danny wasn’t sure how many people had heard him, there was sounds of paper rustling around the room as leaders started to look through whatever research the GIW had provided. Things were quickly starting to devolve into bickering and whispers, the facade of dignity and poise quickly cracking and falling away.

Danny did not like the way this was going, the JL was losing control of the audience. Fear was a stronger motivator than righteousness and the GIW had a lot of practice in making people afraid. Maybe it was time to give them something else to fear.

[emmynemm]

rather be swimming with you (than drowning in a crowded room)

finnick odair x fem!reader

Summary: You can’t dance. A certain sea green-eyed boy is determined to change that.

Word count: 945 words

A/n: This is the first fic I've ever written, I'm so so sorry if it's ooc or really bad!! This entire thing is purely self indulgent <//3 don’t be too mean English isn’t my first language and I’ll cry about it😕

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

The stars here never shone as bright as they did in the districts.

The logical explanation for it would be just how much the capitol loved lighting, unnecessarily so, to anyone with eyes, it just brought out how ridiculous they looked with their fake whiskers and pulled back faces, but deep down in your heart, there’s a little voice telling you that the reason the stars were barely visible tonight, was because everything beautiful had the awfully restrictive options of hiding under a veil or slowly dying out.

And that’s also precisely how you end up in some sort of hedge maze, aimlessly wandering until the fifth firework show of the night signals the capitolites final hurrah’s of the night. If the escort had picked any other paper slip all those weeks ago, maybe you would’ve been wandering through the forest in your backyard, taking in the smell of pine as you try to spot owls hiding in the trees, or a deer exploring its surroundings.

Instead, you were here.

Here, where ‘natural’ was too ‘unruly’ and ‘uncontrollable’. Here, where the only flora visible was made to look entirely pristine and symmetrical, just as fake as the citizens. In the midst of your brooding of what could’ve been, however, you find yourself in your favourite area of the venue, a lone fountain, hidden away in the middle of the maze, beauty for those that seek it out. It was a serene corner of life, in the midst of a hailstorm. You sit down on the marble ledge taking in the silent contrast of this and the world waiting outside.

Of course, the silence is interrupted in minutes, when the hedges begin to bristle and out comes a boy, with the messiest blond hair, champagne flute in hand, chest bare, and his lower half covered in scales and fishing nets for an outfit. Finnick’s stylists were never the most original pick of the litter. Then again, they didn’t have to, it’s not like capitolites were waiting to see the designers work, and they weren’t hiding the fact, either.

He strolls over, stubborn to maintain his charmer act, and sits down right beside you with a short huff, and simply asks, “You had the misfortune of meeting Clovis, yet?” even the mention of his name makes you want to groan. He was the definition of pushy. “Came here to get away from his line of sight, actually.” you scoff.

“Oh, really?” he flashes a smile, “He must’ve been so excited to ask you for a dance, too…” he muses dramatically. “Would’ve picked the wrong person, either way. Can’t dance for the life of me.” you confess, to the boy’s surprise.

“There’s no way that’s true, not buying it for a second.” and you shrug, “Well, believe it. Never learned.” He laughs, suddenly standing up and holding a hand out expectantly,

“No way,” you scoff, unable to hide the smile creeping up at the gesture. “You can’t tell me you’ve never learned to dance and expect me to let it go. Come on, I don’t bite.” You can’t believe you’re actually agreeing to it, but you’re already up on your feet, pulled up by the boy. The music coming from the venue wasn’t as overbearing in between the hedges as it was in the middle of the crowd, just loud enough for Finnick to catch onto the tempo, “Stand on my shoes.” The statement catches you off guard, “Really?”

“Yeah, I’ll teach you the steps.” So, you indulge, tip toeing on his shoes with your own, your hand locked with his, the other on his shoulder, while his slides to the small of your back, as he starts moving, “All you’re really supposed to do is take a step back, step to the left, bring your right foot to the left.” He demonstrates, before he starts moving you along, repeating the steps in a circle.

“See? You’re a natural,” Finnick remarks, flashing you a more genuine version of the smiles he flaunts at these types of parties, “Probably because I’m doing nothing but standing on your shoes.”

“Okay, fair… your turn to lead,” And so the two of you proceed to dance around the marble water fountain, laughing like the children you should’ve gotten to be a little while longer each time you accidentally step on his foot. His presence is warm, making every misstep you’d usually find yourself feeling embarrassed over, into something that makes the two of you forget everything happening outside of the margins of the hedge maze you two occupy for just a little while.

The fifth firework show of the night sounds, something like a beckoning call for you two to fall back into your capitol façades and make a good final impression for the night. But just to make sure the most vivid memory of the party isn’t the fake smiles you’re cursed to share with ridiculously dressed capitolites for the rest of the night, his eyes linger on your lips, thumb brushing over your lower lip, before he looks back up, giving you a clear out. You don’t pull away, nodding instead, and he pulls you in for a kiss that the both of you seem to linger on for just a little too long. And for a split second, you get to share a moment the capitol isn’t invited to peer into and dissect. Somehow, the stars were shining a little brighter than usual in the capitol tonight.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

A very special thank you to @imsogonesposts and @cr3stawrites for taking the time to look at my early drafts for this☹️☹️💗💗

[queen-of-the-avengers]

A First For Everything

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader x Steve Rogers (no stucky)

Word Count: ~3.5k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Steve Rogers. Thoughtful, considerate, and loving. He makes you feel safe and wanted. Bucky Barnes. Passionate, adventurous, and dangerous. He makes you feel alive and free. You think you can only choose one, but what happens when they offer to share you?

Squares Filled: image of bucky and steve from the comic (2021) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

You don’t have a lot of money but you love reading so you spend a lot of time at your local library to read all the books you can’t get otherwise. They have a checkout system that allows you to take home up to five books. If you want more, you’ll return what you read and the cycle continues. You’ve been so often that the librarians know you by name. They often allow you to take home an extra book knowing you’ll return it in the same condition you got it at.

“Hey, Marie,” you greet when you walk in.

“Y/N, dear, how was your weekend?”

“Spent my nose in all the books I borrowed last week. I am here to return them and get five more.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed if you wanted to sneak a sixth in there,” she smiles.

“We’ll see,” you chuckle.

She takes the books and you head to the section you’ve been obsessing over for the last few months. There are three books you had your eye on last week hoping that they’re here now. You turn the corner and see a tall blond man browsing the same section you’re going to. He’s looking at the shelf that contains one of the books you’re interested in. You could ask him to move but you’re mesmerized by this man’s physique. He’s tall and very muscular with short blonde hair and a clean-shaven face.

“Can I help you?”

You’re brought back to reality when you hear his velvety smooth voice.

“No, sorry. I just, um, need a book from that shelf.”

“Oh, sorry. Here.” He moves to the left and allows you to step into his space to grab the book on the very top shelf. Your fingers touch the edge of the shelf but you can’t reach the book. This is so embarrassing. “Do you need help?”

“Yeah. It’s the pink book right there.”

“It’s a good book. I’ve read it five times. I love this book.” He grabs the book and hands it to you with a smile. He even has a gorgeous smile with perfect white teeth. “I’m Steve.”

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Are you new around here or have you lived here long?”

“I’ve lived here nearly a year. I like to come here and read as much as I can.”

“That’s cool. My roommate and I just moved out here. We’re trying to venture out and look for fun things to do.”

“Well, I don’t know what you’re into but there is a concert venue downtown that holds small concerts from bands that aren’t really well known. It has a bar and it’s a good way to listen to some new music. There’s also a farmer’s market on the opposite side of town that has delicious food. I like to go there.”

“Seems like you know your way around town.”

“Yeah, I do. I like to do new things every week and just get out of my apartment.”

“Think you might want to show me around?” You blush at his offer and he chuckles. “You’re incredibly beautiful and I’d love to take you out if you let me. I just don’t know much around here so I think I need a tour guide.”

“I can be your tour guide if you want,” you grin. “The beaches here are pretty nice, especially at night.”

“Good to know,” he smiles.

You hand him your phone so he can put his number in, and you call it so that he has your number. You part ways and grab the other books you’ve had your eyes on before heading back home. Tomorrow can’t come fast enough, it’s all you can think about. Steve says he’ll be over at seven to take you out, and you start getting ready two hours before the date. You take an “everything” shower, dry and curl your hair, get dressed in the perfect dress and shoes, do your makeup, accessorize, and spray your best perfume. You’re ready with ten minutes to spare, and Steve is knocking on your door before you know it.

“Wow, you look amazing,” Steve smiles.

“Thank you. You clean up nice, too.”

He leads you to your car and opens the passenger door for you. You’re not sure what kind of date he’s taking you on but you’re excited to see what he researched. For someone who doesn’t know the area, it’ll be interesting to see what he thinks is worth going to. Steve drives to the coastline and finds a parking spot right next to the beach. You love the beach and often come here to either read your books or enjoy time in the sun. You don’t normally come here after the sun has gone down so it’s nice to see the beach free of people.

“I never come here at night. It’s nice,” you grin.

There is an ice cream shop that’s open late to give people a reason to stay in the area, and Steve leads you over to it.

“What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Either strawberry or mint chocolate chip. Surprise me.”

Steve gets ice cream for both of you, and you two eat it while walking along the shore of the beach. You two take your shoes off to allow the water to wash over your feet whenever it splashes onto shore.

“So, tell me a little bit about you.”

“Well, I live alone. I have a degree in psychology. I own three dogs and two cats so it’s never quiet inside my house. I love reading. I think I spent more time inside the library where we met than anywhere else. If they let animals inside, I’d bring all my dogs with me. What about you?”

“I live with my childhood best friend. I never went to college but I did graduate college. We have one cat that’s mostly my roommate’s but I think she loves me more. I’m more outgoing than my roommate and love to go out and meet new people.”

Talking to Steve is easy. You’re not big on being social but there is something about Steve that brings you comfort. He’s safe and you can see yourself falling for him quickly.

“Despite coming here all the time, I have never had this ice cream before. This is delicious,” you grin and take another bite.

“You got a little something…”

“Where?” you gasp and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Here.”

Steve scoops some of his ice cream and touches the cold treat to your nose. You gasp and look at him with wide eyes.

“You did not just do that.”

“I did,” Steven grins.

You don’t even think about what to do next. You take a scoop of your ice cream and shove it into his face, watching as it drops from his face onto the sand. You and Steve are at a standstill with a tense silence between you. He jerks toward you and you take off running away from him with a squeal. He catches you easily and threatens you by moving his ice cream-covered mouth toward your cheek.

“No! That’s gross,” you laugh and cringe away from him.

Steve licks his lips and lets you go with a chuckle. You like how easy it is with Steve. Being the gentleman Steve is, he walked you to your front door when he dropped you off at home.

“I had a great time with you,” you smile.

“Me too. I hope we can do this again.”

“I’m sure I can fit you in.”

You think Steve is going to kiss you when he leans in but he bypasses your lips and kisses your cheek. You go to bed that night with a smile on your face and your head filled with thoughts of Steve. The next day, you head out to the gym early so you can start your day refreshed and energized. There aren’t a lot of people at the gym but you’re good at tuning everything out when you’re in your workout. You start with a light walk on the treadmill to get your blood pumping before moving to the weights.

You use the weight machine where you sit down on the small bench and grab the handlebars that you’ll pull toward yourself. You’ve never used this machine before but you’re doing it now because you want to at least try something new. It might work better for you. You set the weights to the amount you can pull before sitting down. You complete one rep when you feel someone tapping on your shoulder.

You look behind you to see a gorgeous man. Tall, dark hair, a sharp jawline, bright blue eyes, muscles for days, and tattoos inked down his arms. You can tell that ink is on his torso because it disappears underneath the collar of his shirt. He waves a hand in front of his face and you snap out of the trance.

“I’m sorry, can I help you?” you ask after taking out your AirPod.

“I don’t want to be that guy or a creep but I noticed your posture when using this machine. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself. Can I give you some tips?” You open your mouth to respond and he quickly speaks again. “Feel free to tell me to fuck off. I just… I know a bit or two about gym injuries.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah. What am I doing wrong?”

The man straddles the bench right behind you but stays far enough away from you so you don’t feel his skin. However, you feel the heat radiating from his body. It’s enough to make your head spin.

“Can I touch you?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

He puts his hands on your hips and moves slightly closer to you. The heat increases and your heart beats faster.

“You want to keep your back straight. The point of this machine is to work your arms. Pull down the handlebar.” You keep your back straight when you pull it down because you’re afraid of leaning back into his body. He cups both of your elbows as you lower your arms and stops you from going further down. “You want to keep your elbows at a ninety-degree angle. Try again.”

The man takes his hands away from your arms but lets them rest on your hips. You do it again and you can feel him nod behind you.

“Good girl.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at those two words. You’re not even sure if you heard him correctly, he spoke so softly.

“Thank you for your help.”

“No problem.” The man stands making you wish he was pressed against you still. “I’m Bucky.”

“Y/N.”

“Again, I’m not that guy or anything but are you single?”

“Yes,” you giggle.

You and Steve went on one date so you don’t count that as you two being in an exclusive relationship.

“Would you be opposed to me taking you out on a date?”

“No.”

Bucky takes out his phone and opens the phone app so you can give him your number. After you put it in, he calls you so that you have his number.

“I hope you’re free Friday night.”

“I just so happen to be free that day.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up at six. Wear something you don’t mind getting a bit of dirt on.”

“Okay.”

Bucky leaves your side to continue his workout but you can’t continue. All you can think about is Bucky and the feeling you got when you felt him behind you. Friday is only two days away but it feels like a week has passed before it’s finally here. You and Steve have been talking about going on another date. Yes, you told him that you had a date with another man but he didn’t seem all that worried since you two aren’t exclusive. The second you decide that you are, you’ll break it off with Bucky. The same goes for Steve if you and Bucky decide to be a thing.

It’s nearing six when you tie the pink bow into your hair. You’re wearing jeans and a frilly pink shirt, and you’ve done your hair in a half updo with a pink bow. You swipe lipgloss onto your lips when you hear the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle. You look out the window and see Bucky roll into your neighborhood on a sleek black bike. You meet him outside just as he takes off his helmet.

“Damn, I thought you were beautiful in gym clothes and all sweaty. You’re gorgeous now.”

Bucky’s wearing a tight black shirt and jeans that fit him snugly.

“Thank you,” you blush.

“Have you ever ridden a bike before?”

“Once or twice.”

“Then come here, Doll.” You walk over to Bucky and he is careful when he slides the second helmet onto your head, careful to not mess up your hair too much. He straps it into place and helps you onto the back of his bike before climbing on himself. “Hold on tight.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and sit very close to him. Even through his leather jacket, you can feel his muscles flex whenever you touch them. Bucky takes you out of town and to the old Jasper property. Jasper used to be a thriving farmer once upon a time but lost his house after he died. He didn’t have any family to leave it to so the city took possession of it. It now stands as a property kids love to explore, trash, and do whatever else they want to do with it. The city does nothing because they either don’t care or don’t have enough money to put security there.

Bucky pulls into the farm and parks next to an array of bikes. There is commotion coming from the back of the property and the sound of bikes revving their engines.

“What is going on here?” you ask Bucky when you get your helmet off.

“Dirt bike racing,” he grins. “I usually race but this time, I’m happy to watch.”

“Because of me?”

“Well, I can’t be looking like a fool in front of you if I lose,” he chuckles.

You two head to the back of the property and find seats up high to be able to see everything. The bikers slowly drive around the track to get used to it right before the race.

“I’ve never been to one of these things before.”

“Oh, Doll, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

The race begins and all the bikers start it by giving it their all. Bucky cheers his friend who is in first place, and you watch with wide eyes, scared to look away even for a second. The race consists of thirty laps around the place but it feels like they’re doing it in five. They go so fast around the curves, jump over the ramps expertly, and gain a lot of cheers whenever their favorites get closer to first place.

Bucky tries to explain the logistics of it all but you’re too enthralled to listen to him. It’s nice to do this with Bucky because you love the thrill of racing whether that be cars or bikes. Bucky stands up and cheers when his friend finishes in first followed by two of his other friends in second and third. The winner gets a cash prize put together by both the audience and the crew members responsible for the race.

“So, how was your first bike race?” Bucky asks when he walks you back to his bike.

“That was amazing! You do that sort of thing?”

“Yeah. There’s nothing like feeling nothing but the rumble of your bike on a racetrack. Everything else disappears and it feels like you’re the only one on the track. Sure, we do races for fun but the serious ones are the best.”

“I’d like to see you race sometime.”

“I can arrange that,” he grins. Bucky takes the long way back to your house to give you more time pressed up against him. Like Steve, he walks you to your front door. “Can I take you out again?”

“Yes,” you smile.

Bucky glances down to your lips and decides to just go for it. He grabs the sides of your face and pulls you in for a kiss that makes your head dizzy. He dances around the idea of using tongue, and you open your mouth to allow him in. He slides his tongue in and explores what you’ve given him before pulling away.

“I’ll talk to you later, Doll.”

“Okay,” you mutter, still in a haze from his kiss.

Bucky waits for you to get inside your house before leaving. You rest your back against your door and bite your lip in thought. You had such a great time with Steve but you also loved your time with Bucky. Two men. How will you ever decide between them? You get ready for bed and fall asleep with thoughts of Bucky and Steve.

The next morning, you’re woken up by your phone ringing. You pop your head up and reach for your phone with one eye closed and the other squinted nearly shut. Both eyes pop wide open when you see Steve’s name on your phone. You sit up in bed and smooth down your hair as if he can see what you look like over a phone call. You cough to clear your throat so it’s not so obvious that you’ve been sleeping seconds before.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Hey, Y/N. Are you busy tonight?”

“No. What’s up?”

“My roommate is going to be out of town tonight and I was wondering for our second date, I can cook for you.”

“At your place?”

“Yeah. I totally understand if you don’t want to come over and go somewhere public, but--”

“Steve, it’s okay. I’d be happy to let you cook for me.”

“Okay, good,” he breathes in relief. “I’ll text you my address. How about you come over at six?”

“I’ll be there.”

After saying goodbye, Steve hangs up and looks at his roommate who is sitting in the living room cleaning bike parts he got from Facebook Marketplace.

“What have I told you about cleaning your shit in here?”

“To do it because you love it,” Bucky grins.

“You’re going to be out by six, right? My date is coming over then.”

“Yeah, I heard you.”

Bucky continues to clean while Steve gets ready for his date with you. Afterward, both men decide to kill time to watch whatever it is that’s on Netflix. Bucky looks at the time and sees it’s nearly six. He gets up and grabs his jacket on his way to the front door.

“Where are you going?”

“Out, remember?”

“British Bake-Off is next,” Steve says with the remote in hand.

“I’m leaving and you have your date. It’s almost six.”

“Shit, you’re right.” Steve looks at his friend who grabs his motorcycle keys. “You don’t want to take a shower first? Wash your hair, maybe?”

“I’m fine, Dad,” Bucky rolls his eyes. He opens the door right when you’re about to knock, and your eyes widen when you see it’s Bucky and not Steve at the door. “Doll?”

“Bucky? What… What are you doing here?”

Steve pops his head out from behind his friend and smiles when he sees you.

“Hey, Y/N, come in. This is my roommate, Bucky. He was just leaving.”

Bucky doesn’t say a word and opens the door wider so you can walk in. Of course, it’ll be your luck that the two best guys you’ve ever dated just so happen to be roommates. Steve isn’t freaking out so Bucky must not have talked about you or not mentioned you by name.

“You’re dating her? She’s your date?” Bucky whispers at Steve but you hear.

“Yeah, why?”

“Dude, she’s the girl I took to the bike race.”

“Wait, what?”

“Look, I didn’t know you two were roommates.” Both men look at you. “I should go, right? This is something I don’t want to come between. I don’t want to ruin your friendship and before you say anything, it will if we continue to let this happen. Yeah, I should go.”

Neither man moves from the front door so you’re stuck here while they stare at each other like in some macho standoff. They have a wordless conversation only spoken through their eyes. It feels like hours before Bucky finally speaks.

“We’re not going to make you choose but I still want to date you.”

“So do I,” Steve says right after.

“Both of you want to date me?”

Bucky shrugs and looks at his friend who has the same expression on his face.

“You wouldn’t be the first thing we’ve shared.”

“You obviously don’t have to choose right now, and if you’ll let me, I’d love to cook for you still.”

Two men? Two gorgeous men? You had such a fun time with Steve and Bucky, and if they’re willing to share you, who are you to say you can’t do the same? You’ve never done something like this before but there’s a first for everything, right?

“Fuck it. I’m in if you are.”

Bucky and Steve grin mischievously, ideas already running through their heads. This is either going to be the best thing to happen to you or the worst mistake of your life. It is sure fun to find out, though.

x

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[footballfanficwriter]

Prise giving ceremony

Summary:Jude and the reader are invited for their children's prize giving Ceremony

"Jude c'mon we're gonna be late" I say

"Yeah, I'm coming" he says, he takes my hand and we make it out the front door

"I've already spoken to mum she says they'll meet us there, cause they need to get a few things before the Ceremony starts" He says

"Are your parents going to be there?"

"I don't know honestly, but it would be really Nice if they showed up, it would mean so much to the kids if they did"

"Hey don't worry, even if they don't show up, I'm sure it will still be fun"

"Yeah"

" how many awards do you think the kids will get?"

"I don't know, besides, I don't care I'll be proud of them either way"

"Yeah, me too, But you know how they are, they always want to be top achievers in everything they do"

"I think they get that from the both of us to be honest"

"I don't always strive to be a top achiever"

"Yes you do Jude"

"How?"

"What about that time after one of your matches and you didn't play the way you wanted to, were you not having a fit?"

"I did not"

"Babe you did"

"Well you're also like that"

"Oh I already know I strive to be a top achiever, I'm not going to deny who i am"

"Whatever" he says rolling his eyes

"But I'm sure the genes didn't spread to our kids, right?"

"Yeah, no that is a lie, our children are so competitive it worries me sometimes"

"You're overreacting"

"Oh, am I?"

"Yeah you are"

"Remember that time when Julian, lost his football game and he got so upset he wouldn't even eat his dinner?, or what about the time Julia didn't get first prize for her 1200m run, and she nearly fought the girl who did, need I go on?"

"Alright you've made your point"

"Thank you"

We arrive at the school and Jude parks the car, he walks out of the car and comes around my side to open my door

"Thank you"

"It's a pleasure babe"

"You actually look beautiful in that outfit you know"

"Really, you like it?"

"I love it"

Jude has a black turtleneck on, with a suit Jacket, black slacks and dress shoes and a silver Rolex watch, while I have on a black dress that reaches just past my knees, with a criss cross back and a slight low V cut in the front, matched with a pair of black heels a gold necklace, gold earrings and my wedding ring

As we enter the venue we see people taking pictures, no dought that these pictures will be on the internet by the time the ceremony is over

When we enter the venue we find Denise,Mark and Jobe sat in the second row behind all the teachers and principals, we make our way to where they are sitting and greet them

"Mom we're here" Jude says

They turn their heads towards us and stand up

"Hi Darling, you alright" Denise says greeting me and coming in for a hug

"Yeah mom, I'm alright"

"Aren't you proud"

"Very proud"

Mark taps my shoulder getting my attention

"Hey" he says coming in for a hug

"Hi dad, how've you been?"

"I'm alright"

I greet Jobe and give him a brotherly hug while he daps Jude up

We all take our seats with me sandwiched in between Jude and Denise and Mark sitting next to Denise and Jobe

The MC starts the program and the school choir sings the school song, after that the MC starts her opening speech

"Good evening everyone, we're so grateful for your presence here tonight, thank you for coming to celebrate the children who have undoubtably worked hard to achieve these achievements, without further ado let's get started, I would like to call on Mrs. Clinton to come and present the awards"

Mrs. Clinton walks onto the stage and greets everyone

"Good evening everyone, I am here in front of you all to present the special awards to the children, the first award is awarded to the most creative student, Jessica James"

Everyone claps for Jessica as she walks onto the stage to get her award

"Why does she walk like that" Jude asks

"Don't Judge other people's kids Jude"

"Next, this award is for the most kindest and caring student who always puts other's needs before their own, this award is awarded to Ronald Johnson"

People clap for Ronald and  he collects his award

"Those are some big glasses he's got on" he says as he fists his hands making a hole in between each hand and putting each fisted hand on each eye

"Jude, stop" I say tying to hold my laugh in

"Next this award is for the most improved student, who has improved either academically or Socially, having had a hard start when they first arrived in the school and to adapting the school's culture, this award is given to Melissa Hall"

Melissa collects her award and we all clap for her

"Now lastly this award is a prestigious one and is a shared by two students, this award is for the most ambitious and Hardworking students, Julia and Julian Bellingham"

Both Julia and Julian walk onto stage to get their shared award, I turn to my right to see Mark filming Every moment

Jude and I stand up so both of them can see us, they see us and wave and we return the gesture by smiling and waving

Next they announce that they'll be announcing the prizes for the year 1s ( first graders)

Which is Julian and Julia's year (grade)

"We will first start with the year 1s and their achievements" the MC Says

"I would like to call Mrs. Madden to the stage to present the Awards"

Mrs. Madden walks onto the stage, greets the audience, and continues Jude gives me a side eye as if to say "look at her outfit" Mrs. Madden has on an old looking cardigan and a pair of baggy trousers, bright red glasses and Pebbles/stones for Jewelry "Good evening, everyone. It's my pleasure to present the awards for the Year 1 students. These young minds have shown remarkable dedication and enthusiasm throughout the year. First, we'll start with the award for Excellence in Mathematics, which goes to... Julian Bellingham!"

The audience erupts in applause as Julian confidently strides to the stage to accept his award. His smile is radiant, and his eyes gleam with pride.

"That's my boy," Jude whispers to me, his face beaming with pride. I squeeze his hand, sharing in the moment of joy.

Julian accepts his award, posing for a quick photo before returning to his seat.

"Next, the award for Outstanding Performance in English goes to... Julia Bellingham!"

Julia, not to be outdone by her brother, walks gracefully to the stage, her expression one of quiet confidence. The applause is even louder this time, with our family cheering her on.

"I'm so proud of them," I say to Jude, my eyes welling up with tears of happiness.

"I know, me too," Jude replies, his voice full of emotion.

Julia accepts her award and waves at us again before taking her seat beside Julian.

Mrs. Madden continues, "The next award is for Excellence in Sports. This student has shown exceptional talent and dedication in various sports activities. The award goes to... Julian Bellingham!"

Julian gets up again, looking slightly embarrassed but very pleased as he accepts his second award. The applause is thunderous.

"He's going to need a bigger shelf for all these awards," Jude jokes, making me laugh.

"And finally," Mrs. Madden announces, "the award for Leadership and Teamwork goes to a student who has demonstrated exceptional leadership skills and the ability to work well with others. This award goes to... Julia Bellingham!"

Julia stands up for the second time, her face glowing with pride. She walks to the stage, collects her award, and waves once more, her smile brighter than ever.

As the ceremony concludes, the children are invited to take pictures with their families. Jude and I rush to the front to congratulate our kids, enveloping them in big, proud hugs.

"You both did amazing!" I say, kissing each of their foreheads.

"We're so proud of you," Jude adds, ruffling Julian's hair and hugging Julia tightly.

"Thanks, Mom and Dad!" they both say, their faces glowing with happiness.

Denise, Mark, and Jobe join us, offering their congratulations. Denise takes out her phone and suggests, "Let's get a family picture to remember this moment."

We gather together, with Julian and Julia holding their awards proudly. As the camera clicks, I can't help but think about how lucky we are to have such amazing children and a loving, supportive family.

"Alright, let's go celebrate!" Jude announces, lifting Julian onto his shoulders. And me taking Julia into my arms, planting a kiss onto her cheek then her forehead

"Yeah, ice cream for everyone!, Say goodbye to your grandparents and Uncle Jobe" I add, placing Julia back down then holding her hand

"Bye nana" Julia Says as she hugs her grandmother

"Goodbye my Darling, I'm so proud of you, and you as well Julian" Denise says as she hugs the both of them

We continue saying our goodbyes and walk them to their car and we start making way to our car as well

as we make our way out of the venue, hearts full and spirits high.

The evening is a perfect blend of pride, love, and celebration, and as we head to our favorite ice cream parlor, I know that this is a day we will cherish forever.

As we walk to the car, Jude spots another kid and nudges me. "Look at that kid's bowtie. It's bigger than his head."

I laugh, nudging him back. "Jude, be nice!"

"And that one," he whispers, nodding towards a girl with a massive hair bow. "Is she trying to take flight with that thing?"

"Stop it!" I giggle, trying to hold back my laughter.

"Alright, alright," he says, chuckling. "But you have to admit, this is entertaining."

"You're terrible," I say, still laughing. "But I love you anyway."

"I love you too," he replies, pulling me close and kissing my forehead. "Now, let's go get some ice cream."

We pile into the car, the kids chattering excitedly about their awards in the backseat. Jude starts the engine and we head to our favorite ice cream parlor, the mood in the car light and joyful.

As we arrive and park, Jude turns to me with a playful smile. "You know, I was just thinking..."

"Uh-oh, should I be worried?" I tease, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe," he laughs. "But seriously, what if Julian and Julia go into comedy? They seem to have a knack for entertaining, just like their old man."

"Oh, really? So now you're a comedian?" I say, laughing.

"Well, I did make you laugh, didn't I?" he retorts, winking.

We all get out of the car and head into the parlor, the kids rushing ahead to choose their favorite flavors. Jude and I follow more slowly, holding hands and enjoying the moment.

As we enter the ice cream parlor, the sweet aroma of freshly baked waffles and scoops of ice cream fills the air. Julian and Julia rush towards the display of flavors, their eyes wide with anticipation.

"Mom, Dad, look at all the choices!" Julia exclaims, pointing excitedly.

"Yeah, Dad, they even have that weird green one you like," Julian adds with a grin.

Jude chuckles. "Hey, mint chocolate chip is a classic! Don't knock it till you've tried it."

I roll my eyes playfully. "You and your adventurous taste buds."

"Just trying to keep things interesting," he replies with a wink.

We join the kids at the counter, scanning the menu for our own favorites. Julian opts for a towering sundae while Julia goes for a colorful cone with sprinkles.

"I think I'll go for something simple today," I say, eyeing a scoop of strawberry cheesecake.

Jude nudges me. "Oh, come on, live a little! How about a triple scoop with all the works?"

I laugh. "I'll leave that to you, Mr. Mint Chocolate Chip."

As we wait for our treats, Jude leans closer to me, his voice low. "Did you see that kid's hair over there? It looks like a bird's nest."

I stifle a laugh. "Jude! Be nice."

"I'm just observing," he insists, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know I can't resist a good hairstyle critique."

"Well, keep your critiques to yourself," I tease, trying not to giggle too loudly.

Our ice cream arrives, and we settle into a cozy booth. Julian and Julia dive into their treats with gusto, their faces quickly turning into a sticky mess of smiles and satisfaction.

Jude leans back, savoring his mint chocolate chip. "You know, I have to hand it to them. These kids really know how to enjoy life's simple pleasures."

"Like ice cream," I add, licking a stray drip from my cone.

"Exactly," he says, nodding. "I mean, who needs fancy dinners when you've got a scoop of your favorite flavor?"

"Or a tower of sundaes," I reply, gesturing towards Julian's creation.

We watch our kids laugh and talk between messy bites, their joy infectious. It's moments like these that remind me why I fell in love with Jude—the way he finds humor in everyday moments and brings out the best in our family.

As we finish our ice cream, Jude leans over and whispers, "That kid over there looks like he's trying to break the world record for fastest ice cream eater." He says eyeing the poor child that just seems to be really enjoying his ice cream

I burst out laughing, unable to contain myself. "Jude, stop, what's wrong with you today and making fun of kids!" I manage to say between giggles.

He grins mischievously. "What? I'm just stating the obvious, and it's not like I'm saying it to their faces, how will they know I'm talking about them ?"

"You're terrible," I say, shaking my head, still laughing.

He chuckles softly. "But you love me anyway, right?"

"Of course," I reply, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "Even when you're making fun of kids' hairstyles."

He squeezes my hand back, his eyes warm with affection. "I love you too, always."

We sit together in comfortable silence, watching our children and soaking in the happiness of this simple, perfect moment. As we prepare to leave, Jude leans over once more.

"Ready to head home, or should we challenge the kids to a rematch in mini golf?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "Let's save that for another day. Right now, I think we've had enough excitement for one evening."

"Fair enough," he says, rising from the booth. "But don't think I won't take you up on that challenge someday."

I smile, knowing that whatever adventures lie ahead, we'll face them together—as partners, parents, and best friends.

"I love that idea," I say, kissing him on the cheek. "It's perfect."

As we sit there, enjoying our ice cream and each other's company, I realize that moments like these are what life is all about—love, laughter, and the simple joy of being together.

Jude takes a spoon of his ice cream  and leans back, content. "This is the life," he says, smiling at me and the kids. "I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"Me neither," I reply, squeezing his hand. "Me neither."

The evening winds down with more laughter, stories, and plans for the future. As we drive home, the kids eventually fall asleep in the backseat, clutching their awards.

Jude looks over at me and smiles. "We did good, didn't we?"

"We did great," I reply, feeling a warm glow of happiness. "Our little achievers."

We pull into the driveway, and Jude gently carries Julian inside while I take Julia. We tuck them into bed, kissing their foreheads and whispering words of love and pride.

Back in our bedroom, Jude wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. "Thank you for being my partner in this crazy, wonderful life," he says softly.

"Thank you for being mine," I reply, resting my head on his chest.

As we drift off to sleep, I can't help but feel incredibly grateful for this beautiful family we've built together—a family filled with love, humor, and endless possibilities.