#this is the first time she shuts him down

[sturionic]

Activism is not cold-calling.

Activism is not cold-calling, and this is critically important to understand.

I'm seeing a lot of posts on here about 'building bridges' and 'finding community,' and then (extremely valid) response posts saying "BUT HOW??" And I'm going to explain something that can be very counter-intuitive: there is strategy involved in community.

As a longtime volunteer labour organizer, I’ve taken and taught many trainings on the strategy of talking. Something that surprises a lot of people is the very first thing you do in a union campaign. You sit down with your organizing committee, take out pen and paper, and literally map it out. You draw a physical map of the workplace: where are the entrances, exits, break rooms, supervisor offices. Essentially, ‘where is it safe to have a union conversation.’ Then you draw another physical chart of your coworkers. You sort out who is union-friendly, openly hostile to unions, or somewhere in the middle, and then you plan out very deliberately and carefully who talks to whom and in what order.

Consider: If Vocally Leftist Jane walks up to Conservative David and says "hey what do you think about unions," David is going to shut down immediately. He's not inclined to listen to Jane. But if Jane talks to Moderate Jason and brings him into the fold, then Jason is a far more effective strategic choice to talk to David, and David may actually hear him out without an instant reaction.

IMPORTANT CAVEAT: If Conservative David turns out to be Alt-Right David, and could be dangerous to follow organizers, we write him off. We are not trying to reach Alt-Right David. We are trying to reach Conservative David, who may actually be persuaded to find solidarity with other employees as fellow workers. Jason is a safe scout to find out which one he is. It does no one any good if Leftist Jane (or even Moderate Jane who is a visible minority) talks to Alt-Right David and puts herself on his radar. Not only has she done nothing to convince Alt-Right David to join a union - she's probably actively turned him against the idea - but now she's also in danger and the entire campaign is at risk. NOBODY WANTS THIS. Jane was NOT a hero for doing this. The organizing committee was foolish and enacted a terrible strategy to everyone's detriment.

Where you can make a difference is with people who will listen to you. You having a conversation with your well-meaning but clueless Centrist Democrat Auntie, and maybe gently helping her understand some things the media has been glossing over, is way more strategically useful than you marching up to MAGA Neighbour You've Met Once and trying to "build community" or "understand" them. They don't care. They're impervious, dangerous, and cruel. But maybe your beloved auntie will think about what you said, and then talk to her friend Anna who IDs as "fiscally conservative" but didn't vote because she can't bring herself to get on board with Trump. Then perhaps Anna talks to her brother Nic who has MAGA leanings but isn't all the way there yet. Proto-MAGA Nic would not have listened to you, nor would he have listened to Centrist Democrat Auntie, but he might absorb some of what his sister is saying.

This is not a cop-out or an echo chamber. This is you spending your time and energy strategically and safely. You are not a useful activist to anyone if you’re dead. Anyone who is telling you to hurl yourself directly at MAGA assholes like cannon fodder has no understanding of the strategy behind community building, and you should feel comfortable writing them off.

Last point: If you are tired, emotionally devastated, and/or in danger: take a break. This post is for people who would feel better jumping into action, not for people who are too overwhelmed to even think about it right now. You are worth so much even if you’re not actively Doing Activism, and your rest is worth more than “a break period so you can recharge and Do More Activism.” We all deserve the individual dignity of being worthy of comfort, rest & safety just on the basis of being human, outside of whatever we're doing for others' benefit. To deny ourselves that dignity is to devalue ourselves, and that’s the absolute last thing any of us should be doing right now.

[kimoralov3]

a/n: still debating whether or not i want to finish pt2 but here's a lil smth to cheer all of us that know up. tagging @ivysprophecy because she read it yesterday (??? i have no concept of time) and @murdockcastleslut because she def needs the pick me up

you shut the door of tannyhill behind you, setting your keys on the table by the door. “rafe?” you call as you walk deeper into the house.

there was no answer, prompting you to roll your eyes as you headed towards rafe’s office. you knew he was home — you had checked his location before hand— but if he wasn’t answering it probably meant he was holed up in his office.  

“rafe?” you say again as you push the door to the office open. he was standing in front of the bar, pouring himself a drink. he doesn't react to the sound of the door opening, too busy putting the top on the bottle. 

“rafe.” you say once more, coming up behind him and placing your hand on his shoulder. this seems to awaken him, rafe turning and looking down at you with a small smile. 

“hey babe, i didn’t hear you come in.” he says as he pulls you into his side. you hum, bringing your arm up around his waist.

“i called your name like three times. didn’t you hear me?” you ask as you look up at him. rafe sighs, setting his drink back down on the tray.

“no, i didn’t. i’m sorry.” he murmurs as he buries his face in your hair. the smell of your shampoo always did help calm him down. 

“you okay? you seem a little out of it right now.” you say softly. 

“yeah, yeah i’m fine. just had a deal that didn’t go the way i wanted it to today. and someone backed out of this other deal. it’s just been a pretty stressful day for me.” he says as he traces patterns on his waist. you knew that he did that to help calm and ground himself, so you didn’t comment on it.

“mm, i’m sorry rafe.” you whisper as you burrow deeper into his warmth. suddenly an idea hits you, and you pull away with a smile. “i think i know what’ll make you feel better, though.”

rafe halts, pulling back to examine your face. “and what might that be?” 

you let out a giggling, patting his arm as you try to separate from him. “you’ll see, but you have to let me go first.”

rafe hesitates, giving you a firm squeeze before letting go of you. he backs up to give you a little bit of space as he crosses his arms over his chest. “alright, what’s this thing that’s supposed to magically make me feel better?” 

you smile, biting your lip to hold back your smile. you grab onto the hem of your shirt and pull it up to reveal your chest. thank goodness you had chosen to go braless today.

judging by rafe’s reaction, he was also thankful. his whole body went rigid, as if he was trying to hold himself back. as you pull your shirt back down to cover your breasts, you swear you can hear rafe curse under his breath.

“feel better?” you ask, shooting rafe a cheeky smile as you stand with your hands on your hips. 

rafe doesn’t immediately respond, just stares at you for a few seconds. you’re about to open your mouth again when rafe suddenly lifts you up, tossing you over his shoulder. you yelp, flailing your legs as he carries you out of the office. “what are you doing?”

rafe smacks your ass, causing you to laugh a little louder. “going to go relieve some stress. and stop kicking before i make it worse.”

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐞.𝐦.

This piece contains 18+ content.

Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader [friends → lovers]

Summary Eddie holds good on his promise to take you out on a date, and as the night comes to a close, you realize you’re not ready to say goodbye [fluff, smut, 4.3k].

A/N This is the long-awaited continuation of come whatever may. You can read that first if you'd like, but enough context will be provided here. Spoiler alert: the sex is very soft, teasy, and desperate because they’re in l-o-v-e. Haven't written smut in nearly two years, but I evoked to the muses of times past—and thus!...

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Summer is long gone, but when you open the door to Eddie holding flowers, the warmth that rises to your cheeks makes it feel nearer than ever. It’s a vibrant bouquet composed of white roses, red lilies, baby’s breath, and leafy foliage. The wrapper crinkles as he extends them to you with an easy smile and soft hello. Your eyes flick back up to his after admiring the delicate blooms. 

There’s a healthy flush to his cheeks, his curls neat and defined. The black leather jacket he’s wearing clings to his slender frame with a polished edge. Under the weight of your gaze, he huffs out a chuckle that reminds you you’re still on earth. 

“Gonna let me in, sweetheart?” Charm drips from his voice and shimmers within his chocolate eyes. 

Nodding, you shuffle backwards, allowing him to enter and push the door shut behind himself. As he steps further inside, you can feel his gaze sweeping over your outfit. An olive-green corduroy dress layered over a beige turtleneck that’s soft against your skin. His smile grows, glinting bright enough for anyone to believe he just won the Lotto when, really, it’s just the pretty sight of you holding the flowers he bought. 

“These are beautiful.” You raise the bouquet, but Eddie’s eyes remain on you. Seeking refuge from his gaze, you tuck your nose down to inhale the sweet fragrance of the petals. “They smell amazing too.” 

“That’s all you, sweetheart.” 

You get shy when his eyes meet yours. “You like my outfit and everything?” 

Eddie swallows back a degree of his earnestness so he doesn’t sound too far gone. “Of course I do, are you kidding me?” 

Seemingly out of nowhere, Robin descends the staircase with a bag slung over her shoulder like she’s prepared to leave, hair tied up in a messy bun. Given your parents were away in Indianapolis for the weekend, you’d asked her to come over and help you get ready so you wouldn’t be alone. 

Eddie’s eyes flick to her, clearing his throat. “Did you help her pick this out, Buckley?” 

“Obviously,” she smirks. “Nice hair.” 

“It is really nice,” you agree with a soft smile. Eddie lifts a passive shoulder, chest fluttering. 

“Rob, do you think you could…” she takes the bouquet without you having to ask. The two of you had shuffled through the attic and dug out a vase earlier that afternoon. 

Eddie had promised this date, along with flowers, a week ago when you slipped away from Steve’s party to be alone. That night, he’d kissed you in the heat of the moment but wanted to backtrack and do things right. You deserved that much. 

The time you’ve been looking forward to has finally come. 

With your hands now free, the only thing you can think to do is wrap your arms around Eddie. The world goes still as he hugs you back, nerves quelling beneath your skin. For a moment, you merely enjoy the warmth of the same arms you’ve been wrapped in countless times before. With your head tucked into his chest, enveloped by the faint scent of his cologne, you release all the worries that ride on the sweeping coattails of change. For a moment, he’s just Eddie, your best friend. 

When you pull away, he leans in, tilting his head with that familiar, boyish curiosity. “You alright?” he asks quietly, searching your gaze.

You nod, a smile breaking through. He takes your hand in his and gives it a squeeze, “Just checkin’.” 

Robin soon walks back into the foyer. “I put the flowers in a vase for you,” she announces, taking her hair down and shaking it out. “Hate to admit it, but you two are actually cute. It’s disgusting.” 

“Hey,” Eddie lifts his hands, laughing. “Little victories.” 

She adjusts her bag on her shoulder with a content sigh. “Welp, I’m about to go pester Harrington at Family Video.” She turns to Eddie, playfully narrowing her eyes. “You better treat her right, ‘cause best believe I’ll be hearing all about this date.” 

When she slips out the door, Eddie smiles at you in silent assurance. 

●・○・●・○・●

The sun hasn’t quite begun to set, but orange and pink faintly blend on the horizon. A cool fall breeze flows in through the cracked windows as the radio plays softly. Eddie had asked his Uncle Wayne to borrow his pickup truck because it’d be more romantic than his bulky van. You can’t say whether he was right, only that you’re grateful to be riding shotgun with him—headed to an unknown destination, no less. 

You’d already guessed through a list of places that Eddie denied with amusement. Sighing, you look out the window to people bustling about, walking dogs and strolling out of shops. You’re coming out of the more commercial side of town, nearing Lover’s Lake and the state park.  

“I give up,” you sigh. 

Eddie chuckles, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze, ignorant to his warming effect on you. “Okay, fine, I’ll give you a hint.” That makes you peer over at him in interest. “If I had to guess, I’d say not a lot of people have had the chance to try it out yet.” 

That’s a dead giveaway. Your mouth falls open in surprise. “That new place along the lake—Stillwater Grill?” The twitch of Eddie’s lips is telling. “No way!” The excitement in your voice makes his chest tighten.

Stillwater was supposed to be good, from what you’d heard. A slightly elevated dining experience minus the formalities and steep pricing of a restaurant like Enzo’s. Where classic American favorites embrace small-town charm, according to the paper. 

Upon your arrival, the parking lot houses a pretty decent number of cars. Lover’s Lake provides a serene backdrop that catches the evening light. Couples stand outside admiring the view. Eddie opens your door and helps you out of the truck like a proper gentleman. You happily tuck yourself into him as you walk inside. 

When you were younger, you often wondered what love would be like. Books and the movies always presented countless possibilities, but you always believed it’d be special for you. So different that nothing else would be able to compare—perhaps, selfishly. One thing for sure, you never could’ve dreamed up someone like Eddie. 

As he sits across from you under the dim glow of the lights, laughter and chatter filling the air, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to put all this into words. Belly full, you realize what you’ve enjoyed even more than the food and cozy, rustic atmosphere was his company. 

Eddie had an inexplicably magnetic way. There was a magic in getting him all to yourself. In relishing the lovely sparkle in his eyes that suggested he was always on the verge of laughter. The passion he exuded made it seem like the way he loved a given thing was biblical. He could talk the ear off a cornfield if he wanted but knew instinctively when to listen. Even your passing remarks seemed to bear some semblance of importance to him.  

Conversing with him had always been easy, but without other people vying for his attention, you were truly able to admire the boy before you. To embrace the deepening attraction. 

As you wait for the waiter to bring the tab, you don’t realize you’ve grown silent and begun blinking at him with the fondest eyes. 

●・○・●・○・●

The wooden stairs of your front porch creak under both your footsteps as you climb them, stopping in front of your front door as the night settles around you. Moths flutter around the lanterns framing the door, crickets chirp in the lawn. Eddie kicks at a dead leaf, combing through the sea of thoughts in search of the right words. 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says. You wait for him to continue. His doe eyes search yours for the briefest moment, seeing right through you it seems. “Would you like to be my girlfriend? ‘Cause I think it’s gonna be hard for me to quit you.” 

Your mouth opens a couple times in a mix of giddiness and surprise. “Yeah,” you finally breathe. “Yeah, I’d love to be your girlfriend.” 

Smiling, he steps forward to capture your lips in a slow, sweet kiss that you feel everywhere. It manages to outshine the first, more desperate, kiss you’d shared a week prior. This one is steady and sure, like a promise sealed with a prim bow. When he pulls away to look into your eyes, you shyly duck your head. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow?” he asks, lifting your chin. 

He doesn’t want to go, instead wishing he could stall and stay right here with you. He’s parted ways with you hundreds of times before, but now he can’t seem to figure out how he ever did. That’s how he knows he’s in trouble. The best kind. 

“I’ll pick up,” you promise. 

He stands at your door until you see yourself inside. It’s quiet without him. Your eyes land on the flowers he got you, now in a vase in the living room thanks to Robin. Too quiet. The sound of your front door reopening stops Eddie in his tracks. He turns around with a slight furrow between his brows. 

“Everything okay?” he calls, mindful of his volume. 

You make a small motion for him to come back to you. He listens in a heartbeat. 

There’s a weighted look in his eyes beneath the playfulness, “Miss me already?” 

“No,” you lie. 

●・○・●・○・●

It’s a wonder how you manage to make it feel like there’s a pleasant fire kindling within him. What started out as yet another easy conversation, has turned into you straddling his lap on the couch, the fabric of your dress riding up your thighs as the TV drones in the background.

Everything feels heightened now. The brush of your lips against his, your fingers gently scratching at the nape of his neck. 

Eddie’s lips part in a soft, shuddering breath when you roll your hips over him. 

“Hold on a second, sweetheart.” His eyebrows are pinched as he pulls back from the kiss, hands stilling you. 

You blink down at him all owl-like. “Did I do something?” you murmur, purposely shifting over him again.

He restrains from canting his hips upwards. There’s a softness to his gaze even though his cheeks are flushed hot. 

“If getting me worked up counts. You’re real good at that.” His shamelessness is dizzying. “Just don’t wanna get ahead of myself.” It’s a subtle invitation, a chance for you to call things off in case you aren’t on the same page. 

But you can feel warmth pooling low in your belly. “What else am I good at?” 

He knows you’re game then. For whatever this is, whatever it’s bound to become. 

“Trying to pretend I’m not driving you crazy too.” He chuckles when you duck to hide your face in the crook of his neck, kissing the sensitive skin there. 

There’s a gentleness to the way Eddie’s hand slips beneath the hem of your dress, meeting the delicate skin of your inner thigh. 

“Eddie,” you murmur, lifting from his neck as his fingers continue their trail upwards.

“Hmm?” He pauses, thumb stroking your skin in soft circles. 

“Can we go to my room?” A slight shiver runs through you as his fingers move to trace along the crease of your thigh.

“Your call, sweetheart.” 

Before he withdraws his hand, he snaps the waistband of your panties and grins when you straighten.  

●・○・●・○・●

The lamp on your nightstand casts everything in a dim, warm glow. Eddie shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your desk chair, eyes roving over the notebooks and pens strewn about. The sight of his tattooed arms makes you move to kiss him again, letting your lips wander to the corner of his mouth and his chin in a trail of warmth. He throbs in his jeans when you slip your fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and curl them into his stomach. 

Reluctantly, he pulls away from your lips and he steps back enough to pull the fabric over his head in one swift movement, muscles rippling as the dark ink on his torso is revealed. With newly disheveled hair, he kisses you backward onto the bed, crawling over top of you as you settle into the mattress with a pleased hum. 

Having the upper hand allows him to press hot kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck as you huff out sighs and caress his milky skin with buzzing fingertips. Nothing about his movements is rushed, each press of his lips intentional enough to believe he'd had them planned for years.

Eddie didn’t know your body yet, not in the way he’d like to. But he was reading it in real-time. Cataloging every writhe and hitch of your breath so he knew where to return. The obsessive part of his brain often gets on his nerves, but he’s grateful for it now. Grateful he wants to see every move and sound you can make. There’s an artistry to it, a musicality. 

An inkling of panic arises when he begins to suckle on the side of your neck as you offer it. Not because he’s being rough, but because it’s overwhelming enough to want to crawl out of your skin. A soft whimper rises up your throat as your hands find his flexed biceps, digging in. You’re unsure of whether to pull him closer or push him away. 

Eddie rises from your neck on his own accord, running a finger over the spot. “You like it when I kiss you here, huh?” There’s a slow, honeyed quality to his voice. 

When you offer a helpless nod, he leans back down again, and you shudder as his mouth laves over the same sensitive area a little ways beneath your ear. Exasperated, you blindly paw for the waistband of his jeans, fingers shaky as you fiddle with his belt buckle.

Feeling your struggle, Eddie moves to press a final kiss to your throat before pulling away from your neck. 

“Stupid thing,” you pant, pouting up at him for help. 

Chuckling, Eddie reaches down with one hand to undo it with ease. Then, watches with blown pupils as you hurry to undo the button and zipper. He slips off the bed as smoothly as he can to remove his pants, black boxers tented and straining. A spark of heat surges through you as you press your thighs together at the sight. 

No sooner is he crawling back to help you out of your clothes. The lacy underwear set you’re wearing beneath is a pretty shade of baby blue, and Eddie can’t help but palm himself. 

“Jesus,” he sounds awed and devastated at the same time. “You’re so gorgeous...” 

Before he’s even had time to process, you take off your bra, baring your chest for him to see. Your nipples pebble with the new exposure and all of two seconds pass before he’s surging forward, sending you tumbling back to the mattress in a breath of startled laughter that he swallows down like a lifeline. 

You gasp into his mouth, back arching, as he cups one of your breasts, circling and rolling your nipple between his fingers. You’re barely kissing him back anymore, but he continues licking into your mouth as your lips part around shallow exhales. 

That’s when the phone begins to ring. Eddie sits back on his haunches despite your attempt to stop him. 

“Might be important.” His voice is rough. 

“They can leave a message.” 

He smirks, dragging a hand through his hair. “You sure?”

Lifting your leg, you run a careful foot over the swell of his boxers. He twitches at the contact. 

“You’re all I care about,” you murmur. “Need you, E.” There’s a desperate edge to your voice that draws him right back in.

“You’ve got me.” He runs a lone finger down the front of your panties. “Can I take these off?” You’re only half listening to his words, nodding to whatever. “Lift up for me.” The muscles of your thighs tremble as you do. 

Tossing your panties aside, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your belly button. Then another one just beneath it. A surprised sound rises up your throat when he gently spreads you open to kiss that swollen, sensitive part of you that’s pulsing with need.  

“Oh, gosh—” you stutter out, hands threading into his hair.

“Need me right here?” His voice is laced with a smile, and you can’t help a breathy laugh. Prideful warmth ignites in his chest. “Or do you need me somewhere else?” He trails playful, ticklish nips along your inner thighs, making you squirm. 

“Eddie, please…” 

He’s gracious enough to begin rubbing your clit in precise, measured circles, intently studying the pretty scrunch of your face.

“Firmer,” you instruct breathily, “—just like that, just like that.” Your legs spread wider instinctively, arching when he collects your slick with a slow, heavy finger. 

You’re already so on edge from his previous attention that it only takes a few moments before you ascend into bliss, muscles growing taut as your mouth falls agape. The strong, rhythmic pulses serve as your only touchpoint to reality along with Eddie’s tender caress at your slick, fluttering entrance. One he didn’t even have the chance to breach. 

“Look at you…” he says, voice thick. “Made it easy for me.” He laughs a little, more turned on than anything. 

“It’s not funny,” you halfheartedly assert, cheeks prickling. 

“No,” Eddie agrees. “Just super-duper hot.” 

As he raises up, you realize his other hand is tucked into his boxers, lazily stroking himself. A second wave of desire builds within you, overlapping the remnants of the first and any sense of embarrassment that had begun to kindle. It’s spurred by the deep flush of his cheeks, the way his eyes are soaking you in like he’s just witnessed the most beautiful unraveling. 

Under your hazy, watchful gaze, he scrambles off the bed. Without warning, he shoves his boxers down, kicking them from around his ankles. His arousal impressively springs up towards his stomach. You bite your lip at the rosy, leaking tip, the gorgeous vein snaking prominently along the underside. 

Eddie peeks over at you with a dazed quirk of his lips before retrieving his wallet from his jacket. He pulls out a square foil packet and promptly rips open with his teeth. 

Upon crawling back into the bed, he isn’t expecting you to take his cock in a loose hold, stroking upwards from the curly hair at the base to circle your thumb around the tip. There’s a pleasant tug low in his gut as he kicks up in your palm. 

“Sweetheart…” His voice is soft, nearly a plea. You let your hand glide back down, this time venturing lower to cradle the soft weight hanging beneath. He nearly buckles forward. “What're you doing to me?” he rasps. 

“Nothing,” you murmur innocently, wetting your hand and giving him a few more easy strokes, enjoying the warm, veiny feel of him before withdrawing your touch. 

He curses under his breath as he rolls the condom down, his gaze never leaving you as you reposition yourself to take him. 

“Eager beaver,” you lilt as he crowds over you. 

“Yeah,” he exhales. “I am.” 

He lines up at your entrance, tip catching as he collects your slick with a wavering breath.  

You open your legs even wider. “Want you,” you murmur, breathy and sweet. 

The expression on his face is like something from a painting, raw and rapturous as he eases into your encompassing warmth. He takes it slow, giving you time to relax around him as you breathe through the dull ache of welcoming him in. A low, guttural sound escapes him once he’s buried all the way. 

Your chests brush. Tears prick in your eyes at the closeness, the feeling of being filled so completely. 

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs, lips clumsy against your chin. “Like I made you up in my head.” 

He begins moving, slowly drawing back only to push back in. A steady rhythm finds him as your mouth falls open, legs hooking around his thighs. The muscles of his back ripple with his effort, and you chart every tense line with your fingertips. 

With a low groan, he makes a minor adjustment to reach that spongy spot within you. You arch into him with a whimper, breath catching in your throat. 

“There she is,” he whispers, reaching between your bodies to rub firm, steady circles against your clit. 

“Oh, god…” It sounds like you’re in pain even though you’re the furthest thing from it. When you close your eyes, tears stream down your face in twin streaks, surprising both of you. Eddie tenderly wipes them away, gaze soft. 

“You’re okay,” he promises. “It’s just me, angel.”

Except, Eddie isn't just anything. You’ve never felt so close to someone, so in tune, and somehow, it’s Eddie—sweet, goofy, wild-haired Eddie—who knew exactly what you needed. He picks up the pace as you arch and writhe beneath him, body yielding without question.

“You feel so good,” you whimper, clenching around him. 

His groan reverberates against your neck as his hips jerk sloppily, “Can’t say stuff like that…” Those words only make you tighten around him again.

The dazed way he mouths at your shoulder lets you know he’s clinging onto composure. You’re too warm, too everything—snug, and soft, and beautiful. He’s not ready for this feeling to end. This heady, binding haze of pleasure.  

“Eddie,” you breathe softly. “Wanna ride you…” 

Your plea nearly finishes him off. “Yeah?” he croaks.

You nod, whimpering. He barely withstands the feeling of slipping from within you. Shifting onto his back allows him a moment of reprieve, but he nearly loses himself when you straddle him, sinking back down with a circle of your hips. 

You brace your hands on his ribcage, steadily rocking on top of him as your head tips back. Sweat glistens in the divot of his sternum as he attempts to move in time with you. When you speed up, he closes his eyes to calm himself down. 

“Hey…where’d you go?” You croon, grazing your nails from his chest to his quivering stomach, relishing the feeling of his warm, dewy skin beneath your fingertips.

The wrecked way he forces his eyes back open almost makes you fall apart. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips as a greater sense of urgency awakens between you. It’s in the way you speed up, both eager, desperate, chasing. He memorizes the way your body moves over top of his, the bouncy sway of your chest. 

“You look so pretty taking me like this,” he shudders. “My pretty girl.” 

“Eddie…” you coo, high and breathy. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he chokes out. “Wanna feel you come around me so bad.” He’s babbling now, “Shit, I’m not gonna last. I can’t take it anymore, angel...I can’t—” 

The earnest crack of his voice sends you tumbling over the edge, vision spotting. Pleasure radiates throughout every fiber of your being as your walls contract around him. He stills your hips with a firm hold, bucking upwards and coming undone in surging waves. You slide your hands down his abdomen to feel him flex with each strong jolt that wracks him. 

As your body begins to relax, you blink down at him, lips parted as you catch your breath. Eddie throws an arm over his face as he sucks in air, neck and chest flushed pink. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. 

Both of you shudder as you ease off him. The pleasant ache of loss pulses between your legs as you partially lay down on top of him, hooking a leg over his waist. He traces along your thigh in light, soothing passes. You can feel his chest rising and falling. 

“You okay?” he eventually murmurs.

You nod, kissing his shoulder. “You?”

“I think so,” he chuckles weakly. 

●・○・●・○・●

The afterglow brings a quiet stillness to the air. Clean and beneath the sheets, you study Eddie’s long lashes, his nose, his plush lips. He eventually cracks a self-conscious smile.  

“What?” he questions. You shake your head because you don’t know what to say. He doesn’t look like he believes you. “C’mon...” 

So, you think of something, a small truth you’re willing to give him, “I just really enjoyed spending time with you tonight.”

He hums, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes. “What was your favorite part?” 

“Probably the food at Stillwater,” you say, though your fingertips are tracing along his jaw, then down his neck, trailing to his waistline to lightly brush between his hip bones as he squirms. “Best I’ve ever had,” you lilt. 

Eddie breaks into a flustered laugh, leaning over to sleepily kiss the coy smile from your lips. 

“But really, though,” you say afterward. “Thanks for tonight. Never met a guy quite like you.” 

Eddie realizes then that he’d better get a head start on counting his lucky stars. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think.

PART ONE

MORE

[withwritersblock]

Those Eyes

~Those Eyes by New West~

Author's Note: idk! tehe as always italics are flashbacks Summary: Y/N surprises Luke after a long few months near the end of his rookie season Warnings: implied smut, swearing Word Count: 3,887 Luke Hughes x fm!reader

The exhaustion on his face was heartbreaking enough. The loss was probably one of the hardest games she’s ever watched. The second half the roster left the ice within the first two seconds she knew it was going to be a long night.

They fought hard and almost tied it late but the game ended in a disappointed loss. The camera panned towards Luke dart towards the tunnel with his head hanging low. Her shoulders hung low as she dropped her head into her hands. 

She wanted nothing more than to hug him and hold him. 

A groan fell from her lips as she took a deep breath. She stood up and wrapped her dark blue blanket around her body as she stumbled out of her bedroom. The blanket was draped acrossed her shoulders as she snuggled the ends against her chest. 

“How’d it go?” her roommate and best friend, Hannah, said as she saw Y/N walk out of the room. 

“Bad,” she let out as she wandered towards the kitchen, in desperate need of an alcoholic drink. “Luke looked so tired,” her voice cracked slightly. 

“Shit,” Hannah muttered as she brushed a few pieces of hair away from her face. 

The party was in full swing and Luke spent most of the night trying to find Y/N. She promised that she was going to be there but not until after eleven. It was well past eleven and he couldn’t find her. 

Y/N texted him ten minutes ago and he was on the hunt for her instantly.

They were in a new relationship, only a few weeks but he was desperate to find her. There was barely any room to move or breathe. Shoving through the crowd, he kept shouting apologize yet no one seemed fazed by his efforts. Shimming his shoulders to the beat of the song every time he squeezed through a group of people to pretend like he was having a good time.

He would be having a good time if he could find her. Pressing his lips together he scanned the party. He was taller than majority of the crowd, so it was easy to scan the crowd. He brought his beer towards his lips as he bobbed his head to the music. Eyeing the crowd, he saw his teammates happily dancing with random girls they met just that night. 

He ran his fingers through his hair as he continued to scan the crowd, a couple of girls met his gaze. Smiling or shyly looking away, none of them were even close to his girl.

After a few seconds, he finally found her. It was as if time stopped once he saw her, she slowly turned her gaze towards him. Smiling widely towards him, she leaned away from the wall she was against. His heart jumped into his throat as he smiled widely. 

He began stumbling through the crowd, still shouting apologizes as he squeezed through a large crowd of his teammates. He looked up hoping to see her but he couldn’t, until he felt a tap against his arm. Spinning around, he met her gaze.

“Hey!” he shouted as he admired the way her lips curled up into a grin.

“I didn’t realize how crazy this was going to be!” she shouted back. Luke nodded as he rested his hand onto her lower back, subconsciously pulling her towards him. 

Leaning down, he whispered against her ear, “Do you want to stay out here or go somewhere quieter?” 

He pulled away, meeting her gaze. She pressed her lips together as she waved her finger towards him. He leaned back down as she delicately took a hold of his jaw. “Can we get a drink before we disappear?” she pulled back, her hand still holding his jaw. He immediately nodded. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he guided her towards the kitchen.

They bumped into a handful of his teammates and they were forced into conversations for a while before was able to get a drink. Even after she got her drink, she nearly finished it before they disappeared into his room.

He shut the door and the music instantly got quieter but it was still shaking the floor slightly. Luke smiled awkwardly towards her as he wiped his hand across his nose. She took another sip of her drink as she kept looking towards him.

“You know what I’m in the mood for?” Luke asked as he stepped towards her, taking a hold of her waist. He stole the drink from her and placed it onto the night stand beside his bed. He stumbled back towards his bed. She raised her eyebrows suspiciously, “A Friends marathon,” he let out as his legs hit the back of the bed, nearly forcing him to fall onto his back. 

She barked out a laugh as she rolled her eyes playfully, “I could always watch that,” she mumbled as she climbed over him, laying beside him. He looked towards her, smiling softly as he began to pull up the TV show. 

“Come ‘ere,” he mumbled as she happily laid in his arms.

Y/N took a hold of two White Claws and walked towards the living room. Hannah eyes widened as she held out her hand excitedly for the drink. Y/N tossed it towards her. They both popped open their drinks as she sat down beside Hannah. She draped the blanket over the both of them.

“You know, spring break is next week. You should go visit him,” Hannah offered before she brought the drink towards her lips. Y/N tilted her head back and let out a groan.

“I don’t have the money for that,” Y/N mumbled as she tilted her head against the top of the couch. Shutting her eyes, an image of Luke on the bench. Defeat written all over his features. 

“You know who does,” Hannah expressed, “Your boyfriend.”

“I am not going to ask him for money,” she let out before she brought the drink towards her lips. Hannah let out a long dramatic sigh as she smacked her hand against the couch dramatically. 

“It’s not asking him for money if it’s to visit him,” Hannah let out. Y/N pouted her lips as she tilted her head against the top of the couch. “Sounds like he really needs it,” Hannah urged. 

“Yeah,” she mumbled, “I need it too.” Y/N shifted her gaze towards the TV to see a movie on the screen. It was one of her favorites and it was one of the new ones on Netflix. 

Hannah shifted her gaze towards Y/N, frowning slightly before glancing back towards the screen. Hannah clenched her jaw as she frowned slightly. Y/N pulled her phone from her hoodie pocket, glancing at her phone screen to see a photo of Luke and herself.

It was a photo from one of his frat parties, the lights were dark and it was nearing the end of the party. They were both asleep on the half broken couch, they were facing one another, Luke’s hands were wrapped around her body. One of his hands were on the base of the neck and his other was low on her hip. Her arms were around his upper body. In the photo, Dylan was tossing a blanket over them in the live photo and Mark was giggle as he took the photo.

Blinking rapidly, she felt her eyes start to well up in tears. She turned off the screen as she tilted her head back up to meet Hannah’s eye. There was a look in her eye that felt as though she was right. 

After a few seconds, her phone started to ring. Pulling her phone up to see Luke was calling her. 

She shot up, staring at his contact photo for a moment. It was a screenshot of him on FaceTime after he scored his first goal. He was smiling and laughing and so happy. It’s been a little while since she’s seen him like that.

Jumping off of the couch, she tossed the blanket towards Hannah. She brought the phone towards her ear. Neither of them said anything at first. Y/N walked towards her bedroom.

Luke took in a sharp breath as he sniffled. 

“Luke, are you back at the hotel?” she questioned, before swallowing hard. He hummed. Shutting the door behind her, she immediately collapsed onto her bed. “Are you okay?” she asked. 

“No,” he choked out, “I’m so tired and I want the season to be done and my body fucking hurts,” he explained as he started to cry. She’s only seen him cry tears of joy. “I don’t know how to do this, I can’t do it anymore-it’s too much. I just want to go back to school and you. I just want to go back to you,” he sobbed. “I can’t do another year of this,”

He took another sudden breath and another sob falling from his lips. 

“Lukey, I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, “The season’s almost done, my love-”

“What if I don’t make it?” he let out, his voice completely cracking in the process. 

“M-make what?” she let out while shaking her head. It was silent on his end of the phone as she heard him sniffle and take a deep breath.

“I’m supposed to be as good as Quinn and I-I can’t and the fans hate me,” 

“They don’t hate you, Luke,” she tried to comfort him. “You’re a Calder contender, Luke that’s incredible, love, you’re almost through the toughest year in the league. You’re getting through this,” she explained, trying not to tear up. 

“When do you graduate again?” he let out, his voice cracked.

“Decemember,” she mumbled, “Barely a year left, my love.”

“I can’t do another year without you,” 

That was the moment she realized that she needed to visit him when he was back in New Jersey. For the next hour she was on the phone with him, calming him down. There wasn’t much of anything that she could say that truly could make him feel better. He was so exhausted that he ended falling asleep while on the phone with her.

After Luke fell asleep, she immediately called Jack. It ran a few times before he answered. “Uh-hey, Y/N?” he let out groggily. 

“Hey Jack, I’m sorry that I woke you,” 

“‘S cool, what’s wrong?” he muttered. 

She took in a shaky breath, “Luke’s really struggling and I was hoping you could help me with something,” she mumbled. There was shuffling on his end of the phone.

“Do you need money for a flight? I’ll do anything, the kid is miserable,” he let out a dry chuckle before he continued to shuffle on his end of the phone.

Taking in a deep breath, “Yeah.”

“Okay, so we come back late Saturday, can you be here by then? Our neighbor has an extra key. I’ll let him know that you’ll be there to grab it,” he explained.

“Wait really?” she asked.

“He needs to see you. I’ll keep it a suprise,” he expressed. “Just let me know how much the flights are,” 

“Thank you Jack,” her voice cracked as she spoke.

The party was nearing it’s end but Luke and Y/N were already in his room. It was normal for them to disappear near the end of the parties. Or in the middle of the parties. Or in the beginning of the parties. It was something they’ve been doing since the first party she attended six months ago.

He was laying on the bed, his hands were resting beneath his head. Sitting up, she brushed a few pieces of hair away from her face. Her lips fell into a pout as she delicately glided her hands across the curve of his abs line. 

Pouting his lips, his eyes flickered up and down her frame. The small skin tight dress was starting to ride up her thighs. More and more of her skin was starting to get exposed. Swallowing hard, he tilted his head to the side. Pulling his hand away from his head, he took a delicate hold of the side of her thigh. He began to absentmindedly rub against her skin. 

“Do you want to change into something comfier?” he asked as he ran his hand higher and higher. A small smirk formed to her lips as she leaned towards him. Her hands slowly glided up from his abs towards his jawline. Her fingertips glided so softly, his skin started to erupt in goosebumps. 

His lips curled upward slowly as she slowly climbed onto his lap. His cheeks started to flush red as he continued to look towards her. 

“I don’t really have anything here,” she mumbled as she slowly leaned towards him. His hands slowly slipped down towards the back of her thighs. He squinted his eyes slightly as he fought the smile that was starting to form on his lips.

“I’ve got clothes. Pretty comfy clothes. I mean I think they’re pretty comfy,” he mumbled as he took in a sharp breath. She giggled as she leaned towards him, delicately pressing her lips against his. He hummed against her lips as his slowly ran his hands up the back of her thighs, climbing higher up her dress. She pulled away, raising her eyebrows suspiciously. 

“Well give me some options,” she muttered before pressing her lips against his again for a few seconds. He smacked his hands against her ass forcing a giggle from her lips. “Luke!” she scolded as she climbed off his lap. 

He fought off a grin forming to his lips as he followed after her. Stumbling towards his closet, she adjusted the bottom of her dress. Biting his bottom lip, he started looking through his t-shirts and hoodies. 

“O-or you could just take the dress off,” he said shyly. Looking down towards her, she looked up towards him widening her eyes while fighting off a smirk.

“Are you trying to get me naked?” she let out teasingly. He pursed his lips forward, a blush forming to his cheeks. 

“I didn’t-I mean. If you don’t feel comfortable or-”

“Luke,” she teased as she rested her hands onto his arms, “I was messing with you.”

“Right,” he muttered as he took in a sharp breath as he reached into his closet and pulled out a random t-shirt. “It’s-um pretty comfy if you want-” he let out.

She smiled up towards him as she took a hold of the shirt. She stepped backwards, looking into his eyes. “Can you help me?” she asked, smirking softly. Slowly, she spun around and pulled her hair away from her neck. Luke swallowed harshly as he felt his heart racing suddenly.

“Are you sure? I was technically kidding-”

“Luke,” she whispered.

“Right,” he let out as he slowly reached his hands towards her. He delicately rested his hand onto her hip while he reached for the zipper. He clenched his jaw nervously as he slowly started to glide the zipper down her back. Once it was completely unzipped he kept his hands on her waist. “Can I?” he asked barely above a whisper. She hummed.

Stepping towards her, he slowly glided his hand up her back. He slowly began to push the dress off of her body. Leaning towards her delicately pressed his lips against her shoulder. Tilting her head back, she rested it against his chest. Slowly the dress fell from her frame. Luke’s hands happily wrapped around her body as she spun around to face him.

Looking up into his eyes, he felt his heart jump into his throat. “Is this okay?” he let out. She nodded as he leaned towards her kissing her softly yet urgently. Reaching down, he took a hold of her thighs. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she jumped up wrapping her legs around his waist. He walked towards the bed and delicately laid her onto it.

She looked up towards him with those eyes that he could never get tired of seeing. He smirked as he climbed on top of her, urgently leaning down and kissing her passionately.

She had been pacing in Luke’s apartment for nearly an hour as she waited for both Jack and Luke to enter the apartment. Jack explained that after they landed in the airport, they would be back at their place within the hour. Which she found out was a lie because it’s been much longer than an hour and she needed to hold him. 

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she quickly pulled it out to see a text from Jack. They were almost up from the parking garage. She took in a deep breath as she continued to pace in a short three step cadence.

Her body was engulfed in tingles as she was starting to breath heavier and heavier. This was the first time she’s even attempted a surprise like this and she was feeling the pressure.

Especially since Jack had been texting her since they planned it, telling her how much Luke needed to see her. How much he needed this surprise. It was everything for both of them.

She heard keys outside of the door and Luke’s laugh. 

She stopped moving, nearly stopped breathing. She stood awkwardly a handful of feet away from the front door. 

The door was pushed open and Jack was the first one to step inside. He had a wide grin on his face as he nearly hopped away from the front door, holding his phone up excitedly. 

Luke’s gaze was on his phone as he walked inside. Abesentmindedly slipping his shoes off and rolling his suitcase to the side. He shoved his phone into his pocket at the same time she felt her phone vibrate in hers. 

Luke lifted his gaze to see her standing in the living room. Their eyes connected and it felt like time stopped. 

His mouth fell open as stood in shock for only a second. “Oh my god,” he mumbled as he began to blink rapidly. His lips started to quiver and fall into a small pout as he took fast steps towards her.

A giggle fell from her lips as he held his hands out widely as he practically leaped towards her. He completely submerged her body in his as he urgently took a hold of her. She wrapped her arms around the center of his back. 

“Oh my god,” he let out as he shut his eyes harshly. One of his hands took a hold of the center of her back as his other one took a hold of her head, holding her tightly to his chest. 

He didn’t let go, he couldn’t because if he did let go, she could be gone and he could wake up from a dream. 

“Fuck,” he let out as he pulled away, but kept his hand on her lower back and he moved his hand to the base of her neck. Scanning his features, she saw a few tears fall onto his cheek. Quickly, he submerged her in a bear hug again, still afraid of letting go. 

Still holding her to her chest, he shifted his gaze towards Jack; who was no longer recording. He was simply smiling as he leaned his head against the wall. “Did you know?” he asked Jack. He simply nodded before he started walking towards his own bedroom. 

After several more seconds, he finally pulled away. His hands were still rested on her waist as he looked deeply into her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he mumbled, “I can’t-” he shook his head as a wide smile formed to his lips. Bringing his hands up, he wiped the tears falling from his cheek. “Cried twice this week, new record I think,” he joked as he reluctantly stepped away from her.

She pouted her lips as she watched he jog towards his suitcase quickly before he began dragging it. He held his hand out towards her and she gladly accepted it. They both began to walk towards his bedroom. He dragged the suitcase into his room, leaving it next to the door before he shifted his gaze towards her. 

“You’re actually here,” he mumbled.

“I am,” she let out barely above a whisper. He smiled softly as he rested his hands onto her cheeks and pulled her towards him. He kissed her as if a bomb was about to go off if he didn’t. His entire body relaxed the second he felt her lips on his. 

It was almost as if every ounce of tension, body pain, and exhaustion left his body. Her hands rested on his chest as also felt her entire body relax. He pulled away, taking a small breath as he rested his forehead against hers.

“You have to tell me how you and Jack pulled this off,” he muttered before he stepped back. A chuckle fell from her lips. He pulled the winter jacket away from his body, his cheeks were flushed red. She sat down on the bed looking up towards him.

“After the Rangers game and after we talked, I called him and he helped me with getting a flights until Wednesday. I couldn’t not see you after that,” she explained. He tiled his head to the side for a moment before he took off his hoodie. He tossed it towards the floor before he stepped towards her. He took a hold of her chin. 

“Best girlfriend ever,” he mumbled half joking as he looked into her eye. While maintaining eye contact she scooted away from him, lying at the center of the bed. He quickly climbed on top of her. A giggle fell from her lips as his body weight was crushing her for a brief moment. He rested his head in the crook of her neck, as she ran her hand up and down his back slowly. Her fingertips sent shivers up and down his body. 

Every few seconds, he’d sleepily press his lips against her neck. “Lukey,” she muttered. 

He hummed.

“I love you,” she whispered. She could feel him smile against her neck for a few seconds before he lifted his head up to meet her eye. Leaning down, he kissed her softly as he began to hold himself up as their lips remained connected. 

Her hands started gliding through his hair, as he slowly pulled away. His lips were still hovering over hers, “I love you so much,” he muttered before he pecked her lips a few times before he reluctantly rolled onto his back. He began to slip under the comforter, she followed in pursuit. 

“If I didn’t have a game tomorrow, we would be busy but-” he explained while rolling onto his side to face her. Following him, she faced him as she reached her hand over and delicately took a hold of his cheek. He shut his eyes as his lips slowly curled upward in a small smile. 

“I know, my love, sleep good,” she whispered. He bit his bottom lip as he reached towards her, taking a hold of her thigh and dragging her body towards him, practically on top of him. 

“Oh I will,” he whispered before he pressed his lips against hers for a long moment. “You really are the best, you know that?” he whispered against her lips. 

[princessbrunette]

ᡣ𐭩 ｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅PRINCESSBRUNETTES SCREAM SALON INTRODUCES … ໒꒰ྀི ˃̵ ࿁ ˂̵ ꒱ྀིა

PICTURE YOU ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

♩chappell roan — picture you ♩

pairing: pervy pope, jj, john b x reader

cw: sexual fantasies, the pogues being peeping toms, masturbation.

you are responsible for your own media consumption. welcome to kinktober day five. better late than never!

pope knew was he was doing was wrong. you were his neighbour for christs sake.

at the end of the day, he was but a man— and whilst he had no intention of stooping to full pervert level like this, he had slipped up and bragged to the wrong people, AKA — jj maybank, about how his fine ass neighbour had a certain… routine, every friday night… and would leave her bedroom blinds open for it.

the regret fully kicked in when he opened his front door, seeing the excited expression on his two best friends faces.

“no. i shouldn’t have told you.” is how pope greets them.

“dude it’s fine,” jj reiterates, easily moving past him in the entrance to his house with a clap on the shoulder, an only slightly less enthused john b following closely behind with an awkward but willing smile. “we’re not gonna watch. we’re just gonna… like — happen to glance out the window. while she’s flickin’ the bean.”

“thats — that doesn’t make it any more okay.” pope stresses, following his friends up to his bedroom.

“look, she leaves her blinds open right? isn’t that what you said? have you maybe considered that… possibly, and hear me out on this… she wants to be watched?” john b, usually the voice of reason finds it in himself to convince pope just that little more, wide puppy-like eyes doing most of the convincing. he’s probably the only reason pope hasn’t grabbed them both by the scruff of the neck and hauled them out.

the night goes on, and honestly — the perverted plan is nearly forgotten about until their attention is brought to the window just across from popes, the lamp switching on as you arrived home from work. john b swivels on popes desk chair, nodding his head toward the sight with a whistle.

“oop, shows starting.”

“honey, i’m home.” jj sings out in a high pitched voice, excited for what’s to come.

“you’re so much better than this, john b.” pope deadpans, double taking at jj as he switches off the lights to the bedroom sending them all into darkness. “what the hell?”

“do you wanna get caught creepin’ on your neighbour? no? didn’t think so.”

“you done this before jayj?” there’s a lilt of teasing to the brunettes voice as his blonde counterpart grabs a seat and drags it up beside him, the young adults gathered as they watch your figure dart around the room going about your nightly activities.

“shh.”

the boys curse, ducking down slightly when you suddenly appear at your window, fingers grazing the blinds. they stay deadly still in the dark, barely even breathing as to not draw attention to the fact they’re gathered round to watch you. you look pensive, hesitant, like you’re about to draw the blinds and shut the world out and yet… you don’t. you back away, leaving them open.

“huh.” pope breathes, glancing at his wavy haired friend.

“likes an audience. interesting.” routledge hums, voice deep and breathy.

you begin to undress, and they swear the air in the room gets thicker. peeling your leggings down your legs like they’d been painted onto you for the day creates an audible reaction from your neighbour and his friends, jj even going as far as to stick his knuckle in his mouth.

“god damn.” he garbles, earning a hum of agreement.

“oh you really lucked out here pope. the only neighbour i ever had was a 70 year old woman. trust me when she left her blinds open you look the other way.” john b doesn’t remove his eyes from the scene as he recounts the anecdote, causing pope to screw up his face.

the truth was, pope did have his own fantasies and perversions. he told himself time and time again, he wasn’t watching. he was at his desk first, you left your blinds open. visions of you at the library you worked at, helping him with research in that little mini skirt he saw you wear once. bending over to rummage shelves, sweet fat crescent of your pussy on display through your panties. pope would have no choice but to take you right there on the table behind the bookshelves, the two of you trying to stay quiet as he disappears between your thighs, seeking out that sweet nectar…

when he snaps out of it, you’re already on the bed, in perfect eyeshot of the window. just you, that dim lamp that made your skin seem to glow, an oversized tshirt and some panties.

“you guys don’t feel wrong doing this?” pope speaks in a hushed voice like you might be able to hear.

“how could something so right be so wrong, my friend?” jj pulls out a joint to stick into his mouth, only to have it plucked from his lips and tossed aside by the heyward boy.

“i’m drawing a line.”

“alright, that’s fair.”

“you guys are missing it.” john b hums, entranced by the way you palm at your tits through the top, eyes fluttering shut as your body starts to relax into the bed. “putting on a show for us.”

silence falls upon them finally as they stare, your hands trailing down to lift the hem of your shirt up and over your breasts, massaging the fat and plucking at the nipples.

“oh wow.” pope breathes, jj breaking out into a grin.

“this is some american pie shit right here.”

“grow up.”

“i’m just saying.”

it seems like forever before your hands reach down to your panties, fingers gingerly dusting over the thin fabric of what appears to be baby blue panties with a pink bow at the top centre. jj even swears he can see the gloss of your arousal on your open thighs from where he’s sat. you begin to rub yourself through the material, teasingly and you pull your bottom lip beneath your teeth, sucking in a breath.

“th’atta girl.” john b murmurs, and the air in the room suddenly feels too hot, too stifling. it wasn’t this hot five minutes ago.

“its like i… can’t look away.” pope justifies in just above a whisper, finally perching down to a more comfortable view, watching the way your head tosses side to side, back arching just that little bit as you try and find a better angle. patience leaves you, and you’re pulling the panties off all together.

“would you look at that.” jj marvels, before glancing at his two friends. “y’all mind if i jerk off real quick?”

“what?” pope screws up his face, and john b glances at him.

“yeah, uh. i mind.”

“it can’t wait?” pope adds, shaking his head and jj throws up his hands.

“i thought that’s what we were doing’ here alright my bad!” he dodges john b’s disapproving swat, eyes wide. “oh that’s where you draw the line? y’all are not real freaks.”

“no.” john b shakes his head, pope chiming in with a “thank god.”

but as their attention lands on you once more, your fingers sinking into that glossy hole — they begin to really reconsider their choice.

[go-fornicate-yourself]

Every day I am in the trenches fighting for my life defending this poor man. He was going through so much and people online demonize him and say he's as bad as his abuser

(I've got a lot of thoughts about this so I'll make sure to separate things to make it easier to look at lol)

Curly is a victim of abuse. Jimmy is his abuser. This is something that I feel a lot of people tend to brush over or don't acknowledge it often.

And I'm not just talking about post-crash. Jimmy's abuse of Curly is there pre-crash too. The party scene where the crew learns about the company going under is a huge example of this. Jimmy verbally abuses him, he gaslights him, he blames him for their (his) misfortune. Jimmy accuses Curly of thinking he's better than everyone (better than him), that he doesn't care about them (about him). That he's going leave them (leave him). Which is not true. Curly tries to explain himself but Jimmy shuts him down and he just takes it.

The fact that he just allows this to happen makes it seem like he's used to this... That this kind of behavior is a recurring thing with Jimmy. And the fact that nobody else tries to defend him or stands up to Jimmy just normalizes it for him. When Anya tells Curly what Jimmy did it catches him off guard. Bc he genuinely didn't think that his friend was capable of that. It wasn't something that was obvious to him. There were absolutely many red flags in the past but they were subtle enough for him to not see them bc he cares for Jimmy, he trusts him. Jimmy's the only one he feels he can open up to, who he can let his guard down with. Jimmy's his home. That's how close they are.

Because of this deep love for his friend and the subtlety of Jimmy's cruelty, he doesn't see the constant verbal and emotional abuse as what it is: abuse. Which is why he finds Jimmy's abuse towards Anya so shocking and jarring.

He isn't a man covering for his rapist friend bc of the 'bro code'. It does look like that from a certain angle and it's understandable why people see it that way but that's not what his character is really about as much as it makes sense otherwise.

He's essentially a battered housewife who's still in love with her husband but is realizing for the first time that the man she loves is a monster. That the man she loves and devoted her life to has been hurting her this whole time and she didn't even realize it. That the man she loves and spent so much of her life caring for has gone and hurt someone else. That he's most likely hurt others before and she's been utterly unaware of it the entire time she defended him and made excuses for him when he wasn't the best or the fairest or the most responsible or when he screwed up yet again solely bc of how much she loved and cared for him.

And Curly barely had any time to process ANY of that before Jimmy decided to try and kill them all to avoid the consequences of his actions. It was ultimately a selfish act even if he thought he wasn't just doing it for himself. Jimmy is selfish and needs to be in control or he loses it. He cares for Curly. He loves him. Curly's done so much for him. Curly's the only one who understands him, who doesn't hate him. Curly's his home. He resents how 'successful' he is but that's only bc he thinks so highly of him. He constantly puts himself down and put Curly on a pedestal and worships him while simultaneously mistreating him.

He treats his best friend like shit, he's awful to him. But he's not aware that this is the case or maybe he's in denial about it. He can't or just refuses to see how he's doing all of what he does for himself in the end. He justifies his attempt to kill them all (to himself and to Curly) by claiming he's doing this for them both. That if they were to get back to earth it would all be Curly's fault, that it'll ruin his life and career... despite the fact he had basically nothing to do with Anya's abuse. Jimmy's shifting the blame on him while acting like he cares for him. Well, he does genuinely care for him but clearly not nearly enough to not mistreat him or use him as a scapegoat for his own guilt.

Jimmy is the rapist, Jimmy is the one who does all of these horrible things. And yet it's highly likely that Curly would just blame all of it on himself bc that's exactly what Jimmy did to him. He's in so deep he can't see the facts of the situation.

It takes abuse victims so long to come to terms with their abuse. It takes time and reflection to see things with an unbiased and healthy perspective. Abuse (especially years of it) isn't just something you can just escape. It consumes you and can twist your reality. Curly had about a week or less to process all of it and then take action in a way that protected his crew and abided by Pony Express' guidelines. Dealing with something this serious in a setting that makes resolving it extremely difficult in a practical sense is already hard.

There were no locks on any of the doors except for medical and the cockpit. They couldn't just kill him. There was nowhere they could detain Jimmy that wouldn't involve corporate potentially penalizing the entire group. They could have used the cryopods but then there'd only be three available for any actual emergency and there were already five crew members and four pods in total. Also, I doubt corporate would be 'okay' with them using the cryopods for anything other than their intended purpose. Hell, even if they were able to make it back to earth without any incidents there's a good chance that corporate would consider the situation 'poor team synergy' and collectively punish the entire crew for Jimmy's actions.

So on top of having to deal with an already difficult situation, Curly has to grapple with the realization that Jimmy a: abused Anya, b: has been abusing him as well (for a very long time too), and c: has probably abused others before Anya and he had no idea about it. He needed to act but he didn't and it doomed all of them.

But it's so unrealistic (maybe even cruel) to put that much pressure on someone, force them through an utterly earth-shattering realization, and then expect them to do the correct/right/responsible thing in that moment. It's a little ironic how people vilify him for that when other characters do the same thing that nobody blames for it.

Anya is the ship's nurse. Curly is the ship's captain. They both have duties and responsibilities on board the Tulpar. She has to keep the crew healthy and safe and is the only one with enough medical knowledge to do so. He has to make sure that everything goes well and goes according to procedure. He's responsible for the crew, the cargo, and even the ship itself. Both positions are integral and require a lot of responsibility to do properly

They're both put through distressing and traumatic situations where due to them being human people with emotions and fears that make them essentially avoid their responsibility/doing what's required of them.

Curly has a freeze response and doesn't act when he should have when it was crucial to have done so. Anya has a fawn response and essentially puts her patient in danger and harm's way. She knew full well what Jimmy was capable of. She experienced it herself and she witnessed it happening to Curly as well. And yet she allows Jimmy to be alone with Curly while being fully aware of how dangerous he is. Which she shouldn't have, that wasn't the 'right' thing to do. Keeping him safe was her responsibility.

But Anya's human. She's going through a lot at the moment. She's terrified of Jimmy and she's trying to appease him so he doesn't hurt her again. It's a natural very understandable thing to do even if it's not the 'right' or 'responsible' thing. They failed each other when they needed each other most and I think that's the most tragic part of it. If anything, all of them failed each other in some way, shape, or form.

So it's incredibly frustrating to see people give Anya so much sympathy and grace for doing something so human yet still 'wrong' but then turn around and give Curly none of that for doing essentially the same thing she does.

I don't know for sure if it's actually because Curly is a man or if it's only part of it or maybe some people just lack that sense of awareness but it's depressing and frustrating as fuck as a male victim of sexual violence and abuse to see this kind of behavior and this much victim blaming towards a character who is undeniably a victim of abuse like I am.

[mywritersmind]

pookieeee how are youuu 💗 I'm in NEED of a Franco fic where the reader is João Félix's little sister...

So she obvi speaks Portuguese and English (maybe some Italian in there too) butttt unlike her brother her Spanish is rusty. So when reader drags her brother (and of course some of the guys from the team) to support her best friend at a race, he's listening in to every little comment Franco makes about her in Spanish and trying to subtly give hints to reader that he likes her, and of course some good brother teasing! Just hardcore fluff, friend pining and good old family banter!

HE CAN UNDERSTAND - FC43

listen up : i used google translate don’t come for me. not proofread! super cute and fluffy! loved this request sorry if i didng execute it well😭

word count : 2281

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“Franco!” I jump into my best friends arms as he laughs. The moment I asked for three Grand Prix tickets, he sent them over immediately and went on a rant of how excited he was to see me.

“Y/n!” He grins widely at me, “I’m so happy you’re here!” He's in his race suit, his hair messy and extra wavy. I run my hand through it, fixing it a bit.

“You’re a mess.” I laugh as he pushes my hand away and rolls his eyes, “Oh!” I suddenly remember that my brother is standing behind me. “This is my brother, João! I can’t believe you two haven’t met!” I smile at both of them as my brother shakes Franco’s hand.

Oddly professional for someone he knows I love. “Nice to finally meet you. Y/n never shuts up about you.” I slightly blush at his words as Franco lets out a laugh.

“Good to know…” Franco gives us a mini tour. I'm so beyond happy for him. This has been his dream since forever, the first time I met him he even jokingly flirted and said I could be a WAG.

Franco is charming and hilarious so my brother likes him instantly. We end up in the William’s garage, everyone scrambling around and talking in languages I can’t understand.

Since it’s race day, i’m genuinely surprised Franco had the time to see us. Especially since Qualifying was earlier today.

But my best friend works in magical ways.

⋆༺

FRANCO

I watch Y/n talk to Alex’s girlfriend. I watch as her hair flows down her back and her hand covers her mouth as she laughs. “So,” João turns to me, sort of intimidating for his height but so far I think he approves of me. “You’ve known Y/n for a while, huh?”

I nod, “Yeah, she hasn't been able to shake me yet.” He laughs, nodding his head.

“You care about her?” Why do I feel like i’m getting interrogated?

I nod, “Of course. She’s my best friend.”

“I mean as more than a friend.”

I laugh uncomfortably, joking with him, “Are you asking me my intentions?” He does not find this funny. I clear my throat and breathe out, “We’re just friends.”

Y/n comes skipping back over to us. I’ve always been taught to not lie, but i’m not about to confess that I like her to fucking brother.

“J, you’ve got to see his car!” She takes his arm and pulls him away, “You coming, Fran?”

I’m about to follow after them but my engineer taps my shoulder, “Gimmie one second! Don't touch anything, Y/n, I know how you are!”

She gives me one of her signature smiles, making my pulse quicken and my smile falter. I catch her brother giving me an odd look before I sit up and wave.

I turn to my engineer who’s smiling, big, “Dios mío, te estás sonrojando.” (My god, you’re blushing.) I roll my eyes at him, turning to see Y/n point to my car and start asking questions to someone in blue.

“¡Cállate por favor!” (Shut up please!) Her Spanish is more than rusty. I've tried to teach her some but she gets distracted and she always ends up persuading me into something different. Still, it’s weird talking about her when she’s right there.

“Vamos, ¡te gusta! Es la forma en que la miras... como si fuera el sol.” (Come on, you like her! It’s the way you look at her… like she’s the sun.) I push his shoulder at his words. Christ, is it that obvious?

“Actúas como si fuera un cachorrito enamorado.” (You act like i’m some lovesick puppy)

“¡Porque lo eres! Siempre hablas de ella, tu pantalla de bloqueo es ella, ¡siempre le estás enviando mensajes de texto! Admítelo.” (Because you are! You always talk about her, your lock screen is her, you are always texting her! Just admit it.)

I cross my arms at him, not daring to glance back at her. “No voy a arruinar mi relación con ella…” I shake my head and tease him, “¡Ahora vuelve a trabajar!” (I’m not ruining my relationship with her… now get back to work!)

I join Y/n and João again, smiling and doing my duty as a tour guide. João gives me another weird look and i’m hoping it’s not because i’m losing his trust. I know i’m not her boyfriend, but I still want him to like me.

They are soon asked to step into the visitors area as I warm up for the race. Y/n kisses my cheek before she goes, “Good luck, Fran. Be careful!” I know my cheeks are red but all I can focus on is her so close to me, her lips on my cheek.

I nod, “Thank you. Have fun watching.” I wink at her and turn, getting ready.

⋆༺

YOU

“I’m so nervous! It’s so rainy!” I bite my lip as the cars go out on track in a second formation lap. The race hasn’t even started and someone’s already out!

My brother eyes me, he’s been acting weird all day and I hate it. He suddenly turns to me, “You don’t like Franco?”

It catches me off guard, “Uh… of course I do?” He rolls his eyes.

“I mean can you see yourself with him? I think you’d be cute.” I laugh out loud.

“João, when have you ever wanted me to date someone?” Especially Franco. I mean, maybe i’ve thought about it.

Okay maybe I've fantasized about it… a lot.

But what am I supposed to do? Confess to my best friend who’s always been there for me that I think he’s irresistible and criminally hot? No.

“I just think if you’re gonna date anyone… He’s a good option.” My cheeks heat as I shake my head, “You’re blushing! Come on, Y/n, why not?”

“Just shut up, the race is starting!”

The next time he brings it up is at a yellow flag, “He’s definitely nicer than your ex.” I give him a death glare and attempt to tune him out, “And who did you go crying to after he broke your heart….?” Franco. The answer is Franco because he’s always there.

It’s been hard recently because of his races, but he’s constantly texting or calling me. I think he just wants someone to gossip with.

“Again, he’s my friend. Just because you have a girlfriend now doesn’t mean you know everything!”

“No but I know everything about you, and you don’t look at your other friends like that.” I hate that stupid smug smile on his face. And I hate that he’s right.

My stomach drops when Franco goes into the wall. I grab onto my brother's arm who doesn’t look concerned at all and more happy that i’m so worried! I slap his arm, “You have no empathy!”

I cross my arms, biting my lip as I watch him exit the car. Thank god he’s okay.

Franco gives me a small thumbs up when he’s back in the garage. I can tell he’s absolutely gutted, the air is awkward and thick with tension since Franco’s crash meant that the whole team's weekend is over.

The race is long and honestly scary. Still, all I can think about is Franco.

Maybe this weekend, his attention to me, my brothers comments, and how Franco’s been looking at me, has finally sealed what I've been dreading.

I’ve known I like him for a while, but I don’t want to ruin us. I can’t be embarrassed by my closest friend!

I’m not an idiot, I see how he flirts with interviewers or even fans. Part of me wants to believe that’s just his personality, but the other part is screaming at me that he doesn’t like me.

His eyes though, he looks at me so deeply that sometimes I feel like I'm apart of some big trick.

“Hey,” My brother nudges me, “Race is over.” I snap out of whatever daze I was in and nod, “I gotta pee, go talk to Franco!”

When I look to where he points, Franco’s already looking at me. His race suit is unzipped and he looks so tired. “Hi.” He smiles softly but I can tell it’s forced.

“Sorry your first race with me sucked.” He frowns, leaning against the little barrier from the garage and friends and family.

“Hey…” I touch his arm briefly, “It did not suck! And It’s not your fault. It was scary though…”

His eyes look sad and I know it’s not just because he crashed. Franco feels so deeply and this weekend has been especially hard for him. I can tell he sees the worry on my face, “I'm really really happy you’re here. We’re getting dinner later, right?”

I go to the hotel with João first. We change and meet back at the restaurant. “I’m so hungry!” I groan as we sit down, Franco said he would be here soon but I am not above ordering early.

João sits across from me, “Gotta wait for your boyfriend.”

I eye him, “You better not say anything in front of Franco. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.” He laughs a bit.

“I really don’t think I will.” He’s so ominous today. “I can tell i’m making you uncomfortable though. My only question is… why?”

“Why?”

“Why can’t you accept that you like him? He’s obviously not going to turn you down. He’s practically got hearts in his eyes when he talks to you.” The waiter brings water which I gulp down immediately.

“I- No! I can’t like him. He’s my friend.”

“So you’ve said… but the best relationships start out that way.” Why is he pushing this so much?

“I just… I don’t want to ruin our relationship.”.

“Funny…” he mumbles something, “That's what he said too.” but I can’t hear him because Franco sits and starts saying hello.

Our dinner is amazing, the food is perfect and I can’t stop laughing at Franco and João. “You’ve gotta come to a match sometime!” My brother laughs, “The team would love you.”

Franco grins, “I would be honored! Y/n always talks about your games, you’re pretty good apparently.” This boosts my brother's ego far too much and we end the night while talking about football and childhood stories.

“He always teased me with his friends!” I roll my eyes at the memory, “They were all learning Spanish in highschool so I never understood them!”

Franco laughs as João shakes his head, “Why didn’t you take spanish in highschool?”

“I did! I just never caught on. Plus João became fluent after school anyway so his schooling barely helped.” I shrug as Franco’s expression turns odd.

He blinks, looking to João, “You’re fluent?”

“Si.” He looks almost smug about it as Franco nods slowly, swallowing.

“Así que escuchaste…” (So you heard…)

“Todo.” (Everything) Franco’s smile drops completely at my brothers words. But my brother still carries on with a smile, “Eres muy obvio, pero lo apoyo.” (You’re very obvious, but I support it.)

I frown at their communication that I can’t understand, “Okay, can you two stop gossiping? I’m ready to leave.” Franco smiles at me, nodding slowly as we stand.

Our walk back to the hotel is short and luckily no fans interrupt it. The warmth of the inside makes me smile and the ding of the elevator makes me yearn for my bed.

“Uh, Y/n?” I look back at Franco as he talks, “Could I speak to you for a moment…” I look at my brother who nods, a smile still on his face as he disappears behind the elevator doors. “Let’s go outside.”

It’s no longer raining so we venture out into the hotel's garden. It’s beautiful with tall plants and trees, a small path that we walk on, and flowers that I've never seen before.

“What did you walk to talk to me about?” I turn to him, he looks oddly scared and a bit chilly. He starts to speak but then closes his mouth and thinks, “Franco…?”

“I like you.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, I freeze, “I really like you and not just as a friend… like way more than that.”

I blink, “You’re kidding?”

The panic on his face is immediate, “No?”

“Shit. Okay!” I realize i’m so caught up in my own world that he probably thinks I don’t like him, “I feel the same.”

He breathes out, stepping closer, “You fucking scared me.”

I smile, not believing this is even real, “You really like me? Because my brother has been making me feel delusional all day!” He takes my hand in his and I swear my heart skips a beat.

“He heard me talking about you in spanish…” I raise a brow, “My engineer was teasing me and I didn’t know he spoke it!” I laugh, shaking my head at his story, “But I'm glad he did. I probably would be sitting in my room all alone if he hadn't.”

I grip his hand tighter, stepping closer, “I’m really glad too. I didn’t want to ruin anything but fuck I really like you.”

He grins and leans in, He paused before I nod. Franco presses a kiss to my lips softly, “I can’t believe you have a crush on me.” I whisper as groans and rolls his eyes, trying to walk away.

“No! No taking it back now!” I laugh, pulling him back to me, my hand going to his neck and my lips meeting his, “You’re stuck with me now.”

[stackofsnakes]

I never had the chance to know my parents; i was only a few weeks old when my siblings and i were taken away and sold on the street. This is just reality for dogs. The man who adopted me was old, even for human standards, at around five of my expected lifetimes, although i couldn't comprehend such stretches of time then; i just thought he looked rather fuzzy. His robes in various colours, some of which invisible to me, reached all the way to his ankles and his long white beard a little bit further. It was under these robes he hid me when he entered his house, until he revealed me to the gnarliest human woman i will probably ever get to see. Her face so leathery with age it looked positively wooden contorted in a wide excited smile as she took hold of my frail little body and cradled me in her equally frail arms.

I came to accept her as my mother. How could i not? She fed me, bathed me, protected me, sang to me and cared for me when i fell sick, though these spells never lasted long on account of her homemade remidies. Her husband meanwhile was always afoot. From the moment he rose in the morning he'd rush around the home, stirring pots, writing parchments, accepting guests, running errands and conjuring colours and sounds until he was content. Whenever he needed a break, instead of sitting down, he took me on a walk. Whenever he encountered a problem he couldn't solve, he bent down to me, as i was usually watching him with curiosity, and started explaining his process until his eyes began to sparkle and, like a whirlwind, he'd rush back to his desk.

Today however, it was my eyes that demonstrated a spark that wasn't there before. Recognizing the glimmer of intelligent thought in my black animal eyes, i saw him mouthing the words "Oh shit." Realizing i'm the equivalent of a human five year old he quickly shut himself up, but too late. I had already internalized my first conscious memory and, commenting on the trauma of coming into sudden existence, repeated the words back to the wizard.

"Magic cares about what something means, not what it literally is. So when we adopted you into this family, when you truly accepted us as your parents, you became part of it in the eyes of magic. Which is why you've begun to manifest some aspects of our bloodline."

[ddarker-dreams]

Cherubim.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: Implied trauma, Gojo and Geto are both weird + manipulative. Word count: 6k.

-Index-

March 18th, 2006. 

2:26 p.m.

-

Gojo Satoru has found himself embroiled in his greatest turmoil yet. 

Assassination attempts? That’s nothing, he’s waved those off since he was a kid. Jujutsu politics? The higher-ups can yap until they’re blue in the face; they’re all bark, no bite. Curses? Similarly inconsequential. No matter how much power they hold, they're reduced to speckled splatters the instant they cross his path. 

For most, experiencing one of these dilemmas would prove too overwhelming, much less all three. He isn’t like most, though. He’s strong. Incomprehensibly strong. He can weather any storm, shift the tides of any battle in his favor. Has this gone to his head? Absolutely. He can handle ‘too much.’ It’s ‘not enough’ that’s proving to be an issue. 

This is why he’s detailing his recent woes to an uninterested Ieri Shoko, who made the mistake of reading in the dormitory’s common area. 

The scene is as follows:

Satoru’s along the length of the couch, his long, lanky limbs dangling wherever they can. He lays his head against the armrest, snowy hair succumbing to gravity in an avalanche that frames his face. He uses his ability to keep his sunglasses from meeting the same fate. Behind the dark frames, his eyes narrow into a piercing stare. If the ceiling were sentient, it would’ve fled by now. Such is the potency of his miserable mood. 

Parallel to him sits Shoko, the fat of her cheek squished upward from resting on her fist for so long. Books, candy wrappers, and notes from last year’s curriculum yet to be thrown away litter the table’s surface. Suguru’s could put a calligraphist to shame, even if they were written in a Badtz-Maru pencil you won from a gachapon. Your notes stand out as well. They’re bright shades of your favorite colors, organized according to a system of your own devising. Occasionally, the handwriting shifts, taking on Suguru or Shoko’s likeness for trickier kanji. You doodle hearts of gratitude around the yomigana they include for good measure. 

(You complained that his handwriting was ‘indecipherable’ when he tried doing the same. Out of spite, he gave you the cold shoulder… for three minutes. He withers and wilts without your attention). 

He sighs and concludes his monologue. 

“So, that just about sums everything up. Well? What’s the prognosis, Doc?” 

“You’re in desperate need of more friends,” Shoko replies. Satoru lets out an unsatisfied grunt. “And you miss [First].” 

Satoru perks up at your mention, finally giving that poor ceiling a much-needed reprieve. He shuffles around until he’s facing Shoko. 

“But she just headed out yesterday.” 

“I know.” 

“That’d make me really weird and clingy, right?” 

“Glad you’re catching on.” 

While Satoru contemplates the previously unconsidered possibility of him being ‘really weird and clingy,’ Shoko reopens her manga. She’s of the mistaken belief that the issue has resolved itself. Unfortunately for her, the problem extends beyond Satoru’s insatiable hunger for you. The problem is Satoru himself. Until he’s running amuck elsewhere, there’ll be no solace. 

She commends herself for her patience. 

In typical Satoru fashion, he continues testing it. 

“When was the last time you updated your passport?” 

“I’m not flying to her home country with you,” Shoko shuts down what he thought was a brilliant plan. “It’s just two weeks. Wait it out.” 

“What if we fly first class?” 

“Gojo.” 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s still too soon to meet her parents. It’s gotta happen eventually though, right?” 

Shoko doesn’t dignify this with a response. 

Satoru sinks into the cushions. Could there be anything worse than boredom? He has no missions lined up, you and Suguru are visiting family, and the first-years haven’t arrived yet. Pestering Utahime has lost its charm too. He could return home before the school year starts, but he’d rather have his fingers chopped off one by one than suffer that torture. 

“Hey, Shoko.” 

“Mm.” 

“Why aren’t you back home? I thought you got along with your parents.” 

“They’re both busy. I wouldn’t see them much.” 

Satoru doesn’t press the matter. 

It does intrigue him though — the relationship sorcerers have with their non-sorcerer families. Or, to be more specific, yours and Suguru’s familial dynamics intrigue him. Satoru can’t (and doesn’t bother trying) to care for the going-ons of anyone outside his small circle. This is more the hubris of a teenager who has been told he’s special his entire life than anything malicious. To Satoru, the world’s population might as well be stuck at three. 

Regardless, it’s an improvement.

Before meeting Suguru, those in his life consisted almost exclusively of suckups or stuckups. If he was unlucky, it’d be both, rolled into one terrible package. This was his reality. Jujutsu was his reality. He was the first to possess the Limitless and the Six Eyes in generations. The Gojo clan wouldn’t waste such an extraordinary opportunity. He was their pride and joy, personality aside. 

He was born to be the strongest. 

He can’t imagine any other life for himself. 

Then there’s you. 

He could see you leading a normal life. You wouldn’t be top of the class or a varsity athlete, but you’d be well-liked. Boys would nervously ask you out on dates and buy you roses with money they got from mowing lawns. You’d be the first one your friends would call when they experienced heartache. Maybe you’d go to college or land an entry-level job. Some co-worker with a decent sense of humor would win you over. Then you’d get married, rent a property, have a few kids… 

Satoru’s stomach twists. He grimaces, shifting his thoughts elsewhere. Namely, the question that’s bothered him for a while. 

Why did you become a jujutsu sorcerer? 

It was intentional. You chose to leave behind your home, your family. You knew the risks. How the body can break and ache in ways previously unrecorded. And what do you get in return for this thankless crusade? Sleepless nights where you tremble like a leaf beside Shoko? A nimbleness at dressing wounds that could only have come from years of practice? 

You’re open about everything until you aren’t. Fear, mortality, loss — when confronted by these unsightly truths, you retreat to someplace he can’t follow. 

Satoru can’t make sense of it. Neither can Suguru. Shoko says they shouldn’t press the matter. He wants to, though. He needs to know how you break. How else can he ensure that you never will? 

He thinks back to that humid August day. The binding vow eviscerated your insides, shards from fractured bones dug into your organs. Until that point in his life, Satoru prided himself on his immunity to fear. The pathogen never lasted long in his system. After all, fear is born from a lack of control. From having something to lose. If he couldn’t lose, what was there to be afraid of? 

It’s a question he’s been avoiding. 

(“If she dies,” he told Suguru, in a voice he barely recognized as his own, “They die too.”)

His mouth feels dry, his tongue heavy. He’ll drink that tea you’re fond of later to satiate his thirst. He wonders if you share its taste.

“What’re you reading, anyway?” he asks, hoping to take his mind elsewhere.

“Fruits Basket.” 

He laughs, incredulous. 

“Seriously? Didn’t take you for a shoujo type.” 

“I borrowed it from [First]. We’re doing a book exchange over break.” 

A book exchange… three words Satoru never thought would pique his curiosity. However, anything about you demands his undying attention. Even if it’s shoujo manga. Girls who read that genre do it to project onto the heroine, right? So the love interest must have appealed to you. What tropes do you like? Do you want a shy, sensitive soul who blushes and stutters in your presence? A misunderstood bad boy who’s only soft around you? The responsible student council president? 

Oh, he’ll have so much material to tease you with when you return. He can’t wait. 

“How do I enter this exclusive book club?” Satoru demands. 

“You don’t. I don’t trust your taste,” Shoko replies, much to his chagrin. “You can still read it, though. She has all of the volumes in her room.” 

… Your room? 

He grins from ear to ear.

Should he respect your privacy? Probably. Is he going to? Of course not. He never has, there’s no point in starting now. 

This trip of yours might yet redeem itself. 

-

Along the outskirts of Jujutsu High, Geto Suguru spots an odd woman. 

She’s wearing a baggy graphic tee, low-rise jeans, and gaudy bracelets on both arms. Her black hair is tossed up, thick strands sticking in every direction. Even from this distance, he can discern the silver glint of piercings that dot her ear like constellations. The stranger stands slouched, both her hands shoved into her pockets. For her to have gotten this far, she can’t be a civilian. Those unfamiliar with jujutsu can’t find this place. 

He stays still for a spell — watching and waiting. From this distance, she shouldn’t be able to sense his presence. It’s one of the few areas he excels at over Satoru. Satoru’s cursed energy is bright, blindingly so, a thunderous clap that can be heard for miles. Suguru prefers to keep his muted. It coils around his limbs like a serpent, never straying far. This is why you had no difficulty picking out Satoru’s stupefying presence on your first day, whereas he had to make himself known to you. 

Suguru’s lips quirk up. 

He was fated to meet you. 

“Hey! Kiddo!” A deep, somewhat raspy voice exclaims. He blinks rapidly, temporarily thrown off. “This ain’t an art gallery. What’s with the staring?” 

She noticed him? How? 

When the stranger starts slinking his way, he regains his composure. 

“I apologize. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable,” Suguru’s cadence flows smoother than a river. 

“Hah! ‘Uncomfortable?’ That’s a way of putting it,” she pokes the space beneath her emerald eyes twice. “Even now, I can feel ya picking me apart. Shit’s creepy.” 

His smile tightens. “I’ll be more mindful of my conduct in the future, then.” 

She waves him off. Her golden bracelets clink together as she does so, the sound grating his ears. 

“That’s a lie if I ever heard one. And I should know. Schemers excel at picking out their brothers in arms,” she juts her head up, giving the impression that she’s the one looking down on him, despite the slight height difference. 

“Anyhow, by the looks of it, you must be Sugu-kun.” 

… Did she just call him Sugu-kun? 

“What? Too soon* to be calling you that? Heh, heh…” 

Suguru’s smile tightens. “You can refer to me however you like, so long as I can return the favor.” 

She guffaws.

“Maaan, Goldie sure was gracious in her description of you,” the woman gives him a lopsided grin. “Name’s Akane. There — is the playing field leveled now?” 

“Ishimoto Akane?”

He doesn’t miss the way she winces as her surname is spoken aloud, rather pointedly at that. 

“Ah. S’pose I had that coming.” 

Suguru decides against prolonging her torment. He’s in a generous mood, it isn’t every day he has a chance to learn more about you. This is an opportunity he’ll take full advantage of. 

“And I presume 'Goldie' is [First]?” 

He makes a mental note to figure out the wordplay for your nickname later. 

“Full marks.”

Suguru hums, a sound indicating that he’s drifting deep into thought. 

You don’t mention your mentor often. When you do, it’s normally in the form of endearing (if not mildly concerning) anecdotes.

“She told me that natto is bits of caramel held together by melted marshmallows, like a Rice Krispy Treat. It… it was not like a Rice Krispy Treat…” 

“... For my twelfth birthday, she got me Pokemon Ruby. I remember crying because Roxeanne’s Nosepass took out my Torchic. My cursed energy spiked and the party had to end early…” 

“... Out of curiosity, I drank her stash of Georgia canned coffee. My heart rate was almost high enough to warrant a trip to the ER…” 

Getting anything else relating to her out of you was like trying to wring water from a rock. Suguru didn’t miss the wistful melancholy underpinning your stories. You recalled them with a far-off expression as if mourning that those days of whimsy were over. Initially, he considered it a consequence of growing up. Childhood idols rarely remain highly esteemed as the years pass and maturity accrues. 

His intuition argued that he should examine the issue closer.

(“I met her, y’know,” Satoru mentioned whilst he spun in a rolling chair ‘commandeered’ from Yaga. “Akane. Our girl’s mentor. Former mentor? Whatever the case is.” 

Suguru sat his pencil aside, any investment in his studies gone.

“When?” 

“Last March.” 

Suguru sighed. “And you didn’t bring this up earlier because…?” 

There’s a twinkle in his companion’s sunglasses-covered eyes.

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” Satoru shrugged. 

Liar, Suguru thought, unamused by Satoru’s faux nonchalance. He must’ve had his reasons for neglecting to mention it for so long. Suguru figured your impending trip home had something to do with Satoru’s ‘miraculously’ cured amnesia. 

“What? Don’t tell me you aren’t curious.”

The provocation failed to irk him. Instead, Suguru refocused the conversation.“Tell me your impression of her.”

Satoru stilled, threw his feet atop Suguru’s desk, and placed his hands on his neck. “About what you’d expect from a disgraced daughter of an influential clan. Bad-tempered, tattooed, pierced up… hah! Bet her old man would go into cardiac arrest if he saw her.” 

“Satoru,” he implored. 

“Fine, fine. So impatient,” The white-haired sorcerer complained. “I misread her. She got all mopey after she fessed up about Cursed Technique: Null. I wrote it off as envy. The student exceeding the master, or whatever.” 

Satoru remained silent for a moment. “Post Kaizu, though, I assume the feeling actually gnawing at her… ” 

Kaizu. 

Panicked phone calls. Satoru’s agitated exclamations. His horrified silence. Your breathing faded, theirs accelerated. You looked so small. So human. He scarcely believed the limp girl cradled in his arms just executed such a devastating maneuver. Your cursed energy had exceeded any output he’d felt from you before. It was too much, your body wasn’t ready to endure a spike like that. 

Suguru had never felt so distant from the title ‘strongest.’

At some point later on, in a hospital waiting room, Suguru posed a question. 

Satoru heard him yet offered no response.

“Who taught her how to do that?”

“... was guilt.”)

“You didn’t visit her.” 

Akane blinks. 

“Hah?” 

“You didn’t visit her,” Suguru repeats, his tone firmer. ��[First]. Your student.” 

She exhales shakily. Suguru thinks she looks tired. 

“If you have something to say, just come out with it already.” 

He was prepared to wear her down for hours — this willing cooperation saves him time. Although, it doesn’t make navigating the volatile minefield that lies ahead any easier. He knows how to rein Satoru in when he’s going too far. He can fluster you without giving too much of himself away. After rescuing someone from a curse, he knows the exact pitch, timbre, and tempo necessary to pierce through their abject horror. He’s a virtuoso at playing people, a conductor hidden amidst the audience. 

Deceit. Misdirection. Coercion. 

His repertoire is expansive and ever-growing. 

From what he can see — what he can feel — the prodigal daughter before him boasts a similar discography. She returns his unflinching eye contact as if issuing a challenge. Daring him to use dubious methods that might work on anyone else. This obstinate resolve reminds him of you. Once you’ve determined your course, even he struggles to change the route.

He abandons all pretense. 

“You didn’t want her here,” he theorizes. Akane’s face reveals nothing. “You knew something like that was bound to happen.” 

Sorcerers aren’t only at war with curses. No, there’s an inner battle that must be fought as well. The recognition that the next assignment could be your last. And if it is, you won’t be commemorated by the masses; to them, you don’t exist. Your sacrifice will be known to a select few who mourn you, or  a few who don’t. Everything could go right. Everything could go wrong. Engaging in that high risk for such a low reward goes against one’s self-preservation instincts.

How each sorcerer handles this fight is unique to them. 

As for your strategy — you refuse to acknowledge this conflict exists. 

Paradoxically enough, that functions as your self-preservation. 

Akane smiles thinly. She’s almost his reflection, in that regard.

“Full marks.” 

-

Suguru idly observes as Satoru paces back and forth, his troubled figure illuminated by a row of vending machines. 

A nearby street lamp flickers. It’s late, but the local convenience stores glow with artificial light, tempting customers to come inside. Some are weary salarymen grabbing ready-made meals, others are middle schoolers clinking their change together, praying they can afford a sugary treat. The latest group cheers, indicating their triumph. 

The duo receives odd looks — thanks to their school uniforms, no doubt — not that they pay the judgment any mind. No one troubles them. Not even a wandering policeman, who, under normal circumstances, would scold minors out by themselves at night. 

Suguru theorizes that Satoru’s ominous aura is what subconsciously repels them. 

Earlier today, Suguru bid farewell to his parents and boarded a train for Tokyo. As nice as it was to spend time with his family, he’d been looking forward to reuniting with you and Satoru. He amassed quite the phone bill thanks to your frequent correspondence. Nonetheless, he carried the minor debt with pride; it’s a sign you often thought about him. He planned for Satoru to assume the debt by dangling the pictures you sent his way as ransom. 

His encounter with Ishimoto Akane grounded his soaring mood. This was made worse when he entered the dormitory, only to find a tight-lipped Shoko and agitated Satoru. 

Shoko remarked that unlike the two of them, she’d be handling things with ‘tact,’ and retired for the evening, not wanting to catch their ‘stupidity contagion.’ 

It’d been hours since then. That time stretch brought them closer to revealing the complete picture, but a few pieces remained missing or incomplete. 

The frenetic sorcerer stills and rummages around in his pocket.

Suguru takes the opportunity to break the silence. “I—” 

He cuts himself off as Satoru whips out a familiar-looking chapstick. The cutesy design befitting your aesthetic stands out like a sore thumb in Satoru’s large, calloused hands. 

“... Where did you get that?” 

“[First]’s room,” is Satoru’s response, spoken nonchalantly whilst applying it to his lips. “Why?” 

Suguru snorts. Sometimes Satoru’s ungodly strength blinds him to the fact that he’s still a teenage boy. 

“Won’t she notice it’s missing?” 

“I replaced it.” 

“Ah.”

“She has plenty more in the drawer beneath her vanity if you want one.” 

Suguru knows the exact spot Satoru’s referring to. They both helped you assemble it (Satoru got bored fifteen minutes in and fell asleep on your bed but still claims credit). 

After noting this suggestion, he asks, “Have you calmed down?” 

Satoru barks out a ‘hah!’ as if he’d just heard a hilarious joke. “Me? Shouldn’t I be askin’ you that?” 

Suguru massages his temples, sensing the looming headache that awaits him. “Satoru…” 

“We could follow her residuals, you know,” Satoru suggests. He tips his sunglasses down, revealing eyes that gleam with predatory intent. “With the Six Eyes, it’d be a walk in the park.” 

“And then what?” 

“Oh, you know, chat about the weather, latest political scandals, that sort of thing.” 

“You can’t strong-arm yourself through everything in life, Satoru,” Suguru chastises. 

Satoru opens and closes his lips. He folds his arms, scrunches his eyebrows together, and rapidly taps his foot. The shift puts Suguru at ease. Satoru adopts this countenance on the rare occurrence he’s faced with a formidable threat. The serious, almost somber visage speaks to his ironclad resolve. Suguru may have told his companion that he can’t strong-arm himself through everything, but that’s a half-truth; the Gojo clan’s pride can do whatever he pleases. 

It’s consideration of the aftermath that Suguru wishes to instill in his companion. Tempering the arrogance of a God is no easy feat. 

“... She isn’t going anywhere,” Satoru declares, as if any other outcome was blasphemous. 

“She isn’t,” Suguru agrees. Then, he lowers his voice, adding, “We can’t disregard what Ishimoto-san is getting at, though.” 

“Simple — all our girl needs is a good ol’ fashioned intervention.” 

“An ‘intervention,’” Suguru deadpans. “Didn’t you already try that?” 

Satoru smiles in a way Suguru can only describe as dopey, reminiscing on the night you got ‘mad at him for wanting you to be mad at him.’ That’s how Suguru interpreted the detailed account Satoru gave the next morning, anyway. 

(“I wish she would’ve cried, just a little bit; it would’ve made her look extra cute,” Satoru cooed, to which Suguru shot him an exasperated look. “Oh, don’t act so high and mighty. You’d make her cry just so you could wipe her tears away.”)

Suguru shakes his head. “Here’s what I think — the self-sacrifice in and of itself isn’t the problem. Well, the main problem. There has to be a reason, something personal… identifying that takes priority.” 

A gust rips through the narrow street, howling as it terrorizes store signs and doors with weak hinges. The two strongest sorcerers remain oblivious to the drift. What occupies their mind is greater than any force of nature, insignificant or otherwise. They have the means to challenge natural phenomena itself. And they would, should they deem it an obstacle to their goals. This single-minded determination is what elevates them beyond the rest. 

“I guess the old man has a soft spot for us after all,” Satoru says, referring to Yaga, Suguru guesses.

Breathlessly, he chuckles. “Maybe.” 

Studying Satoru from his peripherals, he silently mulls over the far likelier reality—  

—that Yaga understands Satoru’s potential for saving this world is matched only by his capacity to condemn it. 

-

From a young age, Ieri Shoko found irony everywhere she looked.

It’s prevalent in the medical field she wishes to pursue. When stabbed, it’s better to leave the knife in than immediately pull it out. For an immune system to better defend itself from a virus, it must first be exposed to it in trace amounts. If an appendage becomes too infected, removing that piece of the body is better than keeping it whole. It was you who pointed out this theme extends into the world of jujutsu. 

“You’d think fighting to survive a curse instead of defeating it would be an okay alternative, right?” You had said. “But really… that just means someone else gets to foot the bill. All ‘cause you cheaped out.” 

She regrets not asking you to elaborate. At the time, the observation felt so personal, so intimately interwoven with who you are, that she thought it best to leave it alone. 

Watching you now, lounging on the swing beside her, she’s determined not to repeat her previous mistake. 

“Tired?” 

“Well, yeah,” you laugh. It sounds off. “I wasn’t meant for long flights. It takes everything out of me, y’know?” 

Shoko unsuccessfully digs around her pocket for a lighter. The search ceases when she recalls its inopportune location — left behind in her dorm room in the rush to be the one who reaches you first. Not sure what else to do with her hands, she folds them onto her lap. Meanwhile, you pick at a stray thread on your jeans. 

“I didn’t mean from traveling,” she clarifies. 

“Hm?” 

“How many curses did you exorcise back home?” 

Your fingers go still.

“I dunno… a few?” You shrug, stuffing your hands in your pockets. “If I happen across them, I’m not gonna just let them run amuck. That’d be irresponsible.” 

Your nonchalance comes across as forced. You may be keeping your words lighthearted, but she can tell you’ve dialed up your senses, monitoring her closely. It reminds her of a cornered mouse. It’s then that any lingering doubt over her choices leading up to this moment dispels. Resolve strengthened, she swears to make as much progress as she possible before those two catch on. She felt a bit bad lying about your flight’s time, but felt the situation justified the call. 

“It feels different when they’re close to home, doesn’t it?” 

Shoko’s eyes scan over the lively park before them. There’s a group of children playing with one another, some scouring the grass for bugs and others playing tag. Their guardians watch from a distance, chatting amongst themselves, likely discussing the upcoming poor weather or latest neighborhood scandals. Young couples walk hand in hand along the pathways, cheeks flushed from the joy of experiencing their first love. 

“Encountering a curse is draining. Fighting them, even more so. But when they’re on a street you walk every day, or a few blocks over from your house, you can’t help but start thinking. ‘What if I hadn’t come this way? Would it have hurt people I know? People I love and care about?’”

Her eyes find yours. “‘What if it killed them?’”

You look like you’re going to be sick. 

She ignores how your expression contorts her stomach and continues. “Sorcerers are in the minority, it’s true. So… fighting to survive isn’t selfish. It’s strategic.”

In the distance, the rough silhouette of two individuals grows clearer. The spotlight she commandeered grows fainter with their every step. In what remains of the fading limelight, she considers you. The CC cream that conceals the worst of your exhaustion, how your pupils dilate from high caffeine intake, then your fingers. The keys that when steepled just so, open the future for others at the cost of permanently locking yours. 

She reaches over and gently squeezes your hand. 

“Remember — we won’t be much help to anyone if we’re six feet under. So let’s aim to stay above ground.” 

-

The evening sun sinks into the horizon, demanding acknowledgment in its final moments by dousing all in a fiery hue. 

Your uniform absorbs the brunt of this last stand. The dark fabric devours the waning sunlight, heating you from head to toe. It didn’t fully occur to you that you were back when you walked through the torii gates lining the mountainous path. Nor when you unpacked in your dorm, stuffing your passport away until your next break, where it’ll serve you faithfully again. 

Instead, it was the simple act of putting your uniform on again that made home seem far, far away. 

You’d gotten used to your clothes smelling like your mother’s preferred detergent. It’s a brand you couldn’t find in Japan, sold exclusively in your home country. You wondered what meal your parents were having when you straightened out your collar. If your neighbor ever fixed that rumble their old sedan huffed out as you slipped into your tights. Whether your grandpa knew you’d landed safely when you brushed lint off your skirt. 

The campus atmosphere is serene. Tengen’s barrier is a bulwark against curses, insulating you from any potential threats. Without this assurance, some part of you was always on the defensive, anticipating anything when you slept in your childhood bedroom. It siphoned away your vitality, just like Shoko pointed out. 

You sniffle and kick a rock aside. 

How does it always end up like this?

First Akane, now Shoko, you hug yourself. I just want to protect others. What’s so wrong with that? If I don’t, then who will?

You pause abruptly. 

When Akane began mentoring you, the world as you knew it changed. Suddenly, you were given knowledge no one else was privy to, for they lacked the tools to comprehend it. You’d seen those ‘creatures’, but it was Akane that explained their malevolent nature. What they could do, the pain they inflicted, how defenseless the population at large was against them. 

The shadow that this monstrous threat cast could never be outshone by light. The best you could do was create safe pockets the size of pins in the darkness. That was the extent of your hope, the most bitter pill you’ve ever swallowed.

The lingering specter of Shoko’s reassuring touch prickles along your hand. 

It’s easy to forget you’re not alone anymore after fighting by yourself for so long. 

-

Eventually, you happen upon a clearing near the school’s main grounds. 

The steep inclines surround a sizable outdoor track. This area is known colloquially as the school’s training grounds. You prefer to train in a more secluded, wooded area, but not everyone shares your enthusiasm for subtlety. Namely, the two prodigies who have turned the field into a colosseum that’d rival the battles of ancient Rome. 

You take a seat on the grassy hill and watch what unfolds. 

Your eyes can scarcely follow the blows Suguru and Satoru exchange. Their sparring sessions are unreal — blurring the very fabric of reality. Somehow, they manage all this without using cursed energy. The spectacle you’re witnessing is simply hand-to-hand combat. It’s like watching a film with skipping frames. In a matter of seconds, they can travel a hundred meters and return to their original position. Your brain struggles to process the stimuli your senses are feeding it. 

They were already strong when you met them. But now? The nomenclature doesn’t exist to properly classify them. 

And in the future… 

There’s no telling what highs they’ll reach or the ceilings they’ll shatter. 

Their light is the most dazzling you’ve ever seen.

Within a few minutes, they conclude their training session. Satoru instantly beelines toward you, whereas Suguru cycles through stretches. There’s not even a single drop of sweat on Satoru’s body as he plops to your right. He’s wearing his signature sunglasses, despite the night's looming shadow. 

“Shouldn’t you be asleep or something?” Satoru asks. “It’s past your bedtime.”

You punch him lightly on the shoulder. He yelps out an exaggerated ‘ouch!’ rubbing the area to soothe the nonexistent wound. 

Suguru approaches at a far more leisurely pace, sending a wave that you return in kind. 

Satoru, not one to be forgotten, yells out, “Be careful, Suguru! She’s violent!” 

“Only against those who deserve it,” Suguru replies.

Fondness blossoms inside your chest as you laugh. You’d forgotten how simple life feels around them. It’s as if when the three of you are together, you’re swallowed by a pocket dimension, isolated from everyone and everything. Permanently inhabiting this utopia is a temptation. 

Satoru places his hands behind his head and lays onto the ground. “Here I am, potentially out of commission forever, without a single ounce of sympathy to show for it.” 

“We could always settle in court,” you offer. 

Suguru stands before you, hands on his hips. “Or he could finally figure out how to use reverse cursed technique.” 

At this, Satoru shoots back up, his sunglasses falling askew. “Hah? Last I recall, you gave yourself a headache giving it a go. At least I’m not that bad.” 

“Hurdles are necessary to improve. Without any, how do you know you’re truly making progress?” 

Satoru gives him a grossed-out look. “All this philosophizing is gonna turn your hair gray before you hit twenty.” 

“That’s rich, coming from the guy whose hair is already white,” You point out. “What’s that say about you?” 

Suguru muffles his laughter behind his hand. 

Satoru’s quick to overcome his incredulity. “It says that I’m going to spoil the next volume of Inuyasha. Sesshomaru—” 

You cover your ears and sprint off. “Can’t hear you, can’t hear you, can’t hear you…!” 

He chases after you, periodically shouting the names of the main characters right when you think he’s finished. You do your best to block out his voice, running like your life depends on it. He’s hot on your heels, cackling at your expense. After a stretch of silence, you uncover your ears, hesitantly turning around to check if he’s finished his torture. 

You meet Satoru’s gaze. His lips are parted, his eyebrows slightly raised. Your reflection in his dark lenses appears equally perplexed. He straightens his sunglasses and regards you with an unreadable expression. 

“... You’ve gotten faster.” 

The comment is so quiet, you’re unsure if you heard him correctly. 

“Hm?” 

“Nothing,” he dismisses, waving you off. “You shoujo-loving types sure take this stuff seriously. It’s almost cultish.” 

“I don’t wanna hear that from the guy who references Digimon like it’s some sorta scripture!” 

“Honda Tohru is a lame heroine.” 

You audibly gasp. “Wh— you take that back!” 

And so it’s your turn to chase Satoru, who, for reasons unknown, is oddly knowledgeable regarding Fruits Basket. 

-

“Could you guys be honest with me about something?” 

“All depends.” 

“Of course.” 

Satoru and Suguru’s responses come out simultaneously, the contents offering little reassurance. You’re not sure what you expected. Nonetheless, you press past the gnawing discomfort, your conversation with Shoko a fresh memory. 

“Did Akane stop by while I was gone?” 

You scrutinize their countenances for involuntary reactions that might betray their inner thoughts. You begin with Satoru, who was in the middle of cleaning his sunglasses when you posed the question. His eyes, which normally brim with mischief, have an eerie calmness about them; like sheets of ice that were once choppy waters. He smiles softly and slips his lenses back into place, undoubtedly aware of the intent behind your stare. 

Then there’s Suguru. He hums, as if finding your inquiry unexpected and not an inevitable point of contention. He’s a more challenging puzzle to decipher than Satoru. With the latter, you can roughly gauge the greater picture, blurry and incomplete as it may be. Suguru, on the other hand, hasn’t given you enough pieces to attempt a solution. 

Satoru continues mulling over your question while Suguru responds, “Is that what’s been worrying you lately?” 

So they picked up on it too, you think. 

Frowning, you shift in your seat. Blades of grass tickle your thighs and you push your skirt down. 

“Er… not that, specifically,” you admit. You feel like you’re surrounded by walls that know just how far to close in to give the impression you might be crushed. “I just… I’ve been thinking. About why I’m here— what I’ll go on to do. And, well…” 

Much to their surprise, you stand, squeeze your eyes shut, and bow ninety degrees. 

“For so long, I’ve carried this burden. The truth is, when I first learned about Null, I was relieved. I’d always have something to rely on in the worst-case scenario. But at the same time… that meant not using it could also be a mistake. You have no idea how much that scared me.” 

You curl your hands up into fists. “I don’t want to think that way anymore. I see it now — have for a while, actually — strength I couldn’t even imagine before. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m in your care. If it’s alright, I want to rely on others, starting with you two.” 

Your heart pounds wildly in the silence that follows. 

Maybe this is selfish too, you think. But I don’t want to be alone anymore. 

You hear Suguru speak your name. It isn’t until he repeats it, his tone kind yet firm, that you straighten yourself and face him. 

Satoru stands further back, scratching his neck. Much to your confusion, a red flush has risen to his cheeks, extending up to his ears. Suguru corrects your staring by taking your face in his hands and redirecting your attention to him. Warmth envelops you. Your faces are inches apart, but somehow, the distance feels nonexistent, like he’s peering into your mind unhindered. 

“Surely, you can dream bigger than that,” Suguru chastises.

“... Eh?” 

“Do you think so little of us?” Satoru grumbles. It almost sounds like he’s pouting. Was he not listening to anything you just said? The sincerity behind your every word? Why are they both acting like you insulted them? 

“Eh?!” 

“I’m glad you’ve come to this realization, but… you don’t have to rely on anyone else. Just us,” Suguru takes a step back, though he keeps one hand cupping your cheek. You feel lightheaded. “After all…” 

“... We’re the strongest.” 

notes:

*this pun actually works decently in english ?? but akane is making a reference to how suguru sounds phonetically similar to すぐ, or sugu, which means 'soon.'

[tuiccim]

We're Gonna Burn (Part 2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Smut, Sex Pollen, Non/DubCon (because sex pollen), enemies to lovers.

Summary: When an exposure to a strange powder makes you feel as if you're burning to death, your only relief is in the person you hate the most. Now dealing with the aftermath makes you question everything.

A/N: Hi friends! Thanks so much for your patience. We lost my mother-in-law last month and it's been a difficult time. But, I've got part two up and have got a good head start on parts 3 and 4. Hopefully updates won't be so far in between. As always, I have to say a special thanks to my beta reader @whisperlullaby who is also my hype princess and most darling friend. I hope you enjoy!

We're Gonna Burn Masterlist

In the two days since you returned to the compound, you had rarely left your room. Your body was incredibly sore the first day but it had started to lessen. You were glad the medbay kept a supply of morning after pills. Dr. Miles, your most trusted doctor, had examined you after the fact and said that you should be fully healed in a few days. The examination was a necessary requirement but it had felt like yet another invasion. 

Your emotions were a mess and the doctor had suggested a visit with a counselor to help you work through them. Now, you were starting to wonder if she had been right. Compartmentalizing wasn’t working, you had strange dreams, and your mood was all over the place. You had avoided everyone while you were off-duty to heal. The thought of facing any of them,  especially Bucky, made you sick. By now, you were sure they all knew what happened. Bucky had probably gloated that he had-

You couldn’t even finish the thought and shake it away. When you filled out the mission report, you had simply stated that there was an exposure to an unknown substance that had caused a short-lived fever. Quarantine and a battery of tests had cleared you to return home to the compound. The only person who knew what happened was Dr. Miles and Bucky, of course. Your gut clenched whenever you thought of him, which was often now. Hell, it had always been often. You had been enthralled by his story and excited to join the team. Unfortunately, he had proven to be nothing like you imagined. He seemed to hate you from the moment you were introduced. His comradery with your other teammates was fun and friendly, but with you, he was always scowling and defensive. You had given up after a few attempts at striking up a conversation. He had shut you down and moved away every time. 

And now, you’re a notch on his belt. Not that either of you had chosen it. It was just horrible luck- or was it? Had he purposely led you to that lab? Had he known what was there? What would happen? No, you stop yourself from spiraling. Even if he was a jackass, he wasn’t that kind of person. He had been just as surprised and affected. The thought of how affected he had been made you clench. You hated him but, fuck, that had been the most amazing sex of your life. You wondered if it was the drug or that thick-

Stop it! You hate him! You yell at yourself in your head. You felt concurrently turned on, ashamed, and angry. It was frustrating and eating at you. 

Thinking of eating, your stomach rumbles. It was late and you thought it would be safe to make a quick trip to the kitchen. You had exhausted the supply of snacks in your room and needed some real food. Peeking into the hall, you find it empty and quietly make your way to the kitchen. You make yourself a plate and raid the pantry for more snacks. As you were tip-toeing back to your room you saw Bucky coming out of his room at the other end of the hallway. He froze when he noticed you and watched as you made a mad dash for your room. Inside, you try to calm your rapidly beating heart. Tears streamed down your face for some reason you couldn’t pinpoint. You set everything on your desk and crumpled into a ball on the floor. You rocked as you tried to calm yourself while also berating yourself for your weakness. It was just sex. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like you wanted it or even asked for it. It was just a mutually agreed upon need. 

All your rationalizations did nothing to stop the surge of emotions taking over. So, you decided that maybe Doc was right. You needed to talk to someone. Someone to help you sort out your own feelings. You just hoped that you could feel normal again because, right now, you are not yourself.

–

Bucky stared at the space you had occupied a minute ago. He hadn’t seen you since you’d returned from the mission. You hadn’t been able to look at him in the small amount of time you were together during exfil. You’d both been put through quarantine and testing. He had no long lasting effects from the exposure but he knew you had to be bruised and sore from the experience. He felt immensely guilty about that but he could no more have stopped what was happening than you could. Sometimes he wondered if he could have even if it wasn’t for the pollen, it was the best thing he’d felt in seventy years. You were so soft, wet, and perfectly tight. 

Berating himself as he felt his body react to the memories, he reminded himself that you hate him. You had good reason to. He had been an absolute ass since you joined the team. Hethinks about his terrible behavior. He didn’t like new people to start with and then, out of seemingly nowhere, you were put with the team. It roused his suspicions and he viewed you as a potential threat. So, he had questioned your every motive, idea, and process. He wanted to hate you but the more he saw your work with the team and interactions outside of it, the more he found you intriguing. Rather than apologizing or correcting his behavior, he had doubled down. He couldn’t explain it but some small, stupid part of him had hoped that this incident would create an opening for him to reconcile with you but now you couldn't even look at him.

Who could blame you after the way he had treated you? Both before and during. He had been lost in the feeling and had stopped fighting the effects of the pollen the first moment he entered you. Hell, he hadn’t really fought it from the beginning. He had burst into that bathroom as if he had every right to enter it. You had to hate him even more now with what he’d done. He felt the need to talk to you, to apologize, to ask you to forgive him. He hadn’t told a soul what happened and had been deliberately vague in his mission report. He hadn’t wanted to make it any worse for you. 

Retreating to his room, Bucky paces trying to figure out his next move. Should he approach you or wait for you to come to him? He shakes his head. You wouldn’t approach him. Not the way you, no doubt, feel about him. You probably never wanted to see him again. What did you think? Did you hate him even more? Most likely. Did you think he had done this on purpose? That he had taken advantage of you? The drug had taken both of your ability to really consent. Did you feel… What are you feeling? He couldn’t stand the thought that you hated him even more or that you thought he hurt you purposely. 

He grabbed the doorknob, determined to speak with you but his hand slipped from it before he could turn the knob. You needed more time. He shouldn’t push you. He’d wait until you were at least healed. That was a better idea, he decided. It wasn’t that he was chickening out, he was just waiting until the wounds weren’t so fresh. That was the best thing to do, wasn’t it?

–

You nervously bounce your legs as you wait for the office door of Dr. Victoria Montesi to open. Dr. Miles had gotten you an appointment within thirty minutes of messaging her that morning. You wonder if she already had Dr. Montesi on standby. It wouldn’t be surprising with how well Doc seemed to know and anticipate your needs medically. 

When the door opens, you turn to look at the woman smiling softly at you. She was lovely with dark hair and eyes, and she radiated a calm demeanor that immediately put you at ease. 

“Hi. I’m Vicki Montesi,” she introduced herself.

Giving a polite smile, you give your name but don’t extend your hand. Touch was too intimate a thing to do currently and Dr. Montesi seemed to instinctively understand your body language. You felt so weak and hated it. You had been through major disasters, espionage, a host of events that would fell another person. Why was this the one thing that affected you so deeply? 

Dr. Montesi motioned for you to follow her and closed the door behind you softly, “Sit wherever you like. Do you mind if I take some notes?” 

“Uh, no, that's fine,” you shrug.

She grabbed a pad of paper off her desk and took a seat across from where you had settled on the couch. You fidgeted with your hands, glancing up occasionally. You knew she was waiting for you to start but two could play at-

“What brings you in today?” She interrupts your train of thought. 

“I, um,” you stuttered, thrown that she hadn’t followed the pattern you expected. “What did Dr. Miles tell you?”

“That you needed someone to talk to.”

“Oh…” you trail off suspiciously. 

“Your privacy is tantamount to both of us as your doctors,” Dr. Montesi says gently. 

“Right. So, I, um, we, I,” you stop yourself. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you begin again, “I was on a mission with a teammate. We were exposed to a powder that… forced the need for, for. Fuck! It made us burn up with fever and feel intense pain unless we were actively having sex. It felt like we were dying if we weren’t fucking. And of all the people in the fucking world it had to be with Bucky fucking Barnes. I can’t stand him and knowing that we- goddammit.” The words had become rushed and your frustration grew as you tried to explain. 

“So, you were put into a situation you had no control over, and your only relief was provided by someone you don’t like? Am I understanding you correctly?”

“Yes and hate. I hate him. He’s such a jerk, He’s probably told everyone who would listen.”

“Why do you think that?” Dr. Montesy probes. 

“Because he always undermines everything I say, anything I bring to the table. What better way to knock me down a few pegs than to tell everyone that he got me in bed?” You explain. 

“Have you spoken with him since it happened?”

“No, I haven’t really spoken to anyone since, ya know.” You look down at your hands. 

“And you feel that Bucky has after what happened?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” You scoff.

“Do you think the situation was different for him?”

“Yes! No, I… I don’t know,” you look away for a minute gauging what he could possibly be feeling. In your mind you think through your prejudices towards him, realizing many were sexist assumptions of what men are supposed to feel and others never took his past into consideration. Most of your thoughts had centered only around the hatred you felt for him and his constant attitude towards you but underneath all of that was a real person who was probably struggling with aspects of this as well. You admit in a near whisper, “Probably not.”

“It’s good that you’re able to look outside yourself. Can you tell me how you feel about the situation aside from him?”

You nod, taking a moment to assess that yourself, “It sucks to not have control over a situation to not have any good choices. I didn’t want it to happen but it’s part of the job. Sometimes you end up in these situations where no matter what you do, you’re going to come out on the other end with regrets. This one was just much more intimate than most. I want to blame someone and I keep blaming myself. That I couldn’t control myself, that I led both of us straight into that trap, that I used him and allowed him to use me. I just feel ashamed.”

“That’s common in situations like this but you did the one thing you were supposed to do. You survived.”

–

You saw Dr. Montesi again a couple of days later. She was helping you process and you appreciated it. She had a way of pulling things out of you that surprised you. Like when you continually called him Barnes rather than his first name and anytime she said his first name, you corrected her immediately. 

“There’s something more here. What is it about his name that bothers you?” She asks. 

“He… made me say it during,” you shrug, looking away. 

“Why does that bother you?”

“I never call him by his first name. It's always Barnes or asshat. Never Bucky.”

“And he made you call him Bucky?”

“Yes. He wouldn’t, you know, um… let me-”

“Orgasm?”

“Yeah, until I did. It felt… awkward,” you finish softly. 

“Just awkward?” She pushes. 

“Infuriating. Like a violation, another way control was taken from me. I mean, why? Why would he do that? What possessed him?”

“Well, the pollen for one thing, but have you considered that might have been the way he found some control in the situation?”

“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t take it personally? It wasn’t about bringing me to heel but about him finding a modicum of control? But should that negate how I feel?” You ask, confused.

“Not at all. Your feelings are valid but what I want you to understand is there is a why for him that may have had nothing to do with you. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Why have you never called him by his first name?”

“Because I hate him,” you shrug. 

“Can you elaborate on that?”

“It’s like I told you before, he treats me like a subordinate. Like I didn’t earn my place and I don’t have anything to offer.”

“Even after you’ve worked together for the last several months?”

“It lessened after a while I guess but he still acts like an ass all the time.”

“How have you handled that?”

“I tried to be friendly, to prove myself, and then I gave up. Why waste the energy?”

“Is it a waste? There’s no hope?” Dr. Montesi tilts her head. 

“I mean, I don’t… I don’t know. I just… I don’t know,” your voice trails off as you think back over all your interactions with Bucky. What if you had missed an opening? Was there some point when he tried to let you in but you had closed yourself off and delivered only sass and smartass remarks? But was that your fault? Was it all up to you?

“It’s okay to not have an answer but it is something you might think about until we see each other again.”

–

You saw her again early the next week. Each time it helps you see more clearly and feel more like yourself. Her guidance through your feelings and assumptions both good or bad, right or wrong without judgment or censure allowed you to explore more than just the situation with Barnes. It was the question she had posed about his motives that had stuck with you. 

“I think I'm ready to talk to,” you pause as your stubborn nature still fights against you calling him Bucky, but Barnes seemed even less apt now. You finally settled on just using the noncommittal, “him.”

“Oh?” Dr. Montesi waits for you to elaborate.

“I feel like I need to know his motives and feelings,” the last word was hard to push past your lips. You hadn't considered his feelings ever really. At least, not since he had proven himself to be a royal jackass. There was still a part of you that loathed him but somehow concern for his reaction to all of this had wormed its way into your mind. 

“What do you think that will do for you?” She asks, tilting her head.

“I don't know. I read his mission report on what happened. He was even more vague than I was on the details. Whether he was protecting himself or me, I wasn't sure but,” you take a deep breath before admitting the next part, “then I went through the other reports for missions we had been on together. He's always succinct but never fails to highlight others' contributions to the outcome. Even mine. It was obvious reading them that at some point he had started to see me as an asset. So, I guess, I think it'll give me some closure. Either we can start building a more respectful comradery or that's never going to happen and it's time for me to think about moving on.”

“How would that make you feel?”

“Disappointed but I want to be part of a team that has mutual respect for each other. If he can never give me that respect, I don't want to work with him. I'm not asking to be friends, just teammates. Preferably ones who can hold a conversation without all the snark.” You paused for a moment as a feeling of pride suffused through you. You were stronger than you realized and you were ready to find happiness and fulfillment on your terms. You smiled to yourself and then looked up to share it with Dr. Montesi. Maybe you were imagining it, but you felt you could see it in her eyes, too. 

When you left her office a little while later, you pulled out your phone and sent a short text. 

You: Hey. Can we talk?

It was only a few minutes later that your phone dings. 

Barnes: Yeah. On the phone or do you want to meet up? You: I’d prefer face to face. Barnes: Where? I can come to you.  You: I’m on my way back there. I’ll come to you. Barnes: Okay.

You let out a little laugh. That was probably the most civilized conversation the two of you had ever had. You started feeling the nerves in your stomach. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation but you needed it to happen. It was time to face this head on. As you make your way, you practice breathing techniques and make mental notes of what you wanted to say and ask. You even jotted a few down to help you remember when you know you're going into an emotional situation. 

There is still the confusion in your own head of what to call him. Such a simple thing but rife with emotion for you. Barnes was what you called him because you hated him and now you weren’t sure you did. James is his first name but no one calls him that. Bucky felt too friendly and intimate especially when it triggers reminders of that night every time you even think about it. Sergeant was too formal and felt harsh and rigid. Asshat was fitting when he was being one but you could hardly call him that all the time. You think back to what he calls you but, in just the way you have, he calls you by your last name mostly. You don’t ever recall hearing him say your first name. Occasionally, your designation and more than a few times he’s referred to you as “pita.” His way of calling you “pain in the ass.” You let out a scoffing laugh when you think of that and then shake the conundrum away. Maybe after this talk, you’d figure out what to call him or you wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore if you decided to move on. 

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Updates for series will be made on Sundays Central Time Zone. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

[jimmybutlrr]

Missed or Licked

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Average Height Thick brown-skinned Women

Warnings : 18+, Mature Content (Cursing , Teasing and smut), Missing good dick.

Summary: Missing dick could be dangerous

A/N: I have decided that I will be releasing my smut fanfictions first, then fluffy, Drama etc. just because it's easier and as always, feedback would be appreciated😁*Please let me know if you want to be tagged in future writings.

“Do I really have to work? Why can’t I just quit and life would work itself out..…....nevermind, I sound dumb as hell, let me shut up and get out of this car”. She said laughing at herself, Alisha started getting ready to exit her car when she heard a knock on her driver's side window. She looks to see her co-worker Terry Richmond (Who by the way is in a tight fitted shirt, showcasing his big veiny arms and thick chest ). Winding down her window “ Terry, hi”  she said confused, wondering why the hell he was at her window.

“Sorry to bother, I was just wondering if you're alright” He wondered staring into her eyes, “I’m good just.. preparing myself, for the long ass day ahead of me” she said feeling a little flustered, as he continues to stare into her eye’s not daring to look away. 

Alisha and Terry had a bit of a complicated history together. They met in a Walmart parking lot, when she was clearly struggling to fit her tv into her car. Which brought the attention of Terry, Sparking up a conversion between the two which ended with her bringing up that she wanted help moving some items into her home. Terry agreed, asking to swap information. After a few days of talking, Terry was in her living room and  helped her move furniture where she wanted it, putting up her tv etc.

Time went on and Terry got tired of the unspoken tension, which ended up with Alisha’s legs on either side of her head, being filled to the brim with dick and hot tears falling down her face. A memory she remembers so vividly. 

Their situationship came to a stop when he left the state and stopped answering her text, which left her a little broken because you can’t find dick like that just anywhere. Time passed, she moved, switched jobs and found out that Terry was one of the warehouse workers while she worked as the receptionist in the building beside it.  

Throughout the time they worked there, they had stolen glances at each other and greetings but never daring to engage in a conversation. 

A few minutes went by before Alisha broke eye contact, the need to let him spread her open was too great to start ignoring. “Sorry, but I have to get out of the car, so if you could move” Alisha said trying to open her door “I just wanted to say I'm sorry for leaving you, there was some family business that I had to take care of” Terry said hoping that what he said was taken into consideration.

Alisha pushed her car door open and stood up as Terry walked backwards giving her space to get out of her car. Reaching forward to grab Terry by his arm, she pulled him in  closing the space between them believing what he said. If it were her family, she would have done the same no doubt. “I believe you, I was just a little heartbroken that you filled me to the brim, Touching spots that no other man is able to reach, then decided to leave a day after that”. 

She said, whispering in his ear while staring into his eyes, seeing a shocked expression on his face, moving to the right side of his face,she grabbed his body to support herself on her tiptoes.  “I’m just a little hurt because I wanted you in my throat but I guess…… that fantasy will no longer happen”. The feeling of her breath tickling his ears as she spoke, Alisha  looked down to see him wrapping his big, veiny arms around her body, he bent his face down to level their faces going as close as possible to her face that  if you were a person just a few feet from them, you would think they were kissing.

“Who said that can’t happen here, hm”. Terry mumbled, his eyes moved from her eyes to her lips feeling bold, she closed the space between them, pulling his face towards hers. She open mouth kissed him, making Terry press his body even more into hers, pushing his tongue in her mouth, roaming her mouth with his tongue endlessly trying to lick every inch of her mouth. They both stumbled back into the open door of the car Terry pulled back, picking Alisha up with one arm and his hand squeezed her ass, moving to kick the door closed while simultaneously opening the back door, laying Alisha down, kissing down her neck.

 “Terry, wait” Alisha breathlessly said  “Sit down, I wanna you in my mouth” “Are you sure” “Yes, I want to show you how much I missed you”. Terry kissed her, lifting her on top of his lap her hands roamed his body. She slowly removed her lips from his, bringing her body down between his legs. Staring at him in his eyes, she pulled his belt buckle open while her mouth was practically slobbering, waiting to be filled with his pink tipped dick. She pulls his pants to his knees with the help of him raising his hips and freeing the one thing that she truly missed.

She stared at the sight before her,  admiring his pink fat tip dripping with pre - cum, her eyes making its way down his thick hard dick with prominent thick veins littering his dick with fat heavy shaven balls. Alisha took one long lick from the base to the tip, circling her tongue around the tip slowly sucking “ohhh fuckk, mmhm”. Terry moaned looking down from half opened eyes at the complete brown skinned goddess taking his dick in her throat. Alisha continues to suck the tip, slowly inching down his thick dick down her throat.

“Stop playing with me, open your throat” he demands, putting one of his hands  under your chin making you look up into his eyes “ Open your mouth as wide as possible” he said trying to stuff her mouth with his dick. 

As his dick reaches the back of your throat, you gag, making him inch out. “When I go in, take a deep breath, when I retract, you exhale, understood”. “Yes,” Alisha tried to say with her mouth half full. “You ready,” Alisha nodded, ready to take whatever he gave her. Terry inches back down her throat, Alisha following his instructions, suppresses her gag reflex. Terry roughly starts to fuck your face, grabbing your $500 raw bundles.

When he gets to the back of your throat, he holds your head there for a few seconds moaning at the feeling “Shiiitt, this throat is so good, fuuck”. He continues to fuck your face, tears start decorating your face, with the help of your silva falling down your chin. 

His moans motivating you to swallow and moan on his dick causing him to let out a string of moans. He starts fucking your face faster making the car shake, creating a rhythm between the two of you. “ oohhh, ssss, i'm gonna nut, you ready for it” Alisha nods her head ready suck this man dry as soon as his grip gets weak, “Shit , Shit, Shit, hmmmhmhmm” He groans, busting a fat nut. Alisha takes the opportunity to grab his hands, pinning them into the seat of the car. 

Twisting and sucking his tip with the help of her tongue, she sucks up the mess he made while staring him in his eyes. Terry ‘s eyes roll back, he bites his lip and moans ”my god”  he overpowers her grabbing her head pushing it back and a deep exhale. He finally feels relieved that she is no longer trying to push him past more than he can take. Terry stares up at the ceiling as Alisha pulls his pants up, tucking his dick back into his pants.

“I left you speechless, didn’t I big boy” Alisha laughed. Terry drops down his head, grabbing Alisha pulling her in for a kiss. “I'm so glad that I” and before Terry could finish his sentence, there was a knock on the window making them turn there heads towards the notice, “THE FUCK, YA’LL DOING IN THERE”.

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[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[7:27 am]

You sat up abruptly, your phone vibrating incessantly on the bedside table. You blinked as the filtered sunlight streamed in through the blinds, how long had you been asleep? It felt like days. Damn, how deeply asleep were you?

You reached blindly for your phone, answering groggily and blindly, "hello?"

Beside you, Chenle shifted, still asleep, but not as deep after your abrupt wake up. He always slept more soundly knowing that you were asleep right beside him. It was common that you would wake up first and a few minutes later Chenle would follow. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, his body didn’t want to waste a single waking moment without you- or even sleeping moment.

Your conversation starts hushed and quiet as your best friend tells you all about her night out. You laugh as she tells you about a guy she met and Chenle turns in your direction, his eyes still shut and still asleep.

"No! You didn't!" You exclaim as your friend loudly laughs about how she turned this guy down.

Chenle sighs, he's actually awake now. His eyes are shut but your exclamations of disbelief have woken him up with no chance of going back to sleep. You don't even notice as you laugh loudly and unapologetically.

His eyes are open now, in a cold, hard glare, but he's glaring at your back. He loves your voice, your laugh especially, but he could do without the loud sound waking him up. Maybe if you asked him up with soft giggles and kisses, not the sound of your friend screaming from the speaker. You start to speak again, "I mean he totally deserved it he jus- mmmm mmmm."

Chenle has pressed a hand over your mouth and snatched the phone from your hand. Your friend is still talking, so loud, as he hangs up. He looks at you with an unimpressed look, "do you know what time it is?"

"It's seven twe-" you start to say.

"Exactly," Chenle tuts, "it's seven in the morning. It's our day off. I— we, should be asleep."

"I didn't mean to wake you, baby. I'm sorry, I got carried away. Go back to sleep. I'll be quiet," you promise sympathetically, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Chenle burrows under the warmth of the covers once again, but feels the bed shift and suddenly most of the warmth was gone. He pries his eyes open with a frown, "where are you going?"

Your face is one of confusion, "I don't want to keep you awake any longer and I'm not tired anymore. I was going to go make coffee.”

"Oh, so you wake me up and now you deprive me of cuddles?" he sasses back in genuine shock.

“Well, I was also going to call my friend back—”

Chenle groans loudly with a pout, “just say you hate me! You can call later! Cuddle me now!”

You laugh softly, crawling beneath the covers once more and allowing him to pull you against his chest, “you’re so bossy.”

“Shhh!” He hisses, “no more talking. I’m sleeping.”

[bloggerspam]

A little treat, from the other side of the glass!

===

Steph and Jason stand there in silence after the natural disaster that they just witnessed dipped like bats out of hell.

Steph's mouth is dry, and she feels deprived of a hunt she only just started.

"So, did you hire her because you guys match?" Steph finally says, after watching Jason moon after his new boytoy for a couple seconds to make herself feel better.

Not that Jason keeps boytoys, but really, he should. Danny can be his first.

"What?" Jason blinks at her in confusion, no doubt still suffering the effects of lovesickness. Ugh.

"Val." Steph clarifies, enunciating because she likes the way it sounds on her tongue, "y'know, yay high, hot as sin, hair like—" she twirls a finger towards her own bangs, signifying the two starkly white dreads the other woman had framing her face.

Jason scoffs. "No, she's good. Knows her shit." Jason gives her a look. "I wouldn't hire someone who couldn't do the job."

"Figured," Steph placates, picking up a random nut on the table "She work the weekdays?"

She doesn't know who she's kidding. They both know Steph's panting after Jaybird's new mechanic like a dog eyeing a particularly tasty looking bone.

Two minutes ago, she watched Val suplex Danny in picture perfect 4K, and lost control of her own goddamn mouth.

"Gods, I wish that were me." Steph had said then, out loud.

Thankfully, Jason was too preoccupied watching a basically shirtless Danny pinning Val to the ground and saying "Satan, I wish that were me." to really make fun of her for it.

But Steph's not stupid, and for all the violence and muscle Jason's made up of, that doesn't mean he's stupid either. Or deaf.

They both heard the other, and are pointedly not talking about it.

Who the hell says "Satan" instead of "Gods" anyway? Jason literally worships the ground Wonder Woman struts on, and she's basically a God. Goddess. Whatever.

Power positions shouldn't be gendered. It's all the same.

"She works when she works." Jason finally says, not at all fooled by her innocent demeanor. It hasn't worked for years. Not since she was still dating Tim, but it won't stop her from trying.

She gives up.

"Come on Jaybird, you saw her!" Steph immediately whines.

"I did. And I am not letting my very talented, very valued employee fall into the clutches of a harpy!" Jason throws his hands up, strolling back to her car to get it sorted. He's no doubt under the impression that the faster he fixes it, the sooner she'll leave.

They both know it's a lost hope.

"I am not a harpy," Steph sniffs, ignoring Jason's responding scoff, "And I just wanna get to know her, is all."

"Know like what, her three sizes and what she looks like on a bed?” Jason snarks.

She kicks him in the side. “First of all, crude. What would Alfie say?”

Jason pointedly ignores her, but she’s used to that treatment from him. “Plus, it’s not like you’re any better!” 

Jason stands up abruptly to glare at Steph. “You met Val today. I’ve met Danny a handful of times this week and yeah, I like what I see,” Steph feels a triumphant glee take over her, but Jason shuts her up by pointing a greasy hand at her threateningly, “but I like how he's funny and smart more.”

Steph lets that percolate for a moment, trying to keep a straight face, before a shit-eating grin takes over her face. “And it doesn’t hurt that pretty boy can throw down.” 

Jason rolls his eyes, but he can’t fool Steph. She sees his get a little red as he turns back to sink into the hood of her car. “He made that bike, y’know.” 

That surprises her. “He did? By himself??”

“His friend Tucker tricked it out with him—Danny can code, but his friend’s a certified genius apparently.” Steph feels warmth flood over her as Jason continues to talk about Danny, about the handful of things the two men have talked about during the scant moments Danny’s there waiting to pick up Val. "We're only three years apart, and he's already got a lot goin' on for him."

"Hey, you got this place all on your own, without Bruce's help, and got back on your feet." Steph jabs a threatening finger at him, "You're barely legal to drink, and you have what, 6 employees?"

Jason sniffs, muttering something about college and pit madness. Steph rolls her eyes and promptly tells him where he can shove that kind of talk.

Namely: where the sun don't shine and Gotham smog don't go.

In truth, she’s happy. She’s never seen Jason this relaxed about meeting someone new, though she’s sure it’s not the first time. She and Jay have never been too close, despite the fact that he tolerates her more in casual hangouts than the rest of the bats and birds. 

They trust each other with their lives, of course, but Steph wasn’t exactly there when Red Hood first made his debut, and she’s one of the few in the Batfam that didn’t know Jason before. 

Sometimes she thinks that the only reason he can tolerate her as much as he does. Can't make comparisons to a dead boy if you didn't know the dead boy, after all.

So she listens to him redirect the talk back to Danny, to the shop, and when Jason runs out of things to say they sit together in comfortable, familiar silence. The only noise being the city ambience and Jason tinkering around in the guts of her car.

Steph basks in it, breathing slow and deep, contemplative.

"So. Vigilantes?" Jason finally utters, Steph's eyes snapping open so she can point a finger at him frantically.

"Right!? Phantom?" She asks, watching as Jason turns toward her with a wrench from god knows where.

"Huntress?" Jason counters.

"Cujo????" Steph almost screeches.

There's another silence, as Jason and Steph stare at each other, confused beyond measure. It's the kind of pause that people who've just been through a baffling moment together can commiserate in, a moment that really takes one aback, rare for borne and bred Gothamites like Steph and Jason are.

"Tim?" Steph offers.

"Babs?" Jason pleads.

A long moment, and Steph nods, pulling out her phone.

She pretends not to notice Jason's shoulders slumping in relief as he turns back to her car—probably thinking he's just dodged a bullet on brotherly nosiness. Tim might be able to lie to Batman's face, but he's still a sucker for Dick Grayson's pouty whines.

Jokes on him, last she heard Dick is hanging out with Babs today, so he'll find out anyway.

The second she presses send, she belatedly remembers that she's also probably going to be subjected to the nosy.

Gods damn it all.

Mechanic!Val AU, but make it gay and sapphic.

ya'll can thank the HH discord for this one. Specifically the menace known as @clockwayswrites (and @impyssadobsessions for the art that inspired the damn thing)

Dead on Main and with some future Val/Steph >)

also @belfry-ghost did a doodle for this AU and everyone should go love on his art. Val's so unf.

===

Val’s pretty sure her new boss Jay is actually a crime lord.

She’s pretty sure he’s The Crime Lord, actually. She’s like, 98% sure she works for Red Hood now, and she’s low key mad about it. She squints at the man now, with his white streak and almost imperceptible green sheen to his eyes. 

The problem is that Val did perceive it. Because she used to date a guy whose baby blue eyes changed ever so slightly in the same way. Thinking about Danny makes her even madder.

To be clear, she’s not mad about Red Hood himself. 

She’s just mad that, of all the mechanic shops in all of Crime Alley, she just had to work for her ex-boyfriend’s third place Hall Pass pick. It also makes her miss her friends way more, and Val is hardly what one would call a well-adjusted woman, so she’s mad about it.

She huffs as she lifts the hood of the second car she’s working on today. Being a mechanic wasn’t really on the docket for Val’s life goals, nor was being in Gotham, but she got a full ticket ride on Wayne Foundation scholarships, and honestly? 

Gotham is Amity Park Lite: Gargoyles and Furries Edition. 

Between a full ride to Gotham U and being stuck at Elmerton Community College? The choice was easy. 

So here she is, working for the resident Crime Lord in his civvies. 

Jay pays good, teaches her what she needs to know, and bonus: he sometimes helps with her English Literature class. He’s flexible on hours, and she’s even got rudimentary insurance. 

All in All?  It could be worse—she could still be working for Vlad, after all. 

It's the little things.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 4

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3

TW: one instance of homophobic language (internally), fear of violence due to homophobia (which doesn't occur).

Chrissy would have never expected Steve Harrington to be full of such soft, gooey feelings, but with every letter she helps him right, he only gets sappier. The latest is so sticky with sap she’s afraid it’ll stick to her fingers.

Part of her, the smallest, niggling part, wishes Steve really was her boyfriend, and all those little niceties could be for her. But, that wouldn’t be fair to Steve, anyway. There’s nothing there; he’s just Steve—the platonic ideal of a best friend.

So, she wears his last name on her back, helps him write his little notes, and hopes ardently that she’ll find someone she cares that much about for herself.

“What are you doing?”

Chrissy’s fingers stumble at the unexpected voice, Steve’s latest letter fluttering to the dirty ground. Someone else beats her to picking it up. She watches, mouth in her throat, as one of Eddie’s friends unfolds the note. He squints down at it, eyebrows raising higher and higher until they’re almost meeting his hairline by the time he reaches the sign-off.

He folds it up carefully before handing it back to her. She clutches it to her chest, but the damage has already been done.

“Aren’t you dating Harrington?” Jeff asks.

Chrissy stumbles over her words, only getting out an, “it’s not like—” and a “I wouldn’t do—” before sputtering into silence.

They stand there, staring at each other for an endless moment, neither speaking, before Chrissy finally spins around, shoves the note into Eddie’s locker, and flees as fast as her tired legs can carry her.

He doesn’t follow.

Practice had run long, and she’d just wanted to leave the note and get home. Now, home is less of a relief and more somewhere that she can stew in the repercussions of what she’s done. Jeff’s Eddie’s friend, he’ll tell him without hesitation, and where will that leave her and Steve?

With that in mind, she goes looking for Jeff bright and early the next day, hoping boys’ propensity for not talking on the phone means that they’ve yet to speak.

“Did you tell him?” she asks when she finds Jeff spinning the dial on what must be his own locker.

Seeming entirely unbothered even as everyone around them stares, Jeff continues unlocking his locker at a leisurely pace. Only once he’s pulled the lock down and swung his locker open does he turn to meet her eyes.

“You mean, did I tell my best friend that Chrissy Cunningham has been writing him love notes?” Jeff asks. Chrissy shifts her eyes around, relieved that no one’s close enough to hear Jeff’s quiet voice.

Chrissy nods, something weighty sinking into her stomach the longer he goes without responding.

He turns back to his locker with a huff to dig around on the top shelf. “No,” he says, but before the relief can hit her, he continues, “I don’t want you to hurt him, and I think you will.”

“It’s not—I don’t—“ she stumbles in an embarrassing reenactment of last night. When he turns back to her with that same judgmental look, she shores herself up, clears her throat, and finally eeks out a full sentence. “I wouldn’t do that.”

Jeff’s expression doesn’t change as he asks, “so, what? You’re going to leave Harrington for him?”

Her silence must speak volumes because he slams his locker shut, and turns to walk away, calling, “that’s what I thought” over his shoulder.

She stands, transfixed, as he walks away.

His dismissal niggles at her, until she finds herself seeking him out again before the end of the day. He’s walking out of the bathroom, still shaking his hands dry as she rushes up to him, matching his stride down the hallway step for step.

“I’m not dating Steve,” she says.

It’s the first time she’s said it aloud, none of her friends close enough to confide in. But, here she is, telling the best friend of one half of the reason her and Steve are even doing this, entirely unprompted.

Jeff looks at her sidelong. “Did you tell the rest of the school that?”

Chrissy sweeps her ponytail over her shoulder as she rolls her eyes. She’d never told anyone her and Steve were dating. All it’d taken was her wearing his letterman, and that confrontation with Jason, and everyone had been convinced, no lying necessary.

“It doesn’t matter to me what they all think.”

It does, but she’s been spending too much time with Steve, and his aloof indifference to his image has been rubbing off. She’s glad.

“But you’re telling me, because what?” he asks, still skeptical. “You have a big crush on my best friend?”

He throws finger quotations around the word crush that would be insulting if he wasn’t right. She does like Eddie. He’s weird, but nice unless provoked. But the thought of kissing his dry lips makes her nose wrinkle.

“It’s not like that,” she says again.

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

He walks into his next class without another word. Chrissy continues down the hall, barely making it in time for her own.

It doesn’t get better.

Jeff’s dislike, visible in his eyes anytime they cross paths, cuts at her. She finds herself seeking him out, explaining again and again, or trying to without saying anything at all.

“It’s really not like that!” she says, finally frustrated enough to raise her voice. “Steve’s handwriting is atrocious so I was just—”

She cuts herself off, hands slamming over her mouth as she realizes what she’s said. It’s just, Jeff was making that face she hates again, that one with the raised brows and judgmental smirk, and she’d gotten mad.

“Steve’s handwriting…” Jeff murmurs quietly, eyebrows now lowered and furrowed in thought.

She might’ve been able to play it off. But the silence has lingered too long, and Chrissy’s never had much of a poker face. She knows the guilt and panic in her expression is damning; she still can’t seem to wipe it off her face.

“The notes…” Jeff starts, trailing off like he can’t bear to say it, “are from Steve?”

Chrissy clenches her hand tighter across her mouth like she can somehow retroactively shove her words back into her throat, stop Jeff from having the realization that might get Steve–who’s quickly becoming her best friend–killed. But, he keeps just looking at her. So, she nods, movements jerky and scared.

“Shit,” Jeff says, finally breaking eye contact to bend over and squeeze the bridge of his nose. “That explains so much.”

Unable to stop herself, Chrissy bursts into tears.

***

Eddie heads to his locker first thing in the morning. He’s been buzzing since he dropped off the last letter, hoping against hope that she’d check there again. And there, like an answer to his prayers, is an envelope resting atop his neglected Biology textbook.

Eddie’s ready to become a believer if all his hopes and dreams keep coming true. He’ll drop down on his knees and repent for all his sins if it means these letters keep coming. In fact, he’ll do it here and now, envelope clutched between sweaty palms as his knees smack into the unforgiving floor of the hallway. All the peons around him give him a wide berth as he smacks his palms together and sends up a prayer like he’s seen people do on TV.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jeff asks, squinting down at him like this is the weirdest thing he’s ever caught Eddie doing.

“Nothing!” Eddie replies, resisting the urge to shove the letter into his mouth. He hasn’t even got to read it yet, no way is he squandering this opportunity just because Jeff’s butting his nosy little nose into his business.

But when Eddie meets Jeff’s eyes, he looks so squinty and weird, and un-Jeff-like, that Eddie’s almost worried. He stands, bruised knees aching as he shoves the envelope—gently!—into the deep pocket of his jeans. Jeff watches the paper until it’s entirely out of sight.

“You okay?” Eddie asks, hand reaching out to cup Jeff’s shoulder.

Jeff shakes his head like a dog after a bath, finally looking away from the ass of Eddie’s jeans. “What?” he asks, before shaking his head again, and it must help shake a thought loose because the next thing he says is, “I’m fine.”

Eddie keeps his eyes fixed on Jeff, wondering if it’ll be enough to break him, but all Jeff does is clench his jaw and straighten his shoulders, a warrior ready for battle.

“All right,” Eddie says, reaching his finger out to boop Jeff’s nose in that way he hates. “Keep your secrets.”

Then, he turns and walks away. He smiles as Jeff sputters behind him, calling out, “I don’t have any secrets!” just as Eddie pushes into the bathroom.

There’s a few freshmen in there, but they scatter as Eddie enters. Even still, Eddie rushes into one of the stalls and locks it behind himself. This is about as far as a lit candle and mood lighting as one can get—Eddie smells the hints of the shit the last guy in here must have taken and the fluorescents are bright enough to drill a headache into his skull—but Eddie can’t wait any longer.

He tears into the envelope, as gently as he can with impatient, shaking fingers.

  Eddie —

  I know you don’t like them, but I like sports. There’s something about depending on your body to get you through a hard work-out, you know? But, I don’t know if it’s my thing, like Dungeons and Dragons and music are yours. Maybe I don’t have a thing. Is that weird?

  My favorite color is yellow, like the sun, and sunflowers, and all those happy, bright colors. I’d love to see you in such a bright color one day, even if I do love all the black and red. It suits you.

  I’ve never dreamt much, but when they’re good, they’re usually about you, so your hopes just might come true.

  I know your handwriting, and what you yell about for the world to hear, but I don’t know as much as I’d like. I want to know everything about you. What’s your favorite color? Do you have happy dreams?

  Yours, Always

  Your Secret Admirer

  P.S. Maybe put it in Romeo and Juliet this time, the edition with the tear in the cover.

Here, tucked away in this shitty bathroom in this shitty school, Eddie Munson smiles. He’s got another note to write, and another book in the library to find.

*** 

“I have some bad news.”

Steve’s barely stepped out of his car before Chrissy’s ambushing him. He takes a startled step back into the beemer, as he meets her gaze.

Chrissy’s wringing her hands together, anxiety wafting off her. Just behind her shoulder, a guy Steve only recognizes as one of Eddie’s friends is stoutly avoiding his eyes. Whatever this is, it’s got Steve’s gut sinking into his socks.

“What happened?” Steve asks hesitantly.

His mind’s ticking away, and coming up with all the worst case scenarios. Eddie’s in trouble, or hurt, or worse. What else could bring these two together?

“Jeff knows about the letters!” Chrissy cries, words all jumbled together in her rush to get them out.

Steve takes a step back, pressing his spine uncomfortably into the metal roof of his car, instinct against an unknown threat.  No one steps after him. It’s hard to take his eyes off Jeff and Chrissy, but he does. The parking lot’s crowded with warm bodies pushing between cars, desperate to make it to class on time.

Just moments ago, Steve was one of them.

“You told him?” Steve asks, eyes locked on Chrissy.

For her part, Chrissy’s eyes look big and shiny as she nods. She takes a step forward, and it takes everything in him not to step back. It’s just—he’d thought they were friends.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out, tears finally pouring out of her eyes.

Steve watches, stagnant, as the person he was starting to consider his best friend, cries. He wants to hug her, wants to scream at her, wants to run the hell out of here to lick his wounds in peace. But, Jeff takes a step forward, scowl on his face, and Steve takes two hasty steps back, tumbling painfully through his open driver’s side door and sprawling uncomfortably on his stick shift.

The few students nearby turn to look at him, saying snide comments to one another, barely polite enough to talk in whispers. He hardly notices, eyes locked on the main threat. Jeff’s face softens as he stops his forward momentum, foot still raised in the air for a step he doesn’t take. No one moves until everyone stops watching the spectacle and begins walking away.

Jeff’s the one who breaks the stand-off, voice quieter and gentler than he’d expected. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this here.”

Steve stares him down, still sprawled uncomfortably in his car. He’s right, but a small voice in the back of Steve’s head is wondering if they should do this at all. He wants to cut his losses and run. But, Chrissy’s still crying, and if his secret is going to be spread around the school, he’d rather have a head start out of town.

He crawls out of his seat, limbs feeling more ungainly and awkward than they have since he was prepubescent. It feels like every eye in town turns toward him as the sound of his closing car door echoes through the rapidly emptying parking lot.

“Follow me,” he says.

Turning his back on them feels like a show of trust he can’t afford, but he’s not following either of them off school grounds. The football field will be empty at this time on a Friday, especially with the rain coming down.

None of them are wearing coats, so he leads them beneath the bleachers. The rain still drips between the rafters, but there are a few dry spots big enough to stand in.

“Make-out spot, Harrington?” Jeff asks, mouth quirked up as he leans against one of the metal support beams despite it being wet and cold.

Steve’s intestines squirm around in his stomach at the way Jeff and Chrissy stay standing next to each other, a united front against Steve.

“It’s not like it’s Skull Rock,” Steve says, proud that his voice doesn’t shake. “Now, say what you want to say so I can go home.”

“There’s still school,” Chrissy hiccups out, as if he cares at all about that right now.

Jeff straightens, small smile dropping off his face as he eyes Steve. Chrissy’s face is wet. Steve’s just glad he can no longer tell what’s raindrops and what’s tears.

“I was being a dick to her,” Jeff says.

“No, you were—” Chrissy starts before Jeff talks right over her.

“All she said was that your handwriting was bad, and I put the rest together.”

A small part of Steve is soothed that Chrissy hadn’t told him on purpose. Accidents happen, he can understand that. But—

“Eddie told you about the letters?” Steve asks. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised, Jeff and Eddie are always occupying the same spaces. They must be close.

Jeff shakes his head, but it’s Chrissy that speaks first, “he saw me putting one in Eddie’s locker.”

“Oh,” Steve says, slumping into himself.

They’re both staring at him now.

Steve’s never been good with silences. When his parents are gone, he leaves the TV on in the living room all hours of the day. At school, he surrounds himself with warm bodies, all making noise. In his car, there’s always a tape playing in his deck.

“So, should I start fleeing town?” Steve asks, trying for a joking tone, but his voice cracks tellingly on the last word.

“No!” Chrissy cries.

She rushes forward, wrapping the entirety of her small body around his like she can shelter him from any harms that might come for him. Steve stumbles back, barely stabilizing before they both go tumbling into the dirt.

He wraps his arms hesitantly around her, patting her back awkwardly as she undoubtedly cries into his shoulder. She’s short enough that he can put his chin on her head, so he does. She feels right in his arms—good and warm.

Why couldn’t he like her instead?

“It’s okay, Chris,” he says, but she’s too short to hide in, and he’s got a perfect view of Jeff, still in his original spot. “It’ll be okay.”

It feels like a lie when it comes out of his mouth. He meets Jeff’s eyes, surprised when he finds them warm.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Jeff says.

It’s only then that Steve realizes how haggard his breathing had become, like he’d been running suicide’s in the gym, not standing stationary fighting the fears of his own mind.

He sucks in an unencumbered breath, the stone constricting his lungs ground down to almost nothing. Steve nods, arms still wrapped around Chrissy like she might be ripped away from him. He couldn’t have expected anything better, not in Hawkins. Except, what’s the likelihood he gets this lucky again?

He’s two for two with good reactions, what’s the likelihood the third won’t play a nice game of smear the queer?

Except, this is one of Eddie’s best friends, and does “anyone” even include him?

“Even Eddie?” Steve asks, that same damning quiver back in his voice.

Jeff shakes his head, and before Steve can begin to panic, Jeff speaks, “I think you should tell him, but it’s your secret man.”

Steve tries to find any sign of a lie on Jeff’s face. The other boy just looks placidly back, waiting his scrutiny out.

“Thank you,” Chrissy and Steve say at the same time.

They collapse into each other, giggling like fools as the adrenaline leaves them both. Behind them, Jeff’s smiling like he finds this whole thing charming.

Three might be a crowd, but Steve’s never liked being alone. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

PART 5

[justagalwhowrites]

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 4: Past and Present

Being in Los Angeles is a challenge - and an opportunity - for you and Joel. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 2 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Depiction of someone experiencing a trigger. Remembered child death. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 12.6k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Previous Chapter

September 26, 2019

“Joel.”

The sound of his brother’s voice pulled him out of his own head. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, half sitting, half leaning against the window ledge, staring at his daughter’s body. The blood on his skin was drying now, starting to flake off in some places and get caught on the hair of his arms and chest in others. It pulled slightly when he moved, an odd sensation that tied him to his body in a way he could hardly stand.

It was still dark outside, which made sense. He wasn’t sure the sun was going to rise. Such a thing seemed impossible now, that the earth would still be turning at a time like this.

“Did you hear me?” Tommy asked, coming and standing next to him.

It took him a moment to process that question. Tommy sounded so far away, like he was speaking to him above water while Joel was deep below it.

That would be a welcome change, he thought. Then he could just open his mouth and pull all that water into his lungs and never have to breathe or think or be ever again.

He couldn’t do that here. The window behind him couldn’t even open – he’d tried. Just to see if he could get some fresh air, he told himself. The fact that he was 10 stories up, that the fall would almost certainly kill him, was just a fringe benefit.

He couldn’t keep going like this, he knew that already. He kept picturing it in his head, over and over and over again.

Him and Tommy leaving the bar. Tommy driving him home. Stopping a few blocks away from his house, finding the car a tangled mass of metal in the street.

He’d just frowned at first, things not quite clicking. There was something familiar about the car, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Jesus,” Tommy said, pulling over and getting out his cell phone, already moving to call 9-1-1. “Be a miracle if anyone survived that…”

Joel saw it then, the bumper sticker on the back of the sedan. Red with white lettering, “Blow it hard & finger it fast” with a clarinet in the middle. He remembered it because, the first time he saw it, he told Sarah he didn’t think that kind of bumper sticker was appropriate for a teenaged girl’s car.

“Dad,” she’d rolled her eyes. “It’s just a joke. Emma plays clarinet, don’t be so lame.”

He’d just sighed and dropped it. It’s not like he could tell the girl to take it off, she wasn’t his daughter. Besides, what trouble was one bumper sticker?

He knew that bumper sticker. Sarah had gotten in the car with that bumper sticker this morning. The car with that bumper sticker was supposed to be taking her home.

Joel was out of the truck before he really knew what he was doing, running toward the accident as fast as he could, praying that Sarah was already safely at the house, that Emma had dropped her off and was going home herself when she was hit.

“Joel!” Tommy yelled after him, getting out of the car, too. “What…”

“That’s Sarah’s friend’s car!” He yelled back to his brother, making it to the passenger side door – the side with the worst of the damage – swearing up and down to every god he’d ever known that he would do anything – anything they asked, anything at all – if that seat was empty, if Sarah was safely at home waiting for him.

His prayers went unanswered.

“No,” Joel breathed, his heart pounding. He pulled at the door but it wouldn’t move, locked shut. He went to the back seat and threw himself against the window until the spidering glass caved. He thrust his arm inside, ignoring the cuts from the glass on his skin, fumbling for the handle until he forced the warped door open. He wasn’t sure where to touch her, a bloody splotch on her stomach that seemed to be spreading. One of her arms was at an odd angle, one of her legs too. But she was breathing, almost hyperventilating, her eyes closed, one hand tight to her stomach. “You’re OK baby girl, you’re OK, just move your hand for me, just…”  

“Dad?” She opened her eyes, wide and afraid. “Dad, I…”

“I know,” he said quickly, fighting to keep his voice calm. “I know, I know, just move your hand baby girl, just…”

She pulled her trembling palm away from her stomach and he saw the wound, a chunk of metal embedded into her skin so deep he could barely see it. She reached for him, the blood on her hand soaking into his shirt so he could feel it on his skin.

“You’re gonna be OK,” he said, looking from her stomach to her face. “It’s OK, you’re gonna be OK.”

He had to stop the bleeding. He unbuckled her seatbelt so he could get clearer access to her and pressed his hand into her stomach, making her cry out.

“I know,” he said. “I know it hurts, I know baby, I know. Just gotta hang on for me, OK? Just hang on, you’re gonna be OK.”

Her fingers twisted in the collar of his shirt and she pulled herself against him. He could smell the blood and gasoline and smoke. He had to move her, before a fire started and made this worse he had to get her away from here.

“Just hold on,” he said. “I gotta move you…” He pulled her tight against his body and she screamed, her shallow breaths coming quicker. “I know baby girl, I know, I know, it hurts, I know, I just…”

He looked behind him to find Tommy, hoping to have some idea of when help was coming. But his brother was just standing there, watching Joel, a broken look on his face.

“Tommy,” Joel looked at him, holding Sarah as tight as he could to his chest. Her blood was warm on his skin. “Tommy, help me!”

“Joel,” he said softly. “I… I can’t, I’m sorry, there’s nothing…”

His eyes were on Sarah and Joel realized, suddenly, that she was quiet.

He looked down to her and she had gone still in his arms, her head lolling back lifelessly. Her fingers weren’t clutching his shirt anymore, she wasn’t crying. She wasn’t even breathing.

“No,” he said, his grip on her tightening. “No, no, no, no, no! C’mon baby girl, you’re OK, you’re gonna be OK, you’re…”

He looked back to his brother, Tommy crying silently. There had to be something he could do, something one of them could do.

But there wasn’t. Joel just clung to his daughter’s body until the police and EMTs came, a paramedic pulling her body from his arms before trying to revive her. 

It was no use. 

Joel stayed with her on the ambulance ride to the hospital. No lights, no sirens, no racing through the streets. There was just quiet as he looked at the sheet that covered his only child, the little girl he’d held when she first came into the world, the one who had wrapped one tiny, perfect hand around his finger when she was just hours old. 

She was still there, just a few feet away from him. He’d refused to let them take her to the morgue, the outline of her visible through the sheet. He needed to be next to her as long as possible, he couldn’t let them just take her away and put her somewhere cold and dark. He needed to be next to her, take care of her. 

They left him alone with her when he made it clear he wasn’t going to just let them take her away from him. Tommy took over then, talking with police and people at the hospital. Joel wasn’t sure why he bothered. 

What did any of this matter without her? 

Joel cleared his throat, Tommy still watching him cautiously.

“No,” he said. “M’sorry. What’s happenin’?”

“Said I got some news,” he said. “Some good. Sounds like Emma’s gonna make it, her parents are here��” 

Joel nodded. Part of him knew he should feel good about that but he was having a hard time doing it. Of course it was good that another child hadn’t died but fuck, he hated how much he’d do anything - including sacrifice that other child - to bring his own back. 

“What else,” Joel said when Tommy didn’t continue. 

“Well,” he said before he sighed and crossed his arms. “Sounds like we know the car that hit ‘em…” 

Joel stood up straight then, suddenly alert, ready to take care of it. Whoever it was had been in good enough shape to drive away from the scene which meant they were probably still alive. He’d change that. He’d like changing that. 

“They got some video from security cameras and shit nearby,” he said. “Some SUV just barreling through, swervin’ all over the road, probably drunk but…” 

He trailed off. 

“But?” Joel asked, his voice dark. 

“But,” Tommy said again. “The plate they pulled was reported stolen three days ago, they got no idea who’s driving it. That asshole ditches the car, they got no way of finding ‘em.” 

“What’s that mean?” Joel asked, looking toward where Sarah lay, still and cold under the sheet. “Are they not gonna even fuckin’ look?” 

“No, they’re lookin’,” Tommy said, putting his hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Just… not sure what they’ll be able to actually find.” 

Joel clenched his jaw, his arms crossed, fingers digging almost painfully into his biceps, his eyes never leaving the place where is daughter lay. 

If the police wouldn’t get justice, fine, he would. He’d find it and he’d take it. He’d find it and he’d take it from anyone who deserved it. As long as it protected someone who needed it, he didn’t care if it killed him. 

October, 2024

There was an Oscar in his closet. 

He stood there, the t-shirts from his duffle dangling from his hand, staring at the smudged and dusty but still glimmering gold of the statuette sitting in the middle of a high shelf at the back. 

There was a fucking Oscar in his closet. 

Was this your idea of a joke? Were you trying to be fucking funny, leaving it here for him to find? 

He went to it, setting the shirts on top of the chest of drawers before getting the statue down. It was high enough that he had to stretch to reach it, and he was almost surprised when his fingers closed around cool metal. He’d half expected it to be fake, some plastic bullshit you’d put there to try to taunt him in some way, but if it was a fake, it was a damn good one. It was metal and far heavier than he was expecting as he pulled it down to examine it. You’d set it so it was facing the wall and he turned it over to see the front of it, a plaque on the base. 

Your name was engraved on it, as well as “Academy Award” and “Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role” and “The District.”

It’s not like he knew a goddamn thing about things like Oscars but this seemed real. And as much pleasure as you seemed to take in annoying - or even just puzzling - him, Joel couldn’t come up with a reason why you’d go through the trouble of making a fake one to stick in his closet for whatever reason. 

You’d just… left your Oscar in his closet. 

A while ago, from the look of the damn thing. Upon closer inspection, it was obvious it had been sitting there for awhile. It was tarnished in places and dust had settled heavily into the crevices. It didn’t seem like someone had moved it here recently. It seemed like you’d just put it here one day and left it for him to find years later. 

He just shook his head a little, going and dropping the statuette on the bed - the thing bouncing heavily before settling into the mattress - before unpacking the rest of his bag. 

He’d only been in LA a few hours and he already missed Texas. 

You’d been mobbed at the airport, swarms of photographers descending on you as you left the secured area. 

Here, at least, security and police seemed to expect this behavior. Celebrities flew in and out all the time, and it didn’t take much for Joel to usher you through the crowd, your chin tucked into your chest, your carryon bag over your arm. 

A car with a driver was waiting for you and the two of you went straight for it, you climbing in first and Joel sliding it next to you, snapping the door shut as quickly as he could. But, as badly as he wanted to get away from the chaos of this place, he was surprised when the car started moving almost immediately. 

“They’ll deliver the luggage to the house,” you said, apparently reading his mind. “Not exactly smart to just stand there at baggage claim and wait for it as I’m sure you can imagine.” 

He scoffed at that, crossing his arms and settling into his corner of the back seat of whatever fucking luxury SUV this was. 

“Someone just takes care of everything for you, don’t they?” He asked, probably sharper than he should have. 

You laughed once, derisively. 

“Something like that.” 

In truth, this whole thing made him uncomfortable. He was in a place he didn’t know, one full of people who were obsessed with his charge - not just whoever was stalking you but the whole of the world, it seemed - and he didn’t even have his fucking gun. 

He planted his feet more firmly on the floor of the car before texting Tommy that the two of you had made it to LA and were en route to your house. 

You relaxed more, now that it was just you, Joel, and an oddly silent driver. You just watched out the window, the streetlights casting a glow on your skin as the car made its way slowly through the gridlock of Los Angeles. Joel ground his teeth, his whole body drawn tight and tense, waiting for some release after the chaos of the airport set him on edge. 

But none came, the driver eventually pulling up to a surprisingly modest house in nice neighborhood. 

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but it was more than this - a house that looked not much bigger than his own back in Austin. Unlike your place back in Texas that sat on several acres and had no immediate neighbors, there were other houses close to yours on this quiet street. It wasn’t a gated community, there was no full fence around the place, it was just a suburban house on a suburban street. 

Joel followed you inside, the lights on and jazz playing somewhere. He frowned, looking around, half expecting someone to come out and greet you. 

No one did, though, and he just hovered in the entry way, watching as you set down your bag and lit candles. 

“Can I help you?” You asked after a moment, your brows raised. 

“No,” he said, a little defensive. But you didn’t move, just raised your brows further and he sighed. “This place just… ain’t what I was expecting.” 

“Oh,” you said, relaxing a little. “Before I had Ellie, it was just me, I didn’t need anything insane. When I moved to Texas, I just wanted a place where Ellie would have plenty of space and want to invite her friends to.” 

Joel nodded slowly. 

“That’s… nice.” 

You shrugged. 

“Your room is down the hall,” you said. “There are only three bedrooms here, I’m not sure which of the spares they set up for you but one should be made up. They stocked the kitchen, too, but there’s no one here all the time like Esmo is so you’ll have to look after yourself. Just… make yourself at home.” 

The luggage was delivered not long after - his gun safely inside - and Joel went to get settled in when he found the damn Oscar. 

It stared him down as he talked with Tommy about logistics, about exactly what the hell he was getting into out here. 

“There’s fuckin’ nothing here infrastructure wise,” Joel said, his foot bouncing impatiently. The statuette rolled into his side as he sat on the bed and he glared at it before moving it to a bookshelf covered in impersonal knick knacks that sat opposite the bed. “Not even a goddamn chain link fence between the front door and the street, Tommy.” 

“Yeah, well, I told you it was a different set up,” he said, at least having the dignity to sound sheepish as he did.

“Different,” Joel said. “Not a security risk.” 

“She’s kept where she lives pretty private and you have the resources you need to handle it. You’ve got the driver,” Tommy said. “And the auxiliary guards outside. And you know what you’re doing. You’ll be fine.” 

Once they were off the phone, Tommy sent Joel a roundup of tabloid coverage about your arrival to LA and, once he got past the surreal moment of seeing pictures of himself online like that, he tried to analyze what he was seeing. Speculation was rampant about where you’d been, screenshots of tweets sharing photos of you - or someone people thought was you - scattered throughout the coverage. 

People seemed to have pinpointed the reason you were back in LA but no one seemed to know why you’d left or where, exactly, you’d been. He sighed, staring at the picture of him walking behind you, trying to shield you from camera flashes as much as possible. 

What the hell was he getting into? 

He was exhausted but it took him a while to fall asleep in the too comfortable bed, your Oscar watching him from the shelf nearby. 

So it was a rude awakening when he was jerked back into consciousness by a twangy guitar. It took him a moment to realize where he was, still dark outside, but the music loud enough that he heard the rattle of the lightbulb in the lamp by his bed. 

“What the…” he forced himself up, grabbing is gun and loading it before moving quickly but cautiously toward the main part of the house, the music growing louder as he went.

“And it didn’t take ‘em long to decide, that Earl had to die!” 

You were more yelling the lyrics than actually singing them and Joel found you in the kitchen with a blonde woman who was also singing, the two of you jumping around like you were at a fucking concert at six in the goddamn morning. 

“You’re feelin’ weak?” The two of you sang at each other, you using the handle of a spatula as a microphone. “Why don’t you lay down and sleep, Earl?” 

He rolled his eyes, lowering the gun. 

“Hey!” He yelled over the music. 

The two of you stopped and turned to face him, both of you in skintight athletic wear and covered in a sheen of sweat. You laughed and winced and reached out and tapped some touch screen, making the music stop. 

“The hell are you doin’?” He asked, looking you over and trying to ignore how fucking good you looked right then. 

“Babe,” the woman - who Joel suddenly realized he knew, a singer that Sarah had been obsessed with - leaned over and half whispered, half said to you. “There’s a shirtless man with a gun in your kitchen.” 

“Yeah, that’d be Big Miller,” you said, looking him up and down. “Shirtless but pajama pants? Interesting, totally thought you’d be a boxers and nothing else guy…” 

He narrowed his eyes. 

“What’s a Big Miller?” The woman asked, her blonde ponytail reaching almost to her waist. 

“My bodyguard,” you said. “He’s a bit over the top, though because, really? A gun? Come on.” 

“You’re the one who’s got some psycho writin’ her letters,” he snapped. “The hell was I supposed to know it was you acting like a fucking teenager?” 

“This isn’t a teenager thing,” you said. “This is a ‘your friend just go dumped so you sing about murdering him and then running away to start a small business’ thing. Which you wouldn’t understand because you have no friends.” 

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Why are you up this early? I got your itinerary, you don’t have anywhere to be until ten.” 

“Well actually, we have a pap walk in about,” you looked at your smart watch. “Forty-five minutes. Which is why Tanya is here. By the way, Tanya, that’s Big Miller but you can call him Joel if you really want.” 

She looked at him from head to toe and then shrugged before looking at you. 

“I’m single again,” she said. “I’d be down to find out just how big Miller is…” 

He looked quickly between the two of you and then the two of you laughed, practically falling over, hanging on each other to stay upright. 

“The look on your face!” You were still laughing, gasping for breath. “Oh my God!” 

“That’s not funny,” he scowled. 

“No, it’s hilarious,” Tanya said, straightening up. “Who knew we were such a threat?” 

“Oh, shit,” you said, turning to the stove and doing something Joel couldn’t see with a pan. “Almost burned it… Want some egg whites, Big Miller?” 

“What?” He asked. “No, I…” He looked between the two of you again. “Did you work out?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you said, looking back over your shoulder toward him. “We went for a run.” 

“Went?” He asked. “Went where.” 

“Just a few miles around the neighborhood,” Tanya waved him off. “Nothing crazy.” 

He put the gun down on the counter with a little too much force. 

“You went out without me?” He stalked over to you. “The hell were you thinking!” 

“That I needed to go for a run,” you said, brows raised, incredulous. “And it’s best to go before the sun is up because then it’s too hot.” 

“Do you really think you’re safe here?” He asked. “That the guy who’s been sending shit to your house just ain’t gonna come by when everyone on the fuckin’ planet knows you got here last night?” 

“I think this whole thing is overblown and that there isn’t a threat,” you said. “And Ellie isn’t here so it doesn’t really matter, does it?” 

“It’s really not bad,” Tanya said, looking between the two of you. “It’s a quiet neighborhood, no paparazzi or fans or anything…” 

“But we do have that pap walk in a few,” you said, pulling the egg whites off the burner and tipping them onto plates. “And we still need to drive there.” 

“The fuck is a pap walk,” Joel asked, looking between the two of you. 

“Oh, it’s where we tell the paparazzi where we’ll be and when we’ll be there so they can grab their photos,” Tanya said. “In exchange, they don’t follow us all the time. With the two of us there, there’s going to be a lot of them.” 

“And were you planning to say anything about this?” Joel asked, incredulous. “Or were you just gonna take off without telling your fuckin’ security team?” 

“You seem mad,” you said, spearing some eggs on the end of your fork. 

“I seem mad,” Joel said, grinding his teeth, his eyes narrowing.  

“You seem mad,” you again, eating the eggs. “You should work on that.” 

He clenched his jaw, trying to resist the urge to yell before stalking off to his room to get dressed. Because if he was going with you on this fucking pap walk or whatever the fuck it was called, he’d need to be dressed. 

The whole thing was a surprisingly simple affair. He followed behind you and Tanya with one of the auxiliary guards, a man named Nick who’d been camped in front of your house, to some smoothie place in the city. 

He watched as the two of you got out of Tanya’s car, laughing and touching each other as you angled your bodies toward the flashing cameras while pretending like they weren’t there. It was a strange dance, Joel sitting in the car with his nails digging into his palm, his jaw clenched tight, the sense that he should be between you and the photographers you were putting on some strange performance for all but taking over. His heart raced, his chest getting tight. He was so out of control in this situation, you were so far away from him that there was very little he could do to reach you if he needed to. 

Yes, the whole thing was - relatively - safe. It was early, there was almost no one here but you, the paparazzi and a few other overly dedicated men and women in workout gear. He’d texted Tommy while he got dressed and Tommy assured him that he’d gone over this with your manager, that this was fairly typical and that, no, Joel shouldn’t go inside with you but it didn’t make him any less uneasy.

What if something happened, right now? What if the man who’d been sending you letters found you here? What if something else happened like a shooting or a robbery or any number of other, mundane evils that happened every day? He’d be too far away to get to you in time, too far away to save you and, for some reason, that terrified him. 

He’d just decided to ignore you and his brother and your damn manager and go after you, anyway, when you and Tanya came outside again, clear plastic cups filled with green shit in your hands. Joel took a deep breath then, trying to calm himself down. 

But then, a paparazzo darted forward, camera raised, getting in your face, making you flinch back. A thrill of fear shot through him, the feeling shocking and foreign now. He was too far from you, he couldn’t get to you fast enough from here. He was supposed to be keeping you safe, he didn’t have much left he felt like he had to do in this life but that was one of them and, right here, right now, he could fail. 

Joel moved quickly, throwing open the door and starting for you, but your eyes met his and you gave a subtle shake of your head, navigating around the photographer and moving quickly for the car, the illusion of you ignoring them shattered. 

Tanya drove quickly and Joel’s car followed, the only thing keeping him from beating the shit out of that photographer the fact that you were only getting further away from him. 

Joel slammed the door behind him as he stalked into your house to find you, standing in the kitchen, scrolling through your phone. 

“I got you a smoothie,” you said, glancing up for a second and looking back at your phone before you frowned and actually looked at him. “Are you OK?” 

“You are not doing that shit again, understand?” He snapped. 

“Not… getting you a smoothie?” You asked. 

“You know what the hell I mean,” he said. “You can’t just go off on your own like that, I don’t give a shit what your manager says, I don’t care how fuckin’ typical it is, you’re staying close to me. End of story.” 

You watched him for a moment before you smiled, looking like you were trying not to laugh. 

“What.” 

“You were worried,” you said. “Big Miller, afraid! Who knew it was possible…” 

“I was not afraid,” he said, probably too quickly. “I just don’t want you dying on my damn watch. If you’re outside, I’m next to you. Deal with it.” 

He stalked off to his bedroom, your stupid Oscar there in his face when got there. He grabbed it and went back to the kitchen, smacking it down on the counter, making you jump. 

“I don’t need you to remind me how fuckin’ great you are,” he said. “Put that in your damn trophy case. And don’t leave this house without me.” 

He retreated to his room and heard your shower start a few minutes later and he felt like he could relax then. He wouldn’t put it past you to try and sneak out of your own fucking house, just to spite him. If you weren’t careful, your obsession with being right and being in control was going to get you fucking killed. 

He tried not to think about how uneasy that thought made him. 

Joel stayed in his room, listening for you as you moved through the house, until it was almost time to leave for your first appointment of the day, some lunch with your agent. He found you in the kitchen again, the Oscar nowhere to be seen. 

Your hair and makeup were done and you were wearing jeans and some shirt that looked more like a corset or some kind of lingerie and it forced Joel to notice just how fucking beautiful you were. 

It still caught him off guard, these moments where he couldn’t avoid that cold fact. You were beautiful, unquestionably so, but he’d grown blind to it in certain ways. He was around you all the time now so it was a fact that faded to the background more often than not. Especially since, most of the time he saw you, you weren’t trying to be beautiful, you were just existing in the form you had. 

Now, though, you were clearly trying and it hit him hard. The sculpture of your face, the glow of your skin, the curve of your body was right there, impossible to ignore. 

“Am I allowed to leave the house now?” You asked, an almost smug look on your face. 

“No,” Joel said, more to be an asshole than anything else. 

“You’re insufferable,” you said, ignoring him and stalking toward the door, the spikes of your heels loud on the hardwood floor, throwing a leather jacket on over your all too exposing top. “The driver’s here, are you coming or not.” 

You were silent beside him until the pair of you got into the gridlock of the city. 

“You’ll have to wait in the car,” you began but he cut you off. 

“Absolutely not,” he said. 

You looked at him, a stern expression on your face. 

“There are going to be photographers there,” you said. “I’ve already been seen with you at the airport, I really don’t need someone making up some bullshit story about why you’re with me if we’re trying to keep the extra security bit quiet.” 

“Too bad,” he shrugged. “Your optics aren’t my concern. Your safety is.” 

“Because I’m sure people at the fucking Ivy are such a threat,” you snapped.  

“We either do this the easy way or the hard way,” he said. “The easy way is I come inside with you and you can say I’m a friend or some asshole on your team, I don’t really care. The other way is I put you over my shoulder and haul your ass back to the car because you don’t listen. Don’t make much difference to me.” 

“Why do you hate me so much?” You twisted to face him now, your painfully beautiful face tight in anger. “What did I ever do to you?” 

“I’m just trying to do my job,” he replied. “Don’t make it difficult and we won’t have a problem.” 

“Fine,” you sat back in your seat forcefully. “Come inside then, just don’t come crying to me when the press starts to bother you.” 

He resisted the urge to smirk. He might be in your territory but that didn’t mean he was just going to let you win every damn conflict. 

The car dropped you off in front of the restaurant and the photographers were waiting for you. Joel watched as your expression went blank for a moment and then you painted a carefree smile on your face before you opened the door, smiling and waving with Joel following close behind. 

Of course, the hostess led you directly to your table without needing to ask anything because everyone was always just ready to do exactly what you needed, all the time. Joel wondered what that must be like, to be so beautiful and so rich and so famous that the entire world shifted just to please you. 

There was a man already seated there, watching as the waiter set up an ice bucket and showed him the bottle of wine. He nodded and then noticed you there, looking you up and down in a way that set Joel’s teeth on edge before standing up and calling your name in an almost sing song voice that grated on him. 

“Hey Leo,” you smiled and he reached to hug you. You hugged him back, kissing his cheek as you did, the man seeming to notice Joel then, his face falling a little as he did. 

“And who is this you’ve brought me?” He asked. “I’m sure he’s not some hopeful…” 

“I’m sure Quinn mentioned some additional…” you trailed off. 

“Ah,” he said, seeming to understand but then frowning. “I didn’t think they’d be quite so… hands on.” 

“Neither did I,” you smiled, a little self satisfied. “But, Joel, this is my agent, Leo Musgrave. Leo, this is Joel, my shadow for the last few weeks.” 

“Good to meet you,” Leo said, offering Joel his hand. He took it, an odd satisfaction settling over him at the way his palm dwarfed Leo’s and the way the other man had to tilt his chin up to meet Joel’s gaze. “But I can assure you, she’s perfectly safe with me.” 

“Ain’t you I’m worried about,” Joel said, gripping the man’s hand a little too tightly, looking him up and down in a pointed way. An odd expression flitted over the man’s face, one Joel couldn’t place, but it passed quickly. 

“Good,” he said, smiling again before going to pull your chair out for you. “Because I know we both just want what’s best for our girl here. Speaking of which, I got that rosé you like…”

“Thank God,” you smiled, taking your seat. Joel sat beside you, surveying the area quickly, noting the points of entry and egress, where people could be concealed. “I’ve got media at one, I could use a drink.�� 

The two of you talked and you ordered a salad and Joel got a steak just to spite the asshole sitting across from him. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t like him but he didn’t. Something about this man rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered on your breasts when you were talking to the waiter, maybe it was the way he sat back in his seat, lounging like he owned the place, Joel didn’t like him. 

“Oh,” Leo said, just as the waiter turned to leave. “We’ve got one more joining, if you could bring an old fashioned when you can, whatever’s top shelf.” 

Joel watched your face fall for a fraction of a second, the moment so fast he probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all if he wasn’t so used to you now. 

“Who’s joining us?” You asked once the waiter was out of earshot. 

“Remember how I said I was working on bringing in another producer for Savage Starlight?” He asked. “Someone who can make sure it doesn’t turn into the typical superhero bullshit and keeps its strong narrative structure, doesn’t ditch the character development in favor of big set pieces?” 

“Right,” you said slowly, your hand clenching around the stem of your wine glass. 

“Well, we’re bringing in the best man for the job,” he smiled, proud. “And you were a big selling point, he’s been dying to work with you again… Henry!” 

Joel didn’t turn to see who was making his way toward the table, Leo standing up to greet him. Instead, his eyes were on you. Your eyes were wide, your hands in your lap, fingers pressed tight into your thighs, breaths coming in fearful little pants. 

“Leo!” A booming voice at Joel’s shoulder said. “It’s been too long.” 

“We really should do this more,” Leo hugged the new arrival, clapping him on the back. “Everything you touch is magic, swear to God.” 

“Could say the same thing about you,” the man said, stepping back from Leo and turning to face you and Joel, though he didn’t seem to be paying Joel any mind at all. It didn’t make a difference. Joel immediately disliked him, too. He was older, in his 50s at least, wearing a sport coat and an ostentatious ring, his bald head shining and he was looking at you like you were something he could consume. “You’ve got the best talent in the industry right here. How’ve you been, sweetheart?”

“Oh, you know me,” you said, a casual and cool smile on your face, almost no sign of your momentary discomfort from just a second earlier. You got up and went to greet him, keeping your hands at his biceps but kissing both his cheeks all the same. His hand went around your back, spreading over you, his pinky slipping inside the waist of your jeans before you pulled back from him. Joel’s hands tightened into fists. “Same as ever.” 

“So, causing trouble,” he said, taking his seat. 

You laughed. 

“Something like that,” you said, sitting down and relaxing back into your chair. But the hand closest to Joel went back in your lap, clenched into a fist so tight he could see the strain of your skin over your knuckles. 

The man seemed to actually notice Joel then, looking him up and down. 

“And who’s this?” He asked, directing the question at you and Leo, not Joel. 

“Just a little added security,” your smile shifted to something almost daring and triumphant, the hand in your lap still drawn tight. “Never can be too careful anymore. Don’t worry, he’s got a very thorough NDA.” 

“Not worried about anything in particular, are you?” He asked, brows raised. “Because you could always come stay with me, my security is very good and my door is always open for you, you know that.” 

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” you said. “But let’s not bog things down. Tell me, Henry, what brings you into this project? It doesn’t seem like your area of expertise.” 

“Not cerebral enough for me?” He asked, an almost teasing edge to his voice. 

“I’d say not up its own ass, but…” you said in a winking tone but something told Joel you meant it differently than that. 

Henry laughed all the same, as though he was in on the joke. 

“You always knew my taste,” he said. “But, truth is, I’ve been seeking out some projects that look to have the prospect of greater commercial success without sacrificing the art of storytelling. This seemed like the perfect project, especially once I knew you were attached.” 

You hummed, nodding slowly, and Joel just sat there and watched as you and your agent and this new asshole discussed creative choices and shit like points on the back end, the whole time some part of you stiff and strained. Something was off. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or irritation or that you were just caught off guard by someone else being added to the mix but something about this was bothering you. He just wasn’t sure what it was. 

Regardless, it set him on edge. He tried to focus on the potential threats from around you as you picked at your salad, more moving the food around than eating it, until it was time to go. 

Henry moved around Joel to you as you draped your jacket over your bare shoulders and Joel wanted to fucking punch him, the way he pressed into your space as you shifted away, your fingers tight on the back of your chair. 

“Now we can’t go almost 20 years without working together again, sweetheart,” he said, his hand at your waist as he held you to his side, his thick fingers pressing into the sheer parts of your top. “What we make together is too beautiful to let a little history get in the way.” 

“Let’s see if we still have it,” you smiled politely. “Then we’ll talk.” 

Henry pulled you out front with him, something Joel was cursing as the flashes started going off again, the paparazzi screaming your name. Had these assholes just camped out here for the last hour? Doing fuck all besides waiting for you to come outside again? 

“This is me,” Henry said as a car pulled up to the curb. “We’ll chat soon, yeah?” 

“Oh I have no doubt that you’ll make sure we will,” you said, a sour smile on your face. 

An odd expression passed over Henry then and he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek but Joel caught him whisper something in your ear, something that made you freeze against him, your hands on his arms to force some distance. You stayed like that as he got in the car, the flashes still going like crazy. Joel looked around for a moment, your driver nowhere to be seen in the immediate traffic, and you were out here - exposed. 

Shit. 

“C’mon,” Joel said, tucking you below his arm and steering you back in the restaurant, putting you out of sight of the windows. You were breathing fast and shallow again, your eyes wide as you stared into space. “Hey, look at me.” 

You obeyed, those wide eyes meeting his. 

“You OK?” He asked. “He hurt you?” 

“No,” you shook your head and swallowed. “No, I’m fine, just… I’m fine.” 

He wasn’t sure he believed that. 

“Can you sit tight for one minute?” Joel asked. “I’m going to find your driver, get you out of here, OK?” 

You just nodded quickly and Joel reluctantly stepped away from you to a place he could see outside, calling the driver. It took a moment for the call to connect but he reached him and stayed on until he was close enough that Joel could see him out the window before he went back to find you, his chest oddly tight at the distance, a strange relief in him knowing that you’d be where he could properly protect you again in just a second. 

But he couldn’t. 

You were gone. 

***

You weren’t really thinking when you left The Ivy. At least, not consciously.

Something else had taken over your mind, something animalistic and protective, and it only had one thought: Go.

So you went. You found a back way out, dodging servers and cooks who did doubletakes as you wove your way through kitchen until you were outside, the sunlight bright and harsh. You’d just walked after that, not picking any direction in particular, just desperate for some distance.

You weren’t really sure where you’d wound up when you finally seemed to come back into yourself enough to make yourself just stop walking. Your feet ached, there was a dumpster next to you that absolutely reeked and you realized then that you’d ditched your shoes at some point but you weren’t quite sure when. You vaguely remembered running for a bit and your shoes making you stumble but you didn’t remember taking them off. You also didn’t have your purse, probably left behind at the damn restaurant because you hadn’t been thinking, so you had no phone, no ID and no money.

Perfect. Just perfect.

You walked to the end of the alley and looked around, asphalt cutting into the soles of your feet, and peered out to the street. It was mercifully fairly quiet, a bar across from you open, the soft sound of a guitar drifting out from the open door. You darted across the road and into the bar, thankful that no photographers had managed to catch you on your unhinged run through Los Angeles.

Inside the bar was quiet, too, just a few patrons hunched over drinks and a man playing guitar at a small stage in the corner. A few of them looked up when you came in and you realized you were breathing hard. You tried to slow it, clearing your throat awkwardly as someone seemed to clock you, his eyebrows drawing together like he was trying to place you before his eyes went wide and he quickly looked back to his drink.

“Hi,” you smiled at the bartender as you came up. “I was wondering…”

“Need shoes,” he said gruffly.

You frowned.

“What?”

“You need shoes,” he said. “Can’t be barefoot in here. Not sure why anyone would want to walk around barefoot out there anyway, but…”

“Sorry,” you said, smiling again as best you could even though all you really wanted to do was cry. But you’d acted through worse. “They broke. I was hoping I could use a phone to see if I can get someone to pick me up? I lost mine.”

“You can use mine!” The man who’d spotted you before said quickly before clearing his throat. “Um… if… if you wanted.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, relieved, and taking the phone he held out to you.

It took you a moment to figure out who to call.

You wanted to call Anna. She was the only person who would get it, she was the only person who knew all of it. She was who would make you feel like it was all going to be OK.

But you didn’t have her anymore, so you ran down the list of numbers you had memorized. You knew Tanya’s but you didn’t want to leave the number of the world’s biggest musician in some random man’s phone. Justice, one of your closest friends and former costar, was out for the same reason. But you knew Quinn’s number and you did pay her to get you out of situations like this.

Well, maybe not exactly like this, but still. It was better than the alternatives.

It took a few tries before she answered the phone and, when she did, she was clearly pissed.

“What!” She snapped. “Whoever this is, it had better be good because I’m dealing with a crisis right now.”

“Hi Quinn,” you winced a little. “I think I might be your crisis.”

“Oh, thank God,” she said, sounding like she was about to cry with relief. “What the hell happened? Where are you? Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” you lied. “Just needed a walk. Can you send Joel to come get me? I’m at…”

You paused, realizing you weren’t sure where you were. You covered the receiver on the phone and were about to ask the bartender when he gruffly answered your unspoken question.

“O’Shea’s Pub.”

“Thank you,” you smiled at him before repeating it back to Quinn. “Can you tell Joel?”

“I can,” she said. “You know, you could have just told him yourself if you’d fucking said what you were doing!”

“I know,” you flinched. “Sorry.”

She sighed.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Just… don’t do it again. I’m sure he’ll be there soon.”

You returned the phone and got a glass of water from the bartender, who still looked none too happy about the fact that you were in his bar without shoes. But he was, at least, not forcing you to leave. You’d take that.

You tucked yourself into the corner booth, your feet on the seat next to you to get them off the floor, and stared out at the bar, listening to the guitarist as he played, letting your mind drift.

It had been so long since you’d been in the same room as Henry, even longer since it was close quarters. Years. Maybe a decade, even. You’d avoided him and he, mostly, let you. Every few years, a script would wind up in front of you with him attached and you never even read it, your stomach turning just seeing him listed as a producer. You just passed and he’d go back to leaving you alone.

You should have known he’d have done something like this eventually. You usually insisted on producer approval in your contracts but you’d foregone that to land Savage Starlight. You’d wanted the part so badly, wanted to be someone Ellie liked and looked up to and thought was cool, you’d made concessions. Henry was not the superhero movie type, you’d never even considered that he’d try to attach himself to this. A mistake on your part, it seemed.

“I still own you.” 

That’s what he’d whispered in your ear as he was leaving, when he had you far enough from Leo and Joel to get away with saying whatever he wanted. Just the memory of it sent a chill up your spine and made your stomach churn. You fidgeted with the water cup, trying not to cry. You couldn’t cry, not in public, not before you had press, not when you were about to be crying in front of fucking Joel. You had to focus, not let things that happened more than a decade ago get under your skin. 

It seemed like you’d hardly been sitting there any time at all when, suddenly, Joel was there, his large, broad frame blotting out the sun from the open door of the bar. 

“What the fuck were you thinkin’?” He snapped. 

You couldn’t make out the expression on his face from your spot in the corner of the booth, just a silhouette, but you looked up at him anyway, not really sure what to say. 

“Where the hell are your shoes?” He asked, his voice softening slightly. 

“I’m not sure,” you said. “I lost them somewhere…” 

He sighed and then took the seat across from you and you blinked in surprise, watching him as he crossed his arms on the tabletop, leaning in and looking you over, his eyes strangely soft. 

“Want to tell me what happened.” 

“Not really,” you said, leaning back against the wall behind you. 

He nodded to your cup. 

“What’re you drinking?” 

“Water,” you said. “I didn’t have my wallet, so…” 

Joel snorted. 

“You tellin’ me they’re not bending over backwards to give the biggest movie star in the world free booze?” 

You laughed, too, the sound thick in your throat. 

“Not exactly,” you said. “But I shouldn’t be drinking, anyway, I have press in… fuck, what time is it?” 

“About noon,” Joel said. “We got a few minutes. What do you want?” 

“Whisky?” You asked, brows raised. 

Joel looked surprised for a moment before he nodded. 

“Whisky it is.” 

You watched him go to the bar and bring back two glasses, setting one in front of you before taking his place across from you again, taking a sip himself. 

“Thank you,” you said. 

Joel shrugged and the two of you sat there in silence, sipping your drinks. The whisky was shitty but you kind of liked it that way for a change, the burn of it strangely satisfying, grounding you in your own body. 

“Who was that guy?” Joel asked eventually, looking more at his glass than at you. 

“Henry Wilde,” you said. Just saying his name made your stomach turn. “He’s a producer.” 

“Seemed like he was more than that,” Joel said, looking at you now. 

You watched him for a moment. One of the strange things about being famous was the fact that it seemed like the entire planet new your romantic history. It was disorienting, talking with someone who didn’t. 

“We dated for a while,” you said. “A long time ago.” 

Joel frowned. 

“Seems old for you.” 

You snorted. 

“Yeah, well,” you said. “It is what it is, I suppose. I haven’t seen him in a while except at awards shows and things. The breakup… it wasn’t great.” 

Joel nodded slowly, downing the last of his whisky before looking you in the eye. 

“You know it’s my job to protect you,” he said. “Someone shoots at you, it’s my job to take the bullet. Someone tries to grab you, it’s my job to grab them first. Thing is… it don’t really matter who the threat is. If he’s a threat, it’s my job to protect you from him. I will keep you safe. Understand?” 

You looked at him across the table, the seriousness of his expression, the uncanny openness of his gaze, the breadth and strength of his shoulders. There was something about him that made you believe him. He might hate you for some unknown reason but you trusted him. He would keep you safe, that you knew. 

The thought made your throat get tight and you smiled a little at him. 

“I understand,” you said. “Thank you, Joel.” 

He just gave you a stiff nod and you polished off your whisky and Joel helped you to the car that was waiting outside. Joel, at least, had thought to grab your purse and you texted Quinn about the shoes. You made a quick detour to Christian Louboutin, a sales woman running a pair of pumps in your size out to the car so you made it to your call time on time. They ushered you right into hair and makeup to touch up what you’d done to yourself that morning before bringing you in to the studio, a craft services table set up at the back. 

“There she is!” Your costar, Chris Reese, greeted you with open arms, a beaming smile on his face. You fought the urge to grimace as he hugged you, kissing you on both cheeks. “My God you look incredible, you really ought to have mercy on us mere mortals and have an off day sometime, love.” 

“Now where’s the fun in that?” You asked, brows raised. “Besides, you look pretty good yourself.” 

Which wasn’t a lie. Chris was almost unnaturally handsome - you wondered if he’d had some work done but, if he had, it was done well - with a sculpted face, dimpled chin, thick hair. He was good looking and he knew it but he seemed to love you admitting it, anyway. 

“Well, if you say so,” he winked. “Still say we’d make a beautiful couple. C’mon, just for a few weeks. We wouldn’t even need to fuck. Unless you wanted to, of course, because who am I to deny a beautiful woman what she wants…” 

“I think I’ll pass,” you said. 

“On the PR relationship or on the sex?” He asked, his British accent thick. “Because I’m happy to offer the sex with no strings attached.” 

“Oh I’m sure you are,” you clapped him on the shoulder before going to get yourself a Diet Coke. 

A production assistant came in then, calling you and Chris over to show you examples of some TikTok trends they wanted you to recreate for promos. 

It was hard to focus on them. You felt like you needed to play a character for things like this, some version of yourself that the public might want to see and be friends with, the kind of person they’d want to see on their social media feed instead of just on a movie screen. But it was hard to fall into it today. You had to say “Chris, this is the media day for ‘As We Know It’” three times before you finally settled on a take to use. 

Chris, to his credit, was good natured about it, willingly saying “I hope she plays Hot to Go” again and again until you were both happy with it. He did the same thing for some choreographed dance after you fucked it up more than you cared to admit and you tried not to feel completely humiliated by it all. 

After you posed for some photos - so many with your head on Chris’ chest or your face close to his, the faked intimacy making your jaw clench tight - you settled in for the interviews and you were already exhausted. You hadn’t counted on seeing Henry that day and, even if you had, you wouldn’t have known how much it would take out of you. 

“You alright, love?” Chris asked as you had a few minutes between interview three and four. “Seem like you’re not quite yourself.” 

“Fine,” you said, taking a sip of Diet Coke. “Just a long day.” 

“Tell me about it,” he said, taking a swig of water. “God, this is the worst part of the job.” 

“Not the night shoot where we were covered in mud and it was 40 degrees outside?” You asked, brows raised. 

He barked a laugh. 

“Yeah, alright,” he said. “That might have been worse.” 

The next reporter came in and introduced himself and settled in across from the two of you and everything seemed normal, the usual questions about research and challenges and favorite parts of the film when he turned is focus to you and you had to fight the urge to frown at that. 

“This one is just for you,” he said. “Sorry, Chris.” 

“Don’t worry, I know where I stand when this one’s involved,” he smiled jovially. “Rightfully so, I might add.” 

“Such a charmer,” you smiled at him before turning back to the reporter. 

“As We Know It is familiar territory for you in a few ways,” he said, making you frown slightly. “Not so much in plot but more in the awards aspect. You famously won your Oscar - your first Oscar, I should say, since you’re the favorite this season - when you were just 20. You were the frontrunner then, too, because you were such a standout…” 

“I mean if you want to talk about how great I am, I won’t argue too much,” you smiled, hoping to change the subject. 

“Oh, I could,” he smiled back. “But more what I’m getting at… The District, which was about a teenaged prostitute working in a red light district, was a very different film from As We Know It. This is much bigger in scope while also being very intimate - framing the dissolution of a marriage around the end of the world - while The District was much more of a character study, one that caught a lot of flack for the rampant nudity and graphic sex scenes. 

“But you also had a very different connection to The District, didn’t you?” He continued. “Your boyfriend at the time, Henry Wilde, developed it as a vehicle to launch that era of your career. The movie really existed because of you, didn’t it?” 

Your eyes darted toward where Joel was standing, your fingers pressing down into your thigh. You could feel his gaze on you, could sense the tension drawn tight between you, like he was waiting there for something to shift just enough for him to jump in. 

“Well…” 

“I was wondering what that was like for you,” he said. “Being in on the ground floor like that and having something built around you and your skills versus what the process looks like when you don’t have someone in that director/producer role crafting a film specifically for you? And how does that change awards season for you?”

You dug your nails into your leg. 

“Well, I…” 

“I’ll take this one, love,” Chris said, his hand coming to cover yours and you turned to look at him and you realized that he was watching you, intently, before turning his attention to the reporter. “I’m going to lay this out for you as clearly as I can: we aren’t doing that.” 

The reporter opened his mouth to argue but Chris cut him off. 

“No, you asked your question, I’m giving you the bloody answer,” he said. “First of all, my costar here is the most beautiful woman on the planet and the single most talented actor I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with so you will treat her with the respect she’s due. She’s also a lot kinder than I am because she would just answer your bullshit question which is why I’m not letting her. Someone needs to teach you some manners. 

“I’m not going to let you sit there and say - to her fucking face - that you think she slept her way to the top,” he said, tone heated. “Because that’s bullshit. You’ve seen her films, you’ve seen her act, if you think she got here off anything beyond talent and incredibly hard work, you’re insane but, more importantly, even if she DID fuck her way to the top, who cares? Why would that be on her? She was, what, 18 when making that film? Henry Wilde was pushing 50? Never mind the fact that he bragged about recognizing her talent when he first met her when she was all of - what was it, love? 13?” 

He looked at you again, giving you a chance to answer. 

“Twelve,” you said, your grip on your leg easing. 

“Fucking 12!” He turned his attention back toward the reporter. “Can you imagine meeting someone who is 12 years old when you’re in your fucking 40s and then DATING THEM six years later? If she slept with him for the part - which I highly doubt since she wouldn’t even pretend to date me to get good PR for this movie, I know because I asked - why would that be on her? That’s on him, ask him why he was going after fucking teenagers, don’t ask her.” 

“Alright, I think that’s all the time we have,” Chris’ publicist all but jumped in between him and the reporter, cutting him off before he could go any further. “Thank you so much for coming, why don’t we just see what I can answer for you over here…” 

She guided the still dumbfounded looking man away, leaving just you and Chris sitting there in awkward silence. 

“Sorry about that,” he said after a moment. “Just think if I had to sit there and let that jackass keep going I was going to lose my bloody mind.” 

“No, I…” You looked at him for a moment. “Thank you. Why did you do that?” 

He shrugged. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asked. “Meant what I said. You are supremely talented and an all around lovely person. You may not be too fond of me…” 

“I never said that,” you said quickly but he gave you a look. 

“But that’s really my own fault,” he said. “Something tells me if I came on a little less strong when we met, you and I might be friends.” 

You smiled a little. 

“We still can be,” you said. 

“As long as you don’t hold it against me,” he gave you a wink. “Even if I do deserve it.” 

You reached a hand out for him and he took it, giving your fingers a squeeze. 

“My publicist is going to kill me,” he said cheerfully. “Maybe I’ll never have to do press again.” 

You barked a laugh, already feeling lighter. 

“Let me know if it works,” you said. “I’ve got a few screeds stashed away, think I could be just unhinged enough to pull it off.”

The rest of the media day was calm, the same basic questions just asked in slightly different ways, things handled easily by your years of media training. 

There was just one other moment that set you on edge, probably because of the moment with Joel earlier in the day, the one where he brought your Oscar out from his room and forced you to look at it for the first time in years. 

“So,” the reporter asked, smiling conspiratorially. “You each have an Academy Award and I’ve always wondered: where on earth do you keep something like that?” 

“Oh that’s easy,” Chris said. “Keep mine on the bedside table but not on my side of the bed. Like to make sure the people I bring home know I’ve got one.” 

He gave the reporter a wink and she giggled and you tried not to laugh. 

“And you?” She asked when you weren’t quite so forthcoming. 

“Oh,” you said, your fingers pressing down into your thigh again, keenly aware of Joel’s eyes on you. “Currently, it’s in the back of my pantry.” 

“Your pantry?” Chris looked at you, incredulous. “What on earth is it doing there?” 

You laughed and hoped it didn’t sound too fake. 

“I just like keeping myself humble,” you said. “If it’s out of sight, it’s out of mind. Gives me something to work towards.” 

“Not me,” Chris said. “I’d wear that thing on a chain if it wasn’t so bloody heavy.” 

“I’ve got an Emmy that’s a paperweight in my office,” you smiled. “That one’s lighter if you want to borrow it…” 

“Not nearly as impressive for me if it’s got your name on it, love. Guess I’ll need to do some TV,” he said. “Get one of my own. Will you do it with me?” 

You laughed a little, more genuinely than you ever really had with Chris before. You liked it. 

“Of course,” you said. “I’d love to work with you again.” 

“And we’d love to see it,” the reporter smiled. 

Once the final reporter left, you got up, taking a moment to stretch as best you could in your outfit, the boning of the corseted top keeping you from doing too much and you were ready to be out of the damn thing, back in the comfort of your home where you could peel back the carefully packaged version of yourself that existed for public consumption and just exist without the artifice of it all. 

“Christ, media days are so long,” Chris said, cracking his back, too. “Give me back to back night shoots any day.” 

“Tell me about it,” you said. “Are you staying in town at least or are you heading out tonight?” 

“I’ll be here through the premier,” he said. “Want to walk the carpet with me? As friends, of course.” 

“Yeah,” you smiled a little. “That would be nice.” 

He gave you a peck on the cheek and a squeeze before the two of you went your separate ways, Joel sitting beside you in the back of the SUV as you stared out the window, watching the city go past. 

You did a FaceTime call with Ellie after you got changed and had something to eat, not too long before her bedtime. She told you about school, excited about making friends with a girl named Dina and proud of her grade on her latest science test. You’d promised to take her to the space center in Houston if she actually studied, so you made a mental note to see if Quinn could make some calls and get you a tour. You usually didn’t like leveraging your celebrity status for things like that - you’d gone to DisneyLand plenty of times and just worn a baseball cap and sunglasses all day, doing your best to blend in while waiting in line like everybody else - but, for something that would help keep Ellie engaged in learning, you’d pull some strings. 

Talking to her was good but it was also hard. You sat there for a minute, staring into space when the call was over. Something in you was so hollow in that moment, as though someone and wrenched your ribs apart and carved out your insides, leaving you totally empty. 

You missed Ellie. You missed Anna. You missed a life you’d never had, one that was quiet and still and let you exist in a way that didn’t include people like fucking Henry or reporters asking about some of the worst parts of your life so everyone else could know about them, too. 

When that feeling stuck around a little too long, you unfolded yourself from the couch and padded back toward your bedroom, pausing for a second at Joel’s door. The light was on in his room but it was quiet. Not that you should be bothering him, anyway. Just because he’d been kind to you that afternoon didn’t mean that the two of you were suddenly friends. 

You sighed before going to your room and getting your guitar from its place in the corner.

You took it out back to sit by the pool, tuning it quickly before strumming a few chords, trying to think of what to play. 

Eventually, you settled on Landslide. It had been a while since you’d played, it took you a little while to find a groove, but it still felt good. You’d never been an incredible guitarist by any means, but you loved playing. It felt like something you did just for you, something that no one else expected out of you. 

That was the problem with acting for a living. It helped you think and process and understand yourself and the people around you but it wasn’t something you could do on your own terms anymore, it was always something made for someone else, so someone else could profit or be entertained. No one expected you to play guitar for them, this was something you could do just for you. 

You played the song twice to get a feel for things again and just started playing music that felt right, not always whole songs, sometimes just bits and pieces, sometimes singing sometimes not as you watched the glow from the pool light ripple on the water.  

“Didn’t know you played.” 

You jumped, whipping your head around to find Joel hovering near the door, his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants with a t-shirt on this time. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Wasn’t… didn’t mean to scare ya.” 

“It’s alright,” you said, looking back toward the water. “I forgot you were here for a minute is all.” 

“It OK if I join you?” He asked and you looked back at him again. 

You shrugged.

“If you want.” 

He came and sat on the lounge chair next to yours, staring straight ahead at the water, too, his hands clasped between his knees. 

“Don’t gotta stop just because of me,” he said after a moment. “You ain’t bad.” 

You laughed once. 

“I’m not great,” you said. 

He shrugged. 

“Definitely heard worse. Where’d you learn to play?” 

“I had to learn the basics for Siren,” you said. “They almost never used my real playing on the show but I needed to at least look like I knew what I was doing. I just kept learning after that. I know I’m not very good but it feels good, you know?” 

Joel nodded slowly, looking like he wanted to say something but seeming to think better of it. 

“You doing OK?” He asked after a minute. 

You looked at him, examining him closely. 

“Why?” You asked. “Do you actually care or are you trying to find something to use against me.” 

He examined you back, his gaze sharp and exacting before softening. 

“Just seemed like you had a shit day,” he said. 

You nodded slowly, looking back to the water again. 

“I just miss my friend,” you said quietly. “Ellie’s mom, I mean. She was my person, she was my person for my whole life and I just want to talk to her again. I want to tell her about lunch and about Chris and I want her to know that Ellie got an A on her science test…” 

“She did?” Joel asked and you looked over at him, his expression oddly earnest. 

“She did,” you smiled a little. “I called her a little while ago, she was very proud.” 

“She should be,” Joel said. “She worked hard.” 

“She did,” you said again and then you sighed. “It just seems so impossible that Anna’s gone. She doesn’t get to see these things, I don’t have her to talk to, I can’t get drunk with her or laugh with her or… “ 

Mid-sentence, Joel just got up and walked away. You sat there, blinking at the empty space for a moment before you huffed derisively. 

“Figures,” you muttered to yourself, before picking at the guitar strings again. But, unexpectedly, Joel was back just a minute later, two glasses of whisky in his hands and a bottle of water tucked under his arm. He handed you a glass and set the bottle on the ground next to your foot. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Just… think we need it.”

You considered him for a moment before nodding and taking a sip. He did the same before frowning a little, holding the glass away from himself and examining it. 

“What?” You frowned. 

“Nothin’,” he said. “Just never had shit this good before. Probably should have asked before taking it.” 

“Nah,” you waved him off. “It’s there to be taken, I don’t mind.” 

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a whisky girl,” he said, taking another sip. “This is damn good.” 

“I picked it up when I was young,” you said. “Meeting with producers, they liked when a girl drank like them and seemed to know her shit. I had to force it at first but… well, I guess I acquired the taste. Course, that means I’m picky now. That’s a Macallan 25.” 

Joel whistled, long and low. 

“Explains why it’s so damn good,” he said. 

You smiled a little. 

“That it does.” 

You sipped the liquor in silence for a bit, savoring the feel of it on your tongue, the heat as it slipped into your stomach. 

“What Chris was sayin’,” Joel said eventually, his voice trailing off before he continued. “That all true?” 

You looked over at him, watching him for a moment. Joel puzzled you. There were times he seemed to relish being cold or even cruel. Others - like this one - where he seemed to genuinely care. 

You weren’t sure what to make of it. 

“Yeah,” you said after a minute. “Yeah, it is. But it’s not… Look, this is Hollywood. Producers and men with power date young women because they can and the young women date them because we know it can help us get ahead. Tale as old as time.” 

“That why you did it?” He asked. 

You didn’t really feel like giving him the real answer, so you just looked back at your pool and shrugged, taking another drink. 

“Meant what I said before,” he said after a minute. “I will keep you safe. Don’t matter who, don’t matter why. If you don’t want to ever talk to him again, fine, you don’t have to.” 

You laughed once, darkly. 

“That’s very sweet, Joel, but he’s producing the movie I’m on,” you said. “I’m going to have to deal with him, that’s just how it works.” 

“Well, then, it won’t be alone,” he said. “Not while I’m around, anyway.” 

“Because you’re going to fight the most powerful producer in Hollywood?” You asked, teasing a little, a small smile tugging at your lips. 

Joel shrugged. 

“Don’t much care who he is,” Joel said. “But why not. I’d win.” 

You laughed and then sighed and, before you were really thinking about it, your head drifted over to Joel’s shoulder. He stiffened and you were about to pull yourself back and apologize but then he relaxed a little, his arm slipping around you, his hand settling into the curve of your waist. 

“You’ll be safe,” he said, so quietly that you weren’t sure you were even supposed to hear it. “I’ll keep you safe.” 

You smiled a little, the light dancing on the water. For some reason, you believed him. 

A/N: I swear, I'm not trying to only publish once a month! Thank you for waiting for this chapter. I really am so happy you're here.

I hope you're all taking care of yourselves right now. There's been a lot going on lately, please spend some time looking after yourself. You deserve it (and Joel would want you to.)

Love you ❤️

Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler @lilyevanstan1325 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @wintersquirrel @missladym1981 @mellymbee @canthinkof1user @inept-the-magnificent

[the-faceless-bride]

Family Arguments (pt.1)

Summary: Family life with your husband was mostly a dream, but of course as all other families you have your downs… (Bakugou.k x reader)

This story is a bit silly but has some angst with comfort

Katsuki has mellowed out in his later years, now in his 30’s and no longer the needlessly mean and cruel teen he used to be; sure he still had his vulgar humor and still had a bit of an attitude when he talked but he wasn’t needlessly angry anymore, no longer screamed at the top of his lungs and scrunched his pretty face into sour expressions. However, Arguments with him were never pretty, no matter how much he’s calmed… especially when it comes to your children…

Kazumi Bakugou - the youngest twin

Kazumi had always been a leader, it’s what her father taught her to be. She never cracked to peer pressure, never backed down from a fight, and never let anyone talk down to her or about her.

However, that was what got her and her brother in trouble more often than not.

The girl wasn’t cruel, just a bit mean. One of Kazumis friends (well not friend anymore) had tried to convince her to drink, she’d snuck one of her mother’s wine bottles and was showing it off to her friends. Kazumi of course didn’t want to participate in said drinking and said quick goodbyes before turning her heels and going home.

However, she stopped in her tracks when the girl called her a ‘baby’ and baby? BABY? her?! Kazumi Bakugou?? She wasn’t a baby!

And your daughter had her father’s childhood temper, so she stomped her way back to the girl and demanded she take it back, and the girl did not… so Kazumi warned her once more to take it back, “jeez! Had I known you were such a Rat and were gonna tell your daddy and mommy on me I wouldn’t have offered you any in the first place!” The girl laughed.

And now you and Katsuki were in the car, going home after a parent & teacher meeting… about why your daughter punched another girl in the face…

And Katsuki was pissed… he gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles had turned white, his lips were pulled in a tight pout as he drove silently.

“Dad I-“ “We will talk about this when we get home, I don’t wanna hear you right now.”

And they did, they argued.. Katsuki yelling at her at the importance of self control and that what she did was uncalled for. Kazumi only argued back that if the girl didn’t want to get hit she would’ve apologized, and that only made him more Upset. She was just like him. Getting into fights for no reason other than her pride.

And that worried him, his mother was the same way and so was he; but he didn’t want his daughter to be like him or his mother.

Yelling all the time. Being angry all the time. Letting your pride get the better of you… he’d lost many friends that way, hell even his relationship with his mother was almost destroyed because of it.

Sadly it was an argument neither of them were willing to lose…

They both agreed to put an end to the fighting for now, and they would continue the argument in the morning.

You ended up having to listen to your husband rant for another hour or so about how she is just like him when he was her age. In middle school and blah blah blah, just talking in circles really. You eventually grew tired of his ranting and pressed a hard kiss to his lips and offered him a massage in bed for his troubles… that was enough to shut him up.

Koshin Bakugou - the Eldest twin

Koshin like his sister was raised to be strong and a leader. To never back down and to always use his best judgment when making tough calls.

… and today he had to make a tough call.

Him, his sister, his friends Yama and Rai were caught in the middle of some Villans. This was the risk of being children of heroes; villans would try to attack and kidnap you. Normally when things like this happened they were taught to find a way to run and a safe place to hide.

But Koshin Bakugou didn’t want to hide… and from the looks of the villans they were weak scums compared to the villans their parents fought… the four of them could totally take ‘em…

And he was right, they could take them… but not without a few scuffs… in the end luckily none of them had strong quirks, just inconvenient ones… until Rai ended up with a split lip and nose, and Yama a slight concussion. But the worst was his little sister, who ended up with two broken limbs and cracked ribs…

It had come out of nowhere! It wasn’t his fault!… was it?

And with in moments of entering the hospital, their parents showed up. Uncle Kami rushed to Rai’s side and Uncle kiri rushed to Yama and lastly his father…

Katsuki just walked past him…

Right to his sister’s room where she had been out cold as the doctors inspected the damages done.

The drive home was silent and Koshin was to afraid to say anything, and when you all walked through the door it finally bubbled over,

“What he hell were you thinking…”

Katsuki didn’t yell… it was a low quiet grumble… a calm before the storm…

“I- I knew I could do it. I could pull it off and we-“

“They all look up to you, you know…”

“I know dad-“ “No. No, you don’t know.”

“You say run, they run. You say swim, they dive in. You say light a fire, those three will show up with oil. You are a leader Koshin… you don’t get to be selfish…”

“But dad I wasn’t! I-“

“Yes! Yes you were, just because you thought you were strong! Just because you thought you could handle it! And you were wrong!…”

Koshin just stared at his dad, his angry red eyes staring down at him,

“For a moment, did you stop and think what could’ve happened to you, to them! TO YOUR SISTER!”

“I- I-“

“YOUR SISTER COULD’VE DIED! SHE COULD STILL DIE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?!! ALL BECAUSE YOU WANTED TO PRETEND TO BE STRONG.”

“I- no, dad- I- I just- I-“ Koshin began to hiccup, stuttering and stumbling over his words as he tried not to cry, “…’m sorry dad..” his voice cracked, as he hunched over and began to sob…

And that’s when Katsukis anger came to a screeching halt, seeing his son breaking down was like getting a bucket of ice water thrown on him. You’d begun to softly sniffle as well by this point. And katsuki knew he just couldn’t stay this angry… it didn’t feel good.

So he reached down and pulled his son close, letting the young boy cry into him. Mumbles of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry dad, I’m sorry…” Katsuki didn’t speak, just held onto his son tighter.

Later that night, just before you and Katsuki were about to fall asleep; you heard knocking at your bedroom door before it pushed open,

“Can… can I stay with you?..” Koshin ask his voice barely above a whisper, standing in your doorway. His eyes red and puffy, both you and your husband didn’t say a word and just moved a bit to the side to create room for him in the middle.

Koshin wiggled his way under the covers, pulling them past his chin to his nose,

“Koshin…”

“Yeah dad?”

“I’m proud of you…”

“…”

“You did what you felt was right, just like I taught you… and for that I’m proud of you…. But please… please, never scare me like that ever again…”

“Ok..”

“I love you,”

“I love you too dad,”

And for the first time in a long time, Koshin slept in your bed…with you and his dad.

Me while writing this ^^

ANYWAY! I hope you enjoy this!!! I was gonna have more character BUT from the looks of it, it would’ve been a LONG ASS thing, so for now it’s just Katsuki!! If you wanna see the next characters I planned please show this some love to keep me motivated!