#to be clear I am doing this for my own fucking reference but also to be able to point and scream because

[sbrn10]

C3E23

C3E63

C3E76

C3E85

C3E86

C3E89

[trekkele]

I knew it existed

the fact that alfred was the one to put up jason's memorial is so important to me

[itoshiexx]

when you call them "husband" - part. 2

how the blue lock boyfriends react when you call them "husband" - part 2

pairings: itoshi rin, michael kaiser, mikage reo x fem!reader (no descriptions tho, just the words "wife" on rin's part) (separate) | warnings: established relationship, fluff, lovesick boys

notes: I'M ALIVE! i cant believe how long it's been since i had time/energy/creativity to write something, ohmy goddddddd. i'm so sorry for all the time it took to post this, but i wanna ty all so much for all the love on part 1 and all the requests for part 2! hopefully this will meet your expectations ♥ as always, i went a lil' overboard with rin's part. enjoy!

part 1 / masterlist

Itoshi Rin

rin was not a fan of social media. it was clear with the way his instagram only had 8 pictures despite being years since his career started, and even more so by the fact he had no other social media besides that. if he wasn’t so famous, people would say itoshi rin was a ghost or some artificial intelligence invention. 

it was one of the reasons people were very shocked when he started dating you, an influencer with millions of followers on every platform. rin was a private person, and you… well, you shared your life on the internet for everyone to see. to say you were polar opposites was an understatement.

however, you never forced your boyfriend to appear in any of your socials, only recording things for your own fun and memories and posting only what he allowed. rin was glad for that. he didn’t mind doing dumb things with you to see you smile, as long as the rest of the world couldn’t see how whipped he was for you.

also, you were kind of glad the professional athlete was so unaware of social media, because it meant you could do a lot of tiktok trends without the risk of him already knowing what was coming — which made everything more satisfying. 

and the trend you chose that day was especially good.

“hey everyone, it’s y/n here!” you chirped, waving your hands in front of your phone. however, you were actually recording rin, who was at the other side waiting for your sign to appear on the screen.

you continued speaking. “today i have a very special guest, who i’m sure you’re all very familiar with.” you gave the camera a little cheeky wink, and your boyfriend rolled his eyes with all your theatrics. “please welcome itoshi rin, my handsome husband!”

rin gave a step forward to start his way to you, but suddenly, his whole body froze, brows furrowing in what you could only call utmost confusion. silence took over the room for what felt like an eternity, and you had to suppress your laugh seeing the imaginary ‘loading’ wheel on his head.

rin.exe stopped working.

“baby?” you decided to intervene, honestly a little scared of how immobile rin was.

“you— i’m— did you just— did we—”

you could no longer hold your laughter, and rin’s favorite melody echoing through the walls of your shared apartment was probably what snapped him out of his trance. he immediately scowled and crossed his arms, cheeks burning red from his pathetic stutter.

“i am never doing these dumb videos with you again.”

“no, no, i’m sorry!” your giggles kept going, and you approached your pouty boyfriend, squishing his cheeks between your hands. the smooch you gave him was almost enough to make him melt. almost. rin still had some self respect.

he also didn’t want to admit how abnormally fast his stone heart was beating with the mere thought of being referred to as your husband — and, even better, referring to you as his wife. 

fuck. that certainly did make him feel lots of things. those stupid butterflies that were born the minute you met were roaming freely in his stomach, soaring with all the love he had harbored just for you. 

“i’m sorry, baby,” you said again, smiling like you swallowed the sun and all things good in this world. you might as well have. how else could rin explain the way you were his everything? “it was a prank i saw on tiktok.”

he arched his eyebrow, arms uncrossing to put his hands on your waist. “oh? so you don’t want me to be your husband?”

the itoshi was satisfied to see you flushing this time. “i— w-well, you see…”

and then you started rambling, just like you did every time something made you nervous. and rin could only look at you as if nothing else was worth looking at, because really, to him, it wasn’t. 

…well, maybe the sight of you walking down the aisle would get the cake. he might have to find out soon. 

Michael Kaiser

once you started dating bastard munchen’s star, michael kaiser, it was natural to have his world collide with yours. everything from football to blue hair dye to weird sleeping habits became a part of you as well, and you nourished every expanse of your world his presence alone was able to give.

your favorite part, besides learning all of him — his little habits, quirks and love languages that seemed to be crafted solely for you — was definitely immersing yourself in his culture. germany always seemed distant and quite detached from your life, and you loved to learn new things from different perspectives. 

food, traditions, language… michael loved teaching you things, giddy and secretly grateful for your excitement. it was his sparkly eyes that prompted you to learn a few things by yourself to surprise him and make him happy. 

the tiktok trend was just a nice coincidence. 

you phone was hidden on the kitchen balcony, camera recording and waiting for the moment your boyfriend would arrive in your shared apartment. luckily, kaiser was very punctual, and you didn’t have to wait much longer.

“liebling, i’m home!” you heard him scream from the front door, and you giggled to yourself, pretending to be busy chopping vegetables for dinner. 

you waited for his footsteps to near where you were, and, as soon as you felt he entered the camera frame, you answered:

“welcome home, ehemann!”

you didn’t have to turn around to see the way kaiser completely froze; arms stopping just before reaching your waist as if your figure was an illusion created by his tired mind. you fought hard to suppress your grin.

“what… did you say…?” his voice was low and uncertain, but there was no annoyance in it; just pure confusion. 

turning your head around to finally look at him, you were pleased to find your mikka with rosy cheeks and a bashful expression, so extremely unusual for a guy like him you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter on your chest. 

you gave him your best innocent look. “huh? isn’t that how you say boyfriend?”

“i-it’s husband, liebe. you called me husband,” his tone was still incredulous, and this time, you couldn’t keep your smile off your face. 

“oh, did i?”

your countenance seemed to finally snap him out of his trance, and michael’s eyebrows shot up, scoffing slightly — albeit still endearingly. his arms circled your waist and he pressed a kiss on the side of your neck. 

“how mean of you, baby. playing with my heart like that.” he trailed more kisses on your neck and jaw, making you squirm. “you tryin’ to kill me or something?”

you giggled again, both from the ticklish kisses he was giving you and the huge amount of love you had harbored just for him. “of course not, baby. i need you alive to make you my husband,” you jested.

“oh, yeah? you wanna make me your husband?”

“yes.” you shifted, giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek. kaiser hugged you a little tighter, feeling something fuzzy inside his chest. “is that a problem?”

“never,” he answered immediately. because it was true.

boyfriend, fiancé, partner, husband… michael didn’t mind what title would be bestowed to him — as long as he could keep being yours.

Mikage Reo

being the heir of one of the biggest corporations of the country and a professional football player made your boyfriend’s schedule pretty busy. therefore, thursdays like these, where you and him could have a nice walk around the park under the warm sunlight, hand in hand, were extremely rare — hence why they were so appreciated.

reo knew how much his frenetic agenda was a hard toll on your relationship, affecting both of you with distance, longing and short periods of time together. and, well, everyone knew how much of a goner he was for you, so it wasn’t surprising to see him give in whatever spare time he had in his hands — even going as far as making such time exist if there wasn’t any — to be with you for as long as he possibly could.

how could he deny your pretty little eyes pleading to have a stroll in the park with him ‘just for a few minutes?’

god, you were so selfless. he wanted to give you all of his minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years. and for all that’s worth, reo would never deny you of such a thing — he’d rather shoot himself than make you think you weren’t loved with every fiber of his being.

the weather was nice; a gentle breeze kissing both of your faces and making everything more pleasant. you were both chatting and appreciating the calm environment when you spotted an old lady a few feet ahead, selling different colored roses for the passersby. a smile was etched onto your lips, and you impulsively let go of reo’s hand to run towards her. 

“why hello, dear. would you like to buy a rose?”

your boyfriend watched you beam to the lady and slowly approached you, though still keeping his distance and trying hard not to intervene and buy all the roses for you. 

“yes, please! a red one would be perfect.”

“oh, who will you give it to?” asked the woman, already taking one flower from the bunch to hand it to you. 

your smile became slightly more bashful, “it’s for my husband!”

and fuck, if reo wasn’t already completely in love with you and thoroughly believed you were his soulmate until then, he certainly would after that very moment. he could feel his cheeks burning and his tongue rolling inside his mouth with how speechless he became. his heart soared with your words, excitement coursing through his veins with a love so overwhelming he nearly fell on his knees right there. 

heavens, he loved you so fucking much. and you made him realize it was about time he proved it to you (once again).

his hands easily found his phone in his pocket, and a quick call to the jewelry store was made while you busied yourself with paying for the flower. reo couldn’t stop smiling like a lovesick fool, but he didn’t mind.

“hey, mr. fuji, it’s mikage! you know, i think it’s time for that visit i mentioned a while ago…”

he might not fall to his knees right there, but he would drop at one knee very soon.

[formulawolff]

iv. raising the stakes - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 2.0k

warnings: cursing, age gap, mentions of divorce, power imbalances, mentions of age gap relationships, sexual references, toto wanting to be with you every second of every day, YEARNING, pining, yadayadayada, the works y'know

prev. | next.

“don’t tell me it’s that fucking nitwit.”

the team principal nearly growls, fury oozing into every single word. 

“i haven’t talked to him in a while,” panic starts to flare up, “fuck, fuck, fuck. what do i do?”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“ignore him?” 

“i can’t do that,” you suck in a breath, “you need to go to my room. just sit on my bed or something until he leaves.”

“scared he’s going to catch on or something?” toto arches a brow, his tone shifting from scorn to a light-hearted tease, “oh schatz, are you worried your little boyfriend won’t like that you’re with another man?”

“no,” you scoff, “you know exactly what would happen if daniel saw both of us. go to my room. stay there until he leaves.”

“fine,” he rolls his eyes, clambering to his feet. he stretches slightly, wincing, “that was not my best idea.”

“that’s what happens when you’re an old man.”

the remark lights a new fire in toto, the austrian licking his lips, “oh don’t worry love, this old man will you show you soon he’s actually–”

“get. in. my. room.” you hiss, scrambling to your feet. 

“fine, fine,” he exhales, nodding towards the end of the hall, “i assume that’s it?”

“yes,” you affirm, “just stay there. answer some emails or something.”

“will do,” he whistles, turning on his heel. 

once the door to your room closes, you clear your throat. your voice was probably shaky from what just occurred. hell, even your brain felt like it was a pile of mush. 

there was not a single thought rattling around, your memory only replaying a constant loop of what just happened. 

oh fuck. you realize your shorts were completely soaked. and it was noticeable. although you weren’t going to be opening your legs, you were obviously flustered. 

time to act like nothing ever happened. 

quickly, you throw a blanket over you, “come in!”

daniel pokes his head in, a bright grin enveloping his face, “hey there, winner, winner!”

“how are you?” 

“i’m okay,” he shrugs, crossing over to the couch, “were you watching something? i thought i heard some voices.”

“oh yeah,” you nod fervently, “i was just watching some tik toks before you came in.”

“sorry it’s so late,” daniel fiddles with a loose thread on his shorts, “i figured i would come by after all the press and all that. you must be tired, yeah?”

“a little bit.

“it was a huge day for you,” he points out, “i’m happy for you. i really am. i couldn’t think of anyone who deserved that win more than you.”

you can’t help but feel a grin form, “thank you, danny.”

“also,” he lets out a shaky breath, “i feel like i owe you an explanation why i’ve been so distant this last week.”

“oh daniel you don’t have to–”

“but i do,” he interjects, his voice so quiet you had to lean forward to hear it, “i guess when you asked me that question after bahrain, i was confused. to tell you the truth, i was confused about how my feelings for you. i guess i never really addressed the feelings i had for you until you brought it up. yeah, i do have feelings for you. i am attracted to you. but i can’t act on them because i know that you would never pursue me in that matter. you’ve always seen me as one of your best friends, and that’s okay. i figured i would take a step back so i could heal without hurting you or lashing out. because it’s not your fault, it’s all been one-sided.”

“daniel i–”

“you don’t have to say anything,” he shakes his head, avoiding eye contact, “i had to heal on my own. i had to come to terms without bringing you into it. it would have been immature of me to make you feel like you had to reciprocate the attraction. besides, i feel like you’re attracted to someone else.”

your heart nearly stops beating for a moment, eyes widening, “oh – um, i–”

“you’ve always spoke so highly of carlos, and with the way you look at him, i have a gut feeling you like him.”

you can clearly picture toto in your room, leaning against the door, listening to every word. this meant you had to tread these waters carefully. 

very carefully. 

“oh daniel,” you begin, “at the moment, i’m not attracted to anyone on the grid. if anything, i see most of you guys like my brothers. it’s the best group of friends i could have ever asked for. if i were to have romantic relationships with any of you guys, i feel like it would diminish the bonds we have. also, i just don’t think it’s very professional. we have to keep things professional, you know?”

“i understand,” daniel’s eyes meet yours, and you can’t help but see nothing but anguish, “i appreciate you, i really do. can we just act like you never asked that question?”

“of course.”

“i love you,” daniel leans forward, scooping you in an embrace, “you’re the best. i’d stay and chat about your big win today, but i bet we’re both exhausted. i’ll text you, okay?”

“okay,” a giggle bubbles up as daniel shakes you back and forth, “i love you too, danny.”

“i’ll see ya around,” he places a swift peck on your temple before getting up, “sleep well. you deserve some rest.”

“you too,” you murmur, waving as the australian strolls out, “see you around.”

“byeeee!”

once the door shuts, you flop backwards, breathing out a sigh of relief. 

that seemed to go well. 

shooting up, you remember that there was a very large, very handsome austrian man waiting for you in your room. wrapping the blanket around your shoulders, you spring up, nearly jogging down the hall. 

pushing open the door, your breath hitches in your throat. 

instead of being wide awake, toto is slumped on your bed, limbs sprawled out. light snores fill the air, his chest rising and falling. rays of moonlight cascade into the space, shrouding him with a soft glow. 

quietly, you make your way to the bed, discarding your shorts and underwear. after seeing the clothes on the floor, you realize you may as well ditch the top too. peeling it off, you toss it, burrowing under the comforter. 

toto stirs, blinking, “how long was i– oh my god.”

you can’t help but smirk as he’s left speechless, mouth agape, eyes nearly as wide as saucers, “not long. daniel only came over for about fifteen minutes.”

“and you didn’t wake me the moment you started taking off your clothes?”

“i didn’t know i was supposed to,” you tease, scooting towards the principal, “you don’t have to leave. you can stay.”

“i don’t know if i should,” light kisses pepper your nose, cheeks, and forehead, “they’re probably all wondering where i ran off to. i’ve been gone awhile and haven’t been answering my texts or calls. if i’m not careful, they might send out a search party.”

“lewis hamilton can’t be without his team principal for one second?” 

at your response, toto laughs, his chest vibrating against your shoulder blades, “you’d be surprised. at times i wonder if i adopted him as my own. george too.”

“please?” you roll over, facing him. for extra measure, you jut your bottom lip out, ensuring that your lashes flutter as you blink, “please stay?”

“hmmm,” he hums, leaning in, “what’s my incentive for staying?”

“you know, not everything is a business transaction.”

“i just wanted to hear you beg a little.”

the truth of the matter was that the team principal knew if he stayed, he would be in too deep. even further deeper than he already was. 

oh, toto wolff was already weak for you. 

but now? 

it was far worse than he could ever imagine. 

there was just something about you that he couldn’t shake. as you laid beside him, moonlight swathing your figure, he couldn’t resist admiring. fuck, you were just so gorgeous. 

however, that was not the only thing that drew him in. your aura alone was attractive enough. confident, radiant, oh so intelligent, and level-headed. also, you were unapologetically yourself. toto needed that. he needed someone to match his energy. 

the fact that you were one of the best drivers on the grid was just a bonus to the plethora of qualities that he adored. 

of course, there was that ever-present thought looming in his mind. 

if a single soul found out about this blossoming relationship, every aspect of his life would come crumbling down. 

his children would shun him. he would be let go from his esteemed position at mercedes. the fia would exploit his wrongs in every way imaginable. the media would have an absolute frenzy. his drivers would no longer speak to him. 

and susie? oh god. 

although there was still a band gleaming on his left finger, the marriage with susie had devolved three years ago. the papers weren’t signed until several months ago, the team principal keeping that matter private. merely for the sake of his ex-wife and children. wearing the band was simply a promise he made with susie for the time being, to keep the public thinking that they were still happily married. 

the divorce would be announced at the end of the 2024 season, just so that the media wouldn’t speculate. 

although, they already speculated more than he liked. 

yet, there was this part of him that urged him to take that risk. to pursue you. to get to know every part of you. to learn, cherish, and love you in every way possible. 

you were his golden girl, without a doubt. 

a shining ray of light that deserved the world. 

and by god, he was more than determined to give you that.

“toto,” your eyes were closed, lashes fluttering as a hand ran through your hair, “can you please stay?”

“if i stay,” the team principal shifted his body, propping himself up with an elbow, “i’m going to have to leave early. probably before sunrise so that i’m not spotted.”

“you could just disguise yourself.”

“right,” a light chuckle flows his lips, “i’ll find a mustache and stick it on. no one would ever dare recognize me then.”

“you think?” fuck, your giggle was going to be the death of him. 

“i know,” leaning over, he presses a kiss on your temple, “i’ll stay, schatz. just don’t be disappointed if you wake up and i’m not there. all right?”

“all right,” you nod, sleep slurring your words. 

quickly, toto unbuttons his shirt, discarding it to the floor. fuck, it was probably going to be wrinkly in the morning, but he didn’t care. as long as he got to spend a few more hours with you, it would make up for it. standing, he unbuckles his belt, slacks falling to the floor. 

pulling the comforter back, he curls up next to you, bringing you close to his chest. 

“you know, sixteen-year-old me would be screaming, crying, throwing up, right now.”

“is that right?” his chest rumbles as he laughs, “well, we’ll have create a time machine to let sixteen-year-old you that all of her dreams come true.”

“are you sure you don’t have a crush on me, mr. wolff?”

“like i said before schatz,” his arms squeeze you gently, “crushes are for children.”

“then what is it?”

“we’ll have to find out,” toto found his eyelids drooping as you snuggle closer, “goodnight, golden girl.”

in his heart, toto knew the answer all too well. 

if the two of you continued to meet like this, one of you would be bound to want a relationship. with such a bright future ahead for you, would you even want to settle down at mercedes with a man like him? a previously divorced man going through a potential midlife crisis? 

additionally, if the two of you continued to meet like this, one of you would be bound to fall in love. 

and if that was the case, the stakes would only be higher. 

not only would be acquiring one of the best drivers in formula one’s history, he would be acquiring the girl he loved. 

and god, was he determined to make that happen. 

by any means possible. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

taglist: @toldyouitwasamelodrama

please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! thank you for reading! <3

[carmenized-onions]

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

“Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn’t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—”

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.” It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

[numberonetrashwitch]

Some observations about Baldurs Gate 3 that hit too close to home.

After another few runs i will probably just make an in-Depth Character Analysis for every character simply because they are good reflections of actual trauma-manifestations and how abuse can manifest in people. They are also so well written that it serves a narrative purpose to explore all the material that is out there about them. I am also personally cursed with actual medically-relevant levels of Empathy and Hyperfixation; so writing this helps me put a pin in it and move on.

But so far here are my highlights

(SPOILERS and obviously content warning bc these are deep)

before you ask; i have almost 300h in this game.

You have to convince Shadowheart to eat the Noblestalk. She actually stells you she rather get her memories back from Shar but when you hit the persuasion or intimidation (what the fuck) check to get her to eat it she'll tell you about her childhood friend. Not her name, not her parents but her best firend. Possibly because she has had a closer bond to that person after being abducted and indoctrinated. With her believing herself to be an orphan, she would've looked elsewhere for comfort and sought out her own family, this is why she falls hard and heavy for Shar and builds the backbone of her indoctrination. She is literally ripped out of her home & given a new identity to server her from all she has known. Religious indoctrination, Gaslighting, Abduction, being forced to let go of your personality are her main themes.

There is a scene out there floating around in which you see Astarions pespective of the night when he bites Tav for the first time, in his meditations he is confronted with the rules Cazador put on him, including that he can't eat intelligent creatures, can't be away from Cazador unless allowed to, has to obey every command and that they are should know that they are property. Which in turn means that Astarion literally didn't just have any autonomy, he was objectified (and not just through seductive/sexual measures) and that is really the crux to understanding why he doesn't believe in kindness, but rather shows self-serving behavior in most cases. Since we know that Astarion was extremely young for an elf before he died and became immortal (literally stopping the aging /maturing process) it is also very telling that Cazador constantly calls him brat, boy or other very juvanile names, refering to them as a family... well it is also the story of a very controlling parent. Themes of (Bodily) autonomy, infantilization ( & puer aeternus, forever-child), slavery, depersonalisation, corruption of life and torture to break someone.

Gale isn't just a guy hung up on his Ex, but also a victim of abuse. In this case a power imbalance none of us can fathom; She is described as being a jealous goddess and rules over the domain of mysteries and magic. So with Gale being a Wizard, she is literally his boss. He admits that he was foolish enough to aspire to be an equal to her, but she is so jealous that she tells him he can't really be worthy as long as he takes breath. She could just take his powers away and be done with it, that would be more than enough punishment for a guy who literally made Mystra and her domain his life's purpose, but she rather makes him do it himself. Add to that, that she literally only tells him this after years of self-isolation (after he put down so many wards that he could've blown up a whole army as he says if you click the right dialogue) to really fuck him up well. He also talks about death pretty much constantly, not surprising giving your situation, but he will tell you that he will kill himself at several points in the game, for instance after he comes clear about his nethrese orb. Themes of romantic abuse, power-imbalance, toxic work enviorment, self-isolating behavior, suicidal ideation

Wyll ... well from the looks of it he is the most well adjusted of all the companions (my opinion) but he has something that i'd describe as the "eldest daughter"-syndrome, more commonly known as parentification. This pattern usually occurs within single-household parents and is commonly described as a parent looking to their child for emotional or practical support, rather than providing it to their kid. We meet Ulder and see that he talks over Wyll a lot, not listening but expecting him to follow the standard he sets for him. That is also why Wyll repeats his fathers words like gospel (because this is what, in his mind, fullfills the expectations bestowed upon him) and why he loves fairytales / bard tales so much (because they are an ecapist view of the job he set out to do) Ulder literally exiled his teenage son because Wyll did the only thing he could to save an entire city, by sacrificing himself. Thats a lot to expect from a 17 year old - even more so, he doesn't stop with the heroics. He expects himself, as a human who hasn't even reached the age of 30 to hold up to mystical creatures such as Astarion or Karlach, or even Gale who is a accomplished Wizard. Themes of parentification, escapism, self-harming through putting himself in danger, chronic-self-sacrifice

In plain words; Gortash, Karlach's Idol sold her to a Devil. But add to that that she must have been pretty young when she was sold (late teens to early twenties possibly) and being that if you play as a Tiefling, you face a lot of predjudice she was likely forced into that position as well. Starstruck she was, with a juvenile naitivy that Gortash used. Appropriately, as he is the chosen of Bane the god of "tyrannical oppression, terror, and hate, known across Faerûn as the face of pure evil through malevolent despotism" (Source: Forgotten-Realms Wiki / Bane) So she pretty much was raised in a toxic enviorment, which forced her to become a killing-machine, first figuretively, then with the extraction of her heart, literally. Themes of slavery, oppression, misuse of trust, being taken advantage by a more powerful/older(?) person, being drafted.

Jaheira - to be honest, you need to know the lore of the previous baldurs gate games or just listen to her dialouge, ask her all the questions. She is a war-veteran against Bhaal, the good of ritual murder, and has a long history of fighting to achieve some sort of balance of power. She lost her husband and several close people all to this, or any other war, but due to her wisdom and strength people look to her for guidance. Themes of: Survivors Guilt.

Halsin - he is really closed off at first but then just casually hits you with "i was captured in the underdark and spent 3 years chained to a bedroom wall by a pair of drows who used me as they pleased". He is reprimanded by some of his druids for leaving the grove as soon as opportunity struck, just to get back and leave the next day, and if you talk to him about his position in the grove he is actually very forthcomming. He actively holds himself back; indulging in simple hobbies because he knows what lies within his heart. He is afraid of himself and his potential (canonnically he can't control his wildshape, which is very weird for an ARCH-druid) Themes of: impostor syndrome, avoidant-based self-harm, sexual opression, loss of control, emotional regulation.

Lae'zel is a very tragic case, and one that closely resembles the stories of Shadowheart and Karlach. Her entire existence is based upon a matriachial war society allowing her to live if she proves she can be of use and that in a culture which only values brutality, dominance & service. All of that culimating in her finding out that her oh-so-beloved Queen is actually just an imposter, and that everything she has lived for up to that point is merely political propaganda created to make her, and the rest of her entire species, willing pawns in a war that has no longer bearing on their survival alone, but is fought to justify Vlaakith's (the reigning monarchs) personal ambitions. Not only is she forced to reconcile that she is turned into the thing that controlled her kind for hundreds of years, that the only cure she knows of would kill her and then on top of that, that her hopes and dreams were lies and that she is now the Nr 1 enemy of the person she has served with all her being. themes of: oppression, propaganda, casual violence, objectification, child-warfare, eternal warfare

Minthara in short, her story is about being shamed for growing up in the same scenario that Lae'zel grew up in. Lolth, the god of the Lolth-sworn drows is a crazy queen who values scheming & backstabbing so much and is so volatile that you can't know what to expect of your deeds (and i mean it; there were people who were appraised by her for scheming against her, but also those who were killed. It's almost random.) She considers Lolth to be cruel and abandoned her for the Absolute, only to then be used and abused the same way Lae'zel has. Not with promises, but erasing her memory and exposing her perceived weakness. Themes of: casual violence, violent culture, her own ambition colliding with her desire to be safe, being a pawn in a larger game.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

FLORIDA TRANS PALS, IT IS TIME TO PLAN

Especially if you are on HRT!

HB1421 is a bill that severely affects access to gender affirming care, including for adults. It outlines goals to:

1) Prohibit changing gender markers on birth certificates

2) Require that gender affirming care only come from physicians (not nurse practioners) who take on liability insurance for 30 YEARS after they provide care to a patient

3) Require informed consent forms at every single appointment, including distributing literature to dissuade patients

4) Ban transition care completely for minors

5) Make it so providers who accept state funds cannot provide gender affirming services (this is the big one that stands to affect anyone who takes medicare/aid, is a university, etc.).

6) Make it so providers who accept state funds cannot reimburse for gender affirming services.

We are facing a return to the Harry Benjamin days, or worse, an effective ban unless you are fortunate/wealthy enough to find a willing provider.

If it passes, this bill would take effect July 1, 2023. That is not a lot of time.

I would not count on any Rx or refill request to be honored after this date if the prescribing and dispensing sources no longer are allowed to grant care or decide to drop care because of the penalties.

July 1, 2023. Unless we hear otherwise, that is your clock.

This sucks, but there is comfort in seeing a clear date to plan around and the worst case is no longer completely unknown. It begins July 1.

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

YOUR HOMEWORK, DUE ASAP:

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

1) Get any and all your HRT appointments in now, including picking up your meds and doing bloodwork promptly.

2) If you think you will be living in FL come July, start looking now for providers where physicians - not NPs - provide the care. Get an appointment on the books for July. Be prepared to go in person for everything after July 1, because I believe telemed will also be shit-canned. Here is a map of informed consent providers.

3) If you are an old like me, also dig up your HRT permission slip from your therapist. Fuck, make a packet of all your transition documents, including Rx history.

4) If you are on private insurance, start budgeting now to prepare to pay out of pocket.

5) Create a simple spreadsheet of all your HRT dates (pls forgive, my experience is with shots on a 2 week cycle, so this is pretty easy for me to do) and plan out how long your current supply will last. Then, forecast how long all your upcoming refills before July 1 will last. Update it every time you pick up and take your meds. Refer to it for decisions like moving or finding backup providers.

6) Subscribe to the bill to get notified of changes asap

7) Follow this site to keep tabs on other very scary bills happening in Florida, including a bathroom ban and a child custody bill that is effectively kidnapping

8) If you need to change your birth certificate, do it now, pay the rush fees and write RUSH on the envelope. The Department of Health has the most up-to-date forms. Processing time for rush I last saw was around 18 business days.

9) Now that your own oxygen mask is on, so they say, boost mutual aid and recruit allies to assist in any way possible.

-----

Do try to continue seeing your current provider as long as possible, as they likely will need your support. Talk to them frankly about their plans if the bill passes.

Now. I am just a little guy and not a legal expert, but the aggressive enactment date on this bill makes me feel like everyone should plan now instead of waiting to see if it passes.

Be safe, plan, and then get a little rest. Do not lose hope - this bill could still fail.

[empresskylo]

[part 1] part 2 of touch-starved where Ghost and you have been distant ever since that night. you do not have to read part 1 in order to understand this part btw

a/n: you guys, i am down so incredibly bad. my entire pinterest and tiktok is covered with this stupid mask-wearing man. and i don’t even play the game so it has everyone around me like 🤨 also super annoyed that part 1 glitched or sumn because it posted my unedited version. edited version is on my ao3. anyways, enjoy the smut <3

masterlist

cw: ptsd, smut, p in v, reader described as small and referred to as a woman and blushes once

simon “ghost” riley x afab!reader

wc: 3.3k

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓

It was late in the compound, the silent night echoing through the hallways. Ghost and you had, in fact, been awkward the moment you released one another from your embrace. You had shuffled uncomfortably beside him as you both stood up. Ghost cleared his throat and his eyes danced across your face, his eyes unreadable. He shied away and motioned you to follow as you continued heading to base. 

It was weeks after that mission and you hadn’t really seen all that much of Ghost since. You had come up to train with Soap while Ghost was in the room. He swiftly exited, grumbling in annoyance as he left. Soap had raised his brows, noticing the (extra) grumpiness in Simon. 

You tossed and turned in your small room, a tiny bed and a chest of your things filling the space. You usually shared the room with another woman on your team but she was offsite at the moment. 

You grumbled, shoving your boots on as you got up in the dark. You decided you needed to walk it off. Maybe then you could sleep.

In just a tank top and tight black leggings, you left your room. 

You immediately collided with a large, firm object. You tripped, off balance from your boots not being tied, and fell backward. Two strong arms caught you, making you finally look up and coming face to face with Ghost. “Oh. LT,” you said embarrassed.

Ghost set you upright then removed his hands from around your arms, leaving a lingering warmth in their absence. Ghost was busy making his rounds as usual when your small frame came bustling into him. Always so clumsy.

Ghost’s blue eyes scanned your face. He was about to walk away and continue what he was doing, but halted. “Have you been cryin’?” 

You felt your face warm. Why did he always have to be so blunt? 

You shifted uncomfortably between your feet. He tried to get a glimpse of your face but you had shied away, staring at your boots. He could see the dark circles around your eyes from exhaustion. The same that he saw in his own reflection every morning. “Oh, uhm…” You rubbed the back of your neck.

“You still thinkin’ ‘bout that night?” You looked up at him and gave a meek nod. Of course, Ghost was referring to the close call a week ago where you almost got Gaz killed. You all had made mistakes that night, but Ghost had watched as your hand slipped from Gaz’s grip because you had failed to properly secure the rope holding you up. He had seen the horror spread across your face. 

Honestly, you were surprised Ghost hadn’t kicked you off his team yet. Soap and Gaz had reassured you that you were a crucial part of the team and any one of them could have made that mistake. 

But they didn’t. You did.

You watched as Ghost rolled his eyes and gripped his gun on his hip tighter before pushing you back into your room and closing the door. 

He sat on your roommate's bed and pointed at yours. “Sit,” he commanded. 

You did as you were told and closed your eyes. Here it was, the big moment where your Lieutenant finally ripped you a new asshole for being such a fuck up.

Ghost’s husky voice filled the already cramped space, threatening to overfill it. “I lost one of my best men back in the beginning.” Your eyes opened. You could see him in the faint glow of your room’s light. His eyes were heavy, surrounded in black, as he looked at you. “It was because of me.” Ghost felt his fist squeeze harder. You stared at him, realizing he was trying to make you feel better. To tell you how he had done something similar in the past. Though, he wasn’t great with words. You smiled at Ghost’s first kind words to you. “What?” His voice boomed with annoyance.

“Nothing.” Your smile sank as you thought of Gaz and you felt tears begin to well in your eyes again. “I’m not used to all this,” you said, gesturing around you. 

“The military?”

“Being alone.” Your voice was quiet. You had always had your family. Friends. And for all of it to be taken from you destroyed you. You felt a strange sense of relief finding family with these men. They filled the void that you tried to stuff with whatever you could. But there was always that one part that never quite filled.

Your knees brushed against Ghost’s. He reached out without thinking and grabbed your hand. No. You weren’t alone. They were your family now. This was your home.

Ghost was solely wearing his balaclava mask without his usual hard skull addition, which felt more intimate. You could see the instant regret in Ghost’s eyes when he realized what he was doing. As he retracted his hand, you reached out and stopped him. Just like before, your name left his mouth in a faint whisper. You slowly stood, still gripping Ghost’s gloved hand, and pushed him back onto the cot. Maybe it was the way you now knew perfectly well that Ghost was feeling the same absence you were. Or maybe it was the darkroom that gave you confidence. You slowly crawled up beside him, your heart pounding in your ears. You moved dramatically slow, like you were attempting not to spook a feral cat—and in a weird way, you were. 

Ghost’s eyes were burning a hole through you as he just let you touch him like this. He had half a mind to push you away, but his body knew how alone he felt as well. He craved this. 

You rested a hand on his chest and Ghost felt your touch burn him through his clothes. He gently moved his shoulders so he was sliding his tactical gear off. Your small fingers helped, throwing his vest onto the floor. In one swift motion, Ghost decided what he wanted and he pulled you on top of him, your body flat against his. A small yelp had escaped your lips. You were afraid Ghost could feel your heart racing. His arms tightened their grip around you, suddenly overflowing with the need to connect with another human. To have your delicate hands caress him. To feel the warmth of your body against his. 

He slipped his gloves off and he placed his calloused hands on your exposed arms. You held in a tight breath as he gently touched you. 

You felt his chest move as he let out a painful breath. You peered up at him finally, faintly making his eyes and mask out in the dim light. Ghost looked down at you as he felt your eyes lock onto him. You gulped, unsure of what your next moves would bring.

You trailed your hands up, making Ghost’s own slip from your arms and rest on your waist. You propped yourself up slightly as you reached out to Ghost’s mask. He flinched backwards before stilling. Taking that as consent, your fingers pulled the bottom of his mask up from its spot under his black shirt. Ghost was breathing loudly through his nose as you edged the hem of it up slowly. You finally pushed it up, just enough to expose his jaw and the tip of his nose. You stopped there to much of Ghost’s relief. If you had tried to remove his mask any further, he would have likely thrown you off of him. 

“I get it,” he said softly. 

“Hm?” Your eyes traced his lips as he spoke, his thick accent pooling from his mouth that you could finally see. He had quite a bit of stubble coming in. “Being alone,” he finished.

“And do you like it, LT?” Your eyes darted up to his, almost challenging him. Did he like being alone? He had told himself yes for years. Every void he felt didn’t matter. He filled it with violence and bloodshed from striking down his enemies. 

But now, having your warm body flesh against his own, your tiny fingers brushing against his jaw as you pried his mask up, he wasn't so sure. He wanted you. Desperately. 

Ghost’s silence was deafening as he contemplated. Finally, he pulled you up into him, a small “Wha—“ leaving your lips before they were locked with his. Ghost didn’t begin to move until you reciprocated. Then, he deepened the kiss. His mouth attacked yours fervently. Your hand slid up to his chest to hold yourself steady. One of Ghost’s hands tightened on your hip, the other moving into your hair. He pulled you closer, his tongue sliding against your lips. His fingers clenched your hair, a feeling he hadn’t felt in so long. 

As fast as it began, it ended. Ghost pulled back, both of you breathless. His hand didn’t leave its spot behind your head as he spoke. “No. I don’t fucking like it.”

Your eyes widened in reaction to something you couldn’t quite explain. Your body tingled as he stared at you. You moved your fingers to the hem of his t-shirt, edging it up. You wondered if you were going too far. Before you could finish your thought, Ghost pushed you back onto his thighs and tore his shirt off, careful to not catch his mask in the process. At this angle, you could make out the details of his partially exposed face. You saw old, faded scars that trickled across his face. One slid down his neck to his shoulder. 

You pulled your tank top off, your breasts exposed, though he could hardly see in this lighting. You tentatively leaned forward, your chests colliding. You hugged him as close as you could, your body flat against his once again, but without the fabric. Ghost’s arms came up to wrap around you, pulling you into him. You felt a sigh of relief escape his mouth as you held each other, your fingers tracing smooth circles on his side. 

You could hear his heartbeat. You smiled lazily. How much you had missed having someone you trust this close. 

You turned to him and leaned up to kiss again. You could see his hesitation, but he concluded his thoughts by softly kissing your lips. You felt a chill run down your spine. This was the man who could scare a grown man with just a look. The man who gave you orders. The man who couldn’t be killed. A man filled with such rage that it came out in bursts of humor here and there. A man who hadn’t shown anyone his face is God knows how long. 

And then here he was, pressed against you, kissing you so delicately like you might break. His rough fingers ran along your back, the heat from your body making him sweat. 

He should be worried about what this meant for the two of you. How wrong this was since he was your lieutenant. But Ghost’s mind was so preoccupied, he wasn’t sure he had the strength to think about anything other than the way you were consuming him in this moment. 

He felt your fingers fiddle with his belt. A wave of heat ran to his crotch. He pushed you back and you pouted, suddenly embarrassed. You had gone too far. Of course, Ghost wouldn’t want to—

You were cut off when you saw Ghost lifting his hips to push his pants down. You gulped, a blush spreading across your chest. 

He reached out for you. He knew how pathetic he was acting, but he didn’t care. He was drunk off your touch and fuck, did he need more. He wouldn’t let himself ruin this.

His fingers played with the hem of your leggings and he tried to pull them down. You stood up and tore them off before settling yourself on his thighs once again. Your hands rested on his strong shoulders, looking into his eyes shyly. He was breathing deeply as he stared at you. Both of you were shocked at what you were doing. 

“We can stop if…” he started, but you reached out and dragged your fingers along his scruffy jaw, making his words get trapped in his throat. Your finger pads tickled him as they slid down his slightly hairy chest and traced over his faded scars. 

“Do they still hurt?” You asked timidly, afraid you were really pushing things now. Maybe all he wanted was the feeling of a woman in his bed after not having one for so long. You bringing up his battle scars was sure to kill the mood. 

“Not physically.” You felt goosebumps rise on your skin, his voice far deeper than you’ve ever heard him before. You leaned down and placed a kiss against them. Peppering him with your soft lips. Ghost felt his eyes shut as he focused on the way your lips felt against him. Your wandering hands tracing his side and thigh. 

You looked back up at him and his hands immediately went to you. His hand slowly skimmed your thigh, edging closer to your throbbing core. He hesitated before stroking his knuckle against your underwear, making you bite your lip. He was so slow with his movements, wanting to be gentle with you. Shit. Had it really been this long since he got laid?

He watched as your eyes squeezed shut, your nails digging into his shoulder as he continued to drag his knuckles against you. 

Ghost had reached his breaking point when he saw your face drowning in pleasure. He grabbed your hips and flipped you around so you laid sprawled beneath him. You let out a tiny yelp, your eyes wide open now as you stared at a hovering Ghost above you. His hands gripped your panties and slid them down your legs and threw them on the floor. He looked down at you, his mouth all but watering. You tried to squeeze your thighs together feeling flustered at his gaze. He pried your legs apart and settled himself between them so you couldn’t close them again. “Don’t get shy on me now, pet.” 

You took in a sharp breath at the name he just called you. Unsure if you liked it or not, Ghost halted movement before you were prying at his waistband. His husky chuckle vibrated through his chest. 

He pushed his underwear down just enough to free himself and he rubbed himself against you. You gasped and grabbed onto his shoulders again. You wanted to look down and see if he was as big as you thought but it was too dark in your room to tell. You’d find out soon enough. 

Ghost’s pupils were blown as he pressed against your soaking entrance. He crashed down on top of you and held himself up with his elbow, his chest pressing against yours, his other hand lining himself up. As he began to push himself into you, his hand came up, getting lost in your hair. 

You both groaned as he stretched you out, slowly filling you. He really was big.

After a few painfully long moments, he bottomed out, his breath hot on your neck as he panted against you. His hands continued to wander across your body, grabbing the fat around your thigh and hips every so often. Then moving up to caress the swell of your breast. Ghost pulled out and then pushed himself back in rather roughly. “Simon,” you gasped. His name in your voice had his eyes honing in on yours. He sounded gruff as he spoke, “Am I hurting you?” 

You shook your head, desperate for him to slam into you again. You bucked your hips against him and he got the message. 

Simon began at a steady pace, growling each time his cock hit your cervix. You dug your nails into his back, Simon painfully stretching you out. 

Simon’s face sank into the crook of your neck, leaving little kisses against your skin as he rutted into you. He smelled of mint and gunsmoke. His hand slid along your body and up into your hair, giving it a slight pull. You mewled, your eyes fluttering. “Like all the lil’ noises you make,” he grumbled between grunts. 

Your walls clenched against him and he swore under his breath, his hands gripping you tighter. His body laid flat against yours, your nipples pressing against him. You were completely engulfed by this large man; you never felt so safe. 

You began muttering incoherent words as he filled you up, completely drunk off him. Ghost pulled away and looked down at you. Your eyes met his. Your face was glowing with sweat as the two of your bodies intertwined in the small quarters. 

Ghost gripped your thighs and pushed them towards you so he could get a better angle, all while never breaking eye contact. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he moaned. Your hands clenched the bedsheets, your walls tightening in on him. You both were dangerously close. 

One of his fingers began to rub circles on your clit. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you repeated his name again and again. “Look at me,” Simon demanded. Your eyes flew open and locked back with his as you came, your walls clenching Ghost’s cock painfully tight. He moaned as he watched you gasp in ecstasy. 

“Fuck. Simon,” you mewled. That was enough to push him over the edge. He pulled out of you before stroking himself and coming against your lower belly, leaving ropes of his come dripping down you. 

You both struggled to catch your breath. Simon rubbed his cock against your slit, riding out both of your highs. 

Your orgasm floated away as you came down from your high, relaxing into the pillow. The dark makeup around Ghost’s eyes were smudging from the heat, but it just made his eyes even more captivating. 

Before you could speak, Simon leaned over and grabbed his t-shirt, wiping his mess off your belly. 

Ghost’s eyes analyzed your face, trying to read your expression. He pulled his mask back down and silently got dressed. You did the same. 

You looked up at him as he towered over you, he seemed a lot shorter when you were both horizontal. He had everything on except his shirt, which he held in his hand. You’d be lying if you said the sight of Ghost’s exposed chest wasn’t sending a rush of warmth between your thighs again. 

He stood there, lost for words. You shifted between your feet as he intently watched you.

“I, uhm. If you want, you can…well. You can lay here with me. For a bit. If you wanted.” 

Your face was red hot as you babbled like an idiot. But you desperately wanted Simon to lay down and hold you as you fell asleep, so you didn’t care about acting like a fool at this very moment. 

Simon pushed off his tactical gear instantly as if he was just waiting for the invite. He loomed over you before pulling you down with him into your tiny bed. Ghost took up most of the mattress so you were forced to lay flat against him, his arm gripping you close like he never wanted to let go. Your back pressed into his chest and your eyes felt heavy at the rise and fall of his breath. 

You felt him reach up and take his mask off, clutching it in his hand as he held you, his mouth next to your ear as he shared your pillow. You fell asleep to his warm breath and nose nuzzling you. You’d worry about the awkwardness tomorrow, especially when you realized Ghost would have to somehow exit your room without getting caught. 

Ghost’s hand clutched you against him the entire time he slept. He hadn’t slept this well in years. 

[foervraengd]

Transparent cube Breakdown thingy for art

Part two is here!!

The way light bends and behaves in a transparent cube always mess with my head and makes using photo references less helpful to me. So i bought one of those notes-holders that have a clear acrylic cube as a stand and took a bunch of photos!

Disclaimer (please oh my god read this disclaimer because i know you’re gonna skip this paragraph otherwise) - i dont remember anything about this from science class in high school. And googling “glass cube refraction/light” only gives me diagrams or stock photos that doesnt seem to explain the scenario i often see myself in with this. So be aware that what im writing in this post is mainly my own observations and me just trying to make sense of how the “insides” of a transparent cube behaves from an artists point of view, if you’re a physicist i apologise in advance for making up my own terms or use the wrong words etc. I will update this post if needed.

The “cube inside the cube” thing:

As shown in these three images, as i turn the cube sideways and then tilt it downwards, so we can see three sides of it, there is this smaller ‘cube’ inside that appears. Its not an actual cube, just an illusion of one due to how light bends inside it. I am pretty sure this mini cube is actually just the backside of each side.

Here is a similar set of photos of the cube in the same set of angles. But this time with a teal pen behind it. The pen is most visible through the ‘inner cube’ here. We can also see that the darker blue inner sides of the cube are more saturated in color.

Bright highlights

Notice how the opposite side inside of the cube is also lit up, as well as really saturated? It’s as if the highlight first hits the surface of the cube, and is then also lighting up the inside of it! But it doesnt seem to light up the whole “bottom” inner side.

Cube on a surface vs Suspended in the air

Now this here. This fucking thing here. Is why i struggle so much with using photo references of transparent cubes. If you look closely at the “mini cube” here, it changes when the cube is on a surface. The reason is because the underside is against the surface so it cannot be lit from below by the white paper. But isnt it interesting how this only seem to occur on the top of the cube and not on the sides? I don’t know why this is the case, i probably could find an answer if i had an actual prism cube of glass or better acrylic but those can be expensive.

In any case, i hope these photos will be of any use. The best thing you can do is to het an acrylic cube yourself and place it in the angle you plan to draw it in!

[pedrospatch]

We love a writing prompt challenge - I'd love to see what you do with post!outbreak Joel and ❛ what if i hurt you? ❜

smut prompt challenge

Thank you so much for sending this one in to me my darling! <3 I decided to be a little adventurous with this one, I hope you like it. Also, it turned out to be a longer than I meant to, it was supposed to just be a blurb/short drabble and it turned into a 3k oneshot. Whoopsie. I am not at the point where I can write smut with no plot, I have to have at least a teensy bit of plot lmao.

pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

warnings/tags: 18+ only, minors dni. explicit. post outbreak, set in Jackson. established relationship. jealous/possessive/slightly intoxicated Joel. reader is just a lil bit toxic too. rough sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, bit of spanking, praise and pet names. very lightly implied age gap (reader is referred to as kid by an older side character but she’s in her mid to late 20s, Joel is canon age, mid 50’s; purely self indulgent with the age thing tbh) okay, I think I got it all.

word count: 3k

“Alright kid, I’m heading out for the night,” Seth announced, flipping off all of the lights inside of The Tipsy Bison. He made sure to leave one last dim yellow light on for you so that you could finish cleaning up around the bar. He tossed you a set of keys to the building from where he stood near the front door. As he shrugged into his blue denim jacket, he asked you one last time, “Are you sure you’re going to be okay locking up the place all on your own at this hour?”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. You walked over towards him, twirling the set of keys between your fingers. “Oh please. What could possibly happen to me in a secured, gated community where everybody knows everybody, Seth?” You questioned him, shaking your head slightly. “And besides, it’s not like we’ve got a register full of cash just waiting to be robbed. It’s the end of the world, so I think I’ll be just fine closing up shop.”

“Well, you got me there,” he sniffed. “I suppose I don’t have anything to worry about.” He paused, lowering his voice as he added, “And much less when you have your very own guard dog sitting over there and keeping his watchful eye on you.”

You glanced over your shoulder at Joel. He was sitting at the opposite end of the long bar nursing what had to be his third or fourth glass of barrel aged bourbon; even after all the shit you two had been through together over the last several months while making the dangerous and violent trek across the country, Joel had never, not once, behaved like this with you. He had never been this ridiculously overprotective of you, not until you’d begun working as one of the evening bartenders at The Tipsy Bison. He wasn’t all too fond of your new role in Jackson, and he’d made it abundantly clear by dropping in late at night to make sure the rowdier male patrons who would frequent the bar after evening patrol were behaving, keeping their hands to themselves—and off of his girl.

You turned back to Seth, flashing him a sheepish, apologetic smile. “Look, I know he can be kind of rough around the edges sometimes. But he’s not all that bad, you know?”

“Kind of rough around the edges? One look from Miller can send anyone running for their lives in the other fucking direction,” he remarked with an amused snort as he pushed the door open. “Be sure to turn off that last light before you leave, kid. Oh, and don’t forget that I’m going need you here tomorrow at three for the opening shift, alright?”

“Got it. See you tomorrow,” You said, giving him a little wave as he left. You pulled the door closed and locked it behind him, giving it a gentle tug to make sure it was secure. Shoving the set of keys into the back pocket of your light blue denim cut off shorts, you made your way back across the quiet, empty bar and over towards Joel. You let out a soft sigh, lightly draping an arm around his shoulders. “Joel, please. It’s almost one o’ clock in the morning. I still have quite a bit to do around here before I can leave,” You stated. You reached up, affectionately running your fingers through his graying, dark brown curls. “You have patrol duty in a few hours. Go home and get some sleep. I’ll be fine on my own.”

He scoffed. “Ain’t no way in fuckin’ hell I’d let you walk home alone at this hour.”

You sighed again, withdrawing your hand from his hair as you stepped back.

Joel turned on the bar stool he’d been perched on for most of the night, his dark brown eyes taking the sight of you in; they glazed over your fitted, tight black tee shirt with a neckline that scooped way too low and exposed too much skin for his liking. His lips pressed together into a thin, tight line as his gaze wandered down further, noticing how the frayed hem of your cut offs fell a couple of inches above the middle of your thighs. “You really gotta fuckin’ wear that outfit every night?” 

You glanced down at yourself, frowning. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“I just don’t fuckin’ like it,” he muttered gruffly, his fingers holding onto his glass of whiskey in a near death grip. “You’re showin’ off way too goddamn much. Every fucker you served tonight got more than a fuckin’ eyeful. I probably watched ‘bout a dozen idiots stare at your tits and openly flirt with you right in front of me, you know that?”

“There’s a reason why this is the uniform I have to wear, Joel,” You teased with a giggle, hoping to ease the tension that was practically radiating off of the man.

“You fuckin’ enjoyin’ this?” He asked bitterly as he glared at you. He drained the rest of his drink and slammed the empty glass down onto the counter with a little more force than what was necessary. His jealousy was seeping out of him, and you’d be a damned dirty liar if you said you didn’t find it so incredibly hot. 

“Mm, just a little bit,” You replied with another tiny giggle. You leaned up against the bar and crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze meeting his; you noticed the way the seething anger flashed in his dark eyes. His raw, raging emotions were only exacerbated by the amount of bourbon he’d had to drink that night. “Oh lighten up, Joel! I’m only kidding and you know that. Listen, the outfit and the flirting, it’s just part of my job as a bartender. It’s something that all the girls around here have to do. I’m just eye candy for the lonely and horny patrolmen who have nothing better to do with their free time. Besides, Seth makes it very clear to all the fucking guys around here that they can look but they can’t touch—”

“I don’t give a fuck!” Joel snarled, suddenly rising to his feet. “I don’t give a fuck if they don’t touch you, alright? I don’t want those bastards lookin’ at you, hell I don’t even want any of them so much as fuckin’ breathin’ in your direction!” He drew closer towards you, his voice going so dangerously low it sent a little chill right up the length of your spine. “You’re mine, you fuckin’ understand me? You are mine.” 

Your playful smile faded slightly. 

His possessiveness should have bothered you. It should have angered you, even. You were a human being, not his piece of property. But as you drank in the sight of him, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides, the way his nostrils flared, and not to mention that all too familiar murderous look in his eye, you couldn’t help the wanting heat that flooded your lower belly.

“Then take me,” You murmured, your voice soft.

Joel sobered up ever so slightly. “What?”

“I didn’t stutter, Joel. I said, take me.”

Joel stared at you, mouth agape. “You’ve lost your damn mind. We’re in a fuckin’ bar—”

“A dimly lit, locked bar with no one else around,” You smirked, pulling your top down to expose the black lace bra you wore underneath. “You say I’m yours, so show me. Right here, right now.”

Joel’s cock twitched behind his zipper, his mouth going dry when he caught a glimpse of the way the soft, delicate lace hugged the delicious curve of your breasts. He opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him as he watched you bite down on your bottom lip and tilt your head up at him, batting your eyelashes innocently—you knew how to play him just like a fucking fiddle. 

“Baby, no. Not here.”

You pouted playfully. “Don’t you want me?”

“Not like this,” he rasped, although the continued straining against the dark blue denim of his jeans stated otherwise. “I’m drunk, I’m pissed off—I just don’t trust myself with you right now.”

You smiled sweetly at him and stepped forward to shrink the gap of distance between your bodies.

You slid your hands underneath his brown jacket and pushed it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. You placed a hand on his chest, right over his heartbeat as your eyes met his. “I trust you.”

He rigidly shook his head. “What if I hurt you?”

“I trust you,” You reassured him. “Please, Joel. I just need you to fuck me, right here, right now. I need you to show me that I’m all yours. Yours and only—”

Joel didn’t even bother to let you finish.

He reached out for you and pulled your body flush against his, his mouth crashing violently against yours; his tongue darted through your parted lips, dominating your own in a way that made you melt into a submissive little puddle right in his large hands. He wasted no time, moving his lips down to your neck where he started nipping and biting at your delicate flesh with his teeth—hard enough that your silky skin would be covered in discolored marks tomorrow. But any worries about him being too rough had gone out the window. He wanted to mark his territory. He wanted every motherfucker in Jackson to know you belonged to him.

“Joel,” You moaned out his name and clutched fistfuls of his dark green flannel shirt.

He said nothing, allowing his mouth to continue ravaging you as his hands started ridding you of your clothes; he broke contact for as second, just long enough to pull your shirt over your head. You aided him and reached around yourself to unhook your bra, carelessly tossing it somewhere behind the bar. Your shorts and matching lace underwear came off next, along with your tan brown cowboy boots. 

Normally, Joel would take his time. He’d kiss and worship his way across every inch of your entire body, but not tonight—no, tonight he was going to take you quickly, roughly. Between all the alcohol and his pent up frustrations, being gentle was the very last thing on his mind.

“C’mere.” Joel yanked you over towards a small, square wooden table just a few feet away from the bar, the same damn table where patrons would enjoy their after work duty drinks. He gripped the back of your neck and shoved you down, bending you right over the table; you let out a little gasp as your warm, naked body hit the cold, laminated wood. His rough, calloused hands glided their way down your smooth back and he took a single step backwards to admire the view. “Open up for me, sweetheart. Let me see you—all of you.”

You glanced over your shoulder at him with lustful, hooded eyes. Biting your lower lip, you did as you were told and spread your legs, your entire body erupting in goosebumps as the chilly air coming from the vents of the building hit your throbbing center. 

Joel groaned, noticing the way your inner thighs were slick, coated with your own arousal. “Look at you, my pretty girl. Already soakin’ wet for me and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Giggling, you turned away from him and pushed your feet apart even wider. You then opened your mouth to speak, but instead let out a loud yelp when you felt him deliver a swift but harsh strike to your ass with the palm of his hand. 

He’d never fucking done that before.

Joel began kneading at the spot he’d just struck you with his fingers so aggressively that you were certain you’d find bruises there in the morning. 

The thought alone made you drip onto the floor.

“Joel—” You lifted yourself slightly off of the table.

“Stay down,” he commanded, pushing you back down.

You nodded and pressed your cheek flat against the table, your wet, aching walls clenching in pure anticipation as you heard his belt buckle clinking followed by the sweet sound of his zipper coming undone. Seconds later, the tip of his rock hard length pressed against your drenched slit.

You spread your legs even wider, prompting Joel to chuckle.

“You want me bad, don’t you my little darlin’?” he nearly taunted you. “Hm? You want me inside that pretty little pussy?”

“God yes I do—please fuck me,” You pleaded him. “Please, Joel. Please.”

He hummed. “Since you’re bein’ an awfully good girl and askin’ so politely…”

Joel didn’t even finish his sentence. There was a momentary pause and before you could ask him what the hell he was waiting for, he slammed into you, sheathing himself in your tight heat.

No warning. No warmup.

No time for you to think about anything except for the feeling of his thick, hard cock filling you up and stretching you completely.

You gasped out as all the air left your lungs. “Joel!”

Gripping your shoulders, he slid himself out of you entirely before delivering another powerful blow, one that had you seeing fucking stars. He didn’t give your body any time to adjust to him as he began to thrust, picking up a wild pace that you felt would split you in half if he didn’t ease up.

He’d fucked you plenty of times before—but never like this.

Senseless.

You gripped the edges of the table, gasping for a breath—you tried to cry out, but when you opened your mouth, all that came out were quick, pathetic little pants, desperate for air.

It hurt.

But the kind of hurt that felt so fucking good that you wanted more and more of it.

“You look so goddamn pretty, takin’ my cock like that,” Joel grunted out. His hands had abandoned your shoulders in favor of your hips, his fingers bruising the soft flesh there. “What a fuckin’ good girl you are for me, baby. Such a good girl—”

Planting your shaky hands on the table top, you pushed yourself up.

Joel’s hands left your hips. He slid an arm around your shoulders, pulling your naked back against his broad, clothed chest where he held you firmly in place as he continued to fuck you into oblivion with his barbaric, almost animalistic thrusts. 

“Who do you belong to?” he whispered into your ear, his other hand resting on your stomach. “Tell me, darlin’. Who do you belong to?”

“You,” You somehow managed to choke out a reply between gasps. “I belong to you, Joel.”

“Yeah? You’re mine? All fuckin’ mine?”

You could only nod your head in response.

Joel’s arm around you tightened. “Say it,” he demanded. “I need you to say it.”

“I’m yours, all fucking yours!”

His hand moved from your stomach and dove between your thighs, two of his fingers finding your clit as swollen and sensitive as it had ever been. His digits circled the bundle of nerves, causing your legs to tremble as you felt the beginning of an orgasm coiling tight in your lower belly.

“Oh fuck,” You breathed out in a moan. “Joel, I’m gonna—”

“Come for me baby,” he encouraged you huskily, his breath hot against your ear. “I want you to come all over my cock like the good girl you are.”

Finally, you managed to find your cries inside of you; they tore themselves from your throat where they had been lodged, echoing throughout the entire, empty bar as you came undone, your walls clenching tightly around him.

“Fuck baby,” Joel released a deep, guttural groan and shoved you back over the table, pinning you down on it with both his hands as he spilled inside of you.

He leaned over you, his body hovering over yours as the two of you took a minute to catch your breath. He gave one final gentle thrust, groaning again when he felt the way you fluttered around him. 

“Already wantin’ more sweetheart?” Joel planted a gentle kiss on your shoulder before finally pulling out of you. He stepped back, pulling his jeans back up into place; he stopped for just a moment, noticing the way his cum dripped out of you and slowly trickled down the inside of your thighs. Resisting the primal urge to take you all over again, he zipped up his jeans and buckled his belt. He then realized you still hadn’t moved and a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Baby I didn’t hurt you did I—”

“Shut up,” You told him, lazily waving a hand at him. “Don’t ruin it.”

Joel couldn’t help but chuckle as he shook his head. “You really are somethin’ else, you know that?”

“Mhm, but that’s why you love me,” You reminded him, glancing over your shoulder at him with a tiny little smirk.

Joel leaned over, quickly feathering a trail of kisses down your spine before he started walking around the bar and picking up your clothes. He handed them to you along with his jacket and helped you clean yourself up with a clean rag from behind the bar. As you dressed, he disappeared behind the counter once more, returning just moments later with a glass of bourbon in one hand and another clean, damp cloth in the other. “Sit,” he ordered, pointing to a bar stool and you obeyed. You sipped on the hard liquor watching as he started wiping down the table. Discarding the cloth into a garbage bin, he began putting all the chairs up on the tables for you. Looking around, he asked, “What else do you need me to do?”

Setting the glass down, you stood up and shook your head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll come in early tomorrow and finish up my tasks before the bar opens.” You smiled tiredly at him. “Let’s just go home, yeah?”

“Yeah, you need to get some rest—” Joel stopped, his dark eyes widening when he caught a glimpse of the marks that had already begun forming on your neck. “Shit,” he muttered as he hurried over to you. He moved the lapels of his jacket out of the way and touched them delicately. “You’re not gonna be able to hide these, baby.”

“It’s fine,” You grinned at him. “At least now, everyone will know who I belong to.”

[totheblood]

true blue. (one)

pairing: modern!ellie williams x reader

summary: ellie has a new philosophy: don't fall in love and you won't get your heart broken. ellie also has a really cute new friend. ellie admires some birds in this chapter idk if thats significant

warnings: 18+ (as a general rule for this series and my blog as a whole) suggestive themes, eventual smut, drug/alcohol usage, cursing, descriptions of abusive behavior (neither ellie or reader engages in these behaviors)

a/n: i am hoping to make this a series if enough people like it and want me too... i really appreciate support and feedback through asks and replies/reblogs, it all means so much to me. also i have this whole thing planned out and i plan for it to be very messy hehe... i love drama idk

This year was going to be different.

At least that’s what Ellie told herself as she gripped the straps of her worn out backpack. All of the classes her and Cat had planned to take together this semester she had quickly transferred out of by the end of the summer, causing her to rack up an impressive list of classes on her schedule nobody wanted to take. 

“Fuck,” Ellie cursed under her breath as she rushed towards the building her literature seminar was in. “I’m going to be so late.” She was practically cursing herself for waking up so late that morning, her bed seeming much more welcoming than the professor who had 1 star on ‘rate my professors.’ She knew she had fucked up, but at this moment she didn’t really care.

As she made her way down the chestnut lined hallway, she frantically checked the door numbers on each door, cursing each time the door number didn’t align with the one she was supposed to be in. When she did find her classroom at the end of the hallway, she had to steady herself with a few deep breaths before entering. Throughout all of this, however, one thought rang clear through her mind: Fuck Cat.

Ellie never really liked to refer to herself as heartbroken, but that was the nicest way she could put the state that Cat had left her in. Ellie always knew she liked girls and while she had many crushes, and a few kisses, Cat was her first real girlfriend. She was the first person to hold Ellie’s hand in public, post lame birthday posts on Instagram, and the first person to give her an orgasm. But if she was being really honest with herself, her first orgasm belonged to her own hand.

Cat had served as a turning point in Ellie’s life and up until this point she was almost certain  that she had been in love with her. Almost. There was always this sinking feeling that whatever feelings she had for the girl was most likely orchestrated by pure hormones. She couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was that made her feel that way, but there always seemed to be something missing from their relationship. 

Little to Ellie’s knowledge, however, was that was just who Cat was. She made you feel like you were on top of the world, the only person in the universe who could cure her ills, and the only person who got her. She made you feel special, and at the time, that was exactly what Ellie was craving. She needed a person who looked at her like she aligned the stars, and that person was Cat.

Until it wasn’t. Quickly towards the end of the summer Cat got bored and all of the love notes Ellie had written her were quickly discarded within an hour of reading them. She continued to pull away until there was no trace of her left in Ellie’s life. To make matters worse, she broke up with Ellie over text, leaving her dazed and confused. There was nothing left for her to do except to run to Dina’s house and cry in her lap. She hated how pathetic she looked as Dina stroked her hair and shooed Jeese off with the flick of her hand. It was safe to say Ellie was completely over relationships.

Fuck Cat, she thought again, but decided that it being a thought wasn’t enough.

E: Fuck Cat.

D: yea fuck that bitch

Deciding that the text had done enough to calm her nerves, she pushed through the threshold into the classroom. She must’ve not realized how intimate of a class this was when she signed up for it because as she entered all ten of the people in the room now locked eyes with her, and the old man sitting at the front of the table threw her a disappointed look.

“Ellie Williams, I presume?” he questioned, looking at his roster in front of him.

“You do presume.” She awkwardly answered, only receiving a chuckle from a girl sitting at the far end of the table. Ellie looked up to see who it was that laughed at her poorly timed joke but just saw you trying to hide the smile on your face by pretending to write notes.

“You can sit at any open seat, I was just discussing the syllabus.” He told her, his tone sharp. 

“Okay, thanks.” Ellie mumbled under her breath, moving to sit at the open seat next to you considering you seemed like you might be the friendliest person in this room. She quickly moved to get her notebook out but internally cursed herself out for the fifth time that day because she completely forgot her pencil case in her dorm. She decided to save herself the embarrassment of asking if anyone had a pen, so she just continued to ruffle through her bag even though she knew it wasn’t there.

“You looking for something?” you leaned over to whisper to her, still causing her to jump back slightly.

“Yea, a pen?” She whispered back, laughing under her breath to pretend like she wasn’t completely embarrassed right now.

“Here.” A black pen balanced in between your fingers as you offered it to her. She sheepishly thanked you before taking it, making sure your fingers didn’t touch. 

“There will be one main assignment in this class as you can see on the syllabus.” Ellie, obviously not in her element, looked around at all the packets each person was holding. As if you could sense the nerves on her, you shoved your packet in between the both of you, pointing to the assignment the professor was discussing. 

“It is a partner based project and since there are only ten of you I hope this won’t be an issue.” He continued on. “And as you can see it is worth 60% of your grade.” Fuck this, Ellie thought to herself yet again, and fuck Cat too, she added for good measure.

The rest of the 90 minute class went as well as you could imagine, Ellie only having to stop herself from falling asleep three times. When the class was over and she began to collect her things Ellie looked over to where you were stuffing your laptop into your backpack. 

“Hey,” she managed to get out, her fingers fidgeting with her rings. “Would you want to be partners for the project?” 

You let out a breath of relief smiling both to her and yourself. “I would love that actually.” 

“Ok, good.” Ellie chuckled to herself about how nervous she was over something so small “I thought you might’ve thought I was like super unprepared or something since I was late and the pen.” Her eyes widened the pen. “Oh shit, your pen.” Ellie moved to take her backpack off and give back your pen but you abruptly stopped her by placing your hand on her forearm. Your hand right over the very spot Cat had tattooed. 

“Keep it,” you offered her a genuine smile before handing your phone over to her “and put your number in here.” 

Ellie may not have noticed it but she blushed. A part of her knew you were just being kind and you needed her number to work on the project but if this was any other setting this would be considered flirting. Ellie nervously took your phone in her hand and inserted her number and name with a little planet emoji next to it. When she handed the phone back to you she scanned your face for a reaction, smiling to herself when she saw your very own smile. 

“Ellie,” you looked back up at her “nice name.” All Ellie could do was let the tips of her ears turn red as she thanked you. When you offered her your own name and she repeated it back to you, she liked the way it felt on her tongue. She wondered what you wou- No, she wasn’t doing this again.

“I’ll text you tonight about getting started.” You informed her, now slinging your own bag over your shoulder.

“Looking forward to it.” She stated simply, her own feet planted to the floor.

“I presume you are.” You replied with a giggle before turning around and leaving Ellie feeling fuzzy.

Fuck.

The rest of Ellie’s day was uneventful to say the least. She saw a few birds eating a sandwich and thought it was cute, but besides that (and you), her day was boring. She was hoping that this year would be different, that she would be miles ahead of where she was when she met Cat, but she knew she was just worse. She wanted anything, a rebound, a distraction to pull her mind off Cat but all she could do was stare at her ceiling and try not to cry. Or that’s what she was doing until her phone buzzed from it’s place on her stomach.

Y: hey, it’s me

E: Who's me?

Y: pen dealer, duh

E: I thought dealers were supposed to be more discreet.

Y: you know a lot about dealers?

E: I’ve seen a few movies.

Y: nothing is like the movies, be fr

Y: anyways, do you want to meet up to discuss the project tomorrow? we could meet at beans?

E: Yeah, sure. 10?

Y: sounds good, bring cash

E: For? I use apple pay.

Y: for the pens… it was a joke nvm

E: Dumb joke.

The next morning Ellie had to drag herself out of bed so she wouldn’t be late to meet you. She groaned as she watched her roommate sleeping peacefully in her bed while she so desperately wished it could be her. For some reason that she couldn’t place, Ellie found herself smoothing down her hair and checking her teeth in the mirror. She even sprayed some perfume before she left, coughing as she accidentally inhaled some of the liquid. Why was she doing this again?

She saw you through the window of the coffee shop, leaned over your computer screen lost in thought. You tucked your pen between your lips and Ellie couldn’t help but feel like a freak staring at you from the other side. You looked so at peace with your hair tied up and your eyes carefully scanning the screen. Ellie wondered what it would feel like to not have a million things going through your mind at once. 

When she approached you she made a mental note of how your eyes lit up when you saw her. You had known her for a second and you had already looked at her with more adoration that Cat did towards the end of their relationship. 

“Hey, customer.” You joked, as you watched Ellie sit down across from you. 

“You don’t know how to let a joke die, do you?” She questioned jokingly, a warm feeling in both her face and her chest.

“I do not.” You said matter of factly.

The two of you discussed the project, throwing in occasional conversation and jokes when the material got too daunting. After about an hour had passed and the two of you were already feeling burnt out, Ellie suggested you take a walk around campus to “get some fresh air” and “clear your heads.” In reality, she was already growing tired of this project and just wanted to hear your voice ramble on about something other than American Literature.

It was a cool day, and the slight breeze caused both you and Ellie to squint the entire time. There was something so calm about the energy between the two of you. It wasn’t passionate or overwhelming like it was with Cat, but comforting. It was lulling Ellie into a sense of security, but she knew it couldn’t last long. 

“Where are you from?” Ellie spoke up. “Did you grow up around here?”

“Close-ish, I guess.” You answered. “I’m from a town north called Star Valley.” 

“Oh shit, you’re right by Jackson.” Ellie exclaimed. 

“Yea, you’re from Jackson?” The idea that you too lived this close and this was your first time meeting almost seemed criminal to Ellie.

“Yeah, me and my friends grew up there. I’m originally from Boston, though, I moved there with my..” You gave her time to speak, it being painfully obvious she was going to have trouble explaining the situation. “Like my dad? He’s not really my dad, he’s just Joel.” She decided to dumb down her complicated relationship with him for the sake of time. You, however, did not try to get any information out of her, or immediately try to get her to be vulnerable with her like Cat did at the beginning of the relationship. You just smiled at her and continued on with the conversation. 

Ellie liked this. She liked being able to have a conversation with a pretty girl that didn’t make her feel like she was tearing herself open just to bond with you. You two were just bonding in the simplest way people could. The sick and sinister part of her, however, was telling her to leave immediately. To avoid the trouble that another heartbreak would bring her. 

That part of her was starting to win over slowly as she remembered the promise she made to herself. She quickly excused herself and told you she would text you about meeting up again to work on the project. Her brain was telling her run, run, run, but she could tell you were still standing there staring as she walked away towards the direction of her building. 

Later that night, after a cool shower and a few hits of her pen, Ellie found herself ranting to Dina over text again.

E: I’m so fucked.

D: what???

E: I’m working with this really hot girl on a project for one of my classes and today we were walking together and it all seemed normal, like toooo normal, so I left. Like I no joke was like “Bye” mid conversation and LEFT HER THERE. What is wrong with me?

D: what happened to ‘i’m never talking to another girl again’?

E: I’m not.

D: …

E: I’M NOT.

E: IT DOESN'T EVEN MATTER SHE PROBABLY THINKS I’M A FREAK FOR RUNNING AWAY TODAY

D: true

E: ?????

D: idk why you would do that so i’m not going to lie to you

D: i would think you are a freak

E: Ok, fuck you.

D: what does she look like?

E: Hot. 

D: oh yes thank you for painting such a vivid picture

D: SEND A PICTURE YOU FREAK

E: You are so mean to me.

Ellie felt the need for validation so she did what any normal person would in that situation: she went to instagram and typed in your full name. To her surprise, there you were, smiling as bright as the sun in your profile picture. Ellie suddenly felt like a kid again scanning through your photos, blushing and smiling to herself as she looked at you, losing focus of her original motive. She didn’t realize how far she had scrolled down until she was stopped by the sight of a familiar face. In a post dated over a year ago it was you kissing another girl. 

And that girl was Cat.

[a-confused-spoon]

Jinx's haircut: how Powder and Ekko's story comes full circle

Hi! So, it appears Jinx will be cutting her hair short in season 2 (which is cool as fuck), and I’ve been seeing a lot of discussion on it, so I wanted to share my two cents 😊

I might refer to Jinx and Powder as if they are different ideantities, but I'm aware that's not how that works; it's just an easier way to express myself. Also english isn't my first language, so apologies for any possible wiritng mistake (this is a bit of a mess 😅)

* deep breath in *

As it has already been pointed out, this choice must have a deeper reason other than esthetic (I've been seeing the phrase "hair holds memories" used a lot), and what's even more interesting is that her new look resembles a lot how she used to look like as a kid; a bit bizarre, given how the entirety of season 1 showed us how Powder and Jinx's coexistence only brings the girl pain. As a matter of fact, the finale makes it clear to us that even she sees these two sides of herself as mutually exclusive.

So why and how exactly would this happen now?

What I keep going back to is the idea that maybe, just maybe, this has to do with her possibly "taking the lead" in Zaun; whether she actively becomes a leader or if she just "leads by example" (therefore passively), it doesn't change the fact that for better or worse she will be depicted as a leading revolutionary figure.

And fair enough: she singlehandedly killed half of the Council, the people who hold decisional power and have contributed to the misery on the other side of the river. After Vender's failed attempt on the bridge and Silco's focus on his own business dealings with Piltover among everything else he did, Jinx's attack on the city - something she does to ultimately solidify her identity as Jinx - opens a door that the Undercity was waiting to be opened for decades.

Here's the thing:

Being Jinx doesn't just mean acting on unbridled rage and being a menace to society; it means being feared by most, if not all, with the only possible exceptions being those who also accepted their inner monster. To put it in Singed's words, "If you take this path, they will despise you".

Being Jinx fundamentally implies loneliness.

Silco was consistently reminding her this: "I am your family; everyone else betrays us" / "Everyone betrays us Jinx! Vander! Her! They will never understand, it's only us".

In the official clip 'Enemy of my enemy' we find out that he only saw her cry twice, the two scenes we also witness as an audience, meaning he didn't see her cry once during the timeskip, and I'm sure it's safe to say that she most definitely did cry a lot given how she goes from episode 3 Powder (scared, couldn't grasp the concept of killing someone, heartbroken by the nickname jinx) to episode 4 Powder (a beast, kills in cold blood, has taken Jinx as her actual name)... it must've been an ugly transition, and it definitely didn't happen overnight; if Silco, who was the closest person she had all that time, didn't see it, then I think it speaks a lot on how alone Jinx really was in her darkest times.

For all the love he had for her, he reinforced this idea of isolation as an unescapable consequence of the right path, and I think this is also reflected in the lair that (supposedly) he found for her, especially when you compare it to the Firelights’ one:

The Firelights (this is important for later) are all about community and sharing joy as well as struggle and pain; they live in a place of healing, filled with life, without a roof so the sunlight can reach them during the day, and at nights living bugs that shine a light of their own fill up the hideout.

Jinx's place is diametrically opposed to this: it’s dark and looks cold, it's completely made of metal, the roof’s blocking any natural light and it hangs above an abyss with no bottom to be seen; the only company she consistently has are the puppets of her dead brothers and the only living thing that knows his way in is the only one that can understand, the only one she can rely on - aka Silco himself.

However, as Jinx herself knows, this may have worked for him, but it wasn't working for her for the longest time: she never stopped yearning for affection, love, friendship- that part of her never really went away; it was only being suppressed, suffocated, maybe unintentionally, and I strongly believe that it only worsen her trauma, and it's one of the things that made her spiral so bad into her depression, to the point of hallucinating.

I think that Silco's line in the baptism scene is particularly relevant here: "You need to let Powder die, so the fear of pain will no longer control you", where the fear of pain would refer to the fear of being on her own, of always failing and disappointing others, of being weak and never satisfying the desires, expectations, hopes that Powder carried within her to be “a valuable member of the team”.

If she lets Powder die (which again, she does in the final episode of season 1), this is no longer a problem: if she doesn't do teams, because teams don't want a jinx to begin with, that fear can't get to her; if she's a solo player, a self-sufficient loose cannon, she won't need to rely on anyone but herself because she's strong on her own and does not need the support of others.

If her power lays in the monster she is, the one everyone condemns her for being, then that childhood wish of hers just isn't a realistic option.

...but then this happens.

We know from the teaser trailer that in the operation Caitlyn's leading, 'finding Jinx' and 'neutralize any agent still loyal to Silco' are separate objectives. Which makes sense, since as far as they know Silco was the leader of a group of people, and now that he's gone Jinx is an individual under her own agency and her own agency alone. If initially she fights by herself, for herself because she can and fuck Piltover, then it all falls in line with what I stated so far.

But then we hear Sevika, who has hated Jinx's guts and who Jinx has hated back since day one, telling her to get the people together, to unite the Undercity as one because she can do that. Mind you, the girl has lived in Zaun all her life, she knows damn well that the end of Piltover is something the entire Undercity has been waiting for (“Imagine what the whole of the Lances could do!” from episode 2); yet despite this she needs to be openly told what is going on, that she’s not sizing the opportunity she’s created. She isn't, cause... her? Leading? A group of people? No. Not after the last time she tried to help, and most importantly, not after everything she learned under Silco.

Jinx can't fathom the idea of herself as a part of a part of a team. How can she? She literally just came to terms with isolation as ever present- and now, for some reason, the people of the city, who always either ran away from her or wanted her gone, are dying their hair blue in her image, trusting her, following her, painting murals of her as the bringer of revolution.

She isn't taking power forcibly like Silco did; she's just doing her thing, her Jinx thing, and Zaun, on its own, is choosing her as the leading figure.

Imagine how frustrating it must be for Jinx to look back and realize that Silco, her father- who has loved her, forgiven her, raised her, called her perfect, defended her, was there for her, saved her, guided her- was wrong, and put her in a condition of never ending existential pain when she could’ve had it differently the entire time; imagine how confusing it must be for her to look back and realize that it never mattered whether or not others understood her, 'cause she wasn't as unlovable or unforgivable as she thought herself to be in the first place, that Silco and Vi were never her only options.

Imagine how painful it must be for her to look back and realize that for all this time she could’ve had friends and be accepted and be trusted and rely on others because she never HAD to be alone.

...keeping this in mind, let's talk about Ekko and the missing flashback from episode 7 for a moment.

Admittedly we don’t have a lot of information, other than it took place not too long after the events of episode 3 (then again, to be fair, we don’t know a lot about their relationship as enemies as well: it’s all between the lines; I surely have my own opinions of how they feel about each other being on the enemy side, but I don’t believe it’s super relevant here). What’s for sure about this flashback is that it was a defining moment in both Ekko and Powder’s journey, especially for the latter. Someone surely died, and it 100% was Powder’s fault. It could be both the result of her very first crisis or her first intentional murder; in both cases it results in her deciding for herself to align with Silco as opposed to her best friend.

The way I like to see it is that, since the trauma was still very fresh, she might have been too scared of the idea of fighting alongside others after what happened last time, and she pushed herself to kill someone on purpose just to push Ekko away and prove a point (Silco’s point). I love the idea of the tragic irony of Ekko being the one person Powder managed to really save, and Powder being the one person Ekko couldn’t.

Personal headcanons aside though, the last part is the most important one here: Ekko couldn’t save Powder from Silco, and by extension everything he represents.

I’d like to point out that one of the most tragic aspects of the two becoming enemies (to me) is that, throughout those years, they reciprocally were the only living person the other shared a past with (well, Vi too, but she was in prison the entire time).

Silco not only takes over by force, he also marks as his all the places of said past: the Last Drop, Vi and Powder’s house… one line that always stuck with me from episode 7 is when Ekko tells Vi “All that’s left is Jinx, and she belongs to Silco”.

Not with Silco; to Silco. As if she too a piece of the past he turned into his property.

It’s like he understands that while yes, Powder made the decision by herself, that she wants to stay with Silco, he also knows that the man is the one to blame for... well, all of it; the kid was there when Silco showed up unprovoked at Benzo’s place, he knows things went downhill from there.

Ekko knows that he is the bigger problem and the bigger enemy. Even Vi, without knowing a thing about the past few years, can tell Silco put some shit into her sister’s head; Ekko can probably guess the same, difference being that Ekko has the responsibility of keeping other people safe, and he can’t risk it all for someone that, while possibly manipulated, ultimately isn’t collaborative. Ekko can’t jeopardize all he’s built and done for his former best friend, no matter how much it hurts him to be her enemy.

Back to season 2.

Like the entire fandom has already pointed out, there’s a 99.9% chance there will be an alliance between them and Jinx, especially when looking at Ekko’s new outfit.

Of course, this will not be immediate: my guess is that while Jinx works alone at the very start Ekko will be with Heimerdinger and following the arrest of the Firelights we see in the trailer maybe there’s a split. And even after Jinx takes charge so to speak, and possibly frees them, among others, from Stillwater, it’s possible there will be (and there should be) stages in the alliance: initial distrust, potential fight within the community- like yeah, let’s not forget what Jinx did to these people.

Even if they do go ahead with it, it is probably out of necessity more than anything else, with not one but two military forces against the whole of the Underground. It’s not like they’d be the most ecstatic faction about it, and the same goes for Ekko, which is why the new look will probably come in later.

But exactly like he could see Powder for a brief second on the bridge clearly enough for him to stop himself from beating her, he will, most definitely, see her again through Jinx's inner turmoil... that, and she also can’t keep her shit together when it comes to what she's feeling, the girl really is an open book.

And yeah, the situation would be pretty emotionally disorienting: she's being as Jinx as ever, but people like her now, which is something she used to want as Powder, who is supposed to be dead, and they're willingly following her like they willingly followed Vander and there's murals of her with him, though she's pursuing what aligns more with Silco's dream, but also turns out Silco was wrong about Powder, who might still be alive deep down- the whole thing is a big big mess.

Despite everything that I said about him, it’s not like Jinx would start to resent Silco. She could never, not after his last words to her. They mean the world to her, he means too much to her, and let’s not forget she probably hear his voice now too, along Mylo’s and Claggor’s; it might even be a calming voice to her, one she’s happy to hear even if she knows he’s not real… which makes it all worse and more painful to deal with.

In this scene from the trailer, it seems like Ekko’s talking to her (some have pointed out the blue hair out of focus). Since this is still the look in season, at this point in time Ekko (and the rest of the Firelights) are not truly committed to this alliance with Jinx, and vice versa, Jinx is still figuring out how to deal with all this unexpected appreciation.

If there’s one thing we’ve learned about Jinx’s way of dealing with inner conflicts, especially ones that deal with the memories of the past, is that it often leads to disaster. This is a bit of a long shot, but what if the reason Ekko’s so beat up Is because she unintentionally sabotaged one of their own attacks on Piltover? Or perhaps they were caught up in a tough situation because of something she did or didn’t do? My point is that if he really is talking with her while in this condition, she probably is in a similar one.

Regardless, they are on the same side, and they are having a conversation. This is very likely the first time they reach out for each other since the day she chose to not go with him.

And I think it’s believable that of all the people she now has beside her, she’d talk to Ekko: he has this leader stuff already figured out. He has and still is taking care of people and keeping them safe better than she ever will, and on top of that, he still is the only one in Zaun (again, aside from Vi) who has known her since before she was Jinx, and he spared her on the bridge. He’s the perfect person to open up to.

And, get this, not only Ekko understands the pressure of taking the lead: he knows what it means to look back at someone you were fond of and feeling the pain of being wronged by them. He knows what it’s like to look back at old memories of someone you trusted and wonder if all those moments together really were what you thought they were, he knows what it’s like to wish it could all go back like it was, just so that candid version of them you have in your mind can still be true, present and untainted by the ugliness that now ruins all those precious moments.

He knows, 'cause he went through it with her... and now he can finally reach her.

Ekko may have not been able to save her from Silco then, but he can save her from Silco now.

And since he has built a community that grieved together, went through pain and joy together, he simply does what he’s always done with the Firelights. Sharing.

He tells with her what has worked for him: “Sometimes, taking a leap forward means leaving a few things behind”- in the Franch dub he says “leaving a part of oneself behind”- meaning it doesn’t have to be all or nothing: she has the power to choose what to kiss goodbye and what can stay…

…and then she cuts her hair.

I think it’s important to note how these two moments are very similar in setting. I kid you not, the first time I watched the trailer I was convinced this was a scene where Jinx was burning Silco’s body after she killed him- which frankly could still be the case. I’ve also seen discussions being made for the little girl we see in the trailer being burned here, or Sevika, but I don’t think it’s either. Jinx is completely desensitized to death, even when Silco died her makeup isn’t this ruined. My guess is that this is something much deeper:

Jinx never properly grieved the past. Ever. So, maybe, she’s burning the part of herself she’s leaving behind. The hair she cut.

The hair Silco used to braid for her.

These two scenes parallel each other because “nothing ever stays dead”, but Silco must stay dead, for her own sake. For her own happiness: she is leaving him behind for good.

Only after this moment we get the new look for Ekko: he can work with this new Jinx, the one that now knows she can work within a team, even to the point of committing to the outfit (lol).

If in season 1 Jinx accepted her identity as it was defined by Silco, in season 2 she's re-inventing it under her own conditions: she gets to choose what "being Jinx" may or may not include. And it will always include a little bit of Powder.

Thanks for reading! 💚💙

[meowuff]

This is my first actual post on Tumblr ever so pls bear with me. Also, English is not my first language so pls excuse any mistakes I make :)

So, this whole thing here started just as a joke bc I was curious if anyone else was feeling constantly tired all day no matter how long I sleep. But it all somehow escalated a bit and I may have started hyperfixating on it so well, now it actually became a little survey.

I also wanted to mention that I only asked the artist in my little Tumblr bubble, which is mostly tmnt content, so my results are mostly referring to tmnt artists.

In total, I asked 143 people if they could remember the last time they woke up and just felt actually rested for more than half of the day.

I probably could have been more specific with my question but again, I did not actually planned to let it become so big. Personally, for me being rested means, having a clear head, no headache or foggy mind without consuming any caffeine.

So out of 143 people, 100 answered me and I tried my best to sort all of the answers after the criteria “good-sleep-schedule” and “bad-sleep-schedule” and also noted when exactly they last felt actually rested into either the last days, weeks, months, years or “???” when they couldn’t remember or didn’t mention anything specific.

And let’s just say… it does not really look good. Out of 100 people, only 18 have an actual good sleep schedule. Out of these 18 people, 13 felt really rested in the last days, 2 in the last weeks, only one person in the last months and 2 in the last years.

Out of the 82 of people who have a bad sleep schedule, 10% lastly felt rested in the last days, 11% in the last weeks, 11% in the last months, 30% in the last years, and 38% couldn’t remember or didn’t specify it.

While reading all your answers I came to realize being sleep deprived is not just bc any of them thought “Oh it would be really neat to stay up till 4 am!” or smth like that.

A lot of the artists who answered me mentioned that they have trouble falling asleep or staying asleep due to stuff like insomnia, chronic pain, other issues, or children (yeah, ok, there was just one who had a child but still).

While analyzing I mostly referred the situations to my own experience with going to sleep or rather not going to sleep...

I usually don’t have problems falling asleep but trouble actually putting my stuff away and going to bed bc I don’t want to end the day or just don’t want to go to sleep (don’t ask why, I have no idea why I am like this). While having these “episodes” I often doodle smth, binge reading some fanfics, or watch whatever I can find on the internet until I’m just falling asleep or can convince myself that it is 3 am and I really should go to bed now.

So, my personal theory about why sleep deprivation is so common among Tumblr artists is not bc they do art all night. My theory is that a lot of people who have trouble falling asleep due to insomnia, pain, or other issues are filling the time until they hopefully fall asleep with their art, doodles, writings, or whatever their creative minds can bring up, to help the time pass.

In total that would mean that not all artists are sleep deprived but more that a lot of people who have trouble falling asleep do a lot of art or creative stuff in general.

Something I could also imagine is, that if they start doing art while waiting for sleep, they start to concentrate a lot on creating more and start procrastinating sleep even if they actually get tired bc they wanna do art and fuck up their non-existing sleep schedule even more but that could also just be me projecting here.

I know that is probably no kind of big revelation but for me it was kind of surprising to see how many people here are as sleep deprived as me and due to what reasons.

I’m not going to preach to any of you to get that problem solved or smth, I have no right to tell you what to do and would be a major hypocrite so instead I really which everyone to get some kind of good sleep schedule one day and the joy of waking up and feeling completely rested at least thrice per week.

I absolutely love all your art and thank you a thousand times for helping me with this spontaneous survey!

I would love to hear your opinions on my theory and conclusion so pls don’t be shy and feel free to point out any mistakes I may have made or tell me your own theories :D

Also, if my question is still sitting in your inbox, feel free to answer! I’m gonna keep ma big ass excel table so I can edit all the results anytime. And maybe, one day, I'm gonna continue this survey and go into more detail but for now I need to leave it like this.

Ok, that's all I got

BYE!

Thanks to all participants

@abbeyofcyn @angelpuns @beannary @bulbabutt @camilieroart @cementgeek @cheesyescapade @cokowiii @easterartist @frosteaart @gemini-forest @happyfoxx-art @heckitall @hellishgayliath @holy-sweetsour-milk @icepopcider @idiot-mushroom @iscreamkitty @kovalitics @laseralligator @lieutenantbiscute @matchstique @mightyanxiety @miiukkaa @mr-doodles @pezhead @probably-not-a-rutabaga @pumpkster @sad-leon @sassatello @sewercrocodileart @sheep-turtles-and-pizza @signanothername @spectra-bear @stephuart @tangledinink @tapakah0 @tasenwiththerobots @tblsomedoodles @thegunnsara @triona-tribblescore @turrondeluxe @valen-timez @vangh17a @wraenata @zinovi768 @debb987 @dianagj-art @goatedgreen @indieyuugure

[atalienart]

Does Al also make you paranoid?

Look at this picture. Is it art or is it an Al generated image? Look at this text. Is this useful piece of information or Al gibberish? Look at this video? Is this real or fake?

I stare at drawings, analysing every line, I go through people's social media to see if they're artists or thieves. I look for references and take a close look at every image because I don't want to reference distorted reality. I show someone a video of snow falling somewhere and instead of "look how beautiful" I go "do you think this exists?" and I read something and then give up recognising dry like a summer desert language of a robot. I hate it here.

Today's no different. I see a picture that looks kinda nice but I immediately notice there's something wrong with it. I go to the source and there's more. Every day the person adds a new fully finished piece. Under every piece people (because they can sense something's off) ask the owner of the account what medium he uses. The answer is: "I've been using the computer to create my art since 1980, and then I print it with a vintage ink on my epson printer". The fuck? Sounds like the printer does more work that he does on the computer. They guy's old, I give him the benefit of the doubt, his bio says he's a curator of art in some institute. One of the commenters says he posts regularly and his "style" didn't change much. I go through his feed. In fact his "style" changes a lot. But oh, most of the images he posts belong to other people who have their own exhibitions and no online presence, and it's all Al shit, clear as day. I scroll down and it turns out the guy used to be into abstract art, there's tons of it before Al started to ruin everything. In another life I'd scroll past that pretentious fuck without losing 12 minutes of my life. I hate it here. I see another artist and they seem legit but even when I see their art with all the human imperfections I can't shake the feeling they reference Al images. I see their process video but I cannot tell if they're just new to digital art and they use traditional methods or it's a bit shady. Am I paranoid or their video is just recorded that way, because I've already seen the erasing liars and pretending idiots.

It's exhausting. Constant vigilance! I don't want to waste my time on something people didn't bother to spend their time creating. They don't care about their thing, why should I?

[puck-luck]

new beginnings | june 17 - june 23

note: this chapter contains NSFW content. it also contains references to (tw) nudes being leaked (spoiler alert), so if that bothers you or triggers you in any way, you may want to skip over that part. unfortunately, it is pivotal to the story. this chapter is 24.2k, so strap in. it will also be the last chapter for a little while (maybe two-three weeks) because i want to work on some requests and churn those out for my followers who aren't as passionate about this project as i am and some of you are. i need to feed everyone in our community, not just the STG Truthers!!

22:90 – HONEY

“So what happened while you were in the closet with Cole?” Honey asks, biting into a peach slice and gesturing with the remaining food. “We never had the time to discuss it.”

Bea blushes, the apples of her cheeks dusted in a sweet pink. She starts to giggle– the same reaction she has every time that Honey brings Cole up since the events of Seven Minutes in Heaven the day before. 

“Okay, it can’t have been that good,” Honey scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Quit your giggling and tell me what happened.”

“Okay, okay,” Bea says, taking a few deep breaths and calming down. She wipes under her eyes like she’s wiping away tears, but it’s an over exaggeration. Honey is unimpressed by the dramatics from her friend. “I’m only laughing because I severely underestimated him.”

“Severely,” Honey repeats, mouth wide open in surprise. “What happened?”

“So we go in the closet and I’m expecting to talk about Jack and his dick, like I told Cole I would if he spun and landed on me,” Bea says. She’s talking with her hands, waving her own peach slice at Honey. “But I get, like, two words out before Cole interrupts me and asks if I’m actually trying to sleep with everyone this summer.”

“Which you are,” Honey confirms. “So Jack told him?”

“I’m sure he did. I told Cole I was, and then he asked if I wanted him to make things easier for me.”

“What?”

“Then he kissed me and fingered me against the closet door and he made me come before our time was even up,” Bea reveals, counting off on her first three fingers and waving them in Honey’s face.

Honey gasps. “You’re kidding.”

“I am not. He just moved my panties to the side and fucked me with two fingers until I came. All the while, he was telling me about how badly he wanted to get his mouth on me,” Bea sighs, a faraway look in her eyes. “Then we went upstairs and he ate me out until I came three more times. Like, what the fuck?”

“Cole did all this?” Honey asks, barely able to believe it. 

“Dude, Cole,” Bea confirms, nodding vehemently. “I told you. I underestimated him.”

“Has Quinn even made you–”

“No.” Bea shakes her head, cutting Honey off. “Quinn has only made me come twice in a night. Cole made me come four times and we didn’t even fuck.”

Honey’s mouth forms an ‘o,’ but she doesn’t say anything.

Bea nods, holding eye contact with Honey.

“That’s wild,” Honey says.

“Dude, I know,” Bea replies. “I adore Quinn and he’s still my favorite of the guys, but, like… holy shit.”

“Well, you didn’t even fuck,” Honey points out. “Maybe he’s bad in bed and he gives head to make up for it.”

“I don’t give a fuck. If I want head, I’m going to Cole,” Bea states.

“That’s lofty,” Honey says. 

“I’m serious.” 

Honey feels a little stunned, blinking to clear her head. She can’t believe that Cole– Cole Caufield, the giddiest and goofiest man that Honey has met in years– is secretly a master munch.

“Rank them,” Honey suggests. “Of the three that you’ve hooked up with, who’s the best? What are their scores?”

Bea pops the rest of her piece of fruit into her mouth, chewing emphatically. “Great question,” she says. “But also, why do you want to know? Are you interested in joining me this summer? You can’t have Quinn, but I’ll share the other ones.”

“Well, I don’t really want to mess around with any of them, but especially not Jack,” Honey replies.

Bea hums, frowning. “You’re right. I think I’ve committed to the timer idea we had, but it might be too mean as is. I might have to sweeten the deal so I don't feel like a bitch. I have an idea about how, but I’m not sure about it yet.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute. Let me think about this ranking thing.” 

The girls fall into silence. Honey snacks on the rest of her peach slices, sucking the juice off of her fingertips. She cleans up her plate, walking into her kitchen and loading up the dishwasher. 

“Can you get me a pencil and paper?” Bea calls. “I’ll love you forever.”

“You already do,” Honey responds with a roll of her eyes. “Are you actually giving it this much thought?”

“There are a lot of factors!” Bea defends herself, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. She cocoons herself in the blanket and seems to enter a conversation with herself in her mind.

Honey would laugh if she didn’t do the exact same thing in the car after her kiss with Jamie on the hike. She had actually spoken out loud to herself, weighing her options before eventually deciding that she needed to indulge Trevor at least once, just to see how she felt after.

The thing is, Honey was attracted to Jamie. She thought he was cute, she wanted to kiss him, and she enjoyed hanging out with him.

On the other hand: he wasn’t Trevor. Honey was drawn to Trevor inherently. That fact is still true after their rushed blowjob in the closet. It’s still true after Trevor’s desperate kiss. Honey hasn’t been able to shake the image of Trevor sinking to his knees and reaching for her. Honey knows she, like Cole, is good at giving head, but she hadn’t expected a reaction like that. 

Trevor was boneless and easy, agreeing not to tell the boys. He was eying her mouth almost constantly after she made him come, leaning into her space and putting his hands all over her. He whined when she stepped away, a sound that Honey can pull from her memory and replay over and over. It was a carnal sound, drawn from the depths of Trevor’s chest, and she swears he hadn’t even made the sound on purpose.

Truthfully, Honey wants to see how far she can go with this. Trevor is frustratingly annoying, filled with jealousy that’s boiling over each time Honey starts to bond with the other guys, and he’s hard to get through to. He’s a challenge.

Honey wanted something easy, she really did, but Trevor bore his soul to her in the closet and it won her over. She couldn’t deny that she wanted him any longer and what happened, happened.

She hasn’t told Bea. 

She really needs to tell Bea.

Honey’s just not sure how to broach the subject. 

As she opens her mouth to blurt out a quick “I sucked Trevor off in the closet while you were upstairs and no one knows but me and him and I don’t know what came over me!,” Bea claps her hands and announces that she’s ready to reveal her ranking.

Honey snaps her mouth shut and gives Bea her full attention.

“I need to seduce Luke if I want to make this a comprehensive list,” Bea clarifies. “So it’s incomplete until I get with him.”

“Okay,” Honey acknowledges, gesturing for Bea to get on with it.

“Jack is on the bottom, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Honey agrees. She and Bea had had an intense discussion the previous day before going to the boys’ house about Bea’s experience with Jack. They had meant to talk about the encounter briefly, but Bea and Honey had started laughing and making jokes about how quickly it was over, and they accidentally lost track of time. They were almost two hours late to the boys’ house last night, but at least Quinn cooked dinner for the girls.

“I’m giving him a five and a half because I feel bad going lower,” Bea decides. “He’s got room for improvement and it was fine. I didn’t come, but he was good at kissing and he made the prettiest little noises.”

“Hmm.” Honey nods her head, keeping silent about her own opinions about a boy making ‘the prettiest little noises.’ She hasn’t heard Jack’s moans, nor does she want to, but there’s no way that Jack sounded prettier than Trevor did while Honey blew him last night.

“Next is Cole,” Bea says. “I’m giving him an eight-point-eight.” 

Honey blinks in surprise. “Shit,” she says, impressed. “Without even fucking you, he’s almost at a nine?”

Bea reminds Honey that Cole made her come four times the previous night, dropping the detail that he never even took her dress off once they were upstairs. All he did was slide her panties down her legs and flip up the hem of her skirt, going down on her like it was the last night on Earth and he couldn’t be bothered to remove her clothes.

It’s appealing, to be honest. Honey might have to dig out one of her own sundresses and see if Trevor has a similar response.

Hmm. She hadn’t planned to hook up with Trevor again after that first time, but he was like a drug. Honey wants to see him be that soft and desperate for affection again. He’s sweet, so sweet, and Honey fears that she might like him a lot more than she wants to. She might even dare to hook up with him again.

She resents that fact. She can barely admit it to herself– nor will she admit it to Bea when she eventually tells her about Trevor. She sure as hell will not admit it to Trevor. He doesn’t need a bigger head.

“Quinn is number one, always,” Bea finishes. 

Honey nods. There was no question about it.

“I give him a nine point seven. He loses part of a point because Cole made me come more times in one night than Quinn has.”

“Are you going to tell him that’s why he’s not a perfect ten?” Honey asks.

Bea thinks about it, tapping her chin. “I’d say no, but he’s so competitive that I think he’d really try to beat Cole’s record. I know that would be such a good night for me, so… honestly? I might tell him.” Bea pauses, then she barks out a laugh. “Should I reveal the scores to them? We could do, like, a PowerPoint night.”

“That could be funny.” Honey drinks from her water bottle, then swallows quickly when an idea pops into her head. She snorts. “What about the chalkboard that they use for pool scores?”

“What, you want me to erase it? I think Luke’ll get mad at me,” Bea laughs.

“No, I want you to recreate it,” Honey replies. “Dude, you don’t even have to tell them what it means. We could see how long it takes for them to notice that you’re rating them based on sex.”

“That’s so funny,” Bea agrees. She raises a finger, tilting her head. “But do you think they’ll feel objectified?”

“Great question,” Honey replies in the same tone. “What if you give them a reward at the end? The winner gets… something. Sex tape for when they go home?”

Bea hums, intrigued by the idea. “We’ll workshop that. I could be down, but what if the boys aren’t?”

Honey shrugs. “We’ll think of something. Wanna go to the fruit stand and the grocery store and buy a board?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bea says. “Let me just text Quinn and tell him that I can meet up with him when we’re done. Do you want to drop me off after?” She’s already pulling her phone out and tapping out a message, a text that seems way longer than just an ‘I’ll see you when we’re done.’

She’s been texting a lot lately. Honey cannot believe that Quinn enjoys receiving all these messages.

“What do you guys even talk about?” Honey asks, grabbing a threadbare cardigan that Sacha knitted for her a few years back. 

“What do you mean?”

“You and Quinn,” Honey clarifies. “What do you guys talk about?”

They walk out of Honey’s house and to her car. Bea turns on the stereo, turning on her favorite music like she always does.

“We talk about a lot of things,” Bea says. “We talk a lot about hockey and his family. He told me about his ex-girlfriend the other day. It’s over between them, for good, but he misses her.”

Bea pauses, looking down at her lap. 

“He misses her?” Honey repeats, incredulous. “And he told you that?”

Bea sighs, rolling her neck back to stretch her muscles. She’s stalling. 

“Bea,” Honey insists.

“It’s not a big deal,” Bea says quietly, shaking her head. “We’re not exclusive, I’m not dating him.” She scoffs out a laugh. “I’m fucking his brothers and his friends. I think he’s allowed to miss his girlfriend.”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Honey corrects. 

“Ex-girlfriend,” Bea amends. She sighs again. “It’s fine, really. I want him to be open with me. I want to talk to him about everything. Unfortunately, that includes his exes.”

“You want to talk to him about everything?” Honey teases.

“He’s a great guy,” Bea says simply. She purses her lips and sucks her teeth before adding, “I think if I wasn’t having a Slut Summer, and I didn’t live in Litchton, I would want something more. But we’re having fun, and he’s leaving at the end of the summer, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Baby-Bea, you don’t actually believe that,” Honey says.

“I do. It’s just a summer.” Bea holds her hands up in surrender. “And he’s just a guy.”

Honey doesn’t reply. She just hums out a little tune along with Bea’s music, patting the steering wheel. They pull into the grocery parking lot and make their way across the parking lot. Bea is still singing the last song that played on their drive, and she and Honey are holding hands, swinging their interlocked fingers back and forth in big waves. Bea is skipping.

He’s there.

Honey stops dead in her tracks, right in front of powdery blue minivan. Her sudden stop yanks Bea’s arm back and she whirls to face Honey. 

“What?” She asks, her song dying out with a giggle that fades into a concerned frown.

“I blew Trevor in the closet last night,” Honey rushes out, entirely at a normal volume. 

A mother and her teenage daughter make a face when they pass Honey and Bea, certainly overhearing the sentence.

“What?” Bea repeats.

Honey clears her throat, borderline gagging on her breath. “He’s sitting at the fruit stand with a bouquet of flowers.”

“What?” Bea raises her voice, eyes widening as she twists. She squeezes Honey’s hand, clutching it tightly. When she spots the boy, she claps a hand over her mouth. 

“Oh my God,” Honey breathes out, feeling sick. She covers her own mouth. “I’m going to throw up.”

“Oh my God,” Bea repeats, a smile splitting her face. 

“You cannot talk to him,” Honey hisses. She holds Bea’s hand with a vice grip, keeping her from running towards him. “Bea, you can’t.”

“I have to,” Bea says, pulling Honey along. They struggle forward bit by bit until Trevor notices them and stands, smiling like a dope.

His eyes are on Honey’s. He doesn’t even look at Bea until she speaks.

“Trevor, those flowers are gorgeous!” Bea chirps, sounding extra bubbly. “What are they for?”

Trevor’s smile turns to a sharp glare when Bea snatches at them. He pulls them out of her reach and scowls. He keeps his mouth shut, but Honey knows there’s something crossing his mind.

“Go inside,” Honey growls, pushing Bea away. 

Bea practically goes limp, smug and gigging about having caused Honey’s struggle. Eventually, Honey tips her weight and she goes, stumbling into the store with a cackle. 

Then, Honey turns back to Trevor.

He thrusts the bouquet at her and bites his lip in a tiny smile. 

Honey brushes them away with the back of her hand. “What are you doing?”

“I didn’t know what time you were coming to the stand today, and I didn’t want to miss it like last week, so I showed up when they opened, and bought these flowers around lunchtime because I needed to do something… or else I’d go crazy…” He speeds through the lengthy sentence, trailing off at the end. “I already sound crazy.” He looks down, bouquet drooping.

Honey feels lightheaded. She’s burning up. She presses the back of her hand against her forehead, staring at the boy. “Yeah,” she agrees. She nods. “You sound fucking crazy.”

Joan clicks her tongue at Honey, but returns to her magazine when Honey’s eyes flicker over to her. 

“We are in public,” Honey says to Trevor, speaking through her teeth. “I told you that you couldn’t tell anyone.”

“I didn’t,” Trevor denies, tone combative. 

Honey almost bursts out in laughter. “What part of showing up in public with flowers for me is not telling anyone?”

“Well I didn’t– I didn’t say it,” Trevor stammers out, defending himself desperately. He shuffles back, waving the flowers between them.

Honey stomps over a few petals that fell from the bouquet when Trevor used it like a sword to keep her back. “I could strangle you.”

“Please don’t,” Trevor pleads. 

Honey takes a deep breath. She clenches and unclenches her fists at her sides. “What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t want to make you mad by not showing up,” Trevor explains. He nods, drops his gaze to the flowers in his hand and offers them again to Honey. “And the flowers are ‘cause I like you.”

Honey gasps, covering her face with her hands. “Trevor, we hooked up once,” Honey whimpers out, unable to believe it. “I don’t like you!” She chokes a little from the panic. 

Oh, my God, he assumed that Honey wanted more. 

“Trevor, I’m not looking for a relationship,” she whisper-shouts.

She sneaks a peek at him, and he’s blinking stupidly, back pressed against the wall of the building behind the stand. The flowers are pulled up against his chest, crushed beneath her own. She hadn’t realized they were so close. She steps away.

“You– you’re not?” Trevor asks, staying still. “But you said you were thinking about me–”

“Yes, I was thinking about you. I’m ovulating, Trevor!” Honey feels faint again and turns away from him, back to the edge of the road.

Trevor follows after her, reaching for her hand. “That’s fine,” he says. He catches her fingers and slides the bouquet into her hand, closing Honey’s fingers around the stems. “Honey, we can do whatever you want. I will take anything you give me.”

Honey lurches forward like he just slapped her on the back. She presses a hand to her chest. “Trevor, it was one blowjob. You know that, right?”

He pales a little, letting his fingers fall from her hand. Her fingers are slack around the stems. It’s a grouping of pink azaleas. The stems are a little stick-like against her skin. “You don’t want to go again?” Trevor asks. 

“I don’t know,” Honey drawls. She brings the bouquet to her other hand, holding her hands together like a prayer. “...maybe?”

“Scruffy’s has live music on Wednesdays, I looked it up,” Trevor says. 

The abrupt change of subject makes Honey blink in surprise. “I know,” she says. She loves Scruffy’s, but she usually only goes in the winter, when it gets dark early in the night. 

“I thought you would like it. Go with me.” Trevor ducks his head to capture Honey’s gaze. “All the boys can come, and Bea too.”

“Bea can do what?” The girl asks, returning with a large whiteboard in her hands. A bag with a pack of dry erase markers dangles from her wrist. 

“Come dancing with us at Scruffy’s,” Trevor explains in a rush to the deviant girl, just as Honey says, “Nothing, Bea, this doesn’t involve you.”

Bea’s eyes slide from Trevor to Honey. “I love Scruffy’s,” she says, nodding with a smug smile. “We’ll absolutely be there on Wednesday, Trevor. I will make sure of it.”

“Bea, I’m going to fucking kill you,” Honey hisses, her eyes narrow and full of fire. “I will not be driving you to see Quinn anymore.”

Bea snorts out a laugh, a look of delight on her face. “Trevor,” Bea calls, her eyes still glinting at Honey. “Will you drive me to your place right now so I can fuck Quinn in exchange for bringing Honey to Scruffy’s on Wednesday?”

“Absolutely I will,” Trevor agrees with a beam. 

“This is kidnapping,” Honey hisses at Bea. “I’ll have you arrested.”

Bea giggles, then leans into Honey’s face. Her nose nearly touches Honey’s, scrunching with pride. “Quinn will bail me out,” she brags, teasing Honey. 

She reaches up, taps Honey on the nose, then steps away. She loops her arm with Trevor’s and begins to walk off, taking the boy with her. 

Trevor waves a goodbye at Honey, grinning like a fool. “See you Wednesday, Honey,” he bids, his mouth wide in a laugh and eyes squinted shut.

She’s left standing there, bouquet in hand. She watches them retreat, blinking and unable to identify how she feels. 

There’s a tap on her shoulder. 

When Honey turns, Joan hands her a bag of peaches, filled to the brim. “Your friend bought you some peaches, too. He said you’d like them more than his silly flowers.”

23:90 – TREVOR

Trevor is taking a break. 

He just finished showering after a long training session outside with the boys. Before that, he and the guys had gone to Winston to find a tailor that could fit the Hughes boys for their NHL Awards suits. Ellen had been pestering the boys for a few days about the suits, wanting her sons to look sharp and handsome for the event. The excuse that the event was over a week away meant nothing to the boys’ mother, and Trevor decided a long time ago that he wasn’t going to disagree with Ellen. 

He deserves a break, and today, he wants to sit on his balcony and watch the sunset.

The sun has just sunk below the mountains, leaving the sky a dark orange. The clouds reflect the color, painted across the horizon in swirling strokes. The air is thick with the smell of impending rain and the sounds of cicadas in the trees. There’s a bullfrog in the distance, always croaking when Trevor least expects it, and it sounds a lot like Trevor’s father’s snores.

They’ve been in Litchton for almost a month. Bedford has always been Trevor’s home, and Anaheim is the place where Trevor really learned how to be on his own, but Litchton is special. It’s a fixed place, as silly as that sounds– Trevor feels like nothing from the outside world can affect him here. He feels free.

“Can I join you?” 

Jamie’s voice sounds from the balcony door behind Trevor. He’s soft-spoken, still treading lightly even though Trevor apologized for his behavior and tried to make things go back to normal.

Staying true to his promise, Trevor hasn’t told Jamie about the blowjob in the closet. 

It’s killing him. He needs to talk it out with someone– especially after what happened yesterday. Honey doesn’t want a relationship. Trevor doesn’t know what he wants, just that he wants her. Honey can’t seem to figure out how she really feels about Trevor. Trevor knows exactly what he feels. He doesn’t want to let her go when he leaves at the end of the summer.

“Yeah, come sit,” Trevor agrees. He pulls one of the rocking chairs on the balcony closer to his own.

Jamie takes a seat.

They rock together, staring out at the mountains and woods in front of them. Breaking the silence, Jamie speaks first.

“You know, Honey says if you can count ten rows of mountains back, you’re in Tennessee.”

Trevor finds himself counting the rows in his minds immediately. The clouds are heavy today. The orange is already fading and he can’t see that far. Five rows, maybe the shadow of a sixth if he squints. “That’s cool,” Trevor replies.

Another silence washes over the space between them, but it’s shorter than the previous one. Trevor breaks it this time.

“What happened on the hike?” He asks. Trevor’s been dying to know about the hike since Jamie left with Honey on Saturday, especially considering how close the two seemed after going on the hike together. He knows that something happened, as if driven by his gut, and Trevor knows that he’s not going to be happy about it.

“We hiked, ate lunch. She asked questions about me and I asked questions about her while we walked. She’s a really cool girl, Z.” Jamie stares straight forward, one foot up on the railing in front of them.

“What kind of questions?” Trevor presses.

Jamie snorts and shakes his head, looking down at his lap then up at Trevor. “You wanna know?”

“Obviously, or else I wouldn’t have asked,” Trevor sasses, narrowing his eyes at Jamie.

“I asked her how long you two had been fucking,” Jamie reveals without hesitation. He laughs when Trevor’s jaw drops, then continues. “Then I asked her why she wasn’t fucking you yet.”

“Oh,” Trevor says. It’s all he can think to say. There’s nothing else he could say.

“And then we conspired against you to make you jealous, so that you would make a fucking move. She was going to play Seven Minutes in Heaven until she got to go into that closet with you, even if it took all night.” Jamie nods when Trevor tilts his head at him, flabbergasted. “Z. Honey and I don’t want each other. Sure, we kissed, but she wants you. She wants you.”

“You kissed?” Trevor demands, all of his surprise turning to rage. “You kissed her?”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Relax.”

“Relax? You kissed my fucking girl, dude,” Trevor snaps, shifting forward in his chair and facing Jamie. 

Jamie takes a deep breath and shakes his head, closing his eyes in annoyance. “Jesus-fuck, Trevor. It is a miracle that the other boys haven’t caught onto this thing that’s happening between you and Honey. You’re even luckier that Quinn’s keeping your secret.”

“Quinn knows?” Trevor asks, taken aback. He knows that he gets on the older boy’s nerves and, usually, Quinn uses any ammunition he has to take Trevor down. 

Jamie stares at Trevor for a minute, amused yet baffled by Trevor’s ignorance. “Bea knows,” Jamie tells Trevor. He runs a hand over the back of his neck, then gestures at Trevor. “And if Bea knows…”

Trevor feels stupid for assuming otherwise. “That makes sense,” he concedes, pressing his lips into a thin line out of frustration for not realizing that on his own sooner. He reverts to anger. “You still kissed my girl.”

“Okay,” Jamie says. “Let me put it like this: I show up here, you guys tell me that there’s a girl hooking up with everyone, then a beautiful girl shows up at our door and drops a book off for you. She checks me out, blushes when I talk, even stutters a little bit, so I assume she’s the one who’s having her Slut Summer. When she comes back the following night, I learn that she’s not the one who’s hooking up with everyone, but she’s still gorgeous and not tied down. You hadn’t told me that you wanted her yet. I take a body shot off of her, and it’s hot, and we hang for the rest of the night. Then, she invites me on a date the following morning. You wouldn’t kiss her?”

Trevor scowls, wanting to grow talons and sink them into Jamie’s neck. Part of it is that he’s still pissed Jamie touched Honey at all, but the other reason is that Jamie is being logical and reasonable. Trevor absolutely would have kissed Honey if he was in Jamie’s position. He resents it.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Trevor lies.

Jamie blinks at him, unimpressed. 

“Okay, yeah, I would’ve kissed her,” Trevor amends. He sighs. “I still hate it.”

“I expected no less,” Jamie says. “You never really learned how to share, did you? Puck hog, girl hog… someone needs to put you back in preschool, buddy.” 

“I’m not going to share her,” Trevor declares. “Honey is mine. I’ve never felt like this before, Jim.”

Jamie hums, acknowledging Trevor’s words. “Are you sick?”

“What? No.”

“This is new for you,” Jamie says. “You’ve never been the most… committed guy.”

“Okay, I’m not a fucking cheater, dude,” Trevor snaps, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but you’re not exactly someone who wants to be with a girl long-term,” Jamie replies.

Trevor knows he’s right, but he doesn’t like the way Jamie says it. He refuses to respond, falling into silence with the boy next to him. The sky is turning navy and they can hear the boys yelling at the TV in the game room. They’re probably watching game five of the Cup final– Trevor hopes that it’s closer than the last game was. 

“How was the blowjob?” Jamie asks.

Trevor jolts to face him again. “You know about that?”

“She told me that you’ve gone crazy because of it,” Jamie replies, digging his phone out of his pocket and clicking around for a second before handing his phone to Trevor. “She also said you were freaking out and that you bought her flowers. What were you thinking?”

Trevor takes Jamie’s phone and scrolls through the messages. Jamie and Honey have been chatting consistently since Honey dropped the boy off on Saturday. The final message is from about an hour ago and it’s Honey telling Jamie to go talk to Trevor about ‘the blowjob in the closet that made him lose his fucking marbles.’

“So what happened?” Jamie asks, taking his phone back from Trevor.

Trevor thinks about what to say. There are so many explanations that he could give Jamie, but they all boil down to one thing. 

“She’s so beautiful,” Trevor sighs. He shakes his head, unable to believe the words that are about to come out of his mouth. “I need her like I need to breathe.”

Jamie is silent, speechless from the shock of Trevor’s statement. “What the fuck?” He asks, laughing nervously.

Trevor continues, explaining himself. “I know I just met her, J, but she’s so special. I need her in my life and I will take whatever she gives me.”

“What if she only wants to hook up?” 

“Then we’ll hook up.”

“What if she only wanted to do it this one time?”

“Then I’ll keep trying to convince her to give me another chance.”

“What if she refuses you and hooks up with Jack instead?”

“I’ll kill him.”

A smile breaks over Jamie’s face and he nods slowly. “You’ve got this all thought out.” He slaps his hands over his knees, then stands. The chair rocks behind him from the force of his movement. “I’ll report this exchange back to my boss.”

“Tell Honey that I’m excited to see her again tomorrow and that she needs to save me a dance,” Trevor says.

Jamie sucks in a breath between gritted teeth. “Oof,” he breathes out. “She already declared that I was her dance partner for the whole night.”

“Don’t make me pull your shoulder out of its socket,” Trevor threatens with a chilly smile.

Jamie just raises his eyebrows subtly and smirks, walking back inside the house and leaving Trevor alone.

The stars are starting to twinkle above Trevor’s head, and he tilts back in his rocking chair to search the sky. He’s nearing the end of his book and he’s been challenging himself to find the constellations he’s been reading about. 

He wishes Honey was sitting next to him and staring at the same stars. Although imaginary, he can almost feel her fingers intertwined with his.

24:90 – HONEY

Hiding from Bea was never actually an option. Honey knows that in her heart of hearts, but she’d be damned if she didn’t try. Her best bet was somewhere around The Reading Nook, since Scruffy’s is just down the road and they’re leaving directly from work. 

Bea actually brought clothes for Honey to change into when she showed up to work before lunch– a cute denim maxidress that has tiers of different washes on the skirt. It’s exactly something Honey would wear to Scruffy’s in the winter, with a little cardigan to keep her warm enough while dancing. This is the outfit that Honey’s wearing now, having been forced to change during her break by a watchful Bea. 

Honey is tucked between two of the stacks and a beanbag chair, hoping that her corner of refuge will be enough for Bea to leave the store without her. Then, Honey will sneak to her car and drive home, effectively avoiding Trevor for another day. She can’t avoid him forever, but she might be able to make it a little while longer before she’s forced to face him.

She decided that Trevor’s a lunatic who is looking too much into the relationship he and Honey share. She gave him one blowjob and he bought her flowers– a disproportionate response that left Honey reeling on Monday. She might’ve watered the flowers and thrown them in a vase on her bedside table, but that doesn’t mean she wanted to accept the bouquet. Accepting the bouquet is too real– it would give Trevor too much hope.

He forced it into her hand and offered her anything she wanted, so Honey thought about it. She wants him to not be so fucking obvious. 

Honey has lived in Litchton for a long time. In that time, she’s gone on two dates: one, with Gillian’s grandson while he was visiting for Christmas that went okay. The second was with some guy from a dating app that Bea made Honey download, and that date ended in tears because Honey was overwhelmed by the boy’s cologne– the same one that she used to know all too well when she and Bea were still living in Charlotte.

The townies know Honey as an independent girl. They know her as a person who won’t stand for nonsense, a person who isn’t interested in frivolous things. She likes what she likes and her routine stays the same. 

Trevor has completely overthrown her routine.

In a normal summer, Honey goes through book after book, reading and writing and having fun. She creates terrible art that never sells in the town-side yard sale in August. Bea drags her to Winston or Boone one or two weekends a month and they talk to guys their age until Bea finds someone to flirt with. Then, Honey heads back to Litchton to her own bed and usually has to wake up early to pick Bea up from her conquest’s house.

Now, they’re spending every weekend with the boys. Bea is even spending non-weekend days with the boys. Honey walked herself into a trap by declaring that the fruit stand was her and Trevor’s “thing,” whereas it’s supposed to just be hers. They’re going to the lake not to tan, but to boat with the guys. Bea is satiated and happy, giggling and glowing the way she does when she’s seeing a guy she really likes. 

This is Bea’s ideal summer and it’s quickly turning into Honey’s hell.

She’s not a relationship girl. She hasn’t been for years, opting to be independent and satisfied with herself, refusing to worry about being alone. That life, that stress, was left in Charlotte when she moved away. She’s determined to keep it that way.

Which means that she cannot, under any circumstances, hook up with Trevor again. She cannot give him a reason to believe that this was more than a one-night thing. It was just a moment of weakness and it can’t happen again.

Honey has taken some necessary precautions. She texted Jamie the previous day and begged him to dance with her all night, get drinks with her at the bar, sit at the table when she’s sitting at the table, and never leave her side. He swore he would, even pinky-promised over the thread of messages. 

It’s that fact that helps Honey remain calm when Bea finds her and rips the beanbag out of her clutches, pulling her up from where she’s curled up on the floor. 

“I can’t believe you tried to hide from me and made me close the entire store alone,” Bea complains, dragging Honey to the back room to grab their purses before heading out. She steals Honey’s keys rather than using her own to lock the bookstore, effectively taking away Honey’s only means of escape– her car. Had Honey bolted, like she considered, there would be no way to get into her vehicle and outrun Bea fast enough without her keys. 

Damn Bea. She thinks of everything.

They walk down the street, arm in arm. Bea’s brown cowboy boots click against the sidewalk with each step and the ruffled sleeves of her romper sway with the summer wind. The romper is a pastel yellow with white daisies dotting the fabric. It’s short, short enough that Jack will probably drool over her and Quinn will make sure his hand stays on Bea’s waist all night. 

The walk to Scruffy’s takes less than five minutes. They don’t even have to cross the street. Scruffy’s is the building on the corner of the main road, the last thing you see before you drive past the town of Litchton and head further up the mountain. Past Scruffy’s, there are only ranches, farm life, and Honey’s little abode. Scruffy’s is like the end of civilization.

It’s been in business for generations. Scruffy’s is where Earl and Vera met, funnily enough, more than half a century ago. Last year, their anniversary fell on a Tuesday, and Vera came into The Reading Nook gushing about how they’d been married for fifty-three years officially. Honey had asked and she had gotten the full story– that Vera and her girls (the same knitting group) went dancing in Scruffy’s after their senior prom ended and it was there that she was asked to dance by the most handsome man in the joint. That man was Earl, who won Vera over with just once dance, and they were dating by the end of the night. He was sent to Vietnam less than two months later, but they were married in a short ceremony the night before he was shipped off. Earl was 21. Vera was 17.

It’s a little gross to Honey, but she’s impressed that they stuck it out this long. She’s impressed that Vera and Earl still love each other, even after fifty years. They had multiple kids, lived in the same small town their whole life except for Earl’s stint in ‘Nam, and they’re still happy. Part of the reason why Honey came to Litchton after leaving Charlotte is because of relationships like Vera and Earl’s– they stand the test of time up in the mountains. Everybody finds their person.

Honey loves Scruffy’s because it represents the culture of Litchton. It’s one of the longest-running businesses in the area. It’s a place where people go to meet, dance, and have fun. There aren’t many places like it anymore. Honey would much rather go to Scruffy’s than join Bea on a night out in Winston-Salem– it’s where she first learned to play pool.

Selfishly, Honey wonders to herself about the odds of stealing Quinn away from Bea for a night of pool. It would frustrate Bea to no end– and it might be the perfect revenge.

“Before we get in there, I want you to know that you’re not playing pool tonight,” Bea says as if she can read Honey’s thoughts. “And if I see you by the pool table, I’m telling the boys that you blew Trevor in the closet.”

Honey’s jaw drops. “First kidnapping, now blackmail? Who are you? What have the boys turned you into, a villain?”

Bea laughs, a twinkling sound that has her whole body rolling. “Baby, I was always a villain,” Bea says with a wink. “The boys are just encouraging me to be the worst version of myself.”

“Yeah, at my expense,” Honey shoots back.

Bea just grins. “Exactly!”

With that, Bea swings open the door and the girls step into the bar. It’s shabby and dive bar-esque, but the music spilling from the speakers near the stage transforms the place. 

The band is made up of a group of local dads who have been playing in the area since they were teens, having abandoned their big dream of becoming rock stars to settle down in their hometown with their wives and families. Honey has hustled most of these guys before at the pool table, although she’s never been quite able to beat Andrew, who plays bass for the band. 

Whereas the wood floor seems creaky when there’s silence in the halls, now it seems to glimmer beneath the dancing feet that adorn it. The exposed brick walls echo the laughter of drinkers in the booths, reflecting the cheers of when a new round appears as if by a miracle.

Bea leads Honey to the back of the bar, where they find the boys in one of the bigger booths. Quinn is sat on the edge of the booth next to his brothers and he easily pulls Bea onto his lap, perching her on his thigh. Honey stands at the end of the booth, her palms flat against the table separating the groups of boys.

“You can sit right here, Honey.” Cole offers his own thigh, gesturing to the “seat” like Vanna White. 

Honey forces a smile onto her face. “I’ll stand.”

“No, you don’t have to stand,” Trevor jumps in, trapped between the wall and Jamie on Cole’s side of the booth. “We can find you a chair.”

“It doesn’t look like you’ll be escaping anytime soon to find me one,” Honey retorts. She’s pleased that he’s stuck in the booth, but she’s still itching to put some distance between them. “Jimmy-Jam, want to go dance?”

“Sure, Honey,” Jamie says with a smile, nudging Cole so the boy can let him out of the booth.

“Oh, that’s too cute,” Bea coos. “Honey and Jam. You’re like a little kindergartener’s lunchtime sandwich.”

Honey and Jamie, now standing next to each other, turn and make eye contact. They evaluate each other briefly, then Jamie shrugs. “I guess it is like that.”

Honey sees Trevor frown, but puts the image out of her mind. Focusing on Trevor leads to disaster (like in the closet), which leads to even more disasters (the bouquet of flowers and Trevor tripping over himself to date Honey), so Honey really ought to avoid him altogether. She drags Jamie off, across the bar and towards the dance floor, finding a place near the stage. They’re dancing with the music on one side and the old, 1950s pinball machine on the other.

Honey loses track of time, spinning with Jamie under the dim light of the bar. The spotlights are all trained on the lead singer of the band, a man named Arn who is still desperately clinging to the hair left on his head. 

She and Jamie laugh and talk as they dance, having the best time. It’s Jamie’s last night in town, he reveals during one of the slower songs of the set. He’s driving back to Charlotte tomorrow with Trevor, flying out of North Carolina and back to Toronto around two in the afternoon. The men are singing ‘Amarillo By Morning’ by George Strait and Honey is overcome with a brief feeling of sadness.

“You’re really leaving?” Honey asks. “So soon?”

Jamie smiles, sympathetic and sad. He nods gently, squeezing Honey’s hand in his own. “Z only booked me for a week.”

“Cancel your flight.” Honey pouts, resting her forehead on Jamie’s shoulder, pulling him closer with the hand on his shoulderblades. “You should stay.”

Jamie drops a kiss on the crown of her head, then rests his chin on top of where he laid his lips. “I’ll text you all the time.”

Honey wishes she could stomp her foot and put a petulant glare on her face until Jamie relents, but she knows it’s just not realistic. 

“I should warn you,” Jamie whispers into Honey’s hair. “Trevor’s coming over here and he’s not going to take no for an answer.”

Honey looks over her shoulder and catches Trevor’s eyes as he approaches. He’s determined, staring directly at Honey.

“May I?” Trevor asks when he makes it to the pair, nodding to Jamie in a dismissal. 

Honey feels betrayed the moment Jamie lifts her hand to his lips and plants a kiss on her knuckles. He’s got a hint of laughter glimmering in his eyes and if she weren’t so sad he’s leaving tomorrow, she would pop him on the noggin for abandoning her. 

Jamie hands her off to Trevor, placing her palm in his, and Honey suddenly feels shy.

Trevor pulls her close, reaching his arm around her waist and clutching at her opposing ribs. Her hand rests in his, just inches away from their bodies. Her other hand slides across his back and her fingertips brush the hair at the nape of his neck. She peeks over Trevor’s shoulder, watching Jamie walk away. 

The band is playing something more upbeat now, a modern country song that Honey vaguely recognizes. 

Jack and Bea are dancing off to their left, halfway across the dance floor in the direct middle, and Jack is trying to spin himself under Bea’s arm. She’s giggling and Jack tumbles against her, crowding her space. His hands find Bea’s hips and he sways against her, leaning in to touch his nose to Bea’s own. She throws her arms around his neck and allows him to dip her, pecking his lips on the way back up. 

Trevor’s not as energetic. He sways with Honey, but his touch is more like a grasp than a lead. Honey aches.

“Why didn’t you ask Jamie to stay longer?” Honey asks quietly. She’s embarrassed to ask the question at all, embarrassed to admit that she’d grown so fond of the boy. She knows that they’re all just visiting, but saying goodbye to Jamie is a daunting task that makes Honey think of why she left Charlotte. 

“I did,” Trevor replies, surprising her. “I asked him if he would stay for another week, but he’s anxious to get back to his buddies and training. He’s got his own summer routine.” Trevor’s temple presses against Honey’s own, his mouth hovering right next to her ear. “He only came because I was desperate.”

Honey fails to respond to his statement with anything more than a hum. She’s distracted, watching the remaining boys at the table polish off a pitcher of beer. Quinn stands to get more and brushes off Bea’s invitation to come dance with a good-natured wave. 

The band starts to play a cover of one of Bea’s favorite songs, a duet between a man and a woman that Honey only remembers because of how anguished the couple sounds. The lyrics of the song are something about begging for time to come back and Honey grimaces at how real the song feels.

“I wish he didn’t have to leave,” Honey admits, the pout on her face feeling permanent. 

“Me too,” Trevor says. It’s reassuring. “I’ll miss him.”

“Yeah.”

Trevor steps away, raising his hand and guiding Honey underneath it. He guides her through a series of steps, surprising Honey with his sureness and precision. She ends up facing the stage, her back pressed against Trevor’s chest. 

“How do you know how to dance?” Honey asks, a little laugh affecting her words.

“Cotillion and lots of weddings in the summers,” Trevor replies, spinning Honey away and then pulling her back into their original position. He smiles, inches from her face. “I know my way around the floor, just never really had a partner to dance with.”

Honey’s smile fades as he reaches the end of his sentence. She pulls away from him, dipping her head to avoid his eyes. Her hands fall to her sides, then she hugs herself, shaking her head. “We’re not partners, Trevor,” Honey says. “That isn’t what this is.”

Trevor’s own hands fall to his pockets. He’s got jeans on, and some creased white sneakers, and it’s the most dressed up Honey has ever seen him. He looks normal, like any other guy that she would dance with in another bar– in another life. 

“What is it, then?” Trevor asks. He’s not pushy. He doesn’t sound curious. He just sounds resigned. 

“A mistake,” Honey whispers, rubbing over the goosebumps on her arms to try and soothe them away. “We hooked up once, Trevor.”

“Honey.” Trevor’s face falls and it’s a sight that makes Honey want to run for the hills. “It wasn’t a mistake.”

Honey bites the inside of her cheek, thinking over her next words carefully. “You’re reading too much into it.”

“And you’re running away from it. Give me a chance, Honey,” Trevor implores, reaching for her hand again. “I promise, I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I just want you to give me a chance.”

Honey pulls away. “I can’t do this again, Trevor.”

“I need you,” Trevor says.

The words settle in Honey’s stomach like a cinderblock at the bottom of the lake. He’s telling the truth– Honey does not see an ounce of doubt in his eyes. 

“Honey, I have not been able to think about anything except you for weeks,” Trevor continues. “Please.”

Honey steps back, her throat tight. Her eyes are darting every which way, just trying to avoid Trevor. She can’t hold his eyes for longer than a second, but a second is long enough to shake her head. 

She leaves him on the dance floor, joining the boys at the booth. She squeezes herself between Jamie and Luke, leaning into her friend’s figure. Jamie wraps his arm around Honey’s shoulders and she buries her face in his chest, squeezing her eyes shut. 

She’s right. She can’t do this again. She left her hometown after her last real relationship soured and rotted. Honey cannot let the same thing happen to her life in Litchton, especially not when Trevor’s going to leave at the end of the summer anyway. She’ll never see him again once he’s gone and things will go back to normal. It’s better this way.

25:90 – TREVOR

“I can’t believe you have to go,” Trevor says. He and Jamie are parked in the daily garage outside of Charlotte’s airport. 

“You’re the one who booked the ticket,” Jamie replies, the same excuse he’s used every time Trevor has brought up the end of his stay in Litchton. He’s got half of a smile on his face as he looks at Trevor.

“You could’ve changed it,” Trevor argues.

Jamie scoffs, laughing. “Dude.” He opens the passenger door and starts to climb out of the car. “You’re never going to make any moves on Honey while I’m still here.” He slams the door shut and rounds the car, pressing the button so that the trunk starts to open.

Trevor gets out of the car and joins Jamie in the back. He hops up and sits on the edge of the trunk, letting his feet dangle. “Was she serious about what she said to me last night?”

Jamie furrows his eyebrows. “What did she say? She didn’t tell me anything.”

Now it’s Trevor’s turn to be confused. “She didn’t say anything when she went back to the table?”

“No,” Jamie says. “Should she have?”

“I mean…” Trevor trails off.

“What did you do?” Jamie groans, rubbing a hand over his face. He grabs his carry on and sets it on the ground next to him.

“I didn’t do anything, really,” Trevor replies. He looks at his nails, then brings his index finger to his mouth to bite off a hangnail. “She just… shut down.”

“What did Honey say?” Jamie repeats, voice hard. He’s staring at Trevor now, eyes full of disdain. 

“That hooking up with me was a mistake and she can’t do it again,” Trevor says begrudgingly, a sarcastic smile on his face. 

“That’s… weird. I’m going to call her when I get through security.” Jamie extends the handle of his carry on, then kicks the bag so it’s perched on two of its wheels, ready to roll out. “You should go to the store when you get back. You finished that book today, right?”

“Yeah, this morning,” Trevor confirms.

“Return it. Buy it, I don’t care. Just talk to her– you can win her over.” Jamie shrugs. “I know she’s got some baggage that she doesn’t really like to talk about, but you could always ask. That’s how I won her over.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you got to kiss her,” Trevor grumbles.

Jamie takes a deep breath. “On that note, I’m out.” He reaches out to pull Trevor onto his feet and into a hug, clapping him on the back. “Thanks for the week, Trev. Don’t let her push you away, really. She likes you, I can tell. She’s just not ready to admit it yet.”

Trevor pulls away, dapping Jamie up as he does so. “I’ll try.”

“Just be yourself,” Jamie corrects. “Don’t try too hard.”

“Yeah, you’re right, she’d hate that,” Trevor says, chuckling to himself a bit.

“She’d hate that,” Jamie confirms at the same time. 

They stand in the parking garage for a moment longer, chuckling until their laughter dies in the wind. Trevor clears his throat and smiles, pulling Jamie in for another hug.

“Have a safe flight, Jim,” Trevor says. 

“Have a safe drive, Z.” Jamie begins to walk away, raising his hand over his head in a wave. “See you when the Ducks play the Flyers.”

“Yeah, if neither of us gets traded– again– before that,” Trevor adds. He closes the trunk of the car and climbs back behind the steering wheel. 

“Get over it!” Jamie’s voice is distant, echoing off the cars. 

Trevor responds by slamming his door and laying on the horn. 

He pulls out of the garage, paying the toll, and finds his way to the highway. He’s heading north to Litchton and he’s got about an hour of interstate time before he pulls off and takes the winding mountain roads the rest of the way. 

Trevor spends all of that time trying to stop thinking about Honey. He plays his music and sings out loud. He rolls his windows down and lets the wind wash over his face, messing up his hair in every direction. He even tries out an audiobook, which he hates, and turns it off within five minutes of starting it. 

The drive goes by faster than he thinks it will, or maybe it’s just getting easier each time he does it. 

Trevor feels a little bit like he does every time he heads back to Anaheim after the summer now that Jamie’s gone. The feeling never changes, even though he’s gotten better at managing it. It’s pure melancholy– knowing that he won’t see Jamie again for so long. It’s like when he leaves the Hughes boys or Cole, or even worse, when he visits home for a while and has to leave his family behind.

Trevor pulls into the driveway of the rental house, leaving the car running while he heads inside to grab his book. 

He knows just the cure for this weird mood that he’s found himself in.

Honey.

From the kitchen, Luke asks Trevor what he’s doing, but Trevor pays him no mind. He’s busy. Once he’s got his book in his hand, he’s walking back out the door and taking off in the car. 

He plows past Quinn, who is pulling back into the driveway after spending the night with Bea. That’s the best news yet for Trevor– if Quinn is only just now getting home from Bea’s place, then Bea is still getting ready to go to The Reading Nook. There’s a good chance that Honey is alone. 

Trevor has to get there first– he has to talk to Honey without a crutch. He’s going to convince her that he’s worth it. He just has to be less… direct. The commitment to Trevor is what’s scaring Honey, he can tell, and her fear is the one thing that’s really holding them back.

After almost a month on the mountaintop, Trevor feels comfortable enough to take the curves up the mountain the same way Honey does, loose and fast. He makes it up the mountain in record time and pulls into the grocery store parking lot, but walks the opposite way. 

He approaches The Reading Nook and finds the front of the store mostly empty. There are a few adults wandering around, but he doesn’t see Honey. 

Trevor follows the echo of voices to the back of the store, through the stacks to the cozy children’s reading area, where Honey is perched on a stool with a short picture book in hand. There are about fifteen kids of different ages crowded around her, all giving her their rapt attention as she reads the story. 

The book is familiar to Trevor– he was about the same age as these kids when his teacher read this book to his class for the first time. He doesn’t remember the name of the book, or the message, but he remembers the image of the dark-haired girl’s skin turning into rainbow stripes. Trevor’s face twists at the mention of lima beans, but he quickly realizes that he just forgot about that very important (and absurd) detail.

Honey hasn’t noticed him yet– she’s making faces at the children and doing different voices for each character. She’s making the toddlers giggle and the school-aged kids howl. Her nose is almost constantly scrunched up, accompanying a smile, and it’s infectious.

Trevor crosses his arms against his chest and leans on the edge of one of the stacks, admiring Honey. He’s hidden among the parents, smiling a little at the anonymity. In his mind, he’s acting out a movie scene where he’s waiting to pick his girlfriend up for a date and she’s running late because she’s nurturing the youth of the town. Trevor imagines Honey’s face lighting up when she spots him. He imagines Honey wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss when he approaches.

The real thing is not quite as romantic. 

As Honey is closing the book, wiggling her eyebrows at the kids and laughing a little when they whine and beg for another story, she scans the faces of the parents around Trevor. When she spots him, he gives her a little wave, and her mouth straightens into a thin line. It’s the only indication that she’s seen him because she just keeps looking around the room.

There’s a little boy kneeling in front of her, pulling at her skirt and pouting when she waves him off. 

“Luca, I’m not Bea,” Honey teases. “I’m a one story kind of girl and you got a long one today.” She taps his nose with a smile, which causes the little boy to giggle and grab at her fingers.

“It’s a shame, you know,” the mom next to Trevor says. “He loves it when she reads.”

“She’s entertaining,” Trevor agrees, not sure why she’s talking to him.

“Is this your first time at Story Time? I don’t think I’ve met you before. I’m Jessie,” the woman says, sticking her hand out for Trevor to shake. “Luca is mine. Which one is yours?”

Trevor shakes her hand, but lets out a relieved breath. “Trevor. I’m not a dad. I’m just here to drop my book off and I didn’t see Honey up at the counter.”

Jessie laughs. “Is Bea still not here? She used to be so much better about being here on time. It’s not like her to miss Story Time.”

“I think something came up,” Trevor covers, knowing full well that Bea and Quinn were tied up in the sheets until the early hours of the morning. 

“I was 22 once,” Jessie says, a smile curving her lips. 

“Mmm, and I heard rumors that you and Tyler used to drink at the water tower when you were 16,” Honey interrupts, sidling up next to Jessie and Trevor. The little boy, Luca, is attached to her side, hugging her thigh with one arm and sucking his thumb with the other. “So I can’t imagine the trouble you got up to at 22, Jessie.”

“A lady never kisses and tells,” Jessie replies, leaning in to press a kiss on Honey’s cheek. “Thank you for the amazing performance, as always. Luca wishes you would read more often. He misses you.”

“He barely has time to miss me now that his Mommy stays at home with him,” Honey says fondly. She reaches down to ruffle Luca’s hair and puts her hands under his armpits to lift him up. She sets the boy on her hip and presses a kiss to his forehead before handing him off to Jessie. 

Jessie takes her son and sets him on her own hip. Luca wiggles in her grasp, reaching for Honey. He whines, lower lip wobbling when his mom won’t let him go back to Honey. “Maybe Honey can come hang out with you sometime soon,” Jessie soothes her son. She looks to Honey. “Mommy and Dad can go out to dinner.”

Honey giggles, cooing as she reaches to wipe the fat tears from the corners of Luca’s eyes. “I’d be happy to babysit my favorite little man. Just call me when you decide on a date night and I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Honey.” Jessie bounces Luca on her hip. “Say bye to Honey, baby.”

Still pouting, Luca raises his hand and waves. It’s less of a wave and more just the toddler flopping his wrist around so his hand moves, but Honey returns the wave nonetheless.

“Nice meeting you, Trevor,” Jessie calls as she walks away. Luca turns in her arms and his big eyes peer at Honey for as long as they can. She’s smiling at the boy until he and his mother are out of eyesight, then she turns to Trevor.

“What do you want?” Honey asks, crossing her arms over her chest. 

It never fails to impress Trevor how quickly she can turn on and turn off her charm. Not that he’s not charmed by this. He’s always charmed by Honey, even when she’s being mean.

“I’m here to return my book,” Trevor explains, lifting the item so she can see the cover. “Or buy it, I haven’t decided yet.”

“You can’t buy it,” Honey says in a monotone voice. 

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.” She walks off toward the counter and Trevor follows.

“That’s a stupid reason.”

“Well, it’s a stupid reason for a stupid person. Fitting.”

“Hey,” Trevor laments. 

Honey looks up at him, sliding onto her stool behind the counter. She holds her palm out, ready for Trevor to balance the book on the surface. “Give me the book.”

Trevor holds onto the book with both of his hands, frowning at Honey. “No,” he replies. “Ask nicely. You’re being mean.”

“I could be a lot meaner,” Honey says, pointedly glaring at Trevor as she snatches the book from his grasp. She types something on the computer, then slides the book onto a cart behind her. When she turns around, she folds her hands on the counter and stares at Trevor. “Do you want your receipt?”

Trevor makes a face. “No, I don’t want my receipt. What–”

“Good. Get out.”

Trevor’s mouth is agape. He’s staring at Honey in bewilderment. “I thought Jamie talked to you.”

“He did.”

Trevor flounders, trying to think of a response for her curt, two-word sentence. It’s barely even a sentence! It doesn’t even have a predicate! He fails to think of an answer and stands uselessly at the counter, unmoving in front of Honey. 

Honey waits. She watches him. They’re still for a good minute, just looking at each other until Honey pulls a book out from under the counter and opens it. She flips to a page about a quarter of the way through and begins to read.

Trevor is still standing in front of her.

The store has cleared out for the most part. A few children and parents are still in the kids section and an older woman is sitting at one of the tables near the back room, flipping through her own book. 

Trevor leans down, crossing his arms and leveling himself against the counter. He sets his chin on his hands and waits for Honey to look at him.

“What are you doing?” She asks, barely glancing at him before turning the page and cocking her head to the side, paying extra attention to the new words on the left side of her book. 

“I’m hanging out with you.”

“Why?” Honey’s lip curls in judgment and she scoffs. 

“Because you cheer me up, and the boys wouldn’t get it.”

“The boys wouldn’t get what?” Her eyes linger on him a little longer this time before returning to her book.

“They won’t be sad that Jamie left, but I know you are. We can be miserable together,” Trevor says, batting his eyelashes at Honey. 

She just looks him up and down, then pushes his arms off the counter.

Trevor straightens up. “C’mon, Honey. It’s hard to be apart from your friends, especially if they’re more like family. I was just hoping to see you.”

“Because seeing me makes you feel better,” Honey adds, unimpressed. She glares at Trevor for a moment, then turns to the next page of her book.

“I like hanging out with you. It’s easy to forget my problems when you’re around.”

“Good line.”

“It’s not a line, it’s actually how I feel.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize you were so in tune with your emotions.”

“You, of all people, should know that I’m a big fan of following the heart.”

“I couldn’t possibly care less about your heart, Trev–”

There’s a rustle of paper and a thud as the older lady sets her book down. “Honey,” she snaps.

Honey lights up at the interruption, looking over to the woman. “Yes, Ada?”

“Put the poor boy out of his misery,” Ada scolds, a tilted frown on her face. “You’re not helping him.”

“Ada–” Honey tries.

The woman raises her hand. “I don’t want to hear it. One of your friends is upset and you’re being rude to him.”

“I promise you, he’s not–” Honey says, but she’s interrupted again.

“I want you to take the day off tomorrow and spend it with him.” Ada nods at Trevor, then continues. “Because we spread kindness in this town. We do not perpetuate another person’s misery.”

Honey ducks her head. “Yes, ma’am,” she grumbles.

Ada picks her book back up and flips through the pages. “Now I’ve lost my page,” she complains. “Consider how Christ would view your actions, Honey, and how they affect others around you.”

Honey gawks at the woman, affronted and angry, shown by the tilt of her eyebrows. She snaps her jaw shut and looks up to the sky, thoughts racing behind her eyes and through her mind. 

Trevor’s got an amused little smile on his face, but he wipes it from his expression before Honey can spot it.

“Well, you got what you wanted,” Honey snaps. “Bea will text you the directions. We’re hiking up Stone Mountain. It’s an hour drive from here. I’ll meet you there at ten. Don’t be late, or else I’m starting the hike without you.”

“Do you want me to bring a sandwich for you?” Trevor asks, careful not to argue with Honey. He remembers Jamie packing a lunch for Honey and he wants to do the same– maybe if he recreates Jamie’s hike, then he’ll have the same success.

Honey looks at him with disdain. “I’ll pack my own. Thanks. Go away.”

Ada hums, but doesn’t look up. 

Honey cuts her eyes at the older woman, but plasters a smile on her face when her eyes return to Trevor’s. She turns her charm on, just for appearances. “Thank you for visiting The Reading Nook. Feel free to come back anytime.”

Her voice is sweet, customer service-y, but she’s glaring at Trevor and shaking her head ‘no’ as she says the words. She does not want him to return. 

Trevor most certainly will be back, if only to plant a smacker on Honey’s boss and thank her for the set-up. “See you tomorrow, Honey.”

“Yep.”

Trevor walks away, but he catches another scolding from Ada to Honey as he walks away. It sounds like Ada wants Honey to attend church this Sunday.

Maybe he can convince Bea to bring him and the other boys along.

26:90 – HONEY

She’s standing at the trailhead, next to the information board. Honey’s been here a thousand times, the view at the top of the mountain being one of her favorites in all of western North Carolina, and Trevor is late. It’s 10:11 and she told him to be on time or else she would start without him. It was an empty threat, but now she’s really considering it.

Honey’s phone rings in her bag and she has to scramble to dig it out.

“Hello?” She asks, not glancing at the screen. There are only a few people that have her number and would know that she’s off work today. Those people are Ada and Bea– and Honey is pretty sure Ada isn’t calling her.

“Trevor wants to know where you are.” Bea’s voice is choppy due to the service being so finicky in this area. 

“What? I’m at the trailhead. Right next to the sign. He doesn’t see me?” Honey asks, searching the parking lot. She raises a hand above her hand and waves. “I’m waving. Tell him to look for the girl who’s waving.”

“I don’t have two phones,” Bea snaps. “How am I meant to talk to you both at the same time?”

“Yes, you do,” Honey scoffs. Of course Bea has two phones– she’s at work right now. She can use the store phone to call Trevor and relay the message. “Use the phone at the Nook.”

Bea groans into the phone. “That’s so much work. Are you sure I can’t just give him your number?”

“Absolutely, I’m sure! What the fuck?” Honey exclaims, covering her eyes with her hand. “I told you no.”

“Okay, well, I didn’t listen. I already gave it to him, but he wanted me to call you first.”

Honey opens her mouth, a snarl rising up her throat.

“Have fun with your loverboy!” Bea laughs a little as she hangs up, the dial tone ringing in Honey’s ear. 

Honey pulls the phone away from her ear and scowls to herself, closing her eyes and looking up to the sky to calm herself. Bea has been on her nerves lately. Honey understands that the girl wants what’s best for Honey, but good God– does she have to meddle so much?

The phone starts to ring in her hand, a (914) number flashing across the screen. Honey stares at it, letting the phone ring a few times before she answers it.

“Hello?” She asks as she answers, annoyed.

“Honey? It’s Trevor.”

“I figured.”

“Where are you? I’m at the trailhead.”

Honey blinks, then looks around her. “No, you’re not. I’m at the trailhead.”

“No, you’re not? I don’t see you.”

Honey looks at the information sign next to her. She reads the location in her head, then it dawns on her. She winces, covering her eyes with her hand again. “Are you in the upper parking lot?” She wipes her face, then her hand drops to her hip. “Look at the sign next to you.”

Trevor is silent on the other end of the call. After a moment, his sheepish voice fills Honey’s ear. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Honey sighs. “This is Bea’s fault. I’ll come to you.”

“No, I’ll come to you!” Trevor corrects, sounding like he’s already jogging back to his car. “Don’t move an inch. I’ll be there soon.”

He hangs up, leaving Honey standing next to the lower trailhead. She’s lucky that no one really wants to hike the five-mile loop that Honey chose, especially not in the summer, otherwise there would be a constant stream of people passing her while she waits for her date.

Not that it’s a date. She’s being forced.

Trevor is racing across the parking lot towards Honey before she knows it, catching her hand in his as he approaches and panting out an apology. “I didn’t know there were two different trailheads,” he says. 

Honey pulls her hand away. “It’s okay. Bea should’ve told you.”

Unable to take a hint, Trevor just grins. “Well, now you have my number. We can just talk directly.”

“I already had your number. I don’t want to talk to you directly. That’s why I made you go through Bea,” Honey tells him, turning her back and starting up the trail. 

Trevor follows after her, quickly falling into step next to Honey. “You already had my number?”

Honey hums, nodding. “Bea gave it to me.”

“Why didn’t you use it?” Trevor wonders.

“Because I didn’t want to.” Honey adjusts her bag on her shoulders. She keeps her fingers wrapped around the straps as she walks, just in case Trevor does something stupid like try to hold Honey’s hand. 

“Honey, I really think you should just give me a chance–”

“Do you run, Trevor?” Honey asks, cutting him off.

“Not really. I’ll do sprints and stuff on the ice, but I’m not really a runner,” Trevor replies, making a confused face at Honey. “I broke my–”

“Cool.” Honey tightens the straps of her bag and looks down to make sure her shoelaces are double-knotted. “Race you to the peak. Just follow the trail.”

She takes off, putting distance between herself and Trevor. Honey hasn’t run consistently in a while, but she’s able to manage her breath well enough to run the two miles to the stone top of the mountain. Trevor plods along after her, but she loses him about a mile into the run.

Honey catches her breath once she breaks through the trees and steps onto the clearing of the peak. The stone is ashy and dry, but the different shades of stone across the face of the mountain give off the appearance of a waterfall. 

Honey reaches into her bag and takes out her camera, looking through the viewfinder to capture the skyline. She takes a few pictures, even balances her camera on a rock to set up her own timer picture. Finally, she hears the pounding of feet against ground coming up the trail and she turns her camera on the entrance to the clearing.

She captures Trevor’s final moments in quick succession– the relief that the run is finally over, the way his breath continues to run away from him even as his feet slow, and the annoyance washing over his face at the sound of Honey’s laughter.

He stalks toward her, grimacing noticeably when he steps out with his left foot. Honey dances away from him, evading his grasp and snapping pictures as she goes, giggling at his annoyance. The more Honey steps away from Trevor, the harder he tries to catch her, and the harder it is for him to keep a smile from making its way onto his face. 

Honey documents the whole thing– the transformation of his gaze from irritated to playful, the growing curve of his lips into a fuckass smile and a laugh, and the final moment when he snatches the camera out of her hand. 

Trevor turns the lens on her, snapping away and getting all up in her face. She pushes him, and the camera, away when she notices him trying to zoom in up her nostrils. He’s so fucking weird. 

Honey takes the camera back from him and tucks it into her bag, swapping the item for her lunch. It’s a little crumpled up from the time in her bag, but the food is still good. She reaches for her peach, looking to snack on the sweet fruit. She pauses when her hand brushes against the second peach she packed– the peach that she packed for Trevor.

“You know, you were right the other day,” Trevor says. 

Honey can hear just how feigned his nonchalance is from the second he opens his mouth. He’s thought this moment out, probably reenacted an idealized version in the shower yesterday, but he’s still hesitant to say anything.

“I really haven’t spent enough time trying to get to know you.”

Honey’s head snaps up, eyes fixing on Trevor. That’s not what she expected him to say. She doesn’t know where she thought this was going, but it wasn’t here.

“I want to know you, you know?” Trevor continues with a shrug. “I don’t want to have you around just to have you around. I want to know everything about you.”

Bea’s voice echoes in Honey’s ears. “I want him to be open with me. I want to talk to him about everything.” The realization washes over Honey like a spill soaking into a paper towel. She feels sticky, a result of the understanding, and a little panicked. Trevor likes me the way Bea likes Quinn. 

Honey ducks her head and studies the peach in her hand. It’s fuzzy and prickly against her fingertips, grating against the grooves of her fingerprints. She turns it over, moving the fruit from one hand to the other. It’s mostly red, dark and ripe. It’s got a bruise near the bottom and the stem is still intact. Honey picks it, twisting until it comes free, and she flicks it away.

Trevor keeps talking. Honey is barely listening, but he captures her attention again with an apology.

“I’m sorry I haven’t put more time into getting to know you– I was caught up in how I felt about you. It’s kind of shallow, but I think I didn’t try hard enough to talk to you because I felt like I already knew you.”

Honey stares at him, lips parted. They’re growing dry with each ragged breath she draws in, but she can’t speak.

“I feel… tied to you. You’re special,” Trevor explains, finally floundering over himself. Honey expects that he didn’t think he would get this far. “I’ve never had to try to prove myself to someone before, and I probably should’ve given up by now, but I just… I like you so much, Honey. I feel like I can’t lose you, and I don’t even have you yet.”

“You don’t even know me,” Honey says, a weak defense.

“That’s my problem,” Trevor agrees. “I haven’t even tried.”

“No, you haven’t.” Honey’s voice is far away, indicative of the mess of flames and smoke swirling around in her head. 

“Will you let me get to know you?” Trevor asks. He has stepped forward, closing in on Honey, and the hem of her t-shirt has found its way between his thumb and index finger. He’s just feeling the fabric, unaware that he’s keeping her from stepping away with his featherlight touch. His mouth quirks at the edges and he gives her shirt a little tug. “I’m desperate,” he adds in the wake of Honey’s silence, looking a little amused at his own words.

Honey tears her eyes away from the pinched fabric between his fingers. She lets her bottom lip drop from between her teeth, an unconscious reaction to Trevor’s words that she finally recognized and corrected before she drew blood. Her hands are shaking, so Honey tightens her grip on her peach and clamps the fingers of her other hand on her wrist. 

Trevor notices, of course he does.

“I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready,” he says, dropping his hand to his side. Honey misses the weight of it already. “I really will take anything you want to give me, Honey.”

“I can’t date you,” Honey says. “I can’t do that.”

“If I asked why, would you tell me?” Trevor prods delicately.

Honey shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Is it because of me?” Trevor asks, some reluctance seeping onto his face. He looks down and scuffs his shoes against the stone face of the mountain. “Is it because I’m in the NHL?”

Honey shakes her head. 

Trevor barely catches the movement, only looking up at Honey when her silence stretches too long. “It’s not me?” He asks, his features softening.

Honey could cry. His concern, his relief, his overwhelming and obvious desire for her, and his ability to just come out and say it is too much. She lets out a breath, reaching out to pinch the hem of Trevor’s shirt the same way he held hers. She tugs him closer and Trevor comes easily, tilting his head and raking his eyes over her features in admiration. He brings a hand up to her jaw, thumbing over her cheek.

“It’s not you,” Honey tells him quietly. “I’m just… stuck.”

“What do you mean?” Trevor asks, matching her pitch. He traces the collar of her shirt.

“I moved to Litchton five years ago after some stuff happened in my hometown. It wasn’t pretty and I kind of, you know… swore off dating and everyone from Charlotte except Bea,” Honey explains, ducking her head to the side and sighing in the middle of her sentence. “So I can’t date you, Trevor. I’m not there.”

“We don’t need to date,” Trevor assures her. He pauses, then rolls his eyes and cringes. He forces his next words out, an edge cutting into his voice. “We can be friends if that’s what you want.”

“Oh my God, I hate you,” Honey sighs. “Obviously I don’t want to be your friend, Trevor.”

“Yeah, for a second I forgot that you hate me,” Trevor says. He twists his lips with an exaggerated “ugh,” then smiles at Honey. “I was thinking about the blowjob. It’s very hard to think you hate me when you’re swallowing my cum.”

Honey scoffs, clenching her jaw. “Fuck off.”

Trevor hums, pouting at her. “What do you want from me?”

She takes a deep breath, then glares at him through her eyelashes. She reaches into her bag and pulls out the second peach, dropping it in Trevor’s hand. “I want sex.”

“Now?” Trevor exclaims, looking around. There’s no one on the peak with them, but Honey shushes him anyway.

“Not now, you moron,” she chastises. “Why would we have sex now?”

“That’s a really good question,” Trevor says. He points at Honey, thinking for a moment. “I don’t know. I was just excited that you said that.”

Honey laughs and shakes her head. “Just sit down and eat your peach, Trevor.”

He nods, a big goofy smile on his face. Trevor plops down right where he stands, reaching for Honey’s hand and tugging her down to sit next to him. “Thank you for the peach.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So you were thinking about me,” Trevor teases. “Are you still ovulating?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Honey snaps, rubbing a hand over her face so that he can’t see the smile on her face. She only takes her hand away once her face smoothens itself out and she can look at him without blushing.

Trevor bites into his fruit and chews, watching Honey with an amused glint in his eyes. “Tell me more about you,” Trevor prompts through a mouthful.

“Well, for starters, I don’t like it when guys talk with food in their mouth,” Honey announces. 

“Mm, I guess I’m out of the running.” Trevor leans against Honey, taking another bite. 

Honey rolls her eyes, an unimpressed smirk taking over her mouth. “Just… shut up and I’ll tell you my favorite movie.”

Trevor lights up, then makes a show of zipping his lips, locking them, and throwing away the key. He bites his bottom lip and scoots closer, their knees touching. 

Honey doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t tell him anything substantive about her life either. Trevor doesn’t push her, although he does ask her a few questions that she has to shake her head at– the first: the names of all the people who made her want to leave Charlotte, the second: if he could lick the peach juice off her lips, just to name two examples. He’s frustrating and annoying and a loser, but Honey would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy herself. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t like Trevor’s company.

He tells her about his family on the way down the mountain. She tells him about how she doesn’t talk to her parents anymore. He tells her about his teammates and reveals a few embarrassing stories from the years he spent with the Hughes boys and Cole. Honey tells him about the times she and Bea would go out in the city and she’d hustle the pool players while Bea found a date. He tells her about how he broke his ankle this past year, and for a moment, Honey feels bad about making him run up the mountain after her. Then she remembers that he has her phone number now and he will certainly abuse that privilege, so she gets over her guilt quickly. Trevor talks about his life and Honey talks about hers– despite their differences, Honey likes hearing about his life as an athlete in California. It’s a side of life that she’s never heard about before. 

About halfway through the hike, Trevor’s hand brushes against Honey’s and she almost reaches to intertwine their fingers. She can barely hold back.

When they make it back to the parking lot, Trevor walks Honey to her car. He tries to open the door for her, but it’s locked, so Honey laughs at him a little bit. He pinches her hip for laughing, then swats her keys out of her hand to unlock the vehicle himself. He successfully opens the door for her and hands her keys back, then leans against the vehicle, blocking Honey from shutting the door. 

“Will you come over tomorrow?” Trevor asks.

“I think Bea already invited us over, so I’ll probably make an appearance.” Honey keeps her voice light, aloof. 

Trevor is unimpressed, frowning at her. “How can I get you to promise to come over?”

Honey mulls the question over, taking extra time before she responds just to make Trevor squirm a little. “Can you promise me something?” She asks as an answer to Trevor’s question.

“Anything,” Trevor vows, sincere in his words.

“I don’t want anyone to know about this. How am I supposed to maintain my street cred if I suddenly act like we’re friends?” 

Trevor chuckles a little, leaning down to press his lips to Honey’s cheek. They’re soft, but his skin is growing a tad bit scratchy. He must not have shaved this morning. “Whatever you want,” he says. “I promise to keep my mouth shut.”

“Then I promise to come over tomorrow,” Honey says with a smile. “Now, get away from my car before I run over your foot.”

“Yes ma’am,” Trevor drawls, raising his hands in surrender and stepping back. 

Honey reaches out and closes the driver’s side door, hitting the lock button out of instinct. Trevor hears the click and frowns at her, his eyebrows scrunched together. Honey rolls her eyes then waves goodbye, pulling out of her parking spot and heading home.

Trevor passes her on the highway ten minutes later and Honey can’t have that, so they race the rest of the way to Litchton.

She wins. Obviously.

27:90 – TREVOR

“Stop texting me!!! I’m at work!!!”

This morning, Trevor grinned at his phone. “I only texted you once and all I did was ask what you’ve got on today”

“& I’m not answering that! Stop being a creep! I can’t stand you”

“Ok, so sit down. Can’t a guy get to know a girl over text?”

“I am not telling you what I’m wearing. Do not sext me at work.”

“Whoa, whoa. I only asked what you’ve got on. Got GOING on. You’re a dirty girl, Honey.”

“Oh My God. What is your fucking problem?? Don’t make me block you, Trevor.”

“:(”

After the events of the hike yesterday, Trevor has been using and abusing Honey’s phone number. He texted her that he had gotten home safely last night, which she hadn’t replied to. He texted her a goodnight message, which she hadn’t replied to. He texted her a good morning, to which she gave a thumbs up. Taking that as a good sign, Trevor typed out a question of what Honey had going on today, but then giggled at the potential double entendre and sent “What have you got on today?” instead. 

He thought it would get him a reaction and the rewards he was reaping were so, so sweet. Talking to Honey, no matter how angry she was, was a joy. 

Trevor wants to do it all the time. He likes her so much. 

It feels impossible, but Trevor is even more connected to Honey than before. He’s on a high and has been since she told him that her hesitance is not his fault. 

The relief leaving his body was almost comparable with the feeling of Honey’s mouth around the head of his cock.

And once that image entered Trevor’s head, he was helpless. He couldn’t think of anything else all day. Honey is coming over tonight, and he’s been very, very hard since this morning.

It’s getting harder to hide from the boys, too. Trevor can only sit with a pillow halfway over his lap for so long before one of the four immature goons notices and starts to chirp. 

Trevor has reread his texts with Honey no less than six times since he sent his final sad face– now that Honey’s shift is just under an hour from ending, Trevor thinks it’s time to send her another message.

“When are you coming over? I miss you” Trevor types, not hesitating for a moment before he hits send. He grins at his phone like a goof, then tucks it into his pocket when Jack looks his way. Trevor pulls the edge of the pillow up to hide his erection from the boy. He’s really got to get his dick under control before the girls show up. He stands, drawing the eyes of the boys. 

“I’m going upstairs,” Trevor says. “Holler for me when the girls show up.”

Quinn snickers from the corner of the couch, his laughter breathy and quiet. Other than that, no one says anything, eyes glued on the television once again. Cole had turned on some reality show that Bea recommended, and all the boys are enraptured. 

Trevor pads upstairs, tugging his shirt off as he enters his bedroom. He collapses onto his bed, face down, and groans into his pillow. He stretches his limbs, feeling the joints in his shoulders pop. With a sigh, he rolls his hips once against the mattress before turning over and palming his cock. 

He scrolls on his phone for a while, mindlessly watching Instagram pictures load and clicking through stories. He fists his cock over his shorts, just holding the length. He glides his hand down to cup his balls and turns his phone off, shoving it under his pillow. 

Trevor feels himself out, squeezing and releasing his cock every so often. He’s not quite stroking, at least not until Honey’s face pops into his head again. 

“I want sex,” she had said the previous day. To say that Trevor was down for that was an understatement– sure, he wanted to be around Honey in more than a physical way, but he’d be an idiot if he pushed the topic. He’ll win Honey over eventually, but for now, he’ll just make her feel so good that she forgets she ever disliked him at all.

He can’t seem to decide which fantasy he wants to focus on while he takes care of his problem– it’s like every possible sexual encounter he could have with Honey is flashing through his mind at a rapid pace. He considers her hands, then her mouth, her tits, her pussy, over and over again, never deciding on one image as he starts to move his hand over his cock.

Trevor loses track of time and most of his clothes in the passing minutes. He’s only just wrapping his hand around his bare cock, imagining Honey’s soft lips against his own and her delicate fingers under his, when someone opens his bedroom door and gasps.

Trevor flinches, immediately scrambling to cover himself up with his blankets. “Dude!” Trevor exclaims, expecting to see one of the boys in his doorway. “Knock much?”

When he turns to face the intruder, Trevor pales when he sees that it’s Honey. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is open, one hand frozen on the doorknob and the other covering her heart like she’s a grandmother clutching at her pearls.

“I’m so sorry,” Honey rushes out. “I was just coming up here to yell at you for being fucking annoying, I didn’t realize you were… occupied. I’m just gonna–”

She starts to turn, pulling the door behind her, but Trevor calls out her name to stop her. 

“No, you should stay,” Trevor corrects. “After all, you’re here in my imagination. You might as well watch in real life.”

“Watch?” Honey snaps, incredulous. “Have you lost your mind?”

Trevor pushes the covers off his body, fisting his dick and stroking it back to full hardness after it had flagged a bit upon Honey’s original intrusion. It’s not difficult to get back to the point where Trevor was before she walked in, just the sight of her causing a chill to run up his spine. He bites his lip and groans when he swipes his thumb over his slit, spreading his precum over his tip. 

Honey is still frozen, but her eyes are drawn to Trevor’s cock and her bottom lip has found its way between her teeth. 

“Better yet,” Trevor continues, allowing his hand to stop moving and rest at his base. His cock jumps in his hand, seeking out more friction. “Why watch when you could help?”

Honey’s jaw drops again, blinking in surprise. “Help?” She repeats.

“You still want sex, don’t you?” Trevor asks. “You told me so.”

“I– well, yeah,” Honey says, stumbling over her words. She opens her mouth to say something else, but ends up shaking her head and shrugging. 

“So come here,” Trevor beckons. “I don’t bite, unless you want me to. I was just thinking about how your fingers would feel on my cock. Will you show me?”

He starts to move his hand over his cock again, slowly. His skin slides against his palm, the glide that was harsh at first becoming more and more effortless as he continues to leak precum from his tip. 

The shock of the moment has painted a pretty pink blush across Honey’s cheeks and her open mouth further exacerbates her dangerously attractive cheekbones, reminding Trevor of the way they looked when her lips were wrapped around his cock. Honey stays frozen, but Trevor can see that her nipples have grown hard and are pebbling against the fabric of her shirt. She’s not wearing a bra. Excellent.

“Honey,” Trevor says, waiting for her eyes to find his. “Please don’t make me ask again.”

Honey shakes her head. “No. Ask me again.” She takes a step forward, then another. 

Trevor relents, watching her approach the end of the bed. “C’mere,” he pleads. “Come help me.”

Honey climbs onto the bed and crawls toward Trevor, running her hands up his thighs and sitting back on her heels between his legs. She runs her hands up over his hips, deliberately avoiding his groin in favor of feeling over his stomach and sides. 

Trevor drops his cock, lacing his fingers behind his head. His member stands away from his hips, erect and twitching invitingly at Honey. 

“Take your shirt off,” Trevor requests.

“No. We’re not elongating this any more than we need to. I’m going to make you come and then we’re going to go downstairs and I’m going to kick Luke’s ass at pool and you’ll try not to get hard again when you watch me bend over the table,” Honey replies, reaching for Trevor’s dick. 

Trevor moans when Honey leans down and spits over the head of Trevor’s cock. He watches her saliva drip down his shaft and disappear between her fingers, acting as a sort of lube. She licks his tip like a kitten at a bowl of milk and moves her hand up and down, her grip on Trevor’s cock deliciously tight and practiced. Despite swearing off dating five years prior, it’s like Honey hasn’t lost any of her talent. 

Trevor’s hips buck up into Honey’s hand when she circles her lips around his tip and suckles lightly. The tip of her tongue flicks over his slit, then lathers the skin around his cockhead. In this position, Trevor has a great view of the curve of Honey’s lower back, the waistband of her jean shorts pulling away from her skin and revealing the lavender underwear she’s hiding beneath her clothes. Trevor lets out a low whistle when his eyes trail further up her body, fixing on the tattoo marking the small of her back. He’s surprised he hasn’t noticed it before. It’s a dragonfly, surrounded by two branches of flowers. The tattoo is made up of thin but sweeping black lines and it’s so perfectly Honey that Trevor makes a mental note to ask her about it later.

“C’mon, Trev,” Honey goads. “People are going to start wondering what we’re up to. Hurry up.” Her hand speeds up, twisting over his shaft. 

Trevor keens, pushing up into Honey’s grasp. 

“It’s embarrassing how badly you want me,” Honey teases. “You’re so easy.”

“You’re so pretty,” Trevor replies, voice strangled and caught in his throat.

The pleased little smile that crosses Honey’s face makes his heart jump. She shakes her head at him fondly, then takes him back in her mouth. She hollows her cheeks, creating a vacuum around Trevor’s cockhead. She hums a little against him, the vibrations causing Trevor’s thighs to spasm. Her left hand soothes his quad, kneading the muscle with a scratch of her fingernails, and Trevor spills over her tongue. 

Honey takes it all in her mouth like a champion, sitting back and swallowing, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. Trevor watches the line of her throat move with her swallow and he wishes that his refractory period was nonexistent so that he could fill her mouth again. 

“Now that that’s over,” Honey says, shifting on her heels. She crawls up, straddling Trevor’s waist and hovering above him. 

Trevor tilts his chin up and purses his lips.

Honey covers his mouth with her palm, effectively forcing him to kiss her palm, and glares at Trevor through narrowed eyes. She leans in close, making it almost impossible for Trevor to maintain eye contact. 

“Do not fucking text me while I’m at work,” Honey says. “I mean it.”

She swings her legs to one side of his body, clambering off the bed and returning to the door. With one last look, Honey slips through the little crack of the door and shuts it behind her. Trevor hears her walking down the hall, then down the stairs. 

He throws his head back against his pillow and covers his eyes with the bend of his elbow. 

It takes him a few more minutes to catch his breath and move again. He washes his hands and goes to take a leak, replacing his boxers and shorts. He pulls a sweatshirt over his head, his favorite pink hoodie. He ties the strings into a cute little bow and leaves the hood over his hair, covering the mess beneath it that is, quite frankly, none of his business. 

He just came in Honey’s mouth for a second time in a week– his hair is the least of his worries. It’s not even a worry at all. In fact, Trevor might never have another worry again.

When Trevor makes his way downstairs, he finds Honey in his line of vision immediately. She’s standing next to Luke as he lines up a shot, hoping to sink the maroon seven into the third pocket. Trevor only knows which pocket is which because Jack tried to show Quinn up last year with his technical billiards knowledge, considering he couldn’t beat Quinn until halfway through the summer.

Honey’s eyes are drawn to Trevor’s movement, away from Luke’s long fingers creating a good base for his shot. Almost unconsciously, her eyes are flooded with pride and the edge of a smile quirks her mouth before she looks away, focusing back on the pool game.

Luke takes his shot, but the ball bounces off the cushion next to the pocket. He groans, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe under his eyes. Honey pats his arm as he paces past her, evidently frustrated by his game. 

Trevor looks to the table and finds that Honey only has a couple of striped targets left, while Luke has to sink four more shots if he wants to catch up to Honey. Having played against Honey before, Trevor is not confident in Luke’s ability. 

When he looks to the leaderboard, Honey’s name is starred. She hasn’t played as many games as the other boys, but she’s undefeated. She’s beaten everyone except Bea, but it’s a no-brainer about who would win that fight. 

Trevor spares one last glance at Honey before spilling across the loveseat. He lays for a minute, then turns over and gets comfortable. He pulls one hand up next to his head, using it as a pillow, and pulls his legs up toward his chest. He evaluates the room.

Quinn and Bea are sat in the plush recliner chair, sharing the small space. Bea has her legs thrown over Quinn’s lap, halfway seated on the arm of the chair. Quinn’s hand rests on Bea’s thigh, keeping her in place. She’s kissing over his neck and nuzzling into his side, letting her hands roam over his torso. Quinn catches Trevor watching them and fixes him with a hard stare, expression mostly unreadable. He’s mastered the art of the pokerface, but Trevor knows him well enough to know that his look is a warning. 

Jack and Cole are standing up from the couch, Wii controllers in hand and pushing each other over to try and get Player 1. Both younger siblings, Trevor snorts at their stubborn desire to be in charge for once. They found the Wii yesterday while Trevor was out, tucked away in the closet where he received his first blowjob from Honey, on one of the highest shelves.

Cole immediately dug it out and went searching for games. So far, he’s only found Wii Sports, but that’s all they really need. Last night, Cole and Jack had boxed, and things had gotten so heated that Quinn had to ban boxing from the house. He even hid the nunchucks that were necessary to play the sport– so the rest of the boys were straight out of luck.

They’re pulling up a game of golf right now, which causes Bea to roll her eyes. 

“You’re such boys,” she grumbles, lips pressed to Quinn’s cheek. “Golf is boring in real life. It’s even worse virtually. Can’t you play something good like bowling?”

Quinn chuckles a bit, pulling Bea closer. He wraps his arms around her waist and nips at her collarbone, causing the girl to shriek with a giggle. “I promise, if you come out on the course with me, I’ll teach you to like the game.”

Bea pushes him away, squirming on his lap until she finds a position where she’s comfortable. “You just want to get me in a little golf outfit so you can look at something pretty.”

“I will be looking at something pretty,” Quinn agrees. He leans in, pressing his forehead against hers and bumping their noses. He pecks her lips, brief and fleeting before he finishes his sentence. “The greens.”

Bea groans, tossing her head back. She goes to climb off of Quinn, but he holds her tightly on his lap and brings his mouth to her shoulder.

“Just imagine it,” he muses between kisses. “The smell of the freshly mown grass, the even blades, the sound of the club hitting the ball and the flag in the hole waving in the wind…”

“I can’t possibly think of a hole that you might be more interested in,” Bea deadpans, her bottom lip jutting out just a tad.

Quinn smiles, deciding to tug on Bea’s pouted lip with his teeth rather than deign her with an answer. 

Trevor watches the exchange in disgust. The disgust transforms when he hears Honey whoop and gloat from the back of the room, evidently still undefeated. His gaze on Bea and Quinn softens a little bit, tinged with envy. Oh, how sweet it would be if Honey was sitting on his lap the way Bea is sitting on Quinn’s. He’s so jealous that he has to look away.

“Update that board, Lukey,” Honey teases, her voice cutting through the rest of the chatter like the beacon of a lighthouse. 

Luke mimics her words, high-pitched and whiny the way only a younger sibling can sound, but reracks his cue and turns to the blackboard. He wipes Honey’s scores away with the dustrag that they repurposed into an eraser, then scrawls out a chicken-scratchy “6-0” next to her name. Next to his own, he erases the number of losses and replaces the number with one higher.

Honey beams at him, laying her stick along the table and walking around to gather all the balls from the pockets. She racks them up in a neat triangle, then leaves them immobile on the playing field. Honey joins the group, making herself comfortable on the corner cushion of the couch.

Luke plops down on the other end of the couch, closer to Trevor. Both pool players are studying the game on the screen with equal amounts of intensity, right thumbs pressed against their top lips and eyebrows drawn together in a tight pinch. 

Trevor pulls his phone out of his pocket, chuckling to himself and types out a message. 

“Look at Luke and Honey,” it reads.

Quinn pulls Bea’s phone out of his back pocket, glancing at the screen and making a face when he sees Trevor’s name flash across the screen. He eyes Trevor out of the side of his vision once Bea unlocks her phone and reads the message, tilting her screen so Quinn can see it. 

They both look over at Luke and Honey, eyes flickering between the two, and Bea giggles. She presses her hand to her mouth, but the damage is done. Quinn turns back to look at her, eyes shining as he admires the girl sitting on top of him. 

Trevor doesn’t know the details of his breakup, but he seems to be doing okay. Jack expected a whole lot worse, even briefed Trevor and Cole about the recent split during the drive down to Litchton, but none of them had expected to meet Bea and Honey.

It’s hard to be down in the dumps when there are people like them around.

Honey’s hand drops, dangling over the edge of the arm of the couch. “What?” She asks, apprehensive and skeptical. She glares at Bea, frown etched deeply on her face. There’s a little crease between her brows and Trevor itches to soothe it with a kiss. “What?” Honey repeats, looking around. 

Luke is unperturbed, sitting in the same position and watching Jack putt the virtual golf ball. He laughs out a breath when Jack misses, grinning against his thumb.

Honey seems to recognize the pose immediately, making a face at Bea when the girl giggles again. 

Quinn adjusts Bea on his lap, spreading his legs so there’s more room for her to sit in his arms. She’s practically cradled in his lap, legs no longer thrown over his lap but over the edge of the chair. 

Honey sticks her tongue out at Bea, then returns to the screen.

The sun has started to set by the time Jack and Cole’s game ends and they’re almost in complete darkness once Bea has beaten Honey in bowling. 

Trevor gets a kick out of seeing Honey lose– only because he’s never seen this side of her before. She’s competitive and she likes to win, so when she loses, she sulks the same way that Quinn does. Bea, to rub in her win, grabs Honey by her cheeks and plants a loud kiss on her nose. She overexaggerates a “mwah” and pinches Honey’s skin. Honey is blushing and pushing Bea away, wiping the kiss off of her nose. 

“You are such a sore winner,” Honey chastises, crossing her arms over her chest.

“At least I’m not a loo-hoo-za-her,” Bea replies, wiggling her finger in Honey’s face like Ace Ventura. She spins and beams at Quinn, crawling back onto his lap and pushing her fingers through his hair. 

Trevor isn’t sure that Quinn has told Bea that he’s getting a haircut before the Awards next week– or if he’s told her about the Awards at all. Trevor does know that Bea will be heartbroken when Quinn’s long hair is cropped back to a Catholic-school length and she can’t twirl the strands between her fingers as easily.

Honey blows a raspberry at Bea. She turns to walk toward the basement bathroom, evidently forgetting that it’s being occupied by Cole, and has to redirect upstairs.

Trevor misses her as soon as she disappears up the stairs and out of sight. 

Luke sets out to try and get a perfect score in bowling, but gets distracted making a Mii of himself. It takes far too long and Luke defends himself when Jack chirps him for trying to make his Mii’s body less like a stick than he actually is, which is when he rushes through the rest of his design to get to the game. He scores two strikes in a row, then restarts the game upon only hitting eight pins in his third frame.

He’s less successful the second time. And the third. On his fourth try, he gets a third strike in a row, but then loses momentum.

And Jack is getting antsy, itching to prove that he can do better.

He usurps the Wii, and Trevor realizes that Cole returned from the bathroom a few minutes ago, but Honey has not.

Trevor frowns. She can’t have gotten lost in the house since she’s been here enough times to know the layout and she’s certainly capable of going to the bathroom on her own. She should be back by now. He should go check on her.

“Anybody want a drink?” Trevor asks, rolling off the loveseat and catching himself before he hits the floor, straightening up. He stands still for only a moment before taking off towards the stairs, not allowing anyone to affirm or deny his request. He’s not bringing them drinks. He doesn’t care about that– all he wants is to go find Honey and see what’s taking her so long.

He scampers up the stairs, a baseball cap hitting him squarely in the back as he goes, probably a result of Cole wanting a drink and Trevor running away before he could say so. Trevor laughs a little as he goes and as soon as he makes it up to the kitchen, it’s evident where Honey has found herself.

The balcony door is cracked open and her back is to Trevor. She’s leaning over the rail, looking up towards the night sky. 

Trevor pauses, watching her.

Her hair falls freely over her shoulders, cascading down her back. It’s messy, windswept in a movie-star way. Her jean shorts are doing that gap thing again, showing off the dimples at the base of Honey’s spine and the tramp stamp– her mouth-watering tramp stamp– decorating her skin. Her hip is popped to one side and she looks good enough to eat.

She was right, too. Trevor has to make a very concentrated effort not to get hard while watching her bend over. 

He approaches the door and slides it open. “Hey,” Trevor says softly. “What are you doing out here?”

Honey jumps at the sound of him, but she calms down and returns to her original position in an instant. “You’ve got a lovely view out here.”

Trevor sidles up next to her, bumping her hip with his own before settling in. He looks up to the sky. 

Honey swallows, clearing her throat. “Do you get to see the stars like this in California?”

Trevor’s heart flutters with the question. She’s asking me about myself. She’s asking me about California. She cares. “I live outside of LA,” he explains. “So there’s a lot of light pollution. The stars are harder to come by.”

“Oh,” Honey says, sounding disappointed. 

“Which is why this is so nice,” Trevor adds. “Up here, you can see everything. I’ve been learning the constellations because of that book. It’s really cool.”

“What got you interested in space?” Honey asks.

“I don’t know. It’s kind of like hockey for me. I always loved it.” Trevor shrugs. “When I went to Boston for college, I was an astronomy major, but I went to the NHL before I got to take any of the really cool classes.”

“So that’s why you’ve been looking for books.” Honey looks at Trevor for a moment, locking eyes with him for a split second, then she turns back to the sky. 

It’s dark, but her face is lit up by the moon and the stars are reflecting in her eyes. They’re dimmer than normal due to the clouds rolling in from the west, dark and threatening. They seem far away. A strand of hair falls into her face, distracting Trevor, and his fingers twitch with the desire to sweep it back behind her ear, but Honey gets to it first. 

Trevor looks up. “I think some of it has to do with all the Greek myths attached to the constellations, too,” he murmurs. “I think it’s really cool that the Ancient Greeks were able to see all of their stories in the stars. Plus, I’m Greek, so I guess I feel connected.”

Honey hums, considering his words. 

They fall into an easy silence for a while, surveying the sky. Every so often, Trevor watches Honey from his peripheral. He catches her looking at him twice, and both times, they each blush and look away.

Trevor fixes on one of his favorite constellations– Cygnus, partially covered by a sprinkling of smaller rainclouds. It’s on his list of favorites because it took him so long to find and he’s proud that he was able to do so. Cygnus depicts a swan, who represents Zeus. He reaches his finger out and tries to point the constellation out to Honey.

“See there? That bright star separate from the others?” Trevor asks, pointing at the twinkle of light.

Honey furrows her brow and tilts her head, trying to line Trevor’s finger up with the star he’s pointing at. “No,” she replies. 

“Here.” Trevor stands behind Honey, bringing his hand up and pointing so that she can look down his arm like a scope. Honey leans against his arm, one of her eyes squeezed shut. “There’s Deneb, which is the tail. It’s so bright because it has the power of more than sixty thousand suns. Isn’t that cool?” He drags his finger across the sky to another two major stars in the constellation, spreading his fingers in a peace sign to point them both out at once. “And there’s Xi and Albireo. Albireo is the swan’s beak and if I had a telescope, I’d be able to show you that it’s actually a star that glows blue and yellow.” Trevor unfolds his palm and sweeps it across the sky, drawing the path of Cygnus’s wings. “And those little stars are the swan’s wings. He’s flying across the sky for all eternity. I think that’s really cool.”

Trevor stands, proud of himself, admiring the constellation and his explanation. It takes him a moment to realize that Honey has turned in front of him. 

When he does, he only has a second to take her in. That second of time suspends when his eyes meet hers. He can feel her breath puffing against his lips. Her back is pressed against the railing and Trevor is so close to her that he can feel her heat radiating outward and reaching for him. Honey’s eyes are big and wide, thoughtful.

Then she leans in and kisses Trevor.

Her lips are soft, just like they were when he kissed her in the closet. She tastes sweet, but not like any food Trevor has ever tasted before. He can’t pinpoint it– it’s just Honey.

Trevor barely registers Honey’s hands sliding into his hair, curling the strands around her fingers. He’s too busy reaching for her waist and pulling her close. Her skin is burning under his fingers and Trevor slides his right hand around to her back, resting his palm against the tattoo he discovered just earlier today. 

When Honey’s hips press against his, her torso brushing against his, Trevor allows his left hand to rise. He brushes over her collarbone, then up to her jaw. 

Honey’s fingers tug on his hair and Trevor groans, which is when she licks over his bottom lip and into his mouth.

And he thought he was giving his all to avoid a boner before. That effort is nothing compared to this one.

One of Honey’s hands leaves Trevor’s hair, finding his chest. She presses her palm against his shirt, between his pecs, and Trevor is sure that she can feel his heart pounding. All the while, she’s kissing him.

She’s kissing him.

Trevor crowds into her space more at that thought, taking charge of the kiss. His hand slips from her jaw, resting at the base of Honey’s neck.

And in a beautiful turn of events, she whimpers.

Trevor could bottle the sound up and put it in a safe for the rest of time. The breathy sigh only spurs him on and suddenly his teeth are clinking against hers with the ferocity of his movements. Like an electric shock, Honey breaks the kiss.

Trevor wishes he could take a picture of her.

Her cheeks are flushed and her gaze is a little foggy, focused on his lips until she blinks the confusion away. She sucks in a breath when she looks up at Trevor and her lips are plump, still parted like they’re seeking his own. 

Trevor stands still, not even daring to let out a breath lest it scares her away. He watches her expression go from dreamy to concentrated, and he’s ready to step away, but her fingers clench in his hair and she pulls him back in.

The kiss is not sweet by any means. Honey pulls Trevor’s hand back to her throat, then her hands pull at the fabric of his shirt. She tugs him close, making an indignant keen when he’s slow to move. Trevor is stunned, but the noise snaps him out of it. Her fingers are impatient, tapping against his sides, and Trevor springs forward. 

His hand caresses the column of her neck, feeling all of her little noises rise up and vibrate through her vocal chords. His other hand dips lower, under the gap her jean shorts created. His fingertips dip under the lavender band of her underwear, but they stop there, just teasing her. Honey rolls her hips against Trevor’s cock, totally not erect at all, obviously, and they break apart again.

Honey looks much more surprised this time, caught off guard by her own actions. She pushes Trevor away and he stumbles back, putting enough space between them that Honey can cover her lips with her hand. She feels over the pink skin, her hand shaking.

Trevor can still feel the ghost of the kiss and he expects Honey is feeling the same thing. 

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t interrupt whatever is going through her head. He can’t– he won’t give her any more reason to run away. He knows that’s what’s coming next.

Honey’s mouth is wide open. Her chest is heaving and she’s staring at Trevor. 

Trevor starts to worry when her silence stretches a moment too long. “Do you want me to get Bea?” He asks.

Honey snaps her mouth shut, swallowing the lump in her throat and shaking her head vehemently. “I need to go home.” Like her hands, her voice is shaking.

“Okay,” Trevor says. He’s not sure what else he can say.

Honey steps toward the sliding door, then halts in her tracks. “Bea drove me,” she realizes aloud, eyes widening in panic.

“I’ll drive you,” Trevor says, the words falling from his lips like an avalanche. “I’ll say you got sick. I’ll drive you home right now and I promise I won’t try anything, I swear–”

Honey cuts him off with a nod, meeting Trevor’s eyes for just a second before she looks away and starting blinking more rapidly. She looks like she’s fighting something internally, lost but panicked but ashamed that she’s acting this way, and Trevor just grabs her hand. 

He leads her inside, closing the sliding door behind them and beelining for the front door. He grabs his keys and presses them against Honey’s palm. “Go start the car for me, okay?” He says, talking quietly. He holds Honey’s shoulders, pressing his forehead to hers. She closes her eyes and leans against him. “I’m gonna go tell everyone that you threw up, or something, and I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” Honey agrees, whispering the word out. Trevor opens the front door for her, keeping a hand on her until she’s across the threshold. He leaves the door open and bounds downstairs.

“Hey,” Trevor calls, catching the attention of everyone in the basement. Jack gripes a bit, missing a strike because of Trevor’s call, but Trevor cuts him off. “Honey’s sick. I’m taking her home.”

Bea’s head pops up from where it was snuggled under Quinn’s chin. She bumps into his head by accident, petting over the point of contact as an apology while she turns to Trevor. “What? Is she okay?”

Trevor waves her off. “She’s fine. She doesn’t want to cause a big deal. She said it might be something she ate.”

Bea scowls. “I told her not to eat that turkey we found in the fridge at work,” she says. “I knew it had gone bad. Poor Honey.”

“She’ll be fine,” Trevor assures the girl, waving her off when she starts to stand up from Quinn’s chair. “I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”

Bea looks hesitant, but Quinn’s hand on her hip seems to convince her to stay. “Okay, fine,” Bea says eventually. “But be careful, okay? It’s supposed to storm tonight. You’re not used to the mountains in the rain. The roads get bad.”

“If it gets bad, I’ll convince Honey to let me borrow her couch,” Trevor says. “I’ll text you when we get there.”

Quinn pulls Bea back down onto his lap, kissing her temple and rubbing her waist comfortingly. “They’ll be fine, baby. Honey’s a big girl.”

“I’m more worried about Trevor,” Bea grumbles in reply, barely audible. “The curves are slippery.”

“He’ll be fine,” Quinn repeats. He looks at Trevor, glaring at the boy, before opening his mouth to boss him around yet again. “Don’t be fucking stupid on the roads.”

Trevor flashes a thumbs-up in Quinn’s direction, then hurries back up the stairs. It’s starting to drizzle already– he can see the sparse raindrops falling towards the ground. They’re lit up by the lights of his car, already up and running. 

Honey is curled up in the passenger seat, her fingers clutching the collar of her shirt and tucked under her chin. She’s looking out the window at the rain and doesn’t acknowledge Trevor when he joins her in the car. 

He drives home carefully, having to turn the windshield wipers up as the rain grows harder. Honey directs him in hushed tones, her voice monotone. Trevor wants to reach over and take her hand. He wants to distract her from whatever is going through her mind. He doesn’t– it’s not his place. 

“Pull in here,” Honey mutters, pointing toward an overgrown driveway marked by a painted-floral mailbox. It looks like a child had painted it and Trevor spots a flower made of little thumbprints on the front flap as he turns in. He creeps down the driveway, approaching the dark house.

He throws the car into park, then gets out of the car. He walks around in the rain, shrugging his sweatshirt off as he does so. He opens Honey’s door and unbuckles her seatbelt, putting the hood of his sweatshirt over her head to protect her hair from the drops. 

Trevor leads her by the hand to her front door, which Honey opens easily. She left it unlocked. Trevor feels taken aback for a moment, but then he remembers that she’s been living in Litchton for five years and there’s barely any crime in town. She’s fine. She probably knows better than Trevor does, anyway.

He stands awkwardly in her doorway, watching Honey navigate the space with memorized ease. Her footsteps are light. She disappears up into the lofted area above her living room, which is just as eclectic and unique as she is. He takes in the knick-knacks and the lived-in space. The blanket on her couch is thrown over the back haphazardly. He can see into her backyard, the big windows on the back side of her house taking up almost the whole wall. 

The house is dark, but it lights up with a flash of lightning. The house shakes with a crash of thunder. Trevor looks outside again and realizes he can barely see to his car, parked maybe twenty yards from Honey’s door. 

He sends a quick text to Bea, letting her know that he just got to Honey’s safely and that he’s going to hang out for a little while before the storm dies down. 

Trevor walks over to Honey’s kitchen, making sure he shut and locked the front door behind him. He finds a peach in a bowl on her counter and a knife in one of her drawers. Trevor washes the peach and cuts it into cubes, plating them. He searches for a glass and fills it with water, then takes both the plate and the cup in his hands.

Trevor climbs up to the loft, moving quietly and slowly so he doesn’t disturb Honey.

She’s curled up in her bed, just a little lump under the covers. It’s dark in her bedroom, but Trevor can see her eyes glinting. Her face lights up with another flash of lightning and he wants to break at the sight of the tears lining her face. 

“Honey,” Trevor breathes out, placing the plate and cup on her bedside table. He rounds the bed, kneeling on the other side and reaching out to touch her face. He wipes away one of the tears streaking her cheeks. 

Honey whines, squeezing her eyes shut and turning to hide her face in her pillow.

“I’m sorry I pushed you,” Trevor says. “I didn’t mean to.”

Honey groans, lifting her head to fix him with one big stink-eye. “You didn’t do anything,” she glowers. “I’m the one who kissed you.”

“Yeah, but I–”

“No, you didn’t.” Honey drags herself into a seated position, pulling her hair out of her face. She wipes her eyes and sniffs, looking miserable. “I’m just… working through everything.”

Trevor pauses, watching her. He feels absolutely helpless, unable to do or say anything that could make her feel better. “I brought you food and water,” Trevor says, feeling lame. “You should make sure you’re staying hydrated.”

Honey’s in the middle of wiping her eyes again as he says it, and Trevor panics when her shoulders start to shake again and a fresh batch of tears leak from her eyes. He moves back from the bed, eyes wide. Maybe it would’ve been better if he hadn’t said anything at all. Now Honey’s crying because of him.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shut up,” Honey tells him, her voice thick with tears, hiccuping. “You are so fucking insufferable,” she continues, and Trevor realizes that her shoulders are shaking with laughter even as she cries. 

His mouth forms an ‘o’ and Trevor looks around, afraid to look at Honey for too long lest she start bawling again.

“Just–” Honey cuts herself off. “Can you–”

“Anything,” Trevor agrees immediately, interrupting her.

Honey presses her lips together, letting the words form in her mouth. She seems to consider not saying them at all, but she eventually continues. She’s sheepish when she looks at Trevor, small and caved in on herself. “Can you lay with me?” The words are resigned when they leave her mouth, her eyes miserable.

Trevor scrambles onto the bed and has her in his arms before she can finish the sentence, all of the breath knocked out of his lungs with relief. He can do that easily– he wants to do that for Honey. He holds her against his chest, tucking her head into the curve of his neck. She’s sniffling again against his skin, marking his neck with wet tears. Thunder crashes outside again, and Trevor just holds her as tightly as he can.

She shakes for a little while, crying silently. Trevor coos at her and wipes her tears away, kissing her temple and rubbing her back in what he hopes are soothing motions. Eventually, her breath evens and her tears dry up, but she stays curled up in Trevor’s arms. 

When she calms down, Trevor starts to feel awkward again. She’s just laying there in his arms and he’s sitting on her bed, not really sure what he’s supposed to do. 

“You should sleep,” Trevor decides. He’s speaking softly, prompting Honey like the gentle nudge of a finger pointing her in the right direction. “The storm has died down, so I’ll head back–”

Honey frowns against his neck, pushing away from his chest to look up at him. “Stay with me,” she pouts. 

Trevor is helpless to say no.

They maneuver themselves down to lay on the bed, and Honey presses against Trevor. She bundles a hand in his t-shirt, throwing the other over his waist. She hides her face in his chest and Trevor hopes that she can’t hear his heart racing, punching against his ribs in harsh beats, even though he knows that she can hear that and more, like the rumbling of his stomach. 

She doesn’t seem to mind, though. She falls asleep, one last tear falling across her cheek as her face finally relaxes.

Trevor wipes it away and pulls her close, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. He doesn’t know what happened to Honey in Charlotte, what made her swear off dating, but he’s determined to find out. He’s going to do everything he can to reassure her and keep her safe. He never wants to see her like this again. 

Trevor’s last thought before he falls into his own restless sleep is, God, I hope I don’t ruin this by waking up hard in the morning.

28:90 – HONEY

It was inevitable. Honey should’ve expected it. Trevor’s dick is hard, nestled against her ass, and he’s holding her there. He’s still asleep, breathing evenly on Honey’s neck with his nose nuzzled behind her ear. 

He snores. It woke her up.

An hour ago.

She doesn’t have it in her to wake him up. Trevor was so sweet last night, trying so hard to do everything right. He cut her peaches up into cubes and poured her a glass of ice water while she expected him to walk right out the door and leave her alone. He held her while she cried and his stupid face, his dumbfounded and panicked expression, made her laugh through the tears.

He handled it well and Honey slept soundly in his arms. She was okay. She’s calmer now, more steady on her feet than she’s ever been after Bea talks her down from a freakout. 

Trevor’s arms are strong around her, affording her very little wiggle room. About twenty minutes ago, Trevor’s hand had shifted to graze her boob, tickling Honey with his movements. Unconsciously, when she leaned back against him, his hand found the curve of her breast and cupped the weight in his palm. 

Honey is surprised Trevor was able to sleep through her giggles. 

His hand is still holding her chest, occasionally squeezing the flesh through her shirt. It’s a comfortable weight now and Honey finds it too endearing to push him away. She also understands the comfort that comes with holding a boob– whenever she finds herself watching TV and lazing around on her sofa, she catches herself with one of her hands on the slope of her chest. It never fails to make her laugh at herself. She really is no better than a man.

Trevor’s finally stirring, though, so Honey has to push his hand away. His wrist ends up curving over her hip, leaving his hand to dangle near the hem of her shorts. His other hand is nice and snug against the curve of her waist, trapped between her body and the bed. Trevor sighs, his voice deep and thick with sleep, snuggling against Honey with a smack of his lips and a yawn before he realizes that he’s not alone, nor is he in his bed at the rental house.

He twitches, pulling himself away from the drowsiness that was threatening to overtake him again. He scrambles back, putting distance between himself and Honey. When Honey turns to face him, mourning the loss of the warm body against her back, Trevor’s eyes are wide and his lips are pulled back in a grimace. He’s watching Honey like he’s afraid of her next move.

She lays facing him and puts her arm under her head, using the curve of her elbow as an extra cushion. She tries to keep her expression neutral. She licks her lips, then reaches her other hand over and tugs Trevor’s shirt. 

He’s stupid, so he doesn’t get it. Trevor stays frozen, way too much distance between his body and Honey’s for what she wants to say. 

Persistently, Honey tugs again at the hem of his shirt. When he still doesn’t move, she rolls her eyes and sits up, scooting over. If Trevor moves any farther back, he’ll fall off the bed. Luckily, he seems to realize that and he stares up at Honey, lips parted. If she weren’t so sure he was freaking out about overstepping and staying in her bed after she calmed down, Honey would think that the look in his eyes might be something akin to awe.

With a huff, Honey lays back down and intertwines her legs with Trevor’s, keeping a hand on his waist. She drops his shirt, but rests her palm on the waistband of his shorts, thumbing over the bare skin above the fabric. 

Trevor shivers and his eyelids flutter a bit. 

Honey wants to laugh. She does, but now is not the time. He’s just so easy. 

“About six months before I moved to Litchton, my high school boyfriend and I broke up,” Honey says quietly. “We had been dating for almost two years and things were great until they weren’t.”

Trevor closes his mouth, watching Honey. His hand, hesitating in the air, comes to rest on her cheek. He pushes her hair over her shoulder and catches one of her waves between his fingers, feeling it out.

“He wanted to go to college. I didn’t. He wanted to make the most of the end of senior year and I wasn’t as into the party scene as he was. I had Bea, who gets invited everywhere by her adoring gaggle of fans, as you well know,” Honey continues, crinkling her nose and nudging it against Trevor’s in a teasing manner. “But there was still that distance growing between me and Thomas.”

“What happened?” Trevor asks, brows furrowed in concern. 

“He started doing drugs,” Honey explains with a shrug. “Speed, mostly, but a lot of acid in between trips. He liked the high of those things more than he liked me.” She looks down. “The first time he mentioned reaching into a pill bowl, I broke up with him.”

Trevor’s hand soothes Honey, running over her cheek. His thumb barely grazes her skin, just there enough that Honey can feel her peach fuzz moving with his fingerprint. He’s paying attention to her, staring at her like she’s the only person who has ever walked the face of the Earth. Honey wants to blush, wants to cover her face with an embarrassed hand, all too aware of the way Trevor is taking her in and admiring her. It’s scary, the way he’s looking at her. It’s the same way Thomas looked at her before everything turned to shit.

Honey looks away. She stares at the logo branded on Trevor’s t-shirt, tracing the line of the design with her fingernail. He draws a breath in when she scrapes over his nipple, making her smile.

“He didn’t take it well,” Honey continues. “Why would he, you know? He couldn’t handle losing all of this.” She gestures down at her body, watching Trevor’s eyes follow her hands. His eyes, unlike Thomas’s, make their way back up to her face. She starts to feel hot tears prickle in the corner of her eyes, but Honey shakes them away. “And I wouldn’t tolerate his behavior. He just wanted someone who would sit idly by as he ruined his life.”

Trevor hums, pulling her closer. He presses a kiss to her forehead, then closes his eyes as he leans against her. Honey brings her hand up between them and runs her finger down the curve of his nose.

“He thought that revenge was the best course of action,” Honey says delicately, smiling ruefully at the memory. It still affects her, even now, although Thomas hasn’t occupied her mind in a substantial way in years. She feels a little silly, gearing up to say what comes next, even though she knows it’s not her fault. She’s not to blame. It’s a shame it still affects her so much, five years later.

“He…” Honey clenches her teeth, cringing in a long pause. “Took things that I shared with him in confidence,” she decides on, her voice shaking not with sadness, but with anger. “And he sent them out to my entire class. They sent them out to other people in the city and they sent them to… explicit websites, not caring that I was underage at the time.” 

Trevor lets out a breath, his grip tightening around Honey’s body. He buries his face in her hair, squeezing her.

“So, I dropped it all. I dropped him, I dropped my other friends, I dropped the whole city of Charlotte and I left. My parents were great– they paid for a lawsuit and got all the pictures taken down from those websites. They finally accepted that I wanted to move here full time and my dad offered the house. I had to pay, yeah, but I had somewhere to live. Eventually, I stopped talking to them, but I wasn’t alone–”

“You had Bea,” Trevor completes the sentence for her, sounding equally as sad as Honey. Trevor tilts Honey’s chin up, capturing her lips in a sweet, chaste kiss. 

Honey needed that.

When he pulls away, Trevor takes a breath. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“It’s okay,” Honey replies. “I’ve had five years to process it. Sometimes it’s hard for me, and I'll freak out, but I want to keep doing the… things… that we’ve been doing. I just can't have everyone knowing– it makes me feel like there's pressure to be okay and have everything seem 'perfect' all the time.”

“You do?” Trevor asks, biting his bottom lip. His eyes rake over Honey’s features, then he brings his lips down in front of hers. Honey can feel the little puffs of breath leaving his mouth, his bottom lip sliding against hers in something less than a kiss when he lifts his chin. "You know I'll do whatever you want, Honey. Secret or not, we should absolutely keep doing the things we've been doing."

“Don’t get too excited,” Honey says, pushing against Trevor’s chest. She smiles, lips pulled tight over her teeth. “I let you sleep way too long. I have to go to church with Ada in thirty minutes and I still have to shower.”

Honey tears herself away from Trevor, dragging herself out of bed. 

Trevor leans up on the back of his elbows, his hair still messy with sleep. “Do you want me to join you?”

Honey scoffs out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Absolutely not. I’ll take you home before the service. You can shower there.”

“Mmm,” Trevor hums. “Bea can bring me some church clothes.”

Honey lets out a little laugh, exasperated by his determination to see her naked. “You’re coming to church with me?” She asks, stepping through her conjoined bathroom door and reaching for the spout of her shower. She turns the knob, watching the water from the showerhead spurt to life and start to warm up. “I should warn you, I’m not a big believer. I kind of lost all that after… well. Now, you know.”

“I’m not a huge believer either,” Trevor says. “I only join Bea at church when I think I’ll see you. All one time so far.”

“Oh, aren’t you sweet?” Honey laughs, sarcasm twisting her tone. She realizes that it was the wrong response when Trevor lets out a cackle, still bundled up under her bedsheets. 

“You would know,” he teases. “After all, you’re the one who’s tasted me… twice.”

Honey stares at herself in her bathroom mirror, unimpressed. “What the fuck are we doing?” she mouths at her reflection, throwing her hands up. She smooths her hair back, pulling it into a ponytail before letting it loose and shaking her hair. A smile takes over her face until she ducks her head, burying her head in her hands. 

“I’m not going to give you the privilege of a response,” Honey calls, turning and reaching her hand under the water to check the temperature. Steam is starting to rise toward the ceiling, and the water is warming up by the second, so she sheds her shirt and shorts, leaving her in just her underwear. 

Not taking the chance, or the distraction, Honey closes her bathroom door and locks it. 

Trevor knocks soon after the lock clicks, calling for Honey to let him in. Honey just laughs, loud enough that he can hear it, and hops in the shower.

She takes all of fifteen minutes to shower and get ready, leaving them with plenty of time to make it to the church along the main road. Trevor has to wear the same clothes as the night before, while Honey has changed into a flowery skirt and a white bodysuit. She looks much more put together than Trevor, who insists on hiding out in the car once they park in the church parking lot until Bea smuggles some clothes through his driver’s side window. Trevor changes in the backseat, hoping that the tinted windows are enough to cover him up (they’re not– Cole looked through the back window and affirmed that he could see Trevor’s dick… “and balls”). 

Instead of hanging around with the group, Honey walks into the church and finds Ada. She stands in the pew next to her elderly boss, holding Ada’s hand in her right and the hymnal in the other. 

Just before the usher approaches the podium to greet the congregation, Ada whispers to Honey: “Did you help that young man feel better after your poor behavior on Thursday?”

Honey wishes she could throw her head back and laugh aloud. She smirks, throwing a look over her shoulder and catching Trevor fiddle with his tie. Bea notices him loosening it and reaches over to tighten the knot, causing Trevor to faux-gag in the girl’s face. Honey looks at his neat white button-up and his dark jeans, snug against his hips with a brown belt, and she bites her bottom lip. Trevor catches her eyes and grins.

Honey looks back at Ada. “Yes ma’am,” she says, a little smug. “I would say that he definitely feels better now.”

[runnning-outof-time]

You know I had to do another one! 💙🥂

From the 5 word list, #16 - “Please stay with me tonight.” - with John or Tommy (that's up to you!)

(2 of 2)

Thanks for sending this one in also, Bri! I went with John on it so that I could break to the little Tommy steak that was going on before this! I also may be bending canon a little bit here, but oh well. And I couldn’t resist the silly title. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration - find more stories here!

Gangsters Have Feelings…?

John Shelby x Reader

Warnings: language, smoking, one sexual reference

Word Count: 1017

Summary: John calls on (Y/N) when he’s having trouble coping with the decisions of his brother, Tommy. (Y/N)’s quite honestly surprised to see this side of him.

(Y/N) took the moment of pause in the conversation she was having to wonder just how in the hell she’d wound up in this position. She never could have expected that her on the fly befriending of John Shelby one evening at the Eden Club would have led to showing up at his hotel room because he needed someone to talk to.

Hell, this brought on a whole new question…gangsters have feelings?

She hadn’t thought of it before, but it was becoming clear that they did…or this one did at least.

From the second she entered the suite, she knew that John was upset. She felt it. The usual energy that he exuded whenever she was around him was missing, and he wasn’t paying much care to his appearance at the moment. His usual three-piece suit had been exchanged for a pair of slacks and a messily tucked in undershirt.

The reason for his calling became apparent the second she asked him what had been going on. A simple question opened the floodgates of complaints of how his brother had been running the business; putting a much younger cousin in a more respectable position while he and his other brother were expected to keep up with the unmentionable side of things.

“You know I never had any ambition to sit in an office and jerk around over some fucking papers, but it’s just that…that’s me own fucking brother making the calls. I mean…it’s gotta count for something, right?” John started talking again, making (Y/N) focus back in on the conversation.

“It should,” she offered a comment, letting him know that she was actively listening to his plight.

John sighed and carded his fingers through the longer parts of his hair before bringing the cigar he’d been smoking up to his lips. He took a deep drag and blew the smoke out in a steady stream as he peered through the window. “And now Michael’s in the office and Arthur’s in charge of London, and I ain’t got nothin’. Tommy doesn’t care though because all I am is some fuckin’ yes man who takes care of errands for him.”

“I…” (Y/N) stopped herself before she could continue. She didn’t really know what to say. Talking hadn’t been placed that high on the agenda of their previous visits. (Y/N) didn’t really know anything about John Shelby…other than he most certainly knew what to do in bed. So she wasn’t sure what type of can of worms she could open by giving improper advice. She could tell that he was looking for it though; advice. “I’m sure that Tommy cares about you, John. You’re his brother,” she started off with a vague statement.

“That’s about all I am,” John mumbled as he shook his head, his eyes focused on the floor.

(Y/N) sighed as she stood from the chair she’d been sitting on. She silently moved over to the window sill he’d been sitting on and took a seat on the corner of it that had been left open. “Look, John…” she paused again, trying to come up with how she was going to finish the rest of her statement. She hated that she didn’t know exactly what to say. “I don’t know much detail about the area of business that you and your family work in, but I do know the man that you are. I know that you care, that you give your all to what you’re doing, and that you’re damn good at it.” She didn’t take his eyes off of him after she finished speaking, watching for any little movement he might make.

Instead of saying anything, John just shook his head. It didn’t seem as though he was shaking off her statement, but rather shaking his head at the situation in general.

“John,” she spoke his name like a breath, hoping that he’d at least look at her. She was really struggling with what more she could add in to help the situation. There had to be some reason he called her to come over, right?

Thankfully, her attempt worked, and he lifted his downtrodden eyes up to match hers. The hopeless expression that was etched into his features made her frown, and she couldn’t stop from reaching out and cupping his cheek with her hand. She brushed her thumb against his skin while keeping eye contact, hoping that her comforting actions would make up for the fact that she had no clue of what to say.

Some time - (Y/N) wasn’t even sure how much - passed before she spoke again. “John, I’m sorry…I want to help, but I’m struggling with what more I should add,” she finally came clean, explaining her internal dilemma before she sent a sympathetic look his way.

“You comin’ here is help enough, love,” he answered her, leaning into her touch. His statement made the smallest smile form on (Y/N)’s face, and that alone helped him start to forget about his woes.

“I…um…” she stuttered over her words as she tired to think of what to say next.

“Please stay with me tonight,” John - thankfully - cut her off. The sentence, which was usually asked as a question, was spoken by the Birmingham gangster as a statement.

“You want me to?” she checked before giving her answer.

“I need you to,” he answered with a reworded version of her statement.

(Y/N) thought for a moment. This question - that John had been asked her many times before - sounded different now. He needed her in a way that he hadn’t before. The thought of that made her heart start to beat faster.

“Will you?” he asked after a few beats had passed.

“I will,” she nodded, sending him a smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, taking her by surprise as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She didn’t pull back from it though, immediately kissing him back. “Thank you, (Y/N),” he pulled away just enough to say before his lips were on hers again.

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