#uh tv girl reference as well

[ghostingink]

Guys if I started komahina posting in 2024 will you guys hate me 🥺🥺🥺

[gothgoblinbabe]

Drunken Words, Sober Thoughts (pt.2)

Logan Howlett x fem reader

divider credit

Warnings: MDNI/18+, mostly porn w little plot, unprotected sex (wrap it up pls), fem!reader, being referred to as a girl, use of pet names, very light choking, filming sex/making a sex tape, swearing, I believe that is it but if i missed any pls lmk <3 I also didn’t proofread this one as much as I usually do so forgive me for any mistakes or inconsistencies!

Summary: [based on this ask] I don’t know what to really say for this one cause I feel like the ask explains it perfectly lol, but part 1 is here if you want to read it but this also works as a stand alone thing. I did tweak a couple of things from the ask but nothing major!

Word count: 5.5K

Since you and Logan had gotten to know each other a little better, you were over his and Wade’s apartment sometimes more than your own. He’d begun to make himself comfortable in yours too, finding himself waking up in your decorative sheets with the morning sun shining onto the pictures taped to your wall. It was a comfortable routine you’d started; waking up in each other's beds, going out to eat at some 24 hour diner when neither of you could sleep, talking with each other till the sun came up. Weekends with Wade even turned to weekends with Wade and Logan, your legs slung over your boyfriend's lap with his arm around your shoulder.

Unfortunately for him, though, you and Wade would not budge on Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

“I still don’t get it,” he grumbled next to you on the couch, quirking an eyebrow at you and his roommate, “what the hell are they famous for, anyway?”

“Well,” you began to explain, raising the remote to mute the TV, “their dad was a really famous lawyer, he defended O-”

“Nope,” Wade piped up from beside you through a mouthful of chips, “you know that’s not the real reason they’re famous, cupcake.”

You turned to narrow your eyes at him, “C’mon, you don’t mean -”

“Mhm,” he hummed, eyes flickering from you to the muted TV so he could read the subtitles without missing a beat.

“What?” Logan finally asked, clearly frustrated that neither of you would clue him in.

You sighed, rolling your eyes and laughing a bit to yourself, “Okay, so, Kim? The main sister?”

He nodded, “the one with the huge -”

“Yes, her.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, she used to date this singer Ray J and in the early two thousands, they made a sex tape. It got leaked somehow and she kinda shot into fame and I guess her family followed,” you explained simply.

“You should show him the tape,” Wade chimed in again, taking the remote from your lap and unmuting the TV.

“Jesus, I’m not gonna do that,” you shook your head, “I don’t think he’d wanna see it.”

“You’d be right,” Logan agreed, cringing a little.

“You two should make your own, then. You can finally be famous for somethin’ else, peanut!” Wade suggested, poking at his roommate's shoulder, “plus, with a pretty girl? Man, that would blow up.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. That was seemingly the end of the discussion, except Logan couldn’t get Wade’s words to leave his brain.

You two should make your own, then.

It stuck with him to the point that he was staring at his ceiling that night, listening to your steady breathing as you slept beside him, still unable to think of anything else. It was a bad idea, wasn’t it? He couldn’t ask you to do that with him. Could he?

He couldn’t shake the image of you on the screen of some camera, your back to his chest as he fucked you from behind and you batted your pretty eyes at the lens. He’d never let another soul see it, it would be something just between the two of you - something he’d definitely keep to watch a million times over. He looked around his apartment the next day after you'd gone to work to see if maybe Wade had an old camera somewhere - one he wouldn’t miss if he never saw it again. He dug out a silver camcorder from the junk drawer in the kitchen, turning it over in his hands. It looked like one you’d find on a shelf in a radioshack - when they were still around - something you’d use to film a kid’s high school graduation in the mid two thousands. As long as it worked, it would do. He fumbled the thing open, pressing a couple buttons before the screen finally lit up and gave him the option to look through the album. There were only three things on there - a blurry picture of Wade’s shoes, an even blurrier picture of half of his face and a twelve second video of him trying to film Logan while he swatted the camera out of his hands and onto the floor.

He found a charger and hooked it up to the wall, already thinking over how exactly he was going to approach the subject with you. If he was going to be able to do what he’d been thinking about, that camera had to be charged to last for at least a couple of hours. He’d planned to stay the night at your place and figured he’d try to work up the nerve to ask then.

He found himself on your couch later that night, his thighs spread while you sat in his lap and played with his hair. He was leaving kisses down your throat, his hands on the sides of your thighs.

“Can I ask you somethin’, sweetheart?” he mumbled into your skin. He pulled his face away to look into your eyes.

“Hm?” you raised your eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

He almost felt dirty for what he was about to ask of you - like he was perverted for even considering it when you looked at him so sweetly.

His eyes moved from your face to his jacket laying beside him and he reached into the pocket, pulling out the small camera.

“I kinda wanted to try somethin’ a little different.”

Your lips parted when you realized what he was holding, eyes flickering from the device to his face. He watched your lips curl up into a smile. You knew instantly what he was about to ask when you remembered your conversation from the night before.

“You wanna film a sex tape?”

He swallowed hard, fearful that you were about to scoff and lift yourself off him. Instead, you rested your hand over his that held the camera, “I wonder where you got that idea.”

You took it from his hand, flipping it open and turning it on. You held it up and hit record, smirking when he rolled his eyes at you.

“I didn’t say I wanted my face all in it,” he scoffed, a smile tugging at his lips.

“What, you think I’m gonna let you only film me?” you pulled the camera from your face, quirking an eyebrow at him, “uh-uh, babe. If this is gonna be our sex tape, I want you in it.”

He huffed, glaring at you through the lens.

“Besides,” you continued, “you’re acting like you're the only one who's gonna like it.”

“So, you’re not upset that I asked?”

You shook your head, “Upset that a hot guy asked to film himself screwing my brains out? Hell no.”

He gnawed at his bottom lip and watched you fiddle with the camera, clicking through settings and trying out filters. Screw your brains out, huh? He could do that. He wouldn't admit it even if you asked, but he was turned on beyond belief from the idea that you’d watch it when he wasn’t with you - he liked the idea of putting on a performance for you, giving you what you want so you’d stuff the little vibrator you kept in the drawer of your nightstand inside your aching pussy when you watched it back, your eyes trained on his face and remembering how good he’d made you feel.

“It’s kind of an older camera,” Logan began, his hands wrapping around the back of your thighs, “maybe we should test it out, see if it works?”

“Oh, should we?”

He stood up in seconds, his strong arms holding you up by your thighs as he carried you to your room. You giggled, your arms wrapped around the back of his neck. You held the camera up to film yourself. Your face was in frame, Logan only visible by the back of his head as you stretched your arm out.

“This is my very sexy boyfriend, taking me to bed,” you narrated, kissing the side of his face.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, burying his face in your neck as he nudged your door open with his foot. He dropped you onto the bed and you kept the camera trained on him as he crawled over you.

“You’re gonna keep that damn thing on my face the whole time?” 

He leaned over you with his hands on either side of your head, his bulging muscles even more prominent from your angle underneath him. His tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth, licking over his lips. You wouldn’t mind if the whole video was just from this angle.

“You look fucking hot.”

He was a little taken back by your compliment. Even after months of sleeping together, he still wasn’t used to the praise, dismissing you with a scoff or simply hiding his red face.

“Look who’s talkin’.”

Logan snatched the camera from your hands in one quick swipe, sitting back on his heels so he could get all of you in frame. You sat up, tugging your shirt over your head and tossing it somewhere off the bed, leaving you in your bra and jeans. You looked angelic underneath him with your hair spread around your head like a halo, your chest heaving in excitement. You bit your lip and grabbed the end of his shirt to pull him closer to you, lidded eyes staring up at him.

“Fuck.”

He groaned, letting you pull him down and slip your tongue into his mouth. He haphazardly placed the camera on your bedside table, glancing at it momentarily to make sure it was on before diving back onto you.

His hands slid up your back and under the band of your bra. He unhooked the clasp and pushed the straps down your shoulders, pulling the garment from your chest and licking his lips in awe. It didn’t matter how often he saw you naked; each time was like the first.

His mouth latched onto your chest almost immediately, swirling his tongue and sucking in a way that elicited a moan from your lips. Your back arched and he hooked his arm around your waist to pull you as close as possible. He was sucking dark marks into your soft skin, leaving each one shiny with his saliva. If there was one thing you were sure of with Logan, it was that he really loved being messy when he toyed with you.

He dragged his lips from your chest down your waistband, leaving tender kisses on your stomach and sides. Over time, he’d slowly gotten more affectionate - more loving and emotional - during sex. He always showed it the best he could, but he was clearly becoming more comfortable being vulnerable with you. He still had his animalistic and rough ways about him, but now it was combined with soft kisses to your nose and forehead, mumbled praises into your mouth and declarations of love while you panted from the pace of his thrusts. 

Logan stopped at the waistband of your jeans, his fingers popping the metal button with little hesitation. You wordlessly lifted your hips for him to drag them down your thighs, leaving you only in your panties. He leaned over to grab the camera from the table, leaning back a bit to get you in frame.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he huffed, his free hand immediately sliding between your thighs to graze his fingers against the damp fabric, “all for me?”

You nodded, hooded eyes and parted lips posing for the camera, “yours, all yours.”

Logan was chewing on his bottom lip while he admired you from behind the camera. He knew without a doubt that you were the prettiest girl he’d ever been with; none of those dirty magazines or tapes he’d seen over the years could even compare to what was in front of him now. You were positively heavenly, a type of beauty so alluring that it bordered being otherworldly. 

He finally used his free hand to remove your panties when you lifted your hips, set on recording as much as he could from the perspective he had because fuck, it was a good one.

Laying in front of him - completely bare - with the camera focused on you made you feel vulnerable and a little shy and Logan was always able to read you.

He wanted to focus on you even more, but he instead handed the device over to you when he sensed your mild discomfort, the lens facing him.

“Here,” was all he said, letting you bring the camera up to your eye before he tugged his t-shirt over his head. He knew you clearly enjoyed filming him and even if he didn’t love the idea of being the object of attention, he wanted you to be comfortable and he’d sacrifice his own comfort for you any day. So, once he was shirtless, he stood off the bed in front of you to strip himself of his jeans and boxers, letting his hard cock spring up to hit his stomach when he took off the latter.

You had - fortunately for you - figured out the zoom option on the camera and used it to perfectly frame his leaking cock as the only thing in the shot, bobbing when he moved towards you to take the device back. When he did, he set it on the table next to the bed, messing with the same zoom option so that the shot was of you sitting up with your legs spread and your cunt aching to be touched.

Settling himself on his stomach between your legs, he hiked your thighs onto his shoulder, his mouth inches from your heat.

“Do me a favor, sweetheart,” he began and you nodded, ready to agree to anything he asked of you, “be as loud as you can, yeah? Wanna be able to hear ya’ on tape.”

He instantly delved his tongue into you, making you gasp. You tenderly rested your hands on his arms that were hooked around your thighs as if you were encouraging him to stay there.

He ate you every time like he was starving, his cheeks and chin always slick with saliva and sap from between your legs when he finally pulled himself off you.

You did as he instructed - though, you were probably going to do it anyway - moaning openly as he licked stripes up your dripping cunt so he could circle his tongue around your clit. 

“Oh my god,” you whined, your thighs clamping around his head out of instinct. He let you thread your fingers through his hair, tugging at the dark strands to help angle his head and making him growl with his mouth still suctioned to you.

You felt around beside you for the camera, fumbling with it till you had the lens angled at him in between your legs.

“Fuck, L-Logan,” you panted, lovingly caressing his temple with your free hand.

“Mhm,” he hummed into you, the vibration pulling a whimper from your throat, “you like holding that thing, huh?”

Your eyes were glued to his through the small screen.

“You’re so fucking hot, of course I do,” you sighed, your lips parted and chest heaving.

He scoffed in amusement, continuing to slip his tongue between your folds and prod at your entrance. With his face still buried in you and his eyes closed in concentration, he took the camera from you and set it back on the table. He used his arms around your thighs to yank you further down the bed so you were flat on your back. You watched in awe as he spat a mouthful of saliva right onto your already soaked pussy, using his fingers to swipe his spit all over you. Latching his lips back onto your clit, he easily slipped two of his digits into you, feverishly pumping in and out. Your moans grew louder with each thrust of his fingers, echoing off your walls along with the wet noises that came from your soaked cunt. 

“You’re such a good girl for me, lettin’ me eat your pretty pussy,” he rambled, voice muffled by your thighs, “always so fuckin’ good.”

You inhaled sharply when he gently rolled your clit between his teeth, licking after like a balm to soothe the searing sensation. You thought you couldn’t moan any louder until he replaced his fingers inside you with his tongue, angling his mouth in a way that made his nose nudge your bundle of nerves.

“Only good for you,” you managed to choke out, turning your head to the side to bury it in your pillow, “only for you.”

His hand slid up to grope your chest, pinching your nipple between his fingers. He slid it up even further to grab your chin and turn your head so you were forced to look at him. 

“Eyes on me, baby,” he grumbled.

“Ah - uh-huh,” you tried to make some noise of agreement but were overwhelmed with how he was expertly tracing your cunt with his tongue.

Until he detached his mouth from you completely.

You groaned in frustration and knitted your eyebrows, silently asking why he stopped.

“Use your words or I’ll stop. Ya’ got it?”

His stern voice sent shivers down your spine. 

“Yes, baby, please -“

His tongue was already back in between your folds by the time you said yes. He kept his vice like grip around your thighs, deciding he’d be content if he died right there with his head between your legs.

“Love when you - when you - fuck - eat me out,” you panted, “you make me feel so good.”

You knew how much he secretly loved the praise, catching the way he ground his hips into the mattress to find some sort of relief whenever you told him he was doing a good job, that he was so handsome, that you loved what he was doing to you. He was usually the dominant one in the relationship, whispering praises in your ear while you were underneath him, but you knew him well enough by now to have figured out that he loved when you did it back.

“You’re perfect, Logan, I - ah - I love you,” you gasped when his fingers pumped back into you.

It wasn’t all about sex with you two - though it was a wonderful part of your relationship - and yet he’d discovered that he’d never felt more loved than he had when he was with you, declaring your love for him while he completely devoted himself to you with his face in your pussy. 

“I love you, too, pretty girl,” he grunted, “love fuckin’ you with my mouth.”

His filthy words fueled the fire building in your lower stomach and you tugged at his hair in an attempt to warn him.

“ ‘m gonna come,” you slurred, ankles locked on Logan’s back to keep him in place.

“Come for me, beautiful, c’mon,” he coaxed while his fingers abused the spot inside of you that made you whimper to encourage him to keep going, “want it all, want you to come on my face.”

That was definitely what sent you over the edge, mumbling unintelligible praises as he lapped up anything that had spilled out of you and onto his tongue. 

“Tastes so damn good,” he heaved, his fingers still working at a consistent pace, “I think I can pull another one outta you.”

You felt tears beginning to form in your eyes from the overstimulation, crying out when he grazed your swollen clit with his teeth.

“ ‘s too - too much,” you tried to pull his head away by tugging his hair, to no avail. 

He’d let you go, but not without one more taste of you.

It only took a couple more flicks of his tongue to have you arching your back, tears rolling down the sides of your face as you gushed around his fingers for a second time.

When he finally slipped his fingers out of you and he’d left the comfortable spot between your warm thighs, you could see that his entire lower face was almost completely slick with a mix of his spit and your cum. He was licking his lips, trying to savor the taste of you but making no attempt to wipe anything off his chin or cheeks. He was in love with you but he was also in love with the reality that he got to do this to you, that he got to taste every bit, that you wanted him to. You sat up to give him a desperate kiss - a clash of tongues and teeth that tasted entirely of you. You finally pulled away to admire his face.

Seeing him with his hair disheveled from your repeated tugging, his lips near swollen and raw and his cheeks still shining made you crave the idea of returning the favor. 

“Sit on the edge of the bed, baby.”

Though he was usually the one giving orders instead of following them, he obliged anyway. His cock was still leaking in anticipation, hard against his stomach. When you got down on your knees in front of him, he couldn’t hide the excited smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He never expected you to return the favor when he used his mouth on you - content with that being a reward itself - but when you did? You usually left him shaking.

You took the camera from the table and handed it up to Logan, eager eyes following the lens.

“Can I suck your cock? Please?”

You knew he loved it when you begged and you always used it to get him exactly where you wanted him, especially when you looked up at him with those pleading eyes.

“Go ahead, baby,” he used his free hand to loosely hold your hair back in his fist, “I know you like havin’ it in your mouth, huh?”

You nodded eagerly, your hand wrapping around the base of his shaft. You hovered your mouth over his tip, letting a glob of spit drip from your lips so you could coat his cock in it before you tried to take him in your throat. You’d done it before, but he was huge and every time you tried to prep to make it easier. Your jaw even became sore sometimes from how wide you’d have to keep your mouth open. You never complained, though, because the mere idea of having the weight of Logan’s heavy cock in your mouth was enough to make you drool.

You spread your saliva up and down, leaning forward and dragging his tip across your parted lips while staring up at the lens of the camera.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, focused on you through the small screen, “such a fucking tease.”

You grinned, placing a light kiss on his tip before engulfing him into your mouth, tongue sliding along his slit to taste the small amount of precum that’d dripped from him when he first sat up. You suctioned and began to work up a pace, taking him as far as you could into your mouth while your hand stroked the rest of him.

“I love giving you head,” you admitted in the most sultry way possible when you popped your lips off his tip, long lashes batting up at him. It wasn’t a lie, either, and that was clear by how sloppy you loved to be whenever it was your turn to be on your knees. If you had at least one thing in common, it was that you wanted to worship each other as much as possible. You wanted to leave him in a state of euphoria the same way he did you, just as messily dedicated to making sure he came.

“Yeah? I can tell, sweetheart,” he still held the camera but his eyes were trained on your face, “such a good girl, sucking my cock like you were made for it.”

You tried to push him further into your throat, eager to see his thighs shake and hear him groan your name. You gagged on his tip and he inadvertently rolled his hips. You hummed, eyes starting to water every time you choked on his dick. You used your free hand to cup his balls and smeared your saliva down from the base of his cock to coat them. You pulled yourself off his mouth momentarily to spit on him again, licking your lips in excitement.

“Fuck’s sake,” he grunted, camera abandoned on the side of the bed so he could place both his hands on the back of your head, “doin’ so fucking good, princess.”

You continued to stroke him with one hand and massage his balls in the other, your tongue still swirling and sucking around him. You popped off him with a smile, spit covering your lips and chin while your hands continued their motion.

Logan leaned back on his elbows and held the camera up again with one hand. When you wrapped your lips around his cock again, he started to roll his hips at a steady pace so he could fuck your throat, grunting every time you gagged around him. 

You picked up your pace, stroking his base while your head bobbed up and down in synch with your hand.

“Atta girl,” he panted, “jus’ like that.”

You could tell he was already close because he was sloppily rocking his hips up into your mouth, his thighs beginning to shake every time he hit the back of your throat. He sat up suddenly, grabbing your hair again to slowly pull you off his cock.

“On the bed, hands and knees,” he instructed simply, letting you scramble onto the mattress as he set up the camera on the end of your bed. You understood almost instantly what he wanted, biting back a smile as you laid your chest flat on the mattress, back arched with your ass in the air. 

He climbed behind you and placed his knees on the inside of yours to push your legs apart even further. His large hands gripped your hips and he pulled you against him, his hard cock prodding your entrance. He leaned his body over yours so that your back was flush with his chest.

“I’m gonna fuck this pretty pussy like you deserve,” he muttered into your ear, intoxicating you with the feeling of his hot breath fanning the side of your face, “think you can take it, sweetheart?”

You nodded eagerly and gasped when he dragged the tip of his cock along the folds of your dripping cunt.

“Can take it - I want it so bad, Logan,” you pleaded, pushing back into him. Your eyes bore into the camera, lips parted. It was his idea for a sex tape after all, you might as well be sure to give him a show.

He sheathed himself into you completely in one thrust with an iron grip on your hips, the weight of him pushing into you almost knocking the wind out of your lungs. He began to slowly inch himself out and slam back in again, pulling out a little further each time. He was grunting into the back of your neck while he rocked his hips. 

“Takin’ it so good, baby,” he panted, one of his hands moving to your neck and barely applying pressure while the other held his upper body above yours. His lips came to the side of your face and left a kiss so sweet that it could’ve rotted your teeth.

You whimpered when he worked up to a steady pace and reveled in the sensation of him filling you completely. Your fingers gripped the sheets, desperate for something to hold onto so you could stable yourself when his hard thrusts nearly knocked you over completely.

“S-so fucking - ah - so good,” you slurred your words with your eyes squeezed shut. You were slack jawed, nearly drooling.

“Yeah? Can tell you like it,” he huffed, “you’re so pretty, takin’ all of me like a good girl.”

You nodded frantically, whimpering every time he slammed into you.

“You like bein’ on camera, don’t you?” he continued, “you’re really fucking wet.”

You could only moan in response. You were soaking around him, drenching the base of his cock and the happy trail that went up to his stomach. He leaned back on his knees and his pace never faltered. 

Your hands outstretched in front of you and you grabbed the camera. You angled it over your shoulder and focused the lens on his face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

He scoffed when he noticed the camera over your shoulder, keeping his rhythm while his eyes were glued to the lens. If he thought too hard about what you might do with the video later, he wasn’t going to last much longer. 

“Feels good, baby?” you panted, an amused smile creeping onto your face.

He was always the one to talk to you like that - pet names and filthy encouragement - but you wanted to get his face on film when you teased him back - or, at least tried to. 

His expression mirrored yours and he grabbed the camera while his other hand kept an iron grip on your hip.

“I think you like holdin’ that thing a little too much,” he brought it up to his face and squinted at you through the screen.

“Mm,” you hummed, your face flushed and body sticky with sweat, “can’t help it.”

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous like this, you know that? God,” he sighed, “can’t get enough of you.”

You would’ve found his words endearing if you could even process them. The intoxicating feeling every time he pushed back into you was enough to render you speechless.

Logan angled the camera down to film the repeated motion, gaping at the mess you left around the base of him every time he pulled back.

“My dirty girl,” he cooed, “you like makin’ a mess on my cock?”

“F-Fuck - yes, yes,” you sobbed before he even finished his sentence. You could feel the pressure building in your stomach, bringing you closer to finishing.

“C’mon, sweetheart, I can feel you gettin’ tighter. Come for me, baby,” he grunted, his hand sliding from your hip to grip your ass.

It only took a few more strokes for you to do exactly that with your legs shaking underneath you. 

“ ‘Atta girl,” he growled. He watched you gush around him, zooming in on your dripping pussy as he stretched you out over and over again. You were chanting his name, muttering unintelligible praises against your sheets.

It wasn’t long before he followed suit, his pace becoming sloppy as he spilled into you and let it drip down your thighs. He clicked off the camera and tossed it somewhere else onto the bed. 

“C’mere,” he huffed, pulling you up to lean back against him, “love you so much.” He was leaving saccharine kisses from your ear down to your shoulder, still panting.

“I love you, too,” you managed to say with your eyes already half closed. He pulled out and laid you on your side, grabbing some t-shirt that had been next to the bed to clean you up. He wrapped you in his arms from behind and pulled up the comforter to cover you both.

“Can’t wait to watch that back,” he mumbled into your neck.

“Mhm,” you were already drifting off to sleep while he stroked your hair, “me neither.”

Logan fell asleep right after you with his arms still around you and his legs tangled in yours.

—-----------------------------------

Later that same week, you sat on the couch beside Logan in his apartment, flipping through TV channels on a lazy day off. Wade emerged from his bedroom and began frantically tearing apart the kitchen.

“What are you looking for?” you called, turning in your seat.

“My old camera. Have you seen it?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

You thought you hadn’t, at least. You had know idea the camera Logan brought over was Wade’s.

He was pretending to be uninterested in the conversation, hoping his apathy towards the question would absolve him of any suspicion.

You shrugged and returned your attention to the TV. You heard a couple doors open and close before Wade’s voice echoed through the apartment.

“Found it!”

Logan went wide eyed and immediately stood up from the couch. 

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion and looked between him and Wade when he came back into the living room.

And then you recognized the camera in his hands.

“Don’t open it, I’ll buy you a new one,” Logan insisted simply, holding out his hand.

“Oh, my god,” you muttered.

Wade's eyes flickered between you both.

“There’s something on here I’m not supposed to see, isn’t there?”

Logan immediately lunged for the camera and Wade sprinted into his bedroom, slamming his door shut and locking it. Logan pounded his fist on the door and tugged the doorknob.

“Open the door, you son of a bitch!”

You buried your face into the fabric of the couch cushion, anticipating the embarrassment of Wade seeing what was still on that camera.

He opened the door after a minute, giant smile plastered on his face.

“Here you go,” he said in a sing song voice as he handed it over.

You sighed in relief, assuming he’d decided to actually abide by your requests. He closed his bedroom door, only speaking again after you heard the lock click.

“Hey, by the way - can i get a copy?”

A/N: I struggled a lil bit w this one just bc of writers block but I hope it lived up to expectations <3 pls interact if you enjoyed!

[bippot]

Cowboy & Piggy

Story Summary -> No, Adrian had not been crushing on his colleague. That's just, like, not true in the slightest. It's not as if the moment she became available, he said something he could never take back.

Tags -> Idiots in Love, Violence, Fluff, Fights, Butt Dialing, Break Ups, References to Supernatural (TV 2005), Identity Reveal, Co-workers, Self Confidence Issues, Punching

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

Fennel Fields wasn't a good restaurant. It didn't have the funding franchise restaurants do, nor did it have the home grown passion of a family owned business. It just existed to make money for the boss, who wasn't even there most of the time.

The food was cheap and unhealthy and often covered in cheese so whoever was eating it was far more focused on that cheesy goodness rather than the fact that the meatballs tasted a fair bit like horse.

All of the employees were underpaid and underappreciated by their bosses, so why the hell did Adrian Chase work there? As of late, he'd been earning a steady income thanks to Task Force X so it wasn't a financial decision. It wasn't to conceal his identity either - if anything, he'd almost revealed his secret at Fennel Fields too many times to count.

Why, oh why, did he work a menial job with an awful wage when it mainly consisted of being ordered around and shouted at by customers and managers alike?

Well, he wouldn't get to see Y/N if he left.

The best part of his day was when she rushed through the double glass doors and, as soon as she looked up to find him standing at the counter, she'd do a little half smile and greet, "Hi Ade, how late am I today?" He'd check his watch and tell her the exact time, often adding a little comment like 'it's your new record', or 'not as late as yesterday', or 'you missed the bus, didn't you?'.

Adrian was down bad. He memorised her shifts whenever the rota was posted and swapped so she wouldn't have to go too long without his presence. It was stupid and a little stalkerish, but it kept him going.

Half - if not more than that - of all of his shifts were spent watching her with big puppy dog eyes, just admiring from across the room as she worked. It was pathetic, he knew that. And even if he didn't know that, their other coworkers were more than willing to point it out to him.

"Drooling over Y/N again?" Taylor jeered as he slapped Adrian on the back of the head to snap him out of the trance he'd been in ever since she started bending over a table to clean it.

Hey, she had a great ass! Was he supposed to not look? It's human nature to look.

"Ah, no. No, no, no, of course not. I wouldn't... I don't..." He spluttered helplessly, flustering himself into an even deeper blush at the implications. "We are just friends. Pals. Buddies. Y'know, all platonic and shit."

Taylor rolled his eyes. "Sure." He said sarcastically, unaware that Y/N had walked up to them at the moment he teased, "You're a lost cause, man. I'd give up. She'll never like you. You're, uh... you."

"That's not very nice."

Y/N gave Taylor a stare that told him exactly what she thought about his comment and turned to Adrian, placing her palm gently on his forearm as she assured him, "Any girl would be lucky to have you, cowboy."

He smiled shyly and nodded, feeling incredibly grateful for her words because they'd given him some kind of hope that the thought of them, yeah, maybe it wasn't so outlandish. She thought he was dateable. Maybe not dateable for her, but at least she saw enough qualities within him that she believed he had the ability to be dateable to someone.

And if he was cool enough in her eyes to get a nickname like 'cowboy', there must be someone else who thought the same and was available.

Though, the term had come from their first shift together when Adrian got so nervous meeting her and his mouth decided to talk about the movie 'Cowboys and Aliens' the entire time. By the end of the day, she may not have known his name, but she did know that Robert Downey Jr was originally set to be the lead but there were scheduling difficulties because he was filming on the 2nd Guy Richie Sherlock Holmes movie and had to be replaced by Daniel Craig.

The next time they worked together, Y/N tried to get Adrian's attention but couldn't since he'd never told her his name. So, she called out, "Cowboy guy!" and, surprisingly, Adrian turned around. He pointed to himself as if to say, 'Me?' and came running as soon as she nodded.

"You didn't tell me your name." She tilted his name tag so she could read it. "Adrian."

"That's me."

"That's you, cowboy."

That, as they say, is history. Not only did a hot girl give him a nickname but she continued to seek him out whenever the job got boring and she wanted someone to talk to. Or someone to ramble on and on about useless stuff at her. Adrian was that guy™️.

"Come on, Y/N. Don't give him false hope." Taylor remarked with a sly smile. "The girl he's drooling over is way, way out of his league."

Whatever Y/N had planned to do was cut short. She stopped in place.

"I didn't know you liked anyone." Her head tilted as she surveyed Adrian's entire flushing face. "I thought you told me everything?"

That was mostly true. Adrian did have a habit of spilling his guts to Y/N. So far, there had only been two things that he managed to keep under wraps - his secret identity and his secret crush - yet, every other thought he had, she had been told about it.

"I, uh, I.. I gotta keep some cards to close my chest." Adrian mumbled out , glancing away before continuing, "But, uh, it's okay, y'know. She doesn't like me like that."

Scoffing, Taylor confirmed, "No, she certainly doesn't." Y/N slapped his arm for being so rude so he was quick to justify himself by adding, "She's got a boyfriend, doesn't she, 'cowboy'?" and left the kitchen as quickly as he could.

As much as it killed him to say, yes, Y/N had a boyfriend. He was cool and handsome and a total dickhead. That wasn't Adrian's jealousy talking, Steve was just like all the jocks that had beat up Adrian in high school - all macho and womanising - and if he had to try to quantify how many times Steven had cheated on Y/N, Adrian wouldn't even begin to know what two digit number to guess.

Y/N sighed, "Oh, I'm sorry, that sucks. There's plenty more fish."

"Yeah... Maybe. I don't know." Adrian shrugged, trying to seem as nonchalant about it as he possibly could - he probably wasn't very convincing given that she was still looking at him with so much sympathy on her face - and he didn't feel like elaborating further. "How's Steve? Is he coming in today?"

The quick change of topic was noted by Y/N, yet she simply replied, "Nope!"

"Oh?"

"Told him not to. If you do see him though, tell me so I can hide."

"Why'd you wanna hide from your boyfriend?" he wondered out loud curiously, tilting his head as he examined her. Then, his eyes went wide as he realised what he'd said. "Shit, don't answer that. Unless you want to. It's up to you. Obviously. You can tell me if you want to. Not that you should. You can. I want to know. Not in, like, a creepy way, but in a 'I'm your friend and I'm here for you' way..."

He proceeded to spiral into a nervous ramble that over-explained everything and had at least 4 completely irrelevant tangents, none of which made any sense whatsoever, while Y/N stared at him in amusement. His words were coming out at a mile a minute and they just kept coming, and she had learnt that it was best if she just waited for his breath to run out.

His rants always went in a weird direction. And unlike other people, Y/N liked his weirdness. It was her favourite thing about him. Well, that and his dimples.

Or how easy it was for him to make her laugh.

Or that mole on his cheekbone.

Or the way he'd push up his glasses with his middle finger and forget that he was technically flipping her off, only to realise and purposefully flip her off playfully.

Or his biceps, which she hadn't seen often as he usually kept to baggier, unflattering clothes, but she had seen them once when a customer spilt their drink on her and she hadn't brought a spare top. Adrian had offered his cardigan to her, and she finally got a small glimpse of what he looked like underneath it. It's safe to say she was impressed.

Adrian was cute when he was rambling - he was always cute but especially so when his brain had no control over his mouth - so all Y/N could do was to beam at him and softly laugh every time he'd start to babble nonsense. After a few minutes, his breathing finally calmed down, he blinked twice, cleared his throat, took a few deep breaths, then looked up at her.

Thanks to his rant and how wildly he gestured, his glasses were slightly crooked on his nose. Y/N fingers hovered by his ears as she scrutinised his glasses and tilted them back into place and gently brushed her fingertips through the hair just above his ear so it wasn't so unruly.

Adrian swallowed thickly. It was an audible gulp that caught Y/N's attention and she met his eye. He seemed somewhat uncomfortable so Y/N was blurting out, "Sorry, cowboy. I should've asked before I did that. Consent and all, y'know?" to apologise and smooth things over.

"You can touch me whenever you want to."

Shit. That was a little too obvious. 'You can touch me whenever you want to'? That's what his mouth came up with? In his head, it sounded innocent enough, but as soon as it left his lips, he scrunched his eyes up in embarrassment.

That is not something you say to a girl with a boyfriend.

A blush came to Y/N's cheeks. She knew he was awkward and often said things without thinking before they came out. He hadn't intended that sentence to sound the way it did, she was aware, but there was a hint of hope that maybe, just maybe, he did mean it exactly as he said it.

"I'll, I'll be sure to remember that next time I invade your personal space," she joked with a sheepish smile.

All of a sudden, doing the washing up became very appealing to Adrian. He needed to be doing something, needed to have something to split his focus in order to remain in one piece. Any more slip ups with Y/N and he would become a mess. He made a big deal of turning the tap on and squidging far too much washing up liquid into the sink.

The sound of the rusty pipes and gushing water almost overwhelmed Y/N's voice as she uttered, "Steve and I, we, uh, broke up."

Adrian immediately switched off the tap. It took him a second to register what Y/N had said.

"What?"

"We broke up. I called it quits with him."

Boom. A bomb had been dropped. This was huge news. The biggest news ever. They had broken up. Like, officially. It wasn't everyday that something so great happened in Adrian's life, so he was ecstatic.

"Thank God!" he cheered, completely forgetting to put up any facade or pretend that he wasn't over the fucking moon.

Steve and Adrian hadn't been best of friends but in the limited interactions they had had, Adrian had been polite to her ex boyfriend. Y/N raised an eyebrow at her friend's display of excitement.

"I thought you two got along?"

"He was an asshole, Y/N! Seriously!" His grin was almost manic, and his hands shook as he clapped them together a few times. "You're so much better off without him."

"Hell yeah, I am!"

His happy mood was infecting Y/N. Before she'd been going back and forth on whether breaking up with Steve had been the right thing to do or not, but now, thanks to Adrian's support, she knew it was 100% the right choice. Yeah, they'd been together for a year or so and giving that up instead of working on it could be considered a waste but...

"He didn't deserve me. That cheating asshole didn't deserve a single minute, no, second of my time!"

At that, Adrian remembered one time when he caught her boyfriend ogling their coworker Jennifer, who had a very prominent chest. She was a provocative person. All her clothes were a little bit small and slutty - not that being a slutty was a bad thing since Adrian was a big advocate of women being sexually liberated and having the ability to fuck whoever they wanted to. Jennifer wasn't the problem, far from it.

The way Steve caught eye contact with him and gave him a look that screamed 'I'd hit that ass' turned Adrian's blood into pure fire. In his mind, Adrian couldn't fathom ever wanting to leer at other women when Y/N - his literal dream girl - was right beside him. Steve had a smoking hot 10/10 on his arm and still wanted to play the field.

Fuck that guy!

Still, it sucks to be cheated on. Despite the brave face Y/N was putting on, it still sucked to have your trust betrayed over and over and, as far as she knew, at least another 17 times again.

"I'm really sorry, dude," Adrian said, and meant it. He wanted to comfort her in some way but didn't know how without looking weird, so he just half heartedly pinched at her arm, trying his best at reassuring. Y/N let out a tiny chuckle. It wasn't as bright as usual but it was more than sufficient to reassure Adrian.

"Hey, it's all good. My plan now is to stay single until Mr Right comes knocking at the door."

"Yeah? That's a good plan," Adrian nodded eagerly. "He's around, I'm sure of it."

"I hope he is. I haven't had an orgasm in the past - Jesus, how long? - year, I would love one right about now," Y/N laughed. Then, her brain caught up with what she'd said. "Not that you needed to know that. That was TMI, wasn't it?"

Was it? Was it really too much information? Maybe it was a little private, sure, but it was information that Adrian wanted to know. Well, he didn't want her unsatisfied and unhappy, but he now knew that he was capable of something that Steve hadn't thought about doing in an entire calendar year.

"I could fuck you better than he ever could."

There was a level of confidence in Adrian's voice that Y/N had never heard before. Her mind briefly blanked out due to the shock of hearing such words come out of Adrian's lips, and thanks to her dazed state, he got the wrong idea. His shoulders slumped and his ears became bright ruby red.

"What?" she mumbled.

"What?" He parroted back, his voice raising into a panicked squeak. Maybe she hadn't heard him. At this moment in time, he wished she hadn't heard him. "I didn't say anything. Did you hear something? Could've been Jennifer. I think I heard her saying something like that the other day."

Y/N's imagination was going wild and every single image that popped up was appealing to her. It would be a lie if she tried to say that she hadn't thought about it before, that she hadn't thought about him before. He was so nice and cute and had big biceps and was one of the only reasons she stayed at her shitty paying job.

"I heard you, cowboy." His eyes shot to meet hers. "You finish at 6 today, right?" He nodded. "Are you doing anything after that?"

No fucking way! Jackpot! He grinned to himself and looked at his hands in the soapy water. He simply couldn't help it.

"I have a few errands to do."

She attempted to not sound as disappointed as she felt. "...Oh, maybe another day then."

"No! No, I mean, I'm totally free after 7. Once I do my shit, I'm, like, totally not doing anything so if you wanted to - only if you want to, seriously no pressure or anything - we could watch a movie or I have a bunch of video games we could play or, I don't know... do something together and hang out and stuff? Anything you want, really. If you'd like?"

He cringed at how desperate he sounded when he finished his sentence. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin his chances. Yet, Y/N wasn't dissuaded by his words at all. If anything, she was more than tempted.

"I'd really like that, Ade."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"...Okay. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool. Very cool, very nice. I'll text you my address."

Time flew by as Adrian couldn't wait to finish work. They continued chatting as they worked, but both knew they were subconsciously focused on what would happen later that night. It was like some kind of gravitational pull that was making it difficult to keep them away from each other for more than a few minutes and it was driving both of them crazy.

6pm hit and Adrian was speeding to his 'errand'. He pulled up a few streets away, yanked on his Vigilante suit, and was stalking his way towards a suburban house. Steven had posted an image of him next to his car (that wasn't even particularly fancy, so why he showed it off like it was, Adrian didn't know) whilst outside this very house.

Be careful what you post, folks, or somebody might use your images to find where you live so they can beat you up.

Technically, cheating isn't illegal. But it is a sin - not that Adrian was religious in the slightest - and Adrian thought Y/N should have the world and this guy, this Steven, couldn't even provide her with basic human decency? Vigilante would be willing to expand his usual set of rules tonight. Steven deserved it.

Vigilante whistled to himself as he knocked and waited for Steven to appear. Once the asshole did open the door, Vigilante swung and hit him straight in the nose.

"What the fuck, man?" The bastard grabbed his nose to stop the bleeding and stared angrily up at Vigilante. "Vigilante does house calls now?"

"This ain't a house call. This is a message." Adrian paused for dramatic effect. "You're a cheating scumbag! I should chop your shrivelled dick off for being such an ungrateful cunt."

"Who sent you? Was it Tina?"

"Not Tina."

"Abby, then?"

"No."

"Liz?"

"Liz, no."

"Penny?"

"Dude, are you for real?"

"Emily A?"

"Jesus christ."

"Emily L?"

"OMG, you're the whoriest whore to ever whore!

Steven stood there, mouth opening and closing a few times before his pea brain managed to say, "No, you," and despite how lacklustre of a comeback that is, Steven seemed proud of himself.

It was quiet.

Then, because both of these men will ultimately try to solve everything with their fists, the boys lunged at each other. Steven had never been smart - he knew Vigilante was adept at hand to hand and had killed people before and still tried to fight the guy - so as he saw an opening, drove his fist into Vigilante's stomach. He was a beefy dude, so Adrian was aware that there was going to bruise there for a few days, but Vigilante had been in hundreds of fights. One blow to the stomach was not going to slow him down for long.

If anything, it urged Vigilante to be more vicious. With two quick punches - one to the groyne and another to the neck directly on his Adam's apple - Steven was crumpled on the ground in severe pain and having a hard time breathing.

"You hurt Y/N, you jackass!" Vigilante yelled, giving his reasoning away.

Shit. He hadn't meant to divulge that. He'd been so caught up in the moment that it slipped right out. And so, before anything else gave away snippets of his identity, Vigilante left the scene and rushed as fast as he possibly could back to his apartment building.

It was 6.56 when he finally got home. He had 4 minutes - well, probably around 9 because of her tendency to be late - and he spent most of that time throwing his suit off. Did he smell like he had just beaten somebody up? He didn't really have time for a shower but could give himself a quick wipedown, a whore bath of sorts.

The punch patch on his stomach was something he couldn't do anything about. He could hide it with his shirt for the time being. If things went well and there was some under the clothes type action, she'd definitely see it.

Would she care? Would she stay long enough to notice? The night would have to go either really good or really bad if it ended with him with his shirt off. In the best case scenario, they would make sweet, hot, passionate love and she'd become totally beguiled by his moves. Worst case scenario, a fire. Or a battle. Or a war. Or maybe she didn't like him that way, which would be crushing but he'd still pine from afar.

So, with the hope that he would be shirtless at some point tonight, Adrian began brainstorming excuses he could use. He'd never been a great liar but he had to try. Got headbutted by a baby goat? Nope, he doesn't look like the sort of guy who'd do well on a farm. Walked into a bookcase? Fuck, that made him look clumsy as shit (which he was) and clumsy is not sexy.

What if he told her the truth?

Would she believe him?

Three gentle knocks cut his workshopping short. Y/N was here. He took a deep breath, sprayed some cologne, and opened his front door.

"Hi."

"Hi," he said back, a crooked smile plastered onto his face. His heart was beating faster than a hummingbird. "C-come, come in."

She walked through the doorway and her eyes were immediately scanning his place as she slipped her shoes off. His apartment was mostly bare, apart from the geeky accoutrements littered here and there. There was a poster of Hellboy on the wall, his bookcase was filled with Dungeons and Dragons books - both guidebooks and the accompanying novelisations - he had multiple Critical Role figurines, and an old looking gun on a stand.

"Is that the colt from Supernatural?" Y/N asked, walking towards the revolver.

"Yup. Yeah, it is," he leaned against his desk and rested his elbow over the surface, "It's one of the ones they used in the show. I got it at an auction on eBay. Pretty awesome, huh?"

"So awesome!" She knelt down a bit to read the inscription on the gun stand and her eyes lit up a little when he casually lifted the gun up and handed it to her. Her fingers closed around it and gently touched the smooth, cold metal. "Do you like guns? Like regular ones?"

"Uh, yeah, I think they're pretty cool."

That was an understatement.

"Do you like gunslingers? Like, Dean? Or Percy de Rolo? Or Rambo, even?"

"I love Rambo!"

Something in Y/N's demeanour changed.

"What about Vigilante? Do you think he's cool?" she asked, trying not to sound too eager for the answer.

Adrian looked back at her. He felt nervous about all this before she'd asked that and now it had only increased. Y/N kept her eyes locked on Adrian, watching for any slight change in his face or body language as she twirled the gun between her hands.

"Vigilante? He's cool," Adrian replied carefully. He tried to sound nonchalant and casual like nothing happened but his voice cracked slightly upon saying his last word and he cursed himself out mentally. "Do you think Vigilante is cool?"

Y/N looked down at the gun. "Steven called me before I got here - I don't know why I picked up but I did - and he was screaming down the phone at me. He kept saying that I was such an asshole for telling Vigilante to beat him up, but I've never met Vigilante," she explained slowly, her brows furrowed a little as she frowned. "Steven was certain Vigilante said, 'You hurt Y/N, you jackass!'"

The walls felt as if they were closing in.

"Weird," Adrian commented dryly.

"Yeah, it is weird." Y/N put the colt back down on its stand. "I only told you about my breakup."

A pin drop could be heard. It was so silent for far too long. The silence was so thick that Adrian wondered whether or not time had stood still and they were frozen in the moment.

"Either you told a stranger my personal information -"

"No, no, I would never do that."

"So, if I only told you and you didn't tell anyone else..." Y/N trailed off as she got closer and closer to Adrian until he could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheeks. Her eyes flickered down to the hem of his shirt and her fingers soon followed.

Fuck. He couldn't breathe. He didn't want to breathe. His brain was going wild. His lungs couldn't keep up with its demands to keep inhaling air because every breath was so shallow. Every gasp was so sharp and desperate. Every intake was so painful. Everything was hurting. All Adrian wanted to do at that moment was run.

Run. Just fucking run.

He broke from her grasp and crossed the room. He couldn't bring himself to say anything. What was there to say? 'I put on hockey pads and beat up criminals when everyone else is sleeping'? That made him sound kinda insane.

"Adrian, I'm not going to tell anyone." She said softly, her tone completely devoid of judgement as she reached out so he'd come closer. "C'mere, please?"

Historically, he'd never been able to deny her and his streak wasn't going to end today. Though he was reluctant and slow to move, he let her take hold of his hand and was tugged closer and closer until the very tips of their socked toes were mere millimetres apart.

"You're doing good. Real good. Not that save the turtles corporate bullshit. There's a lot of bad people who slip through the cracks. And, yeah, maybe I'm not fully on board with all the murder and violence thingy going on but..." Y/N's hand came up to cradle his cheek and gently stroked it, "You help me sleep at night, did you know that? You're a good man and a great friend, so please don't pretend that you're some monster."

And with those final words, her soft lips found his and everything seemed to explode in sparks. It was like everything he'd ever imagined and more. He pulled her in by the waist as he deepened the kiss, his thumb drawing circles on her hip bone. Everything became a blur of sensation: her body, her hair, the scent of her perfume and the faint taste of cherry chapstick on her lips.

Before he knew what was happening, he'd lifted her in his arms and her legs were wrapped around his waist as he pressed her back against the nearest wall.

"I should've dumped him months ago," she muttered against his lips. Her breathing was ragged and he could feel her heart beating fast against his chest.

That sentiment was something said in his mind for the entirety of Y/N and Steve's relationship. They weren't a good fit. Literally everyone could see that. So, Adrian had to ask, "Why didn't you?" as he dragged his lips down her neck while his hand slid underneath her sweater and started roaming over the warm skin of hee lower back.

"Because..." Y/N breathed his name. "... I don't know. I genuinely don't know. He was obnoxious and lazy and I always imagined it was you whenever we got intimate -"

She stopped mid-sentence when Adrian groaned at her words. "Oh my God, that's so fucking hot," Adrian moaned, finding her pulse point and sucking directly on the skin there. She was like putty in his hands, completely unable to pull away even if she wanted to. Her eyes fluttered shut and she tilted her head back, giving him easier access to her neck.

"You wanna fuck me, yeah?" he felt the need to confirm.

Just because she was grinding herself onto him, her hips rolling off where he'd pinned her to on the wall and against Adrian's crotch, didn't necessarily mean she wanted to go all the way.

"Yeah, I wanna fuck you."

"Hell yeah, fuckin' sick."

If those hours in the gym were used to lift Y/N to his bedroom, then it was time well spent. They were a mess of tangled limbs and kisses; hands wandering freely as Adrian walked them to his room.

The bed creaked as Y/N was set down upon it, her head falling backward onto his pillow with a soft poof. Adrian climbed above her with a knee on either side of her hips.

"Hi," he beamed.

"Hi baby."

His face softened at the nickname and his lips formed into the widest smile his face was capable of, making him look as stupidly happy as he felt. With Y/N beneath him, everything just seemed perfect. Nothing was wrong with the world and the universe had agreed to give him the most almighty of wins.

He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her deeply; tongue sweeping across her bottom lip and begging entrance without a second thought. Y/N eagerly opened her mouth for him, granting him permission as her legs widened to allow him to slot himself between them.

"Can you take this off? I wanna feel you," she urged, tugging at the bottom of his shirt. He complied, shrugging it off casually and throwing it somewhere, and was immediately bombarded with the feeling of Y/N's palm drifting down his abs. "Jesus christ! You're shredded, dude!"

Adrian got a smug little look on his face as he watched her explore every inch of his body. But, the way his eyes widened made her realise that he wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to people being nice to him and wanting to be around him. She could change that. She would change that.

"You're so hot." She ran her finger down his stomach and then along his navel, pausing momentarily to brush her fingers through his happy trail, before her hand continued its path even further down. "Do you want me to-"

"Fuck, do whatever you want to me."

Y/N could feel herself falling in love with him even more each minute. And she knew it would only get worse when undid his trousers to palm the bulge in his boxers, and he let out the most pitiful whine she'd ever heard. She laughed a little at the sound of it, kissing his bare shoulder briefly as her hand slid underneath his underwear and wrapped around him.

"Shit," he hissed, bucking up against her touch. He sounded desperate, and when she looked into his eyes, his pupils were dilated in arousal. His cheeks were splotches of red, his bottom lip hooked on his teeth, brows scrunched together, his chest moving dramatically and his gaze focused on the ceiling as he tried desperately to control himself as she jerked him off.

"Baby," she spoke lowly. "Look at me."

Slowly but surely, he tilted his head to focus on her, his green eyes meeting hers for a split second. She smiled and brought her free hand up to cup his cheek.

"Your eyes are so pretty, cowboy," Y/N cooed. "It's almost impossible for a girl to look away."

"I watch you all day," he began, his face scrunching up when he realised how stalkerish his rant had started. "I mean, whenever we're in the same room I can't help it. Part of me wants to make sure that you're safe and happy and comfortable, and the other part just can't resist. I'm a moth and you're the flame, y'know? You're bright and beautiful - you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen - and I can't help myself."

Her hand stopped. His chest heaving for a completely different reason now.

"Do you mean that?" Y/N asked in disbelief.

The only answer Adrian could give was an exhale and a "Yeah".

That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. And since it was so nice and she'd been in a relationship with a prick for so long, Y/N didn't know how to respond.

"Fuck, uh, forget I said that. I understand if -"

"Why would I want to forget?" she asked, surprising even herself with the firmness in her voice.

Adrian gave her one of those tight lipped smiles that he usually gave whenever people made fun of him at work and he just had to stand there and take it.

"You know, you're you," he eventually explained, sitting up and gesturing excitedly, his hands brushing up and down her body. Then, his voice quietened when he added, "And I'm just me."

"Adrian, 'just you' is my favourite thing in the world."

He blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. The gears in his mind were whirring furiously until his brain finally caught on to Y/N's words. In an instant, he was surging forward, kissing her hard and possessively with a vigour that left Y/N breathless. The smooch was long and hot and wonderful, and she wound her arms around his neck, holding him close as they continued to deepen their kiss.

When the need for air overwhelmed her and she had to break apart from him, they simply rested their foreheads together and giggled, both of their chests rising and falling rapidly as they struggled to catch their breaths. Adrian's thumb stroked her cheek and Y/N couldn't help but notice that he was watching her with such affection it made her heart flutter.

That's why she had no qualms urging, "Let's get naked." Adrian grinned wickedly at her suggestion, leaning down to place another searing kiss on her lips as his fingers fumbled with the zip of her trousers.

Soon, they were bare, sweating, and completely wiped out thanks to the rigorous activity they'd just participated in.

Y/N smiled crookedly at him as he flopped his weight onto her, burying his face into her neck as they got their breath back. Now things were a lot more peaceful and slower paced, Y/N could feel her phone poking into her back and wiggled it out from under her.

The pair cuddled together, neither one speaking or moving much for a few minutes. As he lay atop her, Y/N ran her hands lightly over the strong planes of Adrian's back, smiling at the soft sighs escaping from his lips.

"I gotta pee before I get a UTI." Y/N nudged Adrian's shoulder. "Where's the bathroom, cowboy?" He told her the directions and checked out her ass as she left the room.

He turned onto his back and began excitedly fist punching the air. "Fuck yeah, oh fuck yeah. Me and Y/N sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G," he began to sing to himself, unable to keep in his glee any longer. And he was still smiling at the ceiling when Y/N slid underneath the duvet beside him.

"Do you wanna watch a movie?"

"Yeah."

"Sick, lemme find my glasses."

Before he could shoot his hand out and knock his lamp off the bedside table, Y/N lifted his glasses up and delicately placed them on his nose. "There we go. How do I look? Like a sweaty pig, right?" She joked, brushing her thumb along his jawline.

"The sexiest pig I've ever seen."

"How many sexy pigs have you seen?"

"So many," he playfully replied. "Peppa Pig is my dream woman."

"Not Mrs. Piggy? She's hot as hell."

"Too high maintenance."

To further the joke, he took his finger and gently pushed the tip of her nose up so it would look more like a snout. She couldn't help but laugh. Well, she thought it was going to be a laugh, but it actually came out as a snort.

Calling the girl he was hopelessly in love with a piggy was not where he thought his night was going to go. But, that's obviously his nickname for her now.

"See? My little piggy."

She gave him a half hearted slap on the bicep then snuggled into his side as lifted his laptop from under his bed and onto his lap. Adrian picked some campy horror movie and they barely paid attention to it since they alternated between makeout sessions and bouts of playful teasing.

An hour into the movie, Y/N's phone began to blow up with notifications.

Steven: Adrian?

Steven: You fucked that guy from work?

Steven: Slut

Steven: Absolute whore

Steven: Fucking 4eyes?

Steven: You fucked him?

Steven: Him? Of all people?

Steven: You fucking piece of shit

Steven: Tell me it's a joke

Steven: You're fucking with me

Steven: Baby, I know you didn't

Y/N: did you not hear me on the voicemail?

Y/N: I thought I made it very clear that I did.

Together, they laughed at all the messages that came through. Y/N eventually blocked Steven and closed that chapter of her life forever.

"That problem is solved," she reassured with a smug smile, earning a cheek kiss from Adrian.

He played with her fingers and wrongly declared, "If you think about it, we are the perfect pair. Me being a cowboy. You, a pig."

"How so?"

"Cowboys herd pigs. Duh."

Their romantic relationship officially started in hysterical laughter since Y/N cackled at his comment, and it would continue in the exact same way. They were devoted to not only each other, but making each other laugh, and from that moment on would ensure that their romance was fun and hot and exceedingly loving.

*Click here for my Adrian Chase masterlist, or here for the entire masterlist*

Wanna be added to a taglist? Either comment on this post or send me a message!

taglist: @kpopgirlbtssvt @adriansboyfriend

[ladamedusoif]

Rockford, P.I.

Or: the one where Tim Rockford is a ghost hunter

Inspired by the incredible PPCU AU moodboards by @almostfoxglove!

Pairing: Paranormal Investigator!Tim Rockford x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Content notes/warnings: 18+ MDNI; F!Reader; no physical description of Reader; Tim Rockford AU; Reader is Tim’s occasional partner in the business; established working relationship and friendship; friends to lovers; spooky shenanigans; implied smut; fluff; ghosts; references to death; references to alcohol use; references to drug use; strong language; cliches and most likely a lot of stuff that’s not correct about paranormal investigations.

Author's note: I loved @almostfoxglove's PPCU AU moodboards so much and I've been thinking about this story for a while, so when better to finish and post it than Halloween? I know I haven't written in a long time - since the summer, I think - and at the weekend certain discourse made me want to just give up completely and delete every word I'd ever posted. But this was nearly done, and I feel like at least some people might like to see it. So here you are. Happy Halloween, Oíche Shamhna shona daoibh.

And thank you to @mescalpascal for beta-ing this and not letting me get away with just giving up - with writing, fandom, everything.

To find more of my work and get alerts when I post new writing (which will hopefully be more frequently!), follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications.

Ghost divider by @wethairjoel

“Rockford, PI - Tim speaking. How can I be of assistance?”

Tim spins in his battered desk chair, phone tucked against his shoulder and box of leftover takeout still in hand as he listens to the person on the other end of the line, nodding and “uh huh”-ing every so often.

He stops spinning. He puts down the box of cold lo mein. He grabs a pen, and frantically begins taking notes. He asks the caller to send as much information as they can via email.

And then he calls you.

Other little girls at school wanted to be princesses or singers or models or movie stars. You? You wanted to be a Ghostbuster. Forget clean-cut TV stars or the latest cookie-cutter boyband member, your first love was Dr Egon Spengler.

Fast forward a few decades, and your dream had become reality - kind of. Your doctoral thesis on the interplay between reported paranormal activity and its representation in popular culture had produced a few well-received articles and earned you a positive reputation in the admittedly rather specialised world of paranormal and psychical research. It had not, unfortunately, led to a glittering academic career.

Instead, you made a living with a part-time teaching gig at a university combined with a little freelance consultancy work for movies and TV shows, almost all of which ditched your nuanced advice and produced yet another cliched depiction of “ghost hunters” screaming on camera.

And then there was Tim. You’d met a long time back, after a talk you’d given in the city about change and continuity in the concept of the “haunted house”. He was sitting in the front, diligently taking notes and nodding along as you spoke, eyes warm and encouraging - and he immediately made a beeline to ask you for coffee as soon as the Q&A wrapped up. 

Before you parted that evening, he handed you his card.

”Rockford, PI. You’re a private investigator?”

Tim shook his head. “Paranormal investigator. Helps to have most people think it’s the other kind of PI, though.” He called you from time to time, asking for your help on specific cases, sometimes enlisting you as a partner for the duration of an investigation. You always welcomed the extra income, but in truth you helped him out for the sheer love of it - for the chance to feel like a real Ghostbuster, even if Tim worked in business attire instead of boiler suits, and to spend time with one of the few people in the world you felt really got you.

You peer out at the English countryside from the window of the car Tim hired at Heathrow, straining to see something of the allegedly “green and pleasant” land through the miserable grey haze and sheets of rain. The navigation on your phone announces the final turn for your destination. Tim, still getting used to driving on the other side of the road, approaches cautiously and takes the left turn onto the long driveway.

“Whoa.” His voice is awestruck as the car arrives at the enormous country house, now a luxury boutique hotel catering to the rich and famous in search of an exclusive retreat. “We’re a long way from poltergeists in Poughkeepsie.”

You shrug as Tim drives into the small, discreet parking lot to one side of the building. “I’ve done some work on a couple of Gilded Age mansions. This isn’t going to be all that different, right?”

“True,” he muses, climbing out of the car and setting to work unpacking your luggage: a suitcase each, plus several hard-sided cases of vital equipment for conducting the investigation, labelled ‘Scientific Instruments’. “And they did say they think it’s only one manifestation.”

You chuckle as you help him wheel the cases from the car towards the hotel entrance, where a man in elegant livery is already rushing to greet you with a brass luggage trolley. “One manifestation? Please. We got this, Rockford.”

That evening, unpacked, freshened up, and after a dinner meeting with the hotel owner, you and Tim decamp to the library - now a comfortably-appointed lounge with its own bar - to compare notes. The two of you are the only residents, the hotel having temporarily suspended operations in order to deal with the spectral guest.

He hands you a glass of whiskey and settles beside you on the Chesterfield sofa, hair still damp from his earlier shower and his customary attire replaced by a long-sleeved Henley shirt and a pair of jeans. He looks more boyish, the grey patches in his beard notwithstanding, and you find yourself smiling softly at him.

“So: first impressions?”

You take a sip of your drink and reach for your notebook. “First impressions: they must be pretty freaked out to temporarily close down a hotel over one spirit, don’t you think?”

He shrugs. “Maybe? Or maybe it’s unusually troublesome - they mentioned strange things appearing on bedroom walls, guests waking to the sound of a voice shouting for help, weird stuff turning up on TV channels... And they do pride themselves on the whole ‘idyllic rural retreat’ brand, which a ghost doesn’t exactly fit with.” He sips his whiskey and thinks. “Did you find out any more about the death here a couple of years ago?”

”I did - it was weirdly under-reported, given that a celebrity was involved, but I guess people had much bigger things to worry about during the pandemic.” You flip to a different page. “Nothing I found out seemed to contradict the owner’s version of events, though I’m sure they’d be careful to control the narrative if there was anything to hide.”

Tim sucks his cheek, deep in thought, and nods. “I guess we can’t proceed until we see how this thing is manifesting for ourselves. You have everything you need for the surveillance in your room overnight?”

You nod. “And we’ve got the kit set up in the other parts of the hotel the owner mentioned. I think we’re good to go, Timothy.”

He grins, eyes sparkling, and clinks your glass.

Jetlag doesn’t stop you waking as soon as the first rays of sunlight begin to peek around the heavy drapes that adorn the windows of your large bedroom. You’re checking the recordings and readings taken in the room overnight, looking for any indication of paranormal activity, when your phone buzzes with a message from Tim.

Nothing in my room overnight. Anything in yours? 

Not that I can see. You want to check the other equipment before breakfast?

Sure thing. Race you to the Full English.

“Oh, it’s on, Rockford,” you murmur to yourself, reaching for leggings and an old hoodie. You slip on a pair of Crocs, already bracing yourself for Tim’s inevitable comments about your choice of footwear, grab your keycard, and slip out of the room.

It’s quiet in your absence, save for the gentle sound of birds singing outside, the wind occasionally rattling your windows - and the increasingly steady beeping now being emitted from a little device Tim had given you, designed to measure sudden shifts in psychical energy. 

None of the other devices set up elsewhere in the hotel had registered anything out of the ordinary. Tim, typically, is philosophical.

“We just have to wait, do some more research in the meantime, speak to the staff. How’s that breakfast?” He sips his coffee, mug looking comically small in his large hand, and gives you a mischievous look.

“The bacon’s delicious, the mushrooms are great, the eggs are perfect… but I don’t think Cumberland sausages are for me.” You poke at the thick, half-eaten link sausage on the plate. “Not least because ‘Cumberland sausage’ sounds like a fuckin’ euphemism if ever I heard one.”

Tim laughs, the warm sound resonating in the empty dining room. He tops up his coffee and reaches for another slice of toast, and you realise that he seems…different.

“Rockford?” He looks up at you, toast crumbs in his moustache. “What’s going on with you? You aren’t normally this, uh, jolly on a job.”

He swallows his toast and drinks his coffee thoughtfully. “It’s a fascinating case, and I guess I’m just really happy that we’re working together again. Even if you’re wearing those.”

Tim gestures with mock scorn towards your brightly-coloured Crocs, before giving you a sly wink. 

“Are you absolutely sure you want to comment on my sartorial choices, Rockford? Or do you want me to talk about your rotating selection of striped ties from Sears?”

After breakfast, Tim decides to take advantage of the on-site pool and you return to your room for a quick shower before beginning the first round of interviews with hotel staff. The beeping noise is audible before you’ve even reached the door.

You steel yourself and gently enter the room, slowly moving in the direction of the little device on its tripod, various alert lights flashing in sync with the rhythm of its insistent beeps. You transcribe the codes on its screen into your notebook and take a quick video, ready to show Tim as soon as possible. Cross-legged on the floor, you close your eyes for a moment, steadying your breathing.

“I can’t believe they let in someone else wearing Crocs. So much for their fuckin’ dress code.”

Your eyes snap wide open at the sound of the male voice behind you, on the other side of the room. American. West coast, you think. A little…affected? 

In other words: that’s probably not a member of staff.

You get to your feet and turn, slowly, in the direction of the voice.

There, on the other side of the room, sprawled on the sofa, is a man you think must be in his early 40s. His hair is wild, wavy, dark; his eyes obscured by a pair of vintage Ray-Bans. He’s wearing a brown teddy coat, which has slipped open to reveal a shirtless torso and a flash of tummy. A pair of loose grey shorts, wooly socks, and fucking Crocs complete his outfit. 

Definitely not staff.

Though your heart is pounding out of your chest, you find the strength to speak. “Are you a spirit?”

The man slips his glasses down his nose and gives you a withering look. “What the fuck else do you think I am? And while we’re here - why is that…thing making so much noise?”

“It’s to read changes in psychical activity,” you explain. “So it’s probably picking you up.”

The man thinks about this for a couple of moments, as if chewing it over. With a jolt, you realise two things: firstly, that in all your years of working with the paranormal, you’ve never actually seen a ghost, at least not in this form; and secondly, that you recognise this figure.

“So you do know who I am,” he drawls, pushing his glasses back up his nose and lying back on the couch. Shit, he’s more powerful than you suspected - he can pick up on what you’re thinking.

“It’s…it’s you. The dead guest.”

He exhales dramatically and flops his arm over the side of the sofa. “I have a name.”

You rack your brains, afraid to look away to grab your notebook in case he disappears.

“You’re…you’re Dieter Bravo.”

Tim Rockford is on his twentieth lap of the pool when a slow, steady buzzing noise catches his ear, coming from the direction of the tote bag he’d left poolside with towels, a t-shirt, and shorts. He hauls himself out of the water and roughly dries off his face, hair, and hands before rummaging in the bag. “Fuck!”

He’s half-wet and breathless when you open the door to your room, his fist still raised as if ready to continue the frantic hammering that had signalled his arrival. 

“Jesus! You okay?”

He’s turning and twirling around the room, glasses on and fogged up from the residual humidity of his body, holding up one of his own psychical activity detectors. “You…fuck,” Tim hisses as he tries to catch his breath. “You saw it? Where is it?”

“So I’m an it now?”, Dieter drawls, now hovering - literally - in the area of the large bay window. 

“He’s there,” you gesture, calmly, as if being in a room with the spectral manifestation of a dead Hollywood actor was an everyday occurrence. “By the window.”

Tim stares directly at Dieter, but doesn’t register anything. Dieter roars with laughter.

“Oh, babe! Looks like you’re special.”

“I’m special?”

Tim swivels at the sound of your voice, confusion written all over his face. Dieter sidles up to the other man, resting his head on Tim’s shoulder, and you’re struck by a kind of resemblance. Tim shivers.

“He can’t see or hear me. Most people can’t, which makes haunting the fuck out of this place hilarious,” the actor explains. He takes a seat on a vanity table near the window and looks a little wistful. “Annika was the last person who could see and hear me,” he sighs. “Kinda nice to be…” - he wiggles his hands in the air - “visible again.”

“He…he says I’m special because I can see and hear him, and you can’t. Most people can’t. Is this…normal? Am I normal?”

Tim crosses the room and puts a hand on your shoulder, gently caressing it in a gesture of reassurance. “I mean, none of what we do is normal. But yes, this is not unusual.”

Dieter immediately launches into a Tom Jones impersonation, gyrating in exaggerated fashion towards Tim, and you roll your eyes involuntarily. Tim looks hurt.

“Oh! Oh, Tim, no, I was rolling my eyes at him. Not you. Shit, this is going to be confusing, isn’t it?”

The crinkles that form around Tim’s eyes when he smiles make a welcome appearance, and his dark eyes twinkle behind his glasses. “I’m sure we can work out a system for keeping communication clear. Usually, when a manifestation is only visible to one or two people, it means they have some kind of need, or something unfulfilled. And, I guess, they think the witness can give it to them.”

You glance over at Dieter, who is still gyrating. He lowers his sunglasses and grins at you lasciviously.

Over the next couple of days, you and Tim interview hotel staff and examine some of the areas affected by the haunting, to establish a pattern for the manifestation’s - for Dieter’s - behaviour. 

“The random murals appearing overnight aren’t that disturbing, I suppose,” you muse, noting down the details of the artwork Dieter had left in one guest bedroom.

“Depends on what you consider disturbing, though.” Tim rubs a finger against the paint, examining the powdery residue. “I wouldn’t like to wake up to an extra-large rendering of Hieronymus Bosch’s ‘Garden of Earthly Delights’ on my hotel room wall.”

You giggle and nod in agreement. “Well, fair. Though it’s weirdly good, for a ghost.” 

Your psychical activity detectors start to beep in unison and you turn to each other before you spy Dieter, lounging on top of a wardrobe. He’s clad differently, today, this time sporting a green robe, a baggy purple t-shirt, and striped lounge pants. 

And the Crocs.

“I am good. Honestly, if they’d got my heart going again I think I’d have quit Hollywood, y’know? Jacked it all in, got clean, got into art properly. Make sculptures, paint, run a gallery or some shit.”

“He’s talking to me,” you explain to Tim, before turning back to Dieter. “So you’re hanging around here because you didn’t get to make the art you dreamed of?”

“Ugh. I don’t have to explain myself to you people.”

And he’s gone.

In the evenings, the hotel insists on serving you and Tim dinner as if you were ordinary guests, not paranormal investigators tasked with eradicating the ghost of an Oscar-winning Hollywood enfant terrible from the property. The lone waiter serves your five-course meal with the kind of exaggerated formality you had only ever seen in films or TV shows about royalty, respectfully pointing out the various cutlery and accoutrements needed for each course in a low, somewhat fawning voice.

“And voilà, Mr Rockford, your seabass.” He lifts the dome from Tim’s plate and does a little bow. 

Tim is chewing the inside of his cheek and turning pink as the waiter leans closer to his ear.

“A reminder, sir, should you require it, that the fishknife is that delicate little marvel on the right. Bon appétit.”

Tim says nothing as the waiter makes his way across the vast, empty dining room, watching for the door to the kitchens to close properly before he lets out a belly laugh so huge it almost rocks the table you’re seated at. You raise an eyebrow and pour him a fresh glass of water.

“Are you quite well, Tim?”

He’s taken off his glasses and is rubbing tears from his eyes, unable to control his laughter. “Why did he say that about the fishknife? And the fucking dome? I shouldn’t laugh but…”

“You mean you didn’t need to be reminded that the fishknife is a delicate little marvel?” 

Your attempt to replicate the waiter’s tone sets the two of you off this time, and you’re still laughing about it by the time you retreat to the lounge with a gin and tonic each. 

This was the longest you’d ever spent in Tim’s company, you realised one night, sitting with your feet tucked under you on the large leather sofa. There was a lot that you didn’t know about each other, but being stuck in a haunted hotel is nothing if not an ideal opportunity for getting to know someone better. 

You are listening to Tim animatedly telling you about one of his strangest cases. His face lights up when he talks about his work, big hands gesturing for emphasis, eyes bright and focused on you. He listens to you with the same commitment and interest, keenly asking questions and taking in your every word.

When you lean in for a goodnight hug before parting ways, he seems surprised - but pleased, somehow, as he returns your embrace.

Your TV is on when you return to your room. The tell-tale beeping from the psychical activity monitor gives him away immediately.

“Dieter.”

He’s lying on your bed, propped up on one arm, green robe wrapped around him. “Heyyyyyyy. Hope you don’t mind. Wanted some company and I’ve haunted the fuck out of everyone else around here.”

You shake your head and pour yourself a glass of water. “I don’t mind. But if I let you hang out with me you have to answer my questions.”

He groans and flops back onto the bed, though his body makes no indentation in the bedclothes. “FINE. But you have to answer mine.”

“Fair.” You settle beside him on the bed, trying not to overthink the fact that you were literally hanging out with a dead man. “What the fuck are you watching?”

He runs his fingers through his hair in irritation and points at the 90s sitcom he’s watching on some random-ass cable channel. “Allegedly this is a British remake of Who’s The Boss but like, it’s fucking shit. No Danza, no party.”

You pause for a moment. “Speaking of party…can you do drugs, if you’re a ghost? All the evidence would suggest you can’t, but I’ve never actually heard from someone with first-hand experience.”

“I tried.”

“And?”

Dieter grimaces. “I literally threw a couple of tabs of acid through my stupid fuckin’ ghost body, didn’t I. Just…whoosh.” He gestures with his hand. “I feel so real, y’know? All corporeal. But then you try to get high and bam. No can do. I can’t eat or drink, either.”

“You didn’t answer my question earlier.”

He stares at you. “Why do you get to ask two questions in a row? My turn.”

You roll your eyes and take a sip of your water, noticing Dieter staring longingly at the glass.

“Fine.”

He cackles and claps his hands together. They make no sound.

“Are you and Magnum P.I. fucking? You’re fucking, right?”

“Um, no?” You take another sip of water and swallow hard. “No, we are not fucking. We’re colleagues.”

Dieter mimics you, note-perfect, and cackles again. “Bullshit. He’s down so fuckin’ bad for you.”

“Tim is not ‘down bad’ for me, as you put it.”

He sits up, moving into a kind of lotus position. “He is.”

“He’s not.”

“He is, and I know he is because I can literally sense this shit. And I can definitely sense that you’ve got a crush on ol’ Columbo down the hall. Which is fair, I guess. He’s pretty hot.”

You can feel the heat rising to your face, but maintain what you hope is a neutral expression. 

“Oh, Scully is trying so hard not to let her crush on Mulder show.” He smiles a smug, satisfied grin.

“Is he Magnum, Columbo, or Mulder, Dieter?”

“All three, baby.” He hovers about a foot above the bed, pointing at you accusingly. “And you should put him out of his misery. Want me to go check on him for you, see if he’s thinking about you right now?” Dieter wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“If you don’t shut up I’m going to get a ghost trap and put you in it.”

“Like in Ghostbusters?!” Dieter seems unreasonably excited. 

“Do you want to be sealed up in a little trap, or would you prefer to continue having free rein?”

He sighs and descends back to the bed. “Ugh. Okay. I’m sorry. But I’m not wrong.”

Dieter fucking Bravo. He was haunting your brain, as well as this hotel.

His insistence that Tim had a thing for you - and vice versa - now coloured every interaction, every conversation between you and your colleague as you tried to discern any evidence that Dieter was right, or that disproved his theory. To your horror, you began to unconsciously hope that he wasn’t just winding you up.

He quickly got in the habit of appearing in your room just before bedtime: staying for a little chat, dodging any of your questions that veered too close to the essential truth of why he hadn’t completely passed over to the great beyond, and asking repeatedly if you and Tim had “got around to fucking” yet. 

“It would be kinda hard for us to get around to fucking with a fucking ghost in my room, don’t you think?”

He laughs his wheezy rasp of a laugh and crosses his hands over his tummy. “Listen, the more the merrier, babe.”

A few moments pass before you break the silence. “Why are you so obsessed with us, with me and Tim, with us getting together?”

He pouts and stares into the middle distance. “I guess…hmm. I want people to get what they want, love-wise.” Dieter discerns your incredulous glance. “What? I mean it! I’m a big fan of romance and happy endings.”

“You can’t blame me for being sceptical, Dieter.”

Tension crackles in the air. When he speaks again, he’s very quiet. 

“Just because I didn’t get a happy ending in life doesn’t mean I can’t believe in them.”

Dieter’s big, dark eyes - or the spectral impression of his big, dark eyes, now trapped in some in-between place, neither here nor there - look at you with absolute sincerity. 

“Is that why you’re still here?”

He turns away. 

“I don’t know why I can see you, Dieter, or what you need me for, but there’s got to be a reason for it. And I can’t help you until you talk to me.”

He huddles deeper into his green robe, and you exhale. 

“Fine. You’re not wrong. You’re right, in fact.”

He doesn’t move, but you can almost feel his ghostly ears pricking up.

“I’m right?”

You close your eyes and bite your lip. “Fuck it. You’re right, I… I think I do have a crush on him.”

This time, you swear you can hear Dieter smile.

“On who?”

“You know who.”

“Say it.” He chuckles to himself.

“Oh, fuck.” You bury your head in your hands. “Why do I need to say it, when you can sense what I’m thinking?”

Dieter rolls over and props himself up, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Because it’s very fucking satisfying. For me.”

“Fuck you, Dieter Bravo. Fine. I - I have a crush on Tim. Happy?”

He nods, and points in the direction of Tim’s room, down the hall. “Mmm. And now you need to tell Timmy so that he can tell you he has a crush on you and then you can go off and have lots of weirdo paranormal-obsessed babies. If that’s a thing you want, of course.”

“Okay.”

Dieter’s eyes widen. “Okay? So, you’re just gonna tell him?”

“I’ll tell him… but only if you let me help you.”

“No deal. Fuck you two, keep on being idiots.”

“I thought you loved happy endings, romance, all that?”

“Nope.” 

You shift on the mattress to face Dieter, and speak more gently this time. “Do you want to be stuck here forever, Dieter?”

He hesitates. “Nope.”

“So, should we make a deal?”

He talks and talks all night, floating around the room, resting on the vanity, on the armchair, on the bed, and at one point drifting in and out of the bathroom - even with the door closed.

And you listen. You listen like Tim listens to you: engaged, curious, open, kind, even, trying to get to the root of what’s keeping this man trapped in between worlds in a luxury hotel in the English countryside.

Unfinished business is a common explanation for why ghosts hang around, you’ve realised. A desire for vengeance, too. Sometimes spirits just want to stay around their families and friends. Once, a long time ago, a client of Tim’s described the work as being like a kind of doula, for ghosts. 

“You help them get out of the in-between,” the lady had said, after Tim had solved the ongoing hauntings in her family’s ranch house. “They just need someone to hold their hand, I guess. Well, maybe not literally.”

Watching and listening as Dieter talks about his life, his death, his successes, his failures, you become ever more keenly aware of how right she was, and more focused on getting him to where he needs to be. To peace.

He descends gently to the ground in front of the TV set. “I can’t deny that the whole Beetlejuice shtick has been fun, most of the time,” he says, sadly. “But you’re right, I don’t wanna be stuck here for the rest of my life. I mean, the rest of my death. I mean -”

“The rest of your afterlife.”

He grins. “Exactly.”

“Dieter… do you think you might just be afraid?”

“Afraid?” His eyes are wide and frightened, giving you his answer without a word.

“Afraid to let go. Afraid to move to the next stage, whatever that is.”

“But that’s just it.” Dieter stares at his Crocs. “You said it. ‘Whatever that is.’ I don’t know what’s there.”

“No one does, though. And most spirits don’t end up haunting entire hotels, they just…pass through.”

He nods. “I guess I always had to stand out, huh?”

“Nothing wrong with that,” you agree. 

He takes a couple of moments to compose himself. “I… I saw whatever the fuck comes next when my heart stopped. Bright light, all that shit. Fuckin’ near-death experience, except I was actually dead.”

“But you didn’t pass through?”

“I feel like my entire self just went ‘fuck this, I’m not done’. But I couldn’t come back, y’know?” He tugs at an errant curl. “I guess…fuck. I didn’t want to be forgotten. Wanted to know I could live on, maybe.”

“You don’t have to stay in the in-between to live on, Dieter. The work speaks for itself.”

He groans. “Some of it does. Never got to rebuild properly, though. Whole lotta shlock in there and one fuckin’ Oscar.”

You bring yourself to the ground beside the spectre. “That’s one Oscar more than most of us will ever have. And plenty of people who died before their time still live on in their work.”

“If you mention the 27 Club to me I will actually haunt you for the rest of your life.” 

“Noted.” You smile at him, cheered by the sight of a little grin on Dieter’s lips. “But you know it’s true.”

“I just never got the happy ending.”

He looks so sorrowful in that moment that you wish, more than anything, that you could hug him - make him flesh and blood, just for an instant again, so he could know the comfort of a warm embrace.

“Maybe the happy ending is off there in the hereafter.”

Dieter arches an eyebrow. “Do you actually believe that?”

You grin and chuckle. “Honestly? Fuck knows what’s after all this. I think I’d rather not know. But even if it’s just a bright light and bam, that’s it - you’ll live forever, Dieter Bravo.”

Tim is bed-headed and bleary-eyed when he opens his door to you at 6.30am, but he smiles widely when his vision focuses and he recognises your face. 

“Have a seat, have a seat,” he gestures to the bed, before blushing a little. “Or I can move my clothes off the armchair, if you’d prefer.”

You perch on the edge of the mattress and shake your head. “It’s perfect here, thank you. I just wanted to tell you that I think Dieter’s…”

Funny how, in spite of doing this job and researching these phenomena for so many years, some cases just get to you. A sob catches in your throat as you try to find the words.

“I think the haunting problem is solved, I guess.”

Tim’s eyes widen in amazement and he sits beside you on the edge of the bed. “Your doula skills, right?”

You nod, tears still threatening to fall at any moment. His strong arms wrap around you and hold you close, keeping you safe as you cry against his broad chest.

“Please do feel free to stay for the next couple of days, of course.” The hotel manager is effusive and grateful as you wrap up the debriefing session later that morning, standing up to shake your and Tim’s hands in turn. “The rooms are booked, we won’t be reopening to other guests until we can redecorate the affected bedrooms. It’s on us, an extra little thank you for dealing with our, uh, friend.”

After lunch, the two of you walk through the property’s walled gardens and admire the various topiaries and water features. All the while, your promise to Dieter lingers at the forefront of your mind.

You said you would tell Tim how you felt, if Dieter let you help him. And he did. And now…

Fuck. And you wouldn’t put it past Dieter Bravo to somehow find his way back from the hereafter, just to haunt you out of spite.

You look over at Tim, who’s taking a photo of the hotel buildings from the gardens, and feel a surge of affection, mingled with anxiety. What if Dieter had got you right, but Tim wrong?

He catches your eye and grins at you. “Hey, come in for a photo?”

You pose beside an ornamental fountain, Tim concentrating as he sets up the shot. He beckons to you. 

“How about a selfie, maybe?”

His arm snakes around your shoulders as he angles the phone towards the two of you and captures the moment: he, suit on but tie loosened, eyes twinkling; you, smiling broadly into the lens.

He brings you a gin and tonic, settling in beside you on the Chesterfield sofa and clinking his glass of whiskey to yours. In the last few days the ritual has become familiar and comforting; and with a jolt you worry that this might be the last time you enjoy it together.

Tim sips his drink in contented silence, watching the flames of the large, open fire. 

“You’re quiet. Is everything okay?”

His dark eyes meet yours as you turn to face him. “I’m…”

Dieter Bravo is going to haunt you if you don’t do this.

What if this is your happy ending?

A large swig of G&T, to fortify your resolve.

“Um, I’ve really enjoyed this whole case, working with…being with you.”

Tim smiles softly. “Me too. It was nice to get the chance to get to know each other better.”

Another fortifying sip. 

“I was wondering…uh. Shit. Maybe, when we get back, would you -”

Your voice dries up in your throat. The next words are barely more than a whisper.

“Would you maybe like to get a drink or dinner sometime? With me?”

For an instant, you can see that Tim is on the verge of brushing it off, of asking why you're being so strange about this, of saying that you regularly meet for coffee if you’re both free, talking about that diner you sometimes go to.

And then the realisation sinks in, and his face softens into a huge smile.

“I would love to take you for dinner. And drinks. Whenever you want, wherever you want.”

He puts his glass down and moves closer to you. Your fingers reach for the end of his tie as your bodies shift ever closer, until he’s holding your face in his hands and his mouth is on yours, kissing you with warm intent.

You’re about to pull him down to the couch, his hands already snaking up under your blouse, when a stern cough makes the two of you jump.

The hotel’s only waiter casts a disapproving glance in your direction and shakes his head as he processes through the lounge to the main bar. 

Your hand reaches for Tim’s and you lead him towards the hallway and the main staircase leading to the bedrooms.

The morning is grey and dreary, rain already pelting against the windowpanes as the dawn light struggles to break through the dark clouds. You press a kiss to Tim’s bare chest as you slip out of bed to use the bathroom, padding swiftly across the deep-pile carpet so as not to wake him. 

The green robe hanging from the hook on the tiled wall of your bathroom is unmistakable, but even so you have to pause for a moment to be sure it’s real. You run your fingers over the textured weave and fabric, noting how (surprisingly) good it smells - faint whiff of weed notwithstanding.

Tim stirs as you close the bathroom door and walk back to the bed, blinking awake and greeting you with a delighted smile.

“Good morning. Nice robe.”

“A movie star gave it to me,” you explain, shedding the soft green garment and pulling Tim’s naked body to yours before he can ask any further questions.

(Sorry, Dieter. Love you.)

[bishopsbeloved]

the art of falling in love (part five)

natasha romanoff x fem reader

best friend!yelena belova, aroace!yelena belova, internalised homophobia, found family trope, coming of age, angst, fluff (eventual happy ending)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five (16.3k words) | epilogue

read this fic on ao3!

Death was first explained to you and Yelena when you were six; Yelena’s favourite of her mother’s pigs passed away, and you were both called in from playing outside to be sat down gravely.

“Girls… Wilbur the piggy has, ah, passed away,” Alexi told you. You stared back at him blankly.

“Do you know what that means?” added Melina more gently.

“Uh… Peter from class said his mom and dad passed away,” Yelena offered after a few moments. “And it means that, like, he can’t see them ever again, so he lives with his aunt now.”

“Yes!” said Alexi enthusiastically, before catching himself and adding in a much more solemn tone, “I mean, ah, yes… very sad. Not good.”

Melina looked at him sternly and he fell silent. “You are right, Yelena. When someone passes away, it means they are no longer with us.”

“Like when you go to the store?”

“No. When I go to the store I am always coming back, да? Passing away is permanent, and it means you never see them again.”

“Oh. But I like Wilbur,” said Yelena sadly, and you nodded in agreement.

“That is what makes life all the more precious,” Melina told you gently. “You never know when someone may pass away — only that everybody will, someday. So you must enjoy the time you have with them, my darlings, and never take it for granted.”

As the years went on and the two of you began to understand what death actually means, that first introduction to it became somewhat of a running joke between you and Yelena (because how else can humans deal with such a terrifying concept as death? You can choose to either laugh or cry, and Yelena will always choose to laugh); the idea of someone passing away will often be referred to as going to the store. For example, Alexi is probably the sole man responsible for the entirety of Ohio state’s roadkill — neither you nor Yelena can remember a car journey with him in the wheel during which some unfortunate creature has not stumbled into his path and suffered fatally for that mistake. Every time it happens, without fail, Yelena will turn around eagerly in her seat or poke her head out of the window and assess the damage before gravely announcing, “That one is definitely not coming back from store.”

It’s a euphemism that can be used in any situation — and often is, actually. Whenever the TV signal packs up (as it often does in such a rural town as your own) and the Kardashians begin to cut out awkwardly, Yelena will throw down the remote and shout in frustration “Ma! The fork thingy on the roof has gone store again,” and Melina will know exactly what she means. Or whenever your history teacher Mr Fury hobbles into class, who is so old he looks like he’s witnessed half the events he teaches you, Yelena will nudge you and whisper “he is close to store’s doorstep now, eh?” Et cetera, et cetera. The phrase gets used often.

You feel silly for your mind wandering to those words, given the circumstances. But all you can think of right now is your overwhelming hopes and prayers that Liho has not gone to the store — and that neither has your bond with Yelena. As for Natasha… well, recent times have been a cruel wake-up call.

It’s been a few hours since Melina left with the cat, and the only text you’ve gotten from her since then says cat in surgery now. Yelena has barricaded herself in your shared room — her room now, you think miserably to yourself. You have never, ever seen her so upset, not in your whole life. You don’t think you’ve ever even argued with her, outside of your usual half-hearted play wrestles. But now she’s shouted at you through your thick heavy door, a solid wall between you, putting miles between the two of you but still not enough distance to lessen the brutality of the words she hurls at you from the other side of it. Words you can’t think of for too long or tears will begin to brim in your eyes all over again. Words which you know you deserve, but ones you never thought you’d hear your best friend say to you.

Now you sit uncomfortably stiff on the couch, feeling like a stranger in the home you’ve grown up in, the silence threatening to suffocate you. You feel almost like a prisoner in your body, unable to move as you relieve the last few hours over and over in your head. There’s no doubt in your mind that Yelena is right. You are an awful person. If you weren’t, if you were better, maybe Natasha would still want you, instead of casting you aside once you began to bore her. Maybe if you were better you’d have been sensible or strong enough to not sneak around with her at all. But you’re not, and now you’ve broken apart a family you weren’t even worthy of in the first place.

Natasha is sat in the armchair opposite you, legs curled beneath her, nursing her bloody nose. Her gaze has been fixed on you for the indeterminable amount of time you’ve both been sat here, but you are too exhausted to care. For once, you have much, much bigger problems than her feelings.

Eventually, she speaks, more subdued than usual. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Your voice doesn’t sound like yours. It’s somewhere else, someone else’s, far away.

“For…” She hesitates. Like there’s something she doesn’t want to say out loud. “For not, uh. For treating you badly.”

Well, that’s not really what you expected her to say.

Your silence prompts her to flounder further. “I just— I don’t, well, I can’t really explain a lot, but I— I know I messed up. You deserved better. And I’m sorry.”

And you’re so done with her, and so little of yourself is left now that you simply stand up and walk away.

Natasha doesn’t even call after you, just kind of makes this sad and defeated little noise that makes your heart hurt. You know it would just ache even more if you turned around again, though. So you don’t. You walk the hall for a few aimless moments before your feet carry you to the only person currently home who you still have a dependable relationship with — Alexi.

His workshop, as he calls it, is adjoined to the kitchen; a tiny wooden door which he has to bend himself double to fit through, leading to the garage. This has been his space for as long as you can remember. You have no idea how he moves with such ease through it when it’s like a maze to you — huge chunks of greasy half-repaired machinery everywhere, cluttered workbenches and racks of tools and shelves of liquids labelled in his indecipherable Russian scrawl. He often has the tiny tin portable perched on a shelf squeaking out radio shows in his mothertongue which he guffaws merrily at, but as you enter now the room is peacefully quiet, save for Alexi’s disjointed hums of a thousand songs in one and the little chink noises the piece of metal he’s working on makes every time he hits it, slowly bending it into shape.

“Ah, привет! Good evening, daughter,” he says cheerfully, without even turning around as you creep up barefoot behind him. He doesn’t say anything more, and neither do you, for a while; you opt to simply sink down onto one of the wooden stools littered about the place and watch Alexi absently while he works. This doesn’t faze him at all. On the occasions where Yelena was busy without you as a kid, you would do this very thing. Alexi would simply chuckle at you and ruffle your hair with a large bearish hand, oftentimes leaving behind little smudges of black motor oil in it. You’re still in your prom outfit, though, with your hair done up intricately, so tonight he stops himself in time.

“Do you think Liho will be okay?” you ask after a while, in a very small voice.

“Oh, да,” he replies, without hesitation. Even with his back to you as he tinkers busily you can hear the sincerity in his tone. “Yes, yes. Think of what that kitty has been through already, eh? When you found him he was doing worse than that. He is, uh, tough meat. A fighter.”

Seeing Alexi so placid and unshaken in the face of tonight’s events is strangely calming and you nod, soothed by his words, before another thought strikes you. “Oh… but the vet bills.”

Alexi lets out a low but not unkind laugh. “Ah, не будь глупым, you worry so much. We will figure those out. Melina is a sly fox, has money tucked away in hidey-holes, eh?”

“But— I mean —” You twitch uncomfortably, and Alexi seems to finally cotton onto what it is that you’re really worried about. He sets down his tools with his usual gentleness, which never fails to look foreign on such a giant of a man, and turns to look at you.

“You are member of this family,” he tells you. “No matter what Yelena say. She is angry, sure, but it will blow over, eh? You love the silly little fur man, and we do too. So if these bills will help him of course we will pay it. There is no need for worry.”

“But I ruined everything,” you say quietly.

He laughs again. “Nonsense. You have not ruined any of the things, голубка.”

“But… your date night. And— Natasha,” you hiccup.

“We have date nights all the time, подсолнух, there will be others. And Natasha… well, me and your mama are knowing this for long time. Yelena will be coming round also, eventually. We will figure this all out, we are a family. She is your sister. All of the things will be okay. None of them are ruined.”

And you can’t help but cry at that, at his earnest sincerity, his certainty that things will work out — and because you love him, and he is your family. You tell him so through choked sobs, and he just looks at you softly before wrapping you into a petrol-scented bear hug, prom outfit be damned.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe everything will be okay.

Yelena sinks into another episode over the following days. She does nothing much but sit, a vacant look in her eyes, devoid of any feeling, and stare for hours at a time as though seeing something that the rest of you cannot. She has no words left to give, and drifts around on autopilot, only performing basic functional tasks when prompted to — as if they’re an afterthought. Seeing her like this wracks you with guilt in a way none of her episodes have before, because for the first time you know with a crushing certainty that this is because of you. You offer countless times to return to your parents’ house across the road, the residents of which you haven’t conversed with in months, but Alexi and Melina dismiss this as if it’s the silliest idea in the world.

“You are family,” Melina tells you firmly. “Fights happen, да? You stay.”

Even if you’re still welcome in the house you’re certainly not welcome in your usual room. Natasha offers to put you up in hers but drops this very quickly after the look that you give her, so instead a section of the loft is cleared for you. You and Alexi spend a merry Sunday together in his workshop assembling a bedframe for your new space, only to discover once you’ve made it upstairs that it’s actually too large to fit through the attic hatch, so you have to take it to bits to get it up there and then rebuild it all over again. (It doesn’t really matter though, because Alexi is so bemused by the whole thing and his own oversights that it’s impossible to be frustrated at the setback. He just grins so goofily.) When Yelena is in the shower you sneak back into her room to gather as many of your belongings as you can and begin to turn the little space into yours. Melina brings home some fairy lights from the store, you order some posters online and within a week or so you’ve organised yourself a very cozy nest amongst the mess of the loft.

Even now you’ve moved in, over half of the room is still piled high with boxes of various things and piles of junk and the distinct, cloth-draped, dust-gathering shapes of Alexi’s abandoned projects (which he insists on keeping on the basis that he might need them someday, much to Melina’s theatrical chagrin). The various artefacts throughout the room create a kind of ever-changing maze, and you remember playing up here with Yelena when the two of you were kids and it was too cold to play outside — for you, anyway, being someone who’s grown up in a relatively warm American state. To this day Yelena often scorns you for your inability to tolerate any kind of cold, and reminds you of the climates the rest of the family has lived in.

Thinking of her makes your heart involuntarily twinge, and you wince, standing from your perch on the end of your new bed in the vain hopes of shaking it off. As you do so something in the opposite corner of the room catches your eye; the neat pile of scrapbooks Melina worked on for years when you were kids. “I’m going full American mama,” she would quip, spending hours of an evening painstakingly prettying the pages laden with pictures that Alexi had taken throughout the day. You find yourself warmed by these memories, and drift over to the pile of books, settling before it. The newest scrapbooks are naturally at the top, so you shuffle through the pile until you reach the very first scrapbook Mama Melina ever made, which begins the day Yelena came home. You settle down comfortably on the floor, cross-legged like you’re a kid again, and begin to flip through its pages; the very first are adorned with pictures of Melina and Alexi in their youth, and then on their wedding day. After that is the day Yelena came home, absolutely unfazed by this strange new country and its drawling people. Every single photo has the date it was taken written beneath it in perfect cursive, and through the timeline shown you can see that it was barely two weeks into Yelena’s residency here before you and her properly met, and became firm friends. Things progress like that for two years, from when you were five until when you were seven; regular entries are made in the scrapbooks documenting road trips and school plays and lost teeth, all of which you smile upon fondly.

Halfway through the third scrapbook, Natasha comes home. You recognise one of the many pictures documenting this milestone as one that hangs large and framed with pride downstairs above the fire; a stunned, still blue-haired Natalia swathed in thermals, huddled in the corner of Alexi’s rickety old fighter jet on the journey back from the motherland, beaming widely up at whoever’s taking the photo. Despite the fact that you see it every day, seeing it alongside so many others in which she’s so bewildered but so, so happy makes your heart feel so strongly that you have to flip ahead.

You pore over the pages of the main scrapbooks with interest for a while longer, until the main timeline ends and divulges into you, Yelena and Natasha each having your own dedicated scrapbooks. You have no interest in studying your own baby photos, and given all that’s going on reliving Yelena’s would be unbearable right now, so instead you find yourself picking up Natasha’s, and pushing the others aside.

Seeing her grow up before your eyes like this is surreal. In reality you were by her side every day, and most of these changes happen so gradually that you barely even noticed them, but here are immortalised stills from throughout the years which show how she’s grown. When she first came home she hadn’t had her growth spurt yet, and still had her gentle Russian lilt which the rest of her family retains to this day. As she starts attending public school and socialising with her peers you can see that something changes very hastily within her; a light kind of fades from her eyes. The blue is bleached from her hair, and as the red fades back in its place she seems to fade a little too — into the quiet, observant Natasha that you know today. She doesn’t seem unhappy, as such, but… uncertain, and it dredges up a kind of sadness in your chest that forces you to push the book away, lest the tears in your eyes follow through with their threat to overspill.

You’ve always seen Natasha as someone so secure and sure of herself — so much so that she doesn’t feel the need to speak over anyone else in the room in order to get her opinions across. When she does speak it’s usually a quick, cutting remark that earns laughs and leaves everyone eager to hear more out of her. When she walks into a room heads turn to look at her, no matter where she goes. She knows that. She’s someone worth paying attention to. It’s never occurred to you, not once in your life, that her behaviours aren’t the result of something different. But looking at these pictures has stirred up something in you which you can’t quite describe. A deep sadness at the fact that you’ve probably never known her at all, aside from the parts of the real her that have slipped through the cracks; her Russian accent and sleepy kisses first thing in the morning, her goodnight texts, the way she doesn’t need to ask your order at drive-thrus or coffee shops, the notes she’d leave under your pillow. That’s Natasha. Not whoever this is who’s pushed you away. Not this girl who has bleached the childhood from her hair and taught herself how to be from another place.

You pile the scrapbooks back in the neat and tidy order in which you found them and crawl back to your bed, flopping into it, utterly emotionally exhausted by this trip down memory lane. You think it’s dark outside… you’re certainly tired enough to rest now, anyway, and you do; drifting in and out of an uneasy slumber, visited by vague and twisted recollections from your childhood which disappear upon your waking again, before you can grasp them properly, like the sand of your youth slipping through your fingers.

Mama Melina is a woman of science. She’s always considered herself a grounded person. She doesn’t concern herself with what she doesn’t understand, or care for (namely whatever she cannot see for certain with her own two eyes) to the extent that this is the path her career has taken, and is now what feeds her children. She is, objectively, an intellectual woman. Her analytical methods of thinking have led to scientific breakthroughs in her area of expertise, and she is renowned as an expert at her job. She did not reach this point through belief in the spiritual, or abstract. Hell, being raised in an orphanage herself, she didn’t even really believe in true romantic love until Alexi bore his whole earnest heart to her.

One day, when you were young, you came home from school and, with frightening nonchalance, came home and asked if one of your classmates had been correct in saying that people who kissed others of the same gender were hell-headed sinners. Melina abruptly halted her mundane household task and sat you down, taking one of your hands in hers.

“Sin is a fairytale,” she told you, as delicately as she could. “Nobody knows for certain whether sin or God or heaven or hell are real. To believe that is a choice, a leap of faith which certain people make. But all we know for certain is what’s here now, да? Like I am real, you are real,” she cupped your little face between her warm hands and squeezed gently, making you wrinkle your nose and wriggle happily, “Baba and Yelena are real. But sin is thing you choose to believe in. It is made up stories to make us feel better about death but it does not matter, малыш. What matters is what we do now, when we are alive, not what we do to secure a place in an afterlife that might not exist, eh? We are kind to each other now while we live because we know it to be true that we’re alive. To tell someone else who to kiss was wrong and unkind of that boy at school. Worry about the afterlife once you get there, да? If you want to kiss girls, kiss girls. No one who is kind or worth your time will care.”

She kissed the top of your head before standing back up and returning to her cleaning. No more words were exchanged on the prospect, but from that day onward it has appeared to be common knowledge in the household that you like girls, and that Melina is not a fan of religion justifying bigotry.

In all honesty, she is not a fan of anything that’s not an irrefutable truth. Science is her preferred method of explanation for any problem that may occur. But as her relationship with Alexi has blossomed, and then in turn the ones she shares with her daughters too, she’s learned that facts and feelings do not have to be mutually exclusive. Some of the complexities of the human mind are far beyond her understanding, or indeed any of us — and yet this is a truth which ought to be embraced, not feared. The greatest joys in Melina’s life are its mysteries.

And so Mama Melina has never questioned the dynamic you and Natasha share; at least to her, it’s seemed crystal clear since day one that the two of you harbour affections for one another — admittedly for reasons beyond her comprehension, but it’s nonetheless undeniable to anyone who knows you like she does. She’s watched you grow all of your lives, delicately inching closer to one another like two flowers craning their necks to reach the sun. Melina long ago accepted she’ll never in this lifetime know what higher power reigns as a puppeteer over her, or understand the complexities of love, but she knows better than to pretend as if some things in this world aren’t inexplicably and cosmically connected. You and Natasha only prove this point. If she looks hard enough, Melina can see the red thread that runs from your body to her daughter’s.

Alexi, by far the romantic, wholeheartedly agrees with her, which only furthers Melina’s convictions (he would know better than her, she reasons) — although admittedly the events of the last few months have blindsided the both of them. Melina appears to be more concerned by it than her husband, though; so much so that one night she actually sits him down to ask if he even knows what’s going on, and why there’s this big gaping gulf between her daughters, tearing her family apart.

Alexi just guffaws, so full of mirth that Melina is startled. “Ah Боже мой, my love. Do not be silly, I would have to be blind to miss those daggers over dinner, no? No, do not worry, I’m understand. But love is not easy, ah? Its course has never run so smooth. Remember when I first asked out you? You were so… skittish, like little kitten, for weeks,” he recalls with shining eyes. “And look where we ended up now, ah? These are silly babies. They’ll make mistakes. They need the time that you did.”

His words soothe her, in the way that they always do. She relaxes into his comforting embrace with the knowledge that even if she’s the intellectual (and financial) breadwinner in this relationship, Alexi always knows what to say in the face of the heart’s unpredictability. Maybe he is right. Maybe everyone just needs some time.

So, despite her doubts, time is what Melina gives.

Two weeks after that conversation, Liho comes home. His fur is patchy where it’s been shorn off and started to grow back again, and one of his legs is still bound tightly, but he’s back and he’s yours. He leaps happily into your arms when he sees you (despite the yelp of alarm Melina makes) and it’s like he never left. Yelena comes the closest to you that she’s been in weeks to pet his head while he’s curled up against your chest, and she even allows a smile to escape. You can’t help but smile back, like the beginning of spring after a long harsh winter, hope blossoming in your chest once again.

In the time that it’s taken him to come home, other things have happened too. Natasha’s nose, displaced by the punch Yelena successfully laid on her, heals quickly. Your relationship does not. Something unspoken festers between the two of you, hardening and shrinking and blackening into a sickening nothingness. You can’t look at her now without the taste of something bitter filling your mouth — and yet that boiling hot liquid rage still fills your chest when you think of her with someone else. How is it possible to love someone so much but hate them at the same time? You wish, more than anything, that none of this happened. You wish she would just let you love her without having to ruin it for the both of you.

It’s such an indescribably lonely feeling that the two of you are like this now, when only a short time ago the two of you bore open hearts to one another — well, you gave yours to Natasha, anyway. The more you think about it the less of her you have ever known. She’s a stranger to you. Quite a few times since prom night she’s tried to speak to you — offering another half-assed apology, no doubt — but you’ve only ever shut her down. What is there left to say? Nothing that you want to hear, for sure.

(And maybe the things that still hang heavy in the air between you are better left unsaid.)

A few days after Liho comes home you’re laid on your bed in the attic, with your baby boy himself curled comfortably on your chest, purring away merrily as you scratch at his head. There’s some soft music on in the background but neither of you are really doing much. You’re just trying to enjoy his company, (and he’s evidently enjoying yours,) now that you know not to take it for granted.

The scare you’ve had with him has shifted your perspective on a lot, actually — it’s been a rude but much-needed wake up call. Yelena, just like Liho, is your family, and you want to make up with her. Who knows how long either of you have left, or what might happen?

Yes, you absolutely want to be her sister again. You’re just not sure where to even start.

The knock that comes at your door is unexpected, though, and only more unexpected when you see who your mystery visitor actually is. Yelena stands in your doorway, eyes fixed on Liho on your chest. He mews happily when he sees her.

“Кот,” she says hoarsely, holding out her arms and making grabby hands. You blink, stunned for a moment at the fact that she is talking at all, let alone talking to you. This would usually be a good sign, one that she’s coming back into herself, but these naturally are unprecedented circumstances, and you can’t really be certain what anything means anymore.

Yelena steps forward, jerking you out of your trance; you shoot to your feet and kiss Liho on the forehead before holding him out to her with your hands beneath his armpits so that his legs dangle underneath him, rendering him comically long and thin. Lena scoops him up and curls him against her chest; he purrs contentedly and her eyes crinkle in quiet gratitude before she leaves, humming her song to herself.

You almost call out to her, but your body freezes. The door closes behind her you scold yourself for not reaching out, for trying to close this rift between you, but maybe you’ve not given her long enough yet.

What Yelena needs is time, you know. Her whole world has been turned upside down and she has to rebuild it piece by piece. But how much time is enough?

Well, as it turns out, you won’t have to wait much longer.

It’s the last week of school, just over five weeks now since your catastrophic prom night, and you’ve just walked out of your last final. Sam Wilson is waiting for you outside the doors with your favourite flavour of popsicle in his hand, and is already busily consuming his own. When he spots you he waves a broad hand merrily, and you make your way over to him.

“I’m sure you aced it, squirt,” he says before you can even open your mouth, and offers you the popsicle. Unfortunately you’re all too familiar to Ohio’s stifling summer air, making every thought or movement damp and groggy. You accept it gratefully.

Your core friendship group, which you’ve been in for years now, has been pretty turbulent since things went down between you and Yelena. Pairing that with finals and early graduations, you can feel a permanent shift occurring, and it’s frightening. Everyone’s still making  effort to maintain contact with you, but this change on top of everything else has you feeling like you’re drowning when you think too long about it.  It seems like you never know what are the golden days until they’re gone. (You got twelve golden years with Yelena, but is that where it ends? Will she ever tolerate your presence in her life again?)

Someone who you couldn’t be more grateful for throughout all of this is Sam. One day not long after everything happened you came to him crying, and confessed everything. He patted your back with an aura of awkward concern until your sobs subsided, at which point all he had to offer was, “Huh. Well, I guess that explains why prom night went to shit.”

You can’t help but admire the way that he takes everything in his stride. Nothing fazes him. It’s welcome after spending so long around Natasha, who’s constantly on edge, worried someone else might see her with you. Sam is so unbothered, just being in his presence is calming. He’s become a good and valued friend to you.

“That was your last final,” he reminds you, bringing you back to the present moment. “You’re free now for the whole summer.”

“Oh fuck yeah, man,” you say as the realisation dawns on you.

“How’d you want to celebrate?”

You look up at him and a toothy grin takes root on his face as he realises what you’re about to say.

“Arcade,” you say and he nods fervently in agreement. In recent times you’ve become its most loyal patrons; you retreat there often after classes, whether it’s to recuperate from a bad day or celebrate a good one. Today, thankfully, appears to be the latter.

“Arcade,” he repeats happily, and the two of you amble off out of the school gates and down the hill toward the centre of town, where the Boulevard housing the arcade is located. You chat happily for a little while, about your plans for the summer and what you might do together.

“And, uh… any updates on your… anything?” he asks delicately. It’s a vague question but of course you know what he means.

“Not really.” You deflate a little. “I’m not sure Lena wants me around anymore, to be honest.”

“I’m sure she does,” Sam consoles with a startling certainty. “Seriously. What about Natasha?”

You just shake your head. “I don’t want to… I can’t. Not until Lena…”

“Gives you the okay,” he nods understandingly.

“Yeah, I guess. But until she’s sorry, too. She was really mean,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, I get that. It’ll be okay, man.”

You’re not so sure about that, but before you can express this you cross the road and the two of you have reached the arcade, where your troubles are promptly forgotten.

Sam’s words are very quickly proven correct, though — within only a few hours. You arrive home from your arcade trip with some silly winnings tucked under your arm and a smile on your face. It is Friday night, date night for Melina and Alexi, so a car is missing from the driveway and the kitchen is empty as you enter.

Perfect, you think to yourself, and begin to fix yourself some food. These days you’re very careful not to venture into the communal areas of the house unless you’re sure you won’t be treading on anyone else’s toes. You kind of feel like a burden as it is — you’re not a proper part of this family anyway, not in the way that everyone else is — and you don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable in their own home. So you’ve moved bedrooms and now you meticulously strategise what times you’ll make an expedition down to the kitchen. (Sometimes, when you’ve not had a chance to eat yet, you’ll open your bedroom door to a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of you. Everyone in the house denies knowledge when asked but you have your suspicions of who’s behind it.)

Sometimes you think about moving back to the place where you were born, but you’re not sure if you could stomach that. That feels like a forever choice. There’s no going back from that.

Liho pads up to you, excited that you’re home and even more excited that you’re making food. Unable to help yourself, you indulge him with some chin scratches and scraps. Life’s too short, you say. Why shouldn’t you make a fuss of your boy?

He winds himself around your legs contentedly while you cook. It is just you and him and school has finished and you have the whole summer to do what you want, and you are cooking, and for the first time in a while you are able to shut off and experience a moment of complete peace.

Naturally, with the trajectory of your life at the minute, this peace does not last long.

“Is Sam Wilson your new best friend?” says a cool voice behind you. You actually yelp in alarm, and very ungracefully fumble with the piping hot utensils you’re using, burning your hand in the process. Liho hisses, and you do too, making a beeline for the sink.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” you mutter half-heartedly. Yelena, now moving to stand fully in the light, just makes a noise in the back of her throat as she opens the cupboard above your head and reaches for the first-aid kit. Her face is carefully unbothered.

“I only asked a question,” she says, moving your food off of the heat. Liho claws at your ankles worriedly. You struggle to process Yelena’s words, much less the fact that she is talking to you. Did you blink and miss a chapter?

“Uh,” you rub at the back of your neck with your hand not under running water, “n-no. No, he’s not my new best friend. I don’t,” your voice drops, and you look away, “I don’t think I have one anymore.”

“You do,” she informs you matter-of-factly, hopping up onto the counter beside you and swinging her legs while you continue to bathe your hand. “If you still want one. But she is very mad at you.”

Your voice catches in your throat.

“She does love you,” Lena continues, “but she is wondering why you did things in the way you did.”

There’s a moment of quiet. You gather your thoughts. You weren’t expecting to have this talk tonight.

“I was scared,” you tell her.

“Of what?”

“Of,” you gesture between the two of you, “this. Of making things bad. I always figured it would be like a,” you tilt your head back to keep from crying, because now would be a stupid time to cry, “a stupid schoolgirl crush, you know? She never even spoke to me, I was just her little sister’s dumb best friend, but then things happened and it was so fast and I was so scared. And I wanted to tell you but she… didn’t. She only wanted me when no one else could see. I guess I hoped that she would — come around, eventually, and then I wouldn’t be lying anymore.” You’re heaving with the effort to not cry. “I was wrong.”

“All this time the mystery girl was treating you like shit, you could have told me who it was,” Yelena implores. “I love my sister but she makes me sad also. She can be a dick, absolutely. She’s the worst. Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“She’s your family,” you choke. “I couldn’t cause a— a rift or a problem like that. And what if you believed her over me? And it kept getting worse, and —”

“Сестра,” she leans over, cupping your damp face between her hands and forcing you to look at her, “I would always believe you. Always. Never before have you given reason to not.”

You nod tearfully, and she lets go. The only noise is the running water for a few moments.

“That is probably long enough under tap,” Lena murmurs, turning it off and taking your injured hand in her lap. Opening the first aid kit, she begins to dress the burn. “I am sorry for making you jump.”

“I am sorry for everything else,” you reply honestly. “I was stupid.”

“Yes,” she agrees bluntly. Then, “Natalia was stupider.” When you look up in open surprise, she rolls her eyes. “Close your mouth, you will catch flies. Of course she was stupid, she has fumbled so hard. You,” she pinches your cheek affectionately, “are a catch. I am not even into all of this, but if I was a dater we would be together and I would treat you like four million times better than she does.”

“You already do,” you say quietly, looking down at your hand in her lap as she continues to bandage it.

“Oh absolutely, I am the best.”

Another, much longer, pause. She finishes wrapping your hand, and pats it three times to notify you that she’s done, the exact same way that Mama Melina does. The action makes your heart swell and eyes fill with unexpected tears.

“Do you know why I was so upset by all of it?” she asks unexpectedly. You blink in surprise. This feels like a trick question.

“Because… I lied?”

“Because you picked Natasha over me,” she tells you.

“No I didn’t— what?”

“Yes, you did,” she says, and she’s a little choked all of a sudden. “All of my life Natasha has been the one who everyone looks at first. She is the special one. You are the only one I had first, who was mine. My близнец. And then I find out that for months you have been lying and picking her over me instead. When she is mean, she is so mean sometimes, yes I love her but she is not much like when we were kids anymore, she is so mean. But everyone likes her more than me. Even you.” She turns away.

“No, no I don’t,” you rush to her side, unable to help it now, scooping her close to you. “No I don’t. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. It was stupid to think she’d ever love me, I shouldn’t have— and I shouldn’t have left you out of it. I think I was trying to protect you? I don’t know. You’re always the one to protect me and punch everyone else, I think I was trying to stop you from getting hurt. And her? But it was dumb. Very dumb.”

“Very, very dumb,” Yelena agrees.

“The dumbest.”

“You have broken world record, кролик.”

You laugh a little tearfully, and while Yelena’s arms are wrapped around you she feels it throughout her body. She revels in the feeling of you holding her and loving her again, after the longest time.

“So we are back from the store?” she asks hopefully after a moment. It takes you a moment to process what she means.

“Oh,” you laugh, “we were never there. You will always be my favourite person, Yelena Belova-Shostakov.”

“Okay.” She exhales in relief. “Good. Just, because — well, you know, we have not spoke in so long and you didn’t think you had a best friend, and—”

“No— what? No,” you frown, “that was me giving you space to process and heal. I wasn’t sure you’d want me back,” you laugh. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I promise.”

“I will always want you back,” she says in a small, content voice. “I will always want you home. With me. Not at store.”

“Not at the store,” you repeat.

And just like that, you have your best friend again.

One familial bond repaired doesn’t mean all of them, though — and Yelena’s relationship with her sister has been patchy recently, to put it mildly. In your eyes it’s a plus that they haven’t outright fistfought in the way that they absolutely would if they were any younger, but Mama Melina doesn’t seem to see things that way.

A few days after you and Yelena make up, the two of you along with your parents are sat around the dinner table. At the very least Melina is able to fuss over her twins again, and Alexi is able to once again boom “here comes trouble” whenever the two of you enter a room together. They both take great pleasure in it,  much to Yelena’s entertainment and your endearment. You love your parents.

The conversation halts when the front door slams, though. Natasha appears in the kitchen doorway for a second before processing the scene in front of her and slowly backing away, back out of sight.

“What is this about?” Alexi calls after her through a mouthful of food. “Come eat, love.”

There is no response, only footsteps on the stairs.

“Our daughters hate each other,” Melina sighs heavily. When you and Yelena look up at her, she clarifies, “no, not you two. You and Natasha.” She pinches Lena’s cheek.

“We do not hate each other,” Yelena says placidly, much to everyone’s surprise. “I am just angry at her. We will be fine.”

Natasha, who is still within earshot at the top of the stairs, feels her heart skip a beat at this and thinks to herself that just maybe Yelena is ready to be receptive to her attempts at reconnection. Her only issue is she has no idea how to facilitate it. She’s done all the things she can think of, aside from straight up cornering her younger sister — she leaves offerings of food at her door and texts  her when the Kardashians are on the TV — but all of it has been treated with nonchalance that’s left her bewildered as to what her next step should be.

Yelena’s got her covered, though.

It’s her turn to strike, she knows, and again she chooses to do it when her sister will least expect it. Nat traipses home late one night, exhausted from cheer practice that overran. (Their next game is the last of the season, and her last cheer match ever considering she’s graduating this summer, so this semester’s team captain Sharon is determined they go out with a bang — even if that bang is a cheerleader toppling from the pyramid out of sheer exhaustion.) She mumbles her greetings and goodnights to Melina and Alexi, who are huddled around a decanter of whiskey in the study with Liho, and stumbles upstairs. All the lights are off up here, and she figures you and Yelena are probably settling down for the night. With a long, wistful look up the spiral staircase towards your firmly closed door, she trudges into her own (pitch-black) room. When she flicks on the light, though, she shrieks in horror. Sat expectantly at the foot of her bed is a long-limbed and blonde-headed figure, with hands folded neatly in its lap.

“Good evening, сестра,” greets the figure, sometimes known as Yelena Belova, with vaguely ominous nonchalance.

Natasha leans back against the door and closes her eyes in a desperate attempt to revert her heart rate to normal. Her first instinct as an older sister is to yell at her to get the fuck out, but in light of recent events this probably wouldn’t be the wisest of choices. Instead, she clamps her mouth tightly shut as she attempts to regain herself.

“I don’t,” she pants after a moment, “I haven’t— what? Hi. What?”

“You should really get a better lock,” Yelena says amusedly. “Very easy to pick.”

“You don’t have to break in,” Natasha grumbles, letting her bag slide to the floor and flopping backwards onto the bed. “Just knock.”

“No fun.” Yelena pokes Nat’s thigh with her toe just like she would when they were kids and for a moment they’re both young again. But she blinks, and the moment is gone, and now they’re two almost-adults with an entire universe between them.

Natasha just groans and flops back to stare up at her ceiling. A few years back you and Yelena helped her paint it blue and now it looks like the sky. It makes her smile when she’s sad sometimes. Yelena joins her, and the two cloudgaze for a moment.

“Why are you in my room?” Natasha asks quietly.

“To annoy you,” Lena quips.

“Success.”

“And to talk,” she continues.

“Also success. We are talking.”

The blonde lunges for her, and Natasha rolls away playfully. “No, I’m serious. Real talking.”

“Alright, I’m all ears.” Nat puts her hands behind her ears and pushes them forward to emphasise her point — again, like they would when they were kids.

“I want to know what you were intending when you started dating Y/N,” Yelena says, and Nat’s stomach drops. She knew this was coming, she knew this was where the conversation would lead, but she was still hoping to stall it for as long as possible just for the joy that her sister is talking to her again. The excitement is short-lived, though.

“We were never dating,” she reminds her quietly.

“Why not?”

The bluntness of the question makes Natasha stop short.

“Because it just, didn’t work out like that, I guess,” she tries. Yelena remains eerily stony.

“It’s not nice to lie to your baby sister, Natalia.”

Natasha deflates. “Because w— because I’m a fucking idiot. I don’t know what you want me to say. I know I messed up.”

“Step one is awareness,” Yelena nods sagely, while Nat grits her teeth. “So what are you going to do about it?”

She shrugs. “Graduate, and leave town, I guess. You and Y/N are twins again now, and I caused all these problems, so once I leave things should be fixed.”

“Untrue and false,” the blonde interrupts sharply. “That is lie. Y/N/N is crushed. This will not magically be fix if you take off for college.”

“But it will help,” Natasha insists.

“No it won’t,” Yelena pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration, “oh my god, how are you so stupid. She is in love with you, and she is so patient with you, she is not even angry. Which I would be, by the way, but she’s not. She’s only sure you don’t want her.”

“Huh? But I do.”

“No, like wanting her,” Yelena says gently. “As a whole. Like… unity, ah? Влюбленный. She feels so not good enough for you, and every day you are prove her right. You take only what you want from her and leave the rest. That is not what love is. She feels not loved by you, and that you only like her for the things she can offer you.”

“Oh. But I didn’t mean to,” Natasha says tearfully. Suddenly she is very small, and she draws her knees up to her chest. “I was only… Lena, маленький, I didn’t know what to do.”

“The answer seems pretty simple,” the blonde observes astutely, “all you had to do was either tell her you love her and want to be with her, or tell her it is over. You can’t keep having things in your way forever. She has feelings too, and the relationship cannot be on just your terms. She is not a doll, or toy.”

“I do,” she says hoarsely. “I do, t- the first one. It’s- I do. But I’m so…” She raises a pale trembling palm to run a hand through her hair, inhaling shakily, and with a blink of surprise Yelena realised how scared her older sister truly is.

“What is so terrifying?” she asks tenderly.

“Y/N is a girl.”

Yelena almost laughs at the confession but is able to refrain, and is proud of her capability to do so upon seeing just how agitated her company is over the subject. “Is this all that holds you back? Nobody would care. Ma and Daddy wouldn’t. This is not end of the world.”

“No, you don’t get it,” says Natasha fiercely. “Ever since I came to America... you were here first, you and Y/N, and you just get to be you. You have who you are. But I don’t know who I am, so I have to — do all the American girl things. I have to fit in. I don’t have a Y/N. And American girls don’t kiss girls.”

Yelena stops to consider this. It’s true that Natasha has always put far, far more effort into fitting in and Westernising herself more than she or their parents ever did. Yelena is perfectly content with her slightly broken English and her raspy accent and her life of in-betweenness. She’s okay with being from two places. To her, when she looks in the mirror, that is Yelena Belova. They’re just parts of who she is. She’s never even stopped to consider those as potential insecurities — not when she had other things and feelings (or lack thereof) to worry about. How could something so unchangeable be a source of doubt? And yet here she now sits, struggling to wrap her head around this invisible binary which has suffocated her sister for so many years.

“But you are not… what?” she says confusedly. “You did have a Y/N. All of this… you’re being someone else. I knew something felt strange. I do not understand why? I like who you are before. It wasn’t bad. I like Natalia.”

This seems to break Nat, who buries her face in her hands. Yelena lets out a motherly cluck of sympathy and scoots closer to loop a gangly arm around her sister.

“I just want to be normal,” breathes Natasha.

“But it is not worth all this,” Yelena says, squeezing her sister tightly to her chest. “What does normal even mean? Being cool is not the most important, Natalia. Everybody liking you doesn’t… fix you not liking yourself.” She cringes at her own words, reminding herself a little too much of Darcy’s Pinterest feed, but the words seem to ring true with Nat, at least.

“I am just so scared,” Nat says in a small voice. “And I think I’ve made this so bad it can’t be fixed.”

Yelena pulls away to look her sternly in the eyes. “Things can always be fixed. Maybe not in ideal way you want them to be, but we can always make amends. But you have to be sorry.”

“I am,” Natasha cries, “I am sorry.”

Yelena holds her. “I know.”

She’s not so sure you know it, though.

Maybe somewhere deep down, you do. You see it in the saddened smiles Nat offers you whenever she steps out of your way or leaves a room so you can use it. You see it in the way she brings your favourite snacks home and leaves them in the pantry without word or question, like she doesn’t even expect you to notice. You see it even in the absence of her; in the way that she gives you space, quietly leaving rooms when you enter them so you can use them despite the fact that you can feel in the air how much she wants to stop and talk to you. Sure, you can tell that she’s sorry. But you’re not sure that she knows what she’s sorry for.

You’re not sure she knows how badly she’s really hurt you, with her every move stabbing into you repeatedly over a course of months. Now that the knife is turned on her and she’s the one in exile, a selfish part of you wants to leave her there, just so she knows what it’s like. You guess that’s kind of what you’re doing now. You know this can’t go on forever though. In a couple of months Natasha leaves for out-of-state college, which she announced over dinner a few nights ago. You had to excuse yourself from the table to process that information. Your time is limited, you know, and it’s clear what Natasha wants (to kiss and make up) — but what do you want? To leave this wound untreated, festering for the next eternity? Or to allow yourself peace and let this go?

“Why do I have to be the bigger person?” you half-heartedly complain to Yelena one night as the two of you wash the dishes. “It’s not fair.”

“Because you are the bigger person,” Yelena laughs. “Natalia has given you the control. The next move is on you. That’s just the way it is, if it’s fair or no.” She whips you playfully with her tea towel, and the conversation moves on without further incident.

The issue plays on your mind long after the words are spoken, though. Whether you like it or not, Yelena is right. The next move’s on you. But how are you meant to make that call? What is the right move to make?

Well, one of Natasha’s friends appears very opinionated on the subject. 

On a particularly warm afternoon, you and Yelena stroll into town, and stop off at May Parker’s ice cream parlour — the best in town.

“Ah,” Yelena grimaces, as you draw close to its glass windows, “it is so busy in there. I go in, you wait out here?” 

You smile at her gratefully, and she disappears inside. 

“Y/L/N!” a voice calls out behind you, and you turn around to see Bucky Barnes making a beeline for you. He’s about twice your size in every way imaginable, and you gulp. 

“Hi?” you say uncertainly. You don’t think you’ve ever spoken to him in your life.

“What’s up with you and Romanov?” Well, he’s straight to the point. 

You flounder, mouth opening and shutting, and he’s gracious enough to continue, “look, I know you and her are a thing. Were. I don’t know, she’s being so weird about it. It’s okay, it’s okay, I was her beard. And she was mine,” he adds, gesturing over at Steve Rogers, who’s stood on the other side of the road waiting patiently for his boyfriend. He smiles and waves amiably on cue. 

You blink. “And no one thought to inform me?” 

He shrugs. “Not my place. I think it is my place, though, to ask what’s got her so torn up. You and her fallen out? I’ve never seen her like this. I’on know what to do.”

He may not mean it menacingly, but he’s towering over you and you’re finding it hard to breathe. “She was an asshole, dude,” you say, perhaps a little more defensively than you envisioned. “She wasn’t nice to me and we weren’t even together, because she didn’t see me like that. So yeah, I guess we fell out.”

He frowns, deeply, and takes a moment to process this. “Oh. That… but she does feel that way about you.”

“It’d be nice if she’d show it,” you say bitterly. 

His face softens. “Maybe… Look, even if the two of you don’t work it out proper, wouldn’t it be easier to at least clear the air? She likes you so much. She just wants you in her life, I think.”

You look at him uncertainly for a moment, but he holds your gaze earnestly. You know him and Natasha are relatively close, and you don’t see why he’d lie about something like this. It’s definitely tempting to believe.

“Okay,” you say, “I’ll bear that in mind.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else, but you feel a hand on your shoulder and instantly recognise Yelena’s presence just behind you. “What is going on?”

“Just talking,” says Bucky smoothly, but it seems apparent that the moment is over. “See you around, kid.” He crosses the road back to Steve.

“Kid,” you mutter, “he’s one grade older than me.” 

“What did he want?” Yelena asks you, and you relay your strange interaction to her. “Oh. Well, he is probably right, but I’m not sure how much it means coming from Natasha’s ex.”

“Were they really together?” you ask, your stomach turning at the thought. Wouldn’t that co-occur with your and her relationship? “He said he was her beard.”

She shrugs. “Not my expertise. Come on, the ice cream will melt.”

You don’t see Bucky Barnes again for the weeks that follow, although you can’t help but wonder what he meant, and what he was trying to achieve. (And a little part inside of you thinks that maybe he could be right.)

“Ma?” says Natasha suddenly. “How did you know you loved Alexi?”

It’s late at night, and the two of them are on the car ride home from Nat’s last cheer game of the season. (At her request it was not a family affair, despite Alexi’s insistence that it was his right to make a fuss of his talented daughter’s performance at her last high school cheer game.) The roads are empty and the towns are sleepy, but Natasha’s question has Melina wide awake.

“Eeh… it was not like a revelation. I did not wake up one day with new clarity. It came to me over time. It took me long time to accept, though. Your father is very patient man.”

“But was there anything specific?” Natasha persists.

Melina purses her lips in thought. “Well, when I met him I was not trusting person. One time when we were in the kind of in between bit right before being proper couple, ah —”

“The talking stage,” Nat supplies helpfully.

“— yes, да. We were in that, nothing proper but something, and he went to touch me and I had a… panic? I shut down. Achh, моя любовь, I was still figuring out who I was and what I did and didn’t like and… still growing up and healing from when I was kid. I was scared.”

Natasha nods solemnly. There are some childhood experiences which, despite unspoken, bind she and her mother at the soul.

“So I freak out, and I expected him to… belittle or leave, or something. But he stays and he is so patient, he apologise for making me jump and fetch me tea, and I thought like wow, he is so gentle. And he is not like the other men I known.”

Again, Natasha nods. Gentle is the perfect descriptor for her father. He’s the most wonderful man she’s ever met.

“So we spent more time together, he was patient with me and always caring. That was the time that I knew I would fall in love with him. But I’m not really know when it happened. Maybe by then it already had, ah? I have only ever had eyes for him. He make me feel… valued, and worthy.”

Natasha just hums in response, for she’s suddenly and embarrassingly on the verge of violent sobbing. She blames Ma and Baba and their beautiful relationship. Nothing else.

“Is this about Y/N?” Melina asks quietly. Natasha opens her mouth to reply and there it is, just as she feared, the waterworks are unleashed. Ma sighs heavily and pulls over.

“Идите сюда,” she says, holding her arms out, and Natasha crawls into them. She rocks her daughter back and forth, exactly how she used to so many years ago when the girl was half this size, while Nat’s face is buried in her mother’s neck. They stay like that for a while, until Natasha’s tears begin to die down.

“Do you want to go and get milkshakes?” Melina breaks the silence. Natasha hums her assent.

The 24-hour diner isn’t far from where they’ve pulled over, and it’s almost empty at this time of night. With no words exchanged Melina orders Natasha’s usual, or what was her usual when she was a kid — a strawberry milkshake and fries. A young Natasha decided strawberry was her favourite as soon as she found out that pink was a girl’s colour. Thinking about that now, especially with the hindsight of her conversation with Yelena, has her stomach turning a little. How long has she been letting her view of the world colour every single choice that she makes? Which parts of her are really her, and which are the ones she’s willed into existence?

It’s a scary line of questioning, and Natasha can feel herself beginning to spiral. No more, she tells herself. Yelena was probably right about needing to get to know herself — and learning her real favourite flavour of milkshake seems a manageable starting point.

“Can I have the caramel one?” she asks Melina gruffly, pointing at the menu. Her mama just nods and alters their order accordingly.

They sit at their usual booth and eat in a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional “pass the ketchup”s. Once they’ve finished, though, and Melina can sense her daughter has calmed enough to leave, she turns and says to her, “Love isn’t easy thing to admit. But it’s… not something to be ashamed of. When it comes, just let it happen. It’s scary, but it does not make you weaker, ah? It will do you no good to push it away.” She hesitates, but then seems satisfied with what she’s said. She turns on her heel and heads back out to the car. Natasha, dumbfounded, follows her.

When they finally make it home, Alexi is snoring away upstairs and you’re on the sofa with Yelena sprawled on top of you, fast asleep. You’re wide awake, though, and look up as the two of them come in.

“Night, ma,” Natasha murmurs to her mother, kissing her cheek before tiptoeing off to bed. Melina hums at the action and pads into the living room toward her twins.

“Hi ma,” you chirp, voice a little husky. “Everything okay?”

Your mama nods, and holds out a brown paper bag. “We stopped at diner. Got your favourite. Some for Lena too.”

Your eyes crinkle up into half-moons as you smile at her in gratitude, and Melina smiles back fondly, her chest filling with warmth. “Thank you.”

She kisses Yelena’s forehead, who does not stir, and then yours, lingering for a moment.

“I love you,” she tells you sincerely, and a fierceness glimmers in her gaze that you’re not quite sure what to do with. “We all do.”

“I love you too,” you tell her honestly. You only hope you’re matching her intensity. She holds your gaze for a moment longer as if searching for something within it,  then nods, seemingly satisfied, and retreats upstairs to join Alexi, leaving you alone with a meal to demolish, a slumbering blonde pinning you to the sofa and many, many thoughts.

A few days after that conversation, you wander into the backyard (Melina’s carefully pruned pride and joy) to pet Liho, who’s basking peacefully in the summer evening sun.

“Careful of the flowerbed,” you warn as he flexes his claws and kicks his legs happily. “Someone will suffer if Ma’s roses are ruined.”

He huffs in what could be agreement, and you toe absently at the sandy dirt you and Yelena used to play in.

A gentle creaking sounds from somewhere nearby. It’s a noise that makes you feel ten years younger, and curiously, you rise to your feet.

At the far end of the backyard, nestled among the pines and pratia, is the swing set Alexi built a little while after Yelena first moved in. It’s a little haggard-looking, as when Natasha came to America Alexi bodged a third swing so all of you could play together, but to his credit it’s still held up all these years. Sure, it doesn’t get so much use anymore, but sometimes when one of you is feeling a little down you’ll revisit the simpler times of your childhood.

This seems to be what you’ve stumbled upon Natasha doing now. She’s sat on the middle swing (which in times gone by was your swing, as the middle spot often was when you were a kid, so both siblings got to be next to you), rocking back and forth gently as she cradles something small in her hands, turning it over. She’s lost in thought. Wondering if you’ve intruded on something private, you begin to slowly pace away. When you catch sight of what it is in her hands, though, your stomach turns; a small and glistening pink rock, rubbed smooth by years of love.

“You kept that?” you ask quietly. Natasha’s head shoots up and she takes note of your appearance in the same way that a deer takes note of rapidly approaching headlights. Her mouth opens as she fumbles for words, but she just settles for nodding vigorously before lowering her gaze to her lap again.

You don’t really know what to think, or do. You hesitate for a moment, and find yourself thinking of Bucky’s advice — wouldn’t it be easier to clear the air? This tension is suffocating. With this on your mind, you seem to surprise Natasha as much as yourself when your feet march you over to the swing on your left, and your knees bend to seat you. Her entire body tenses as yours nears her. You can tell that, since you’ve gone to great lengths to escape her company recently, this is the last thing she expected. (In all honesty you weren’t really expecting this either. What now?)

“You know that I’m in love with you, right?” Natasha says suddenly, and you freeze. Your chest tightens, and it’s like she’s wrapped herself around it, claiming your breath as her own.

“That’s not funny,” you reply in a small voice. “Don’t— don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Play with me like that.”

Her stomach lurches. “I’m being serious.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “Were you and Bucky ever actually together?”

“What?”

“Bucky Barnes. Were you with him when you were with me, too?” 

“N- no,” she says with vehement certainty. “I was — well, I guess it doesn’t really matter now, but when him and Steve were a secret I was his cover story. And I guess he was mine, so that I could… yeah.” She gestures towards you, pressing her lips together. 

“But even after they came out I was still a secret.”

“I—” Natasha says, and buries her face in her hands for a moment, because this is not how she hoped this would go. “Yes. And that was wrong of me. I’m sorry. I think I was trying to protect you, and me, and you from me because I know how messy I can be, and I wanted you so bad but I didn’t want to drag you down with me. And I still did anyway.” She sighs heavily.

“That’s an interesting way of showing affection,” you quip. 

“I know,” she says quietly. “And I’m sorry. I know I haven’t shown it well — at all — and I don’t really blame you for not believing me. Or, uh, hating me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you say softly.

Her shoulders sag. “Oh. W— well that’s good, then.”

“But I wish I did,” you add.

“No, yeah. That’s fair.”

“You’re really mean.”

Natasha just nods.

“And it’s even worse because I can’t even hate you because you can also be really nice.”

She nods again uncertainly. She’s not really sure how to respond to that.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you so mean sometimes?”

This makes her stop up short. The way that both you and Yelena never fail to cut to the chase or ask the questions that nobody else would will always catch her off guard. “It’s kind of just who I am,” she begins, but at the way your face scrunches she adds, “or who I’ve decided to be, anyway. I don’t really know. I’m not sure… who I am.” Even uttering the statement aloud is a weight lifted from her shoulders. “It’s scary. I guess I… I thought that, like, I have to be the mean one, or someone else will first. To me. You know?”

“Why would anyone be mean to you?”

“Because I like girls,” she says truthfully, and there’s a tremor to her voice.. “And I’m not from here.”

You stare at her. “…? I like girls, and Yelena isn’t from here. No one is mean to us for it.”

“Because Yelena can and will beat the shit out of anyone that tries something,” Nat snorts. “But I just… I don’t know. It’s different for me.” You nod encouragingly and she adds with reluctance, “I don’t— belong here, not really. Or anywhere. I’m too American to be Russian and too Russian to be American. Ma and Baba and Yelena have it figured out, they’re just both and themselves and they don’t even have to think about it. But that’s not so easy for me.”

“Maybe,” you say carefully, “it’s to do with the people you choose to surround yourselves with. Is it possible that you’re… spending time with the wrong people? If you’re made to feel as though these things make you lesser.”

She shrugs. “Probably. But that doesn’t change the fact that I just… I really don’t have a lot going for me. So I kinda pretend that I do, and then it gets out of hand and I’ve convinced myself that I’m a lot more interesting than I am, to the point that I don’t know who me is. And I get all freaked out. And I’m so scared I kind of just shut off and try not to think, so I guess I’m just an asshole instead. Like it’s a reflex, you know? But it’s not really me. Nothing is me. My entire life is one perpetual identity crisis.” She drops her gaze to toe at the ground.

Your swing comes to a still as you clasp one of her hands between both of yours. They’re warm and perfectly manicured, and her eyes light up at the contact. “You don’t have to know who you are. You just have to exist, and you find out. I’m learning things about myself all the time, and so is Lena. This was my first relationship —” Nat’s stomach drops at the use of the word was “— and I’ve learnt a lot about myself and how I like to be treated. And Lena only came to terms with being aroace this year. Even Ma only just decided she’s demi,” you point out, and Nat can’t help but smile at this. (A little while ago, after Yelena first came out, you and Melina began joining her in attending weekly meetings at the local youth centre for young queer people and their parents. Your mama was determined to be a more educated advocate for her three queer daughters. Very recently, with all this new terminology at her disposal, she dropped into a dinnertime conversation in the presence of the whole family that she thinks she’s demi. “Not that it matters,” she added, “the only one for me is your father,” and she kissed his beaming crinkly cheek with a motherly tenderness. It was a beautiful moment to witness, despite Yelena’s playful booing.)

“I guess,” she says quietly. “Um, I’ve been talking to someone. Professional,” she adds at the look on your face. “Yelena said some stuff that made me realise I probably shouldn’t sort through this alone.”

“Yes, you shouldn’t,” you nod. Natasha raises an eyebrow at your ready agreement. “It’s not something to be ashamed of. Lena sees someone. I do too.”

She blinks. “Really?”

“Yes,” you laugh, “Baba takes me every other Thursday. I have horrible abandonment issues. I guess after everything that’s happened, I’ve kinda internalised some stuff.”

“I definitely took advantage of that,” Nat says guiltily. “I’m sorry. Honestly, I am.”

You look at her. “I know.” Your hand squeezes hers before letting go and she instantly aches to feel it again. “I’m sorry, too. For not… I don’t know, setting more boundaries. Or being more forceful.”

“No, no, it wasn’t your fault.”

You hum, and the two of you sit in silence for a long while as the sun begins to retire.

“You know,” you say suddenly, “you don’t have to move across the country. You can if you want, obviously, it’s your call, but if it’s just because of me… you don’t have to.”

“But-? I’m trying to give you space? To heal,” she says confusedly, and you laugh.

“And it’s very sweet, but I don’t need that much space. I’ve already forgiven you.”

Natasha’s soul leaves her body. “You— huh?”

“I have,” you laugh kindly. “I did some of my own thinking, and I just… I don’t know. I don’t think you need me being mad at you, on top of everything else going on in here.” You tap at her temple gently to emphasise your point, and she shivers. “And I don’t think I need that either. I don’t want to carry that with me.”

“Okay,” Natasha breathes. “T— thank you.”

You wrinkle your nose at her affectionately. “You’re silly.”

She’s awash with the overwhelming need to kiss you, and instead twitches a little, digging her nails into her palm. You take in the movement with such wide-eyed concern that she has to close her eyes for a moment, because she’s almost ill with how much she feels for you. This feeling only grows more intense as you continue.

“I know we’re… whatever we are, but… if there’s anything I can do for you, let me know,” you say more quietly. “I know you’ve been through some stuff, and even when you’re seeing someone for it it can get overwhelming. I do care about you.”

She nods, and swallows thickly. “ I don’t— I— uhm. What does this make us?”

You can hear her hopes heavy on her tongue, and your heart is like lead. “Friends?” you offer. “I— I don’t think we should be anything else, right now.”

Natasha nods, and swallows thickly. With it she swallows back the words but I love you. It must be written across her face, though, because you cup it between your hands (which really isn’t helping her self-restraint at all).

“I love you,” you tell her honestly. “And I always have. But love isn’t… you don’t… I don’t know. That kind of love is something that you earn, I think. And we both need to take care of ourselves.”

“I understand.” Natasha’s voice is hoarse, and barely above a whisper. “And I want you to feel like I respect your decision. But I also want you to feel like I’m serious. About you. And I will prove it if I have to.”

Against your own better judgement, you smile at her.

One thing about Natasha Romanoff is that she’s not a quitter.

Some would say it’s an endearing quality. More would probably tell her it’s the reason she finds herself in so many messes in the first place. What’s objectively certain is that she’s a stubborn little shit — and and with this determination she’s decided she’s going to win you back. Your slight encouragement, no matter how vague, is enough fuel for a fire that could simmer for months.

It starts as chocolates, and flowers. At this point she seems to have cottoned onto the fact that you’re not one for big, theatrical confessions of love, but rather consistent affirmations of it. Actions, not words, she’s heard you say (although now more than ever before she’s seeing for herself what you mean). So there’s no four-act sonnet recitals when you receive her gifts — although you don’t really receive them at all, in the traditional sense. Rather they seem to begin popping up everywhere you go. At one point you open your locker to a bouquet so over-endowed that flowers begin to tumble out onto the floor. Sam steps neatly to the side and watches with glee as you scramble to clean the mess. (He’s most definitely enjoying watching all of this play out.)

Your favourite of all these surprise gifts is probably one delivered by your own four-legged Cupid himself. Liho headbutts the door to your room open and stalks in with a scowl on his face and something attached to his collar. As soon as you remove it to inspect it he rolls onto his back and looks up at you expectantly, clearly expecting compensation for this favour.

“Yes, you’re a very handsome boy,” you tell him distractedly, using one hand to rub his belly while you attempt to unfurl the note he’s delivered with the other. Yelena lets out a noise of amusement. She’s perched on your bed with the Kardashians paused on her laptop in favour of watching this play out instead.

“You are so ungraceful,” she comments mildly, making no move to help you.

“I love how you always see the best in me,” you reply through gritted teeth.

After a moment, you manage to succeed in your task. I picked these for you :), the letter reads. You glance over at Liho’s collar again to see a tiny bunch of forget-me-nots, only slightly battered from their journey and bound neatly by brown twine.

“Another gift from the mystery girl?” Yelena teases, and you groan.

“Okay, saying mystery girl is officially banned. It’s giving me war flashbacks.”

“And that is fair,” your sister muses, getting to her feet to inspect your latest delivery. After she’s done she sits back on her heels. “You don’t have to keep turning her down, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if it’s just because of me. You have my… blessing, or whatever. But on the condition that you’re not gross about it.” She rolls her eyes, and nudges your cheek with her nose. You squirm good-naturedly.

“Why thank you, your Grace.”

“Yes, I’m the graceful one,” she preens.

“Sure,” you snort, and she smirks. “Um, thank you, though. That’s good to know. I guess I’m still… figuring it out, but she’s growing on me again.” And it’s true. You have your reservations now, but she’s trying to remind you why you first fell for her (and yeah, she might be succeeding). Part of you wonders if she’s turning on the superficiality again, but after she spilled her guts to you on the swing set you’re trying to have faith that she really is turning a new leaf, and charming you authentically.

Yelena considers this. “Yes, okay. This makes sense. Remember to tell me if she tries anything again though. I will put them up.” She raises her fists and you giggle, but you know she’s at least partially serious. She’s very athletic in her own right and people at school go out of their way to avoid crossing her. That’s how you’ve stayed out of trouble your whole life — by standing behind Yelena and letting her handle it instead. Where you hesitate, she dives right in. You adore that about her, though.

“Do you know what you’ll do once she’s out of state?” Lena asks, and you shrug.

“Figure it out as we go, I guess. I don’t know if she’ll lose interest in me.”

The blonde looks up fiercely. “If she does that I will stick them up.”

You beam at her, admittedly less for the violence and more for the sentiment behind it. She beams back for reasons more ambiguous.

“Do you know what we will do?” Yelena queries. Upon your frown she elaborates, “next year when it is our turn to pick college. You and me, what will we do?”

“Pick the same one, and both get in because we’re super smart, and we’ll be roommates. And you can make us mac and cheese every night,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

She contemplates this.

“Okay,” she says, seemingly satisfied with your answer. “Can we hit play now? I want to know what’s happen to Kim’s diamond earring.”

“Two cookies say she gets it back.”

“Two cookies say eat my ass the way a fish ate her earring,” she retorts, and the two of you settle on the bed again. (You have two more cookies than usual after dinner.)

Despite the witticism you take Yelena’s blessing with pride, and it means a lot more to you than you let on. Now that every single member of your family has shown their support for your relationship you can’t help but feel a slight ray of hope, the likes of which you thought had been stomped out long ago. Never before have you dared to imagine a situation where you could actually have a shot with the girl of your dreams, who you’ve wanted for as long as you can remember — and yet here you are, with her putting her back out working overtime to win you over, and your family watching with interest. Every morning you wake up a little warmer to the idea of letting this happen.

That doesn’t mean Natasha’s out of the woods yet, though, and you’re careful to make this clear to her. She senses your hesitance, and completely understands its presence. She’ll wait for you as long as it takes. (She’s genuinely stunned at how forgiving you have been of her, in all honesty.) In fact she takes your reluctances in her stride in a way that actually has you feeling more for her — but again, you know better than to repeat your mistakes of the past, and so you take this as slowly as you can considering she’s coming on strong and you live under the same roof.

Three months of summer lie ahead of you, stretching out like an endless expanse of sunset-tinted possibility. You and Yelena manage to land jobs at the video store in town — Yelena goes blazing into the interview and makes it clear as she can that the two of you are a package deal. Wong, the guy who runs the place, just seems grateful for the help.

The store becomes somewhat of a hangout spot for the two of you, who work the same hours and are joined at the hip like always, and it’s a safe bet to stop by if anyone wants to find you. Sam often swings by to playfully irritate the both of you, since the marina where his parents’ boat is docked is just round the corner, and Natasha will meet you when you’re closing to take you out for dinner after. (Sometimes Yelena tags along to these meals, and gleefully revels in the awkwardness her presence causes.) Since you and Yelena are twins again too, things are looking up for your friendship group and they’ve taken to visiting also. You’re delighted to spend time with them again. (Seeing Makkari’s face light up when she steps into the Deaf & Subtitled section of the store makes your whole week.)

In fact, word seems to have gotten out about the fact that Wong’s employed you, because one sleepy Tuesday afternoon Bucky Barnes drops by to rent a DVD. He picks one at random, not even glancing at the cover, and as you scan it through for him he says to you lowly, “thank you for making Natasha happy again. She cares so much about you.” He offers you a genuine smile before heading out abruptly and almost forgetting his DVD in the process. (You suspect his purchase was a mere means to talk to you.) It’s a strange interaction, but decidedly more pleasant than your last with him, so you take it no further.

Another perk of having this job is that you have your own money now. You’re not really sure what to do with it at first; the only thing that occurs to you is that you want to get a gift for Natasha. At the end of the summer is her graduation — she’ll walk and wear the square hat and everything, and you’re very excited to embarrass her with photos of the event — and after that she’ll leave for college. Her graduation is the perfect time to present her with said gift, you decide.

You know you want the gift to be meaningful, but you’re not really sure of the specifics. Luckily for you, one night on the roof with Natasha is all you need for the inspiration to strike.

Can’t sleep, you text her one night, after hours of fruitless tossing and turning.

She replies immediately.

Me neither

Come down to my room :)

If you want to!!! she adds after a moment, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. She is adorable.

Omw, you tell her, rolling out of bed.

The door is unlocked!!!!!! just come in

You follow her instructions and slip inside. The room is cosily lit, with her fairy lights on and her little lamp shaped like Calcifer flickering merrily; the bed is unmade, as if someone’s been in it recently, but Natasha herself is nowhere to be seen.

“Nat?” you call out uncertainly, and squeak in surprise when her head pops through the window. She smiles softly at your reaction.

“I’m out here,” she tells you. “C’mon, there’s space for both of us.” She wriggles along her perch on the flat row of tiles of the roof, and pats the empty spot beside her. Antics like this don’t faze you after twelve years of friendship with Yelena. You clamber out beside her readily.

“Hi,” says Natasha a little bashfully, once you’re settled. You lean up to peck her lips and she flushes. “Y— yeah. Um, hi.”

“Hi,” you reply sweetly. “It’s nice out here.”

“It is,” she agrees, her gaze not straying from you. You take no notice, though; your sights are set to the heavens. No matter how much you snipe about how annoying it is to live in a small town, the views still take your breath away. The stars shimmer bright above you, as they do almost every night. They’re not the only beautiful sight your town has to offer; Wanda adores the rocky hills at the edge of town, where many scavengers like squirrels and raccoons have made their home (one boy in your grade, Peter Quill, has befriended one of the raccoons and affectionately named him ‘Rocket’. He visits Rocket every day after lunch with his leftovers from the cafeteria). Occasionally she’s able to convince everyone in your group to accompany her hiking there. Despite your grumbling, it does make for an enjoyable day out.

“I come out here when I can’t sleep,” she tells you quietly.

“I sit on the roof sometimes,” you reply, and you beam at each other. It’s true — you do, but sharing the information feels vulnerable. You’ve figured out how to hoist yourself up through the skylight in the loft and onto the utmost point of the house, but it’s an activity you’ve kept as your own for now. While you adore more than anything being twins with Yelena, and living your life with her, you’re also learning how to exist by yourself for the first time in your life, and enjoying having your own space. Your little corner in the attic has afforded you many freedoms, and not just material ones.

“You see the moon?” Nat asks. The planet in question hangs round and heavy over the horizon, not quite full.

“How could I miss her?” She’s the most beautiful thing in sight.

“You know the difference between waxing and waning?” Natasha prompts, and you shake your head, solely because you love when she talks about her passions. “Waxing is when the moon transitions from a new moon to a full moon — so she fills out. See, that’s what she’s doing now.”

“She’s nearly full,” you remark quietly.

“Yup.” She grins. “Now when she’s waxing, she fills in from the right side — so she kinda looks like a C.” She makes a C shape with her left hand and holds it up against the sky to confirm that, yes, while the moon is waxing it vaguely resembles the letter. “But soon she’ll start to wane — maybe next week? After the full moon. Waning is the transition from the full moon back to the new moon, so she shrinks away into nothing. She’s eaten away from the left side, so she looks like a reverse C.” Nat makes a C shape with her right hand this time, so that it’s reversed, and holds it up to compare to the moon. They don’t match up right now, but they’ll get there someday.

“This is my favourite period though,” she confesses, her voice dropping a little lower, “of the lunar cycle. When the moon is waxing.”

“Why?”

“Because it feels,” she hesitates. “I don’t know. It feels like gross to say out loud but it kinda just feels like, encouraging. Things are always changing. They won’t be like this forever, you know? The cycle keeps on repeating itself.”

“The cycle keeps on repeating itself,” you repeat, and she smiles at you.

“Yeah. You don’t think it’s… dumb? I don’t know, I’ve never brought anyone else up here. I —”

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell her, and she kisses you gently.

The next day you go out and buy a crescent moon necklace.

Natasha has been coming into your room more and more often lately, and you don’t trust yourself to not leave it lying around in plain sight, so one day while she’s out you enlist Alexi’s help to loosen one of the floorboards in the attic so you can stash things under it inconspicuously.

“It’s not for anything suspicious,” you tell him quickly, “you can look under it whenever you want. It’s just to hide gifts and —”

“Relax, sunflower,” he chuckles, “you are entitled to your secrets.”

The necklace stays hidden there until summer draws to a close.

The weeks fly by in a golden haze and before you know it, you’re getting ready for Natasha’s graduation.

Alexi is stood on the landing in his smartest suit, and flexing proudly in the mirror on the wall. “It still fits!” he booms triumphantly.

“Don’t forget to wear your nice shirt, любовь,” Melina calls up the stairs to him. “No one with holes in.” He deflates a little, and retreats back into their bedroom to change.

“He looks fine,” Yelena scolds half-heartedly as she lumbers down the stairs, holding out her wrists to Melina. “Can you do my cufflinks?”

“Where’s your please?” Melina retorts, but she sets her clutch down so she can use both hands to help her daughter.

“We have to leave in ten minutes,” Natasha announces as she bursts from her own room. “Семья, I know what you are like, and we cannot be late.”

“Relax, love.” Alexi reemerges from the bedroom in a different shirt this time. “I will go and start the car,” he starts down the stairs, “and— oh.” He pauses as several buttons pop off his shirt simultaneously. “Ебать.” He turns around and subduedly makes his way back up the stairs.

“Baba,” Natasha groans. “This is what I mean.”

“Hey! I am nearly ready,” says Yelena indignantly, nodding at her mother in thanks for doing her cufflinks before ducking in front of the mirror. “Oh shit, where is my tie?”

“Language,” reprimands Melina.

“See?” Natasha sighs exasperatedly. “Y/N/N is the only one who’s ready.” She hurries down the stairs to where you’re stood in the hall, watching the scene unfold serenely. You’ve been ready to leave for the last ten minutes. She beams at you and pecks you on the cheek just shy of your lips. You flush, and the crescent moon necklace burns a hole in your pocket. Now isn’t the time, though.

Eventually, you all make it into the car, with everyone now sporting correctly-fitting outfits. As always on car journeys, you’re in the back, sandwiched in the middle between Natasha and Yelena. Lena scrolls through her phone disinterestedly, headphones in, while Natasha vibrates on your other side with anticipation and nerves. You take one of her hands between both of yours and she stills instantly.

“I am very proud of you,” you say quietly, “to have made it this far, with these grades. You’ve gotten into your dream college. You can do anything. Today will go fine.”

She doesn’t speak for fear of bawling and potentially ruining her eyeliner, so instead she rests her head on your shoulder in silent gratitude. She doesn’t move until you arrive, at which point she shows you all to your seats (front row, you note) and disappears to the backstage meeting point for all of the graduates.

The actual ceremony doesn’t begin for a while, so Melina converses with the other parents seated around her while Alexi nods politely, and you and Yelena compete in a thumb war. Eventually Principal Rambeau steps onto the stage and a silence settles on the gathered audience.

“Thank you all for attending,” she begins. “We’re here to celebrate our wonderful seniors, who have put in so much work to make it here today, and walk this stage.” She continues like that for a short while before they begin to call the students’ names, and they each walk across the stage in turn to claim their diploma. Natasha is a little later on the register, so you just sit back and enjoy the show — you’ve lived in this small town all your life, where most people know of each other, and so you recognise or even know the vast majority of the people who make their way across the stage. Some of them choose to make a memorable exit from their high school career (like Happy Hogan who chooses to breakdance his way across the stage, or Ned Leeds who walks proudly in a hot dog suit), whereas others take the more graceful route (see Valkyrie King, a prominent athlete of the school, who walks with confidence and regally basks in everyone’s recognition of her). When Natasha Romanova-Shostakov is called, she walks the stage a little bashfully, and with a blush accepts the cheers showered upon her after several years of being the cheer team’s star. You clap and shout louder than anyone else, and to Yelena’s glee capture several shots of her in her square graduate cap. Front row seat privilege. 

After the presentations, the students flood into the crowd and people break off into little groups. The air hums with the joy of people laughing and congratulating and embracing one another. Natasha makes her way over to you and Yelena, who are stood now with your parents beside the refreshments. She brightens when she spots you, and is instantly by your side, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“There is my girl!” Melina cheers. An outbreak of hugging ensues.

You mingle politely for a while with the other families milling around your own. Natasha appears intermittently, being the centre of attention today. Yelena is by your side (with her arm annoyingly resting on your shoulder to remind you that she’s taller) until one of her hockey friends pilfers her to show her something. In the few moments that you’re unaccompanied, Natasha resurfaces from the crowd, takes your arm and leads you somewhere a little quieter, and a little less visible to the masses.

“I just, um,” she realises she’s still holding your arm and lets go of it with a blush, “I wanted to thank you for being here. Like actually. It means a lot to me. I know— I know that in a couple of weeks I won’t be here properly, and it might make things weird, but —”

Now is the perfect time, you decide. As she continues to nervously ramble you pull the crescent moon necklace in its little velvet box from your pocket, and present it to her. She falls silent and looks at you.

“It’s for you,” you say unnecessarily, opening it to show her the treasure inside. Her eyes widen. “I— I want to do this with you. I want to give us a try. I like being with you.”

And as you clasp the delicate chain around her neck, and lean up to press a chaste kiss to her lips, Natasha understands. Love is something you earn.

She entwines your hand with hers, and together the two of you make your way back towards your family.

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Evermore - Eddie's Ending

Series Summary: It's been 7 years since the love of your life left you behind for his career. When he decides to come back, is it too late to start anew? Will you decide to start over or realize what's been right in front of you this whole time?

Just a small note: Thank you all for sticking around with me on this small journey! Enjoy!

Masterlist found here!

18+ Only! MDNI!

Warnings: Reader is referred to as "Peach." AFAB reader. Tad bit of angst. Fluff. Eddie has a reverse prince Albert piercing. Unprotected P in V. Creampie.

Word Count: 5.6K

You were ready to finally face the past and look forward to the future. Deep down, you knew what you wanted. So, why was your heart hammering in your chest? Why were your palms so sweaty?

You turned the car around to head over to a house you knew fairly well. You’d been there a few times since Eddie had moved him out of Forest Hills.

The black sedan he’d rented sits in the drive as you pulled in behind it, shutting the ignition off and taking a deep breath. You sat there a few more moments trying to gather yourself.

Slowly moving from the driver’s seat, your feet felt like chunks of lead, carrying you up the drive. Then slowly taking the steps one by one until you are face to face with the front door.

You hesitantly lifted your fist, knocking three quick times, holding your breath in the process.

The door opened to reveal Wayne, smiling brightly when he saw you standing there.

“Well, hello darlin’.” Pulling you in for a quick hug and stepping aside to let you enter.

“Hi Wayne.”

“Don’t suppose you're here to see this old man,” chuckling lightly. “He’s in the living room, I’ll make myself scarce.” Turning to head down the hall.

“And darlin’, it’s good to see you again.” Smiling once more before disappearing into his room.

You turned the corner, to see Eddie at the end of the couch, feigning interest in whatever was playing on the TV. His profile outlined by the lamp on the table beside him, hair still pulled back in a bun from when he had put it up earlier in the morning, pieces now falling down framing his face.

“Who was it, Pop?” He said, not making an attempt to look your way when you entered.

“Uh, just some girl, but I can tell her to leave if you don’t want to see her.”

His head snapped up at hearing your voice, eyes wide with surprise as he shot up from the couch. He slowly came to stand before you as if any sudden movements might scare you away.

“Peach? What’re you doin’ here?” Looking behind you as if expecting someone else to follow.

“I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d stop by.” You shrugged, with a faint smirk to your lips.

“In the neighborhood, huh? And you came to see little ole’ me? I’m flattered, sweetheart.” He brought his hands up over his heart. “I uh… I’m glad you came by.”

“I think we had a little unfinished business to talk about, uninterrupted this time. Hopefully.” Your smile was warm, like sunshine, filling him with hope once more.

“You want to sit? Want something to drink? Coffee, tea?” He asked.

“I could use some coffee. I’ve got to go back into the Hideout tonight. Some new band is trying out for a regular spot.”

He beckoned you to follow him to the kitchen. Watching him start the pot as you sat down, letting out the smallest sigh as you did.

“New band? Hideout still does live music?” he asked over his shoulder, busying himself gathering some mugs from the cabinet.

“Of course, I didn’t change much about the place. I guess I wanted to keep the nostalgia. The parts that I always enjoyed.”

He sat the mugs down as he took the seat across from you.

“They uh, kind of remind me of Corroded Coffin in a way. They’re young, ambitious. They want to play anywhere people will listen.”

He sipped his coffee listening, biding his time. Hoping that you were here for some other reason than small talk before letting him down gently.

“Peach, I…” “Listen, Eddie…” Both saying in tandem. You let out small laughs in the quiet space, hiding the awkwardness but you were almost certain he could hear your heart from across the table at how fast it was currently beating.

“It’s ok, you go.” Eddie spoke first.

Releasing a ragged breath, feeling his big, rounded eyes on you so intensely made you more nervous than before.

“I just came here to tell you that you were right. I couldn’t just sit there and pretend that I didn’t feel anything between us. I haven’t felt something like that, well, since…” You caught his gaze, he knowingly nodded.

“Eddie, you turned my entire world upside down and shattered my heart. I don’t think you realize just how much you hurt me. You weren’t here to see me at my lowest. I didn’t leave the apartment for a week, and once I did Steve and Robin took turns watching me because I was such a wreck.” Your eyes felt the familiar sting behind them that you had grown so accustomed to in the past few days.

“Peach, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I know it doesn’t make up for it, but I would spend the rest of my entire life trying. I still love you. I’ve never stopped loving you. I know you’re trying to say your piece before telling me that’s it, but please. I am begging you. Just one chance, I’ll show you today and the rest of our lives.”

His big eyes boring into yours, glossy, tears lining his lashes ready to spill at any moment. You hadn’t seen him this vulnerable in a long time. Somehow you could feel he was telling the truth.

“Eddie, we live such different lives now. How would we even make it work? I’m not leaving Hawkins. I can’t leave Maddie.” The only words he focused on were “make it work.” You hadn’t turned him down.

“First of all, I wouldn’t ask you to leave Hawkins, not now or ever.” He dared to place his hand on top of yours, where it sat on the table. You didn’t pull away but turned your palm over so you could curl your fingers into his, pulling him closer. His heart fluttered at the gesture.

“Wayne and I have been talking. I’m not going back to LA, at least not right now. I need a break and a major detox. In case you haven’t noticed, I uh…I need…” He was struggling to say it out loud. Your thumb gently rubbed the tender skin you held, encouraging him to go on.

“Well, it would do me some good to sober up. I’ve been going too hard for too long.” Looking down, as if he were ashamed but you were proud of him. This was your Eddie.

“How about we take this one day at a time? It’s not going to be easy. But it doesn’t mean that I forgive you for everything you put me through. Words only go so far; you need to show me.” You squeezed his hand.

“I can do that. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” Lifting your hand to his lips, placing a small kiss there. You smiled fondly hoping you’ve made the right choice. A second chance at a love you thought was lost.

“Alright, one day at a time Eddie.”

You sat there sipping coffee and fingers intertwined with his letting the gentle moment sink in. You were doing this; you were ready to try to love again.

“Walk me out? I’ve got to get ready for tonight.”

You both stood, as he placed his palm to the small of your back, guiding you back through the house.

“Hey Eddie,” turning back to him as you walked through the door. “There's this really cool band playing at the Hideout tonight. I could save you a seat. I’ll even have some virgin Pina Coladas ready to go. How about it?”

He grinned wide, “It’s a date sweetheart. I’ll be there.”

You were buzzing with electricity since you had left him, heading straight home to get a little more dressed up for a usual weeknight. You wore dark denim jeans, paired with a simple tank top and your own leather jacket with some old converse sneakers to keep your feet comfy. You kept your makeup simple but added a nice red lip. Something Eddie was always fond of.

The band you had hired brought in more of a crowd than you had anticipated, packing the place. The usuals grumbling about all these “young kids” taking their seats.

You were busy, helping out behind the bar or on the floor, wherever you were needed until your other waitress arrived. Your eyes kept glancing at the clock as it inched its way closer to 7 PM.

The band was set to perform at 7:30, and he would be arriving at any moment. You had roped off the two stools at the end of the bar earlier in the day, the ones directly in front of where your initials were carved what now seems like a lifetime ago.

You heard the commotion before you saw him.

Someone from the crowd shouted, as others joined in. “Holy shit, it’s Eddie Munson.” “It’s really him!” “No way!”

You gave him time, slipping in and around the people clambering to talk to the one and only Eddie Munson, frontman of Corroded Coffin. The members of the band you’d hired finally had their chance, speaking with him briefly, asking advice which he gladly gave but his mind was elsewhere.

His eyes drifted to where you sat, back turned to him. The noise and voices slowly subsided as you came into view.

“Excuse me, boys, I’ve got a hot date. And I’ve kept her waiting far too long.” He clapped one of them on the back as he made his way over. “Have a good set.”

You were sipping your Pina Colada, virgin just as you had told him they would be.

“Hi there, this seat taken?” He asked, coming to stand beside you.

“Well, I’m waiting for some guy but he’s late. I suppose you’ll do.” You grinned, taking another sip of the sugary concoction.

“His loss,” he chuckled out, as he sat.

Your eyes finally found him as you smiled at each other. He had showered, his curls down and around his face and shoulders. He’d left his stubble; it was a good look for him. It made him look older, hiding those boyish features but it was fitting. You were both older now. Your mind wonders how he sees you now.

He scooted over into your space, slotting his legs on either side of you. He smelled of that familiar leather and cigarettes that you had always found comfort in, something reminiscent of home. You could also faintly smell a cologne underneath, woodsy and expensive.

“So, handsome, what brings you in here tonight?” Pushing yourself a little closer still, knee pressing into his thigh as you slot yourself in between his open legs, feeling a little brave, placing your hand on his leg.

You watched his breath hitch, as if it was first date jitters and you hadn’t spent an entire lifetime together, but it was time to get to know one another again.

He didn’t have time to respond. The band cut through the sound system that you had spent a small fortune upgrading a few years ago as both of you looked toward the stage.

“Hey everyone, we’re Punk Rats. Let’s hit it!” It was new rock, in a small town. Something Eddie knew all too well. It usually wasn’t welcome, but it looks as if you made the Hideout a safe place for people like them to play and invite their fans. You were like him in that way, always a soft spot for the outcasts and lost sheep.

The music poured out. Loud and fast paced.

He leaned in close, so you could hear him. “They aren’t too bad.”

“I know, I hired them. Remember?” You laughed. He was so glad to draw that sound from you. Something he thought he’d never hear again.

He slyly watched you, watching them perform with stars in your eyes. He remembered those days you were looking at him up there. He’d never gotten to see you like this, up close.

You reached over and threaded your fingers through his, holding tight, letting the music sway you from side to side. You had missed his touch.

“Hey Eds,” you turned to him, finding his eyes already on you. “I’ll be right back, I’ve to check on something.” You slowly unlatched yourself from him, kissing his cheek.

He nodded, eyes trailing after you, a little sway to your hips as you went weaving through the small crowd. He thought to himself at this moment how lucky he was to be here, and he wasn’t about to let you slip through his fingers. What an absolute fool he was. Young, ambitious but at what cost?

The minutes ticked by, and you hadn’t returned. He checked his watch, looking around nervously until the bartender caught his attention.

“Hey man,” Randy cut through the chatter, “she told me to give you this,” handing him a folded paper.

For a moment his heart sank. You’d changed your mind and didn’t want to tell him. He was getting his payback, and he didn't blame you.

A look of confusion passed his features before he took it from him hesitantly, fingers with a little tremble; from detoxing or nerves he didn’t quite know.

Hey Handsome,

Meet me upstairs. The door is unlocked.

XoXo, Peach

Breathing a sigh of relief, he got up. Making his way across the bar to the front door, pushing his way out into the cool Indiana summer night air.

He looked up at the apartment window. It was dark, anticipation stirring within him as he started to climb the stairs taking two at a time but trying to maintain his cool.

He stopped, should he knock? No that's stupid, you said the door was unlocked.

He held his breath, and slowly turned the knob, pushing as the door slowly creaked open. The only light seeping in from the window.

“Peach?” He called out. Closing the door behind him, letting his eyes adjust slowly to the darkness that surrounded him.

He saw you moments later, silhouette outlined by the same window.

“Every time I come up here, I think about that night. Wondering what I could have done differently.” You gaze steady on the outside world, as he comes up behind you.

He’s well aware that he had the luxury to run away, forget it all. You had to stay, see everything that reminded you of him here in Hawkins.

He placed his arms around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. He radiated warmth but your body erupted in goosebumps from the sudden closeness.

“Is this, okay?” Breath fanning across your cheek, as he spoke.

“It’s more than okay,” wrapping your arms around his.

He nuzzled his face into your neck, breathing you in. You always smelled sweet. Something that always made him think of vanilla and summer days.

He wanted to cherish the moment, the time he had with you as he raised his head up, lips kissing tenderly at your temple.

“God, I missed you so much. And I’m sorry I’m a few years late. An apology that shouldn't even have to be made. I was stupid. Selfish.” He mumbled into your hair.

“Eddie, how about we make some new memories? Replace the ones that I need to forget.” You moved out of his grip so you could face him, as your hands snaked around his waist, meeting the warmth you missed so much laying your head to his chest.

“Yeah, Sweetheart. We can do that.”

You pulled your head away from where it rested long enough to look him over. His gaze immediately bringing you a comfort you so desperately craved from your time apart. His cheeks flushed, tinted the lightest shade of pink. Eyes drifting to his lips. His tongue darted out slightly, wetting them.

“You can make me forget? Remind me of all the good times?” He nodded.

“Kiss me, Eddie.”

You tilted your chin upward, as he crashed his lips into yours. His hand meeting the back of your head, pulling you in, his other resting on your hip.

The moment your lips met, it was desperate and needy. Your hands find purchase on the front of his shirt as you move against each other.

His tongue grazed your bottom lip, begging for entry, silently granting permission as you gently parted them.

All at once, he’s everywhere but it isn’t enough. Hands roaming, feeling any of the exposed skin he could get to. You fervently wish in this moment you could crawl under his skin, desperate to be as close as possible.

You feel a familiar ache between your legs, with an intensity that has you reeling. He pulls you closer, deepening the kiss, pressing in as you feel the evidence of his own growing need against your hip, straining against his denim.

Pulling away slightly, he sucks your lower lip gently before releasing it with a gentle pop. You’re both out of breath, panting. Leaning his forehead against yours, the small breaths being shared in the space between you the only sounds in the room.

“Eds, I need you,” you finally manage to speak.

“I need you too, Peach. Can I please, have you?”

You brought your hands up to gently cup his face. “I’ve waited for what seems like an eternity to have you back in my arms. Please.”

“Wait, is there even a bed up here?” As if he suddenly remembered where you were, and no furniture in the immediate area that he could see.

You giggle and nod, “Yes, Eds. Though I know that hasn’t stopped you before.���

“I had to ask sweetheart,” he leans in close, dropping his voice to that husky tone that has your thighs clenching, “I’d like to fuck you properly tonight.”

You yelp as his hand comes into contact with your ass with a loud smack.

“Eddie!” You chastise him, with a grin.

“Come on, baby,” he gently tapped your ass then, giving you the go ahead.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs around his narrow waist. Eddie was always strong; years of lugging heavy music equipment had its perks.

His large palms cup your cheeks bringing you even closer, grinding down so you could press your core to his ever-growing bulge making you both moan out with want. He wastes no time, managing to kiss you again and marching you both straight to the bedroom.

He only breaks the kiss a moment to look around once he’d managed to get you both through the doorway in one piece. Though the bed has changed it feels the same. It’s in the same position it was always in. Fitting, he thinks.

He gently moves to the bed, sitting you down with a small bounce as you giggle. Helping you quickly shed your jacket, tossing it haphazardly across the floor as he does the same with his.

He takes your sneaker clad foot and helps ease your shoe off and then switches to do the same with the other. You watched him, scooting yourself up into the pillows. He slipped his own shoes off and made his way back over to you.

Crawling over, he nudged your thighs so he could slot himself between them. His throbbing length meeting your core once again through the layers of still too much fabric separating you from one another.

You arched and moved into him when the rough denim meets your own, but finding enough friction where you craved it the most. You let out a breathy moan, sounding more like a sigh.

It was like music to his ears.

“God, I’ve missed those sounds.” Tenderly moving the hair from your face before caging you in.

His lips once again meeting yours, not as much urgency in the way they moved against yours, but just as much passion taking his time savoring the taste.

He pulled away, your lips chasing his, it only had you pleading once more, “Please Eddie, I need you.”

“I know baby, but I want to take my time. I’ve missed you so much.” He looked directly into your eyes, tears brimming at your lash line, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Needy baby, let me take care of you.”

He helped you remove your top, kissing down your jaw, then the column of your neck, making his way lower. Tender kisses all the way down your chest, as if reacquainting himself with each part of you. Thumbs brushing over the thin fabric covering your breast, earning him another moan. He moved to unclasp it, freeing you from the confines.

Then moving his lips lightly over each nipple, breath fanning, teasing you. Your head was already getting dizzy, thrown back with pleasure before his tongue licks hot, over your already pert nub while his palm engulfed the other. Switching the motions of his tongue before fully sucking and then lightly biting, making your core throb with need.

“Oh, Eddie,” an already breathless utterance falling from your lips.

Once he felt your breasts had enough attention, his lips began kissing down your stomach, before finally pulling away, easily popping the button of your jeans, bringing his face back down nipping at the top of your panties.

Once again, making you comfortable and giving you an out he asked, “This alright, sweetheart?”

You met his gaze, your own eyes reflecting the same lust he felt.

“Please, Eds.”

He helped you shimmy out of your jeans and panties letting them join the growing pile on the floor.

You spread your thighs for him once again, as his fingers began to trace patterns on your skin, getting closer to where you needed him the most. He moved inward, watching your pussy on full display for him.

“Baby, you're already dripping, and I haven’t even touched you.” He hummed.

He moved his finger to trace your slit. Your hips canting up to meet his touch, desperate for more.

Gently, he parts your lips, brushing his thumb over your clit and sees the way your aching hole clenches around nothing as it pulls another delicious moan from you making it hard for him not to take his throbbing cock out and pound you into the mattress right then and there.

“Fuck Peach, such a need girly. My needy girl.” He says as he lowers himself, head between your thighs, mouth now mere inches from your sopping cunt; breath fanning over your hot flesh as he admires the meal he’s about to devour.

He doesn’t give you time to respond, letting his hot tongue meet your core, painting a stripe from your aching hole, meeting your clit with just the pressure you needed.

“Ahhh, fuck.” You moaned out, gripping the sheets to ground you.

He began swirling his tongue over your bundle of nerves, like an exposed live wire, the coil already threatening to snap.

“God, yes Eddie. Please don’t stop!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.” He speaks into your pussy, drawing your clit between his lips sucking harshly.

His finger draws lazy circles around your entrance, you couldn’t focus on one sensation alone. Everything felt so good.

That same finger began to prod your entrance, sliding in easily, a welcome relief.

He quickly adds another, curling them upward, not missing the way you’re already fluttering around him as he reaches that sweet spongy spot that has you begging for more.

He lifts his eyes, but never removes his mouth from you, as you begin to writhe beneath him, gripping the sheets as you feel the coil within you winding tighter.

His fingers brushing that spot over and over, as he alternated his attention from sucking and lightly nipping at your clit, it finally sent you over the edge. With a cry of his name the coil snaps, sending you into orbit. With stars behind your eyes bursting, all you seem to hear is the blood pumping in your ears and the distant thump, thump, thump of the music from the Hideout below.

He works you through it, drawing it out as long as he could before reluctantly pulling his mouth away and letting his fingers retreat, easing himself up.

He can’t help but admire the way you look so blissed out. Lips plump and kiss bitten; cheeks flushed. You lazily open your eyes to see him looking down at you.

“Come here,” you manage, reaching for him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, bringing him back to your awaiting lips, tasting yourself on his tongue. It has you moaning again, threading your fingers through his hair, trying to pull him closer.

He finally pulls away, breathless, searching your eyes.

“Peach, baby, I’ve got to get my clothes off. If I don’t get inside you, I’m going to combust.” You laugh out, but ease up on your grip, letting him ease aside.

“Uh, that reminds me,” he starts as he sits up, “You got any condoms?”

“I’m on the pill Eddie, I want all of you inside of me.” Biting your lower lips watching his jaw drop.

“You are perfect.” He pecks your lips and moves off the bed.

His shirt goes first, you study his body, more tattoos on his alabaster skin than you were accustomed to. Across his chest and side. You made a mental note to study them later, as the clinking of his belt made you trail lower as he unzipped his pants, watching as he lowered the fabric from his waist, sliding them and his boxers down his legs as they pool at his feet allowing his cock to spring free, just as pretty as you remembered. Thick and long, your eyes follow it upward until something shiny catches your eye at his ruddy tip.

“Eds, what’s that?” You ask, continuing to stare almost mesmerized.

He follows your gaze, as if he’d forgotten himself. There at the head of his cock, a steel piercing is visible.

“Oh yeah. That. Drunken decision but it's hot right?” He states, with a sly grin.

You nod, as he brings his hand to his shaft, taking the pearly bead from his slit, smearing it back down. Teasing himself and you in the process, as he then moves to crawl back between your thighs.

He moves close, chest pressed into yours, as his cock nudges through your slick folds, wrapping your legs around his waist. He nuzzles into your neck as lips ghost over the shell of your ear as he speaks, “And baby, I know you’re going to love how it feels.”

Canting his hips at the last word, his head catching your clit just right, pulling a breathy moan from you.

“Yeah, that's it Peach. Let me hear those beautiful sounds. My beautiful girl.”

He moves his hand to your thigh, gently pushing. You take the hint, spreading yourself wider to him as he holds himself up by your head and his other hand travels between you.

He takes his now aching cock, teasing now long forgotten as he brings his head to your entrance. He slightly nudges inside but looks up to you for a response. Your glazed over expression is almost all he needs, but he waits. You nod, as he begins to push in slowly.

“Fuuuuuck,” he draws out the word.

Your own head now thrown back, chest heaving. Each delicious inch stretches you out.

Finally, bottoming out, he holds for a moment, kissing the side of your mouth as you moaned out once more. The high of him fully seated within you taking over filling you to the brim.

He pistons his hips, pulling almost all of the way out and thrusting back in harder than he intended. He had every intention of taking it slow, relishing the feeling as long as possible.

The slow outward drag of his cock sent a shiver down your spine and ignited a new flame deep within. That steel ring was brushing against you each and every time he thrust in and out relentlessly. It was a new experience, something you had never felt before and it had your mind and body buzzing.

“God, Eddie, you feel so good.”

Your words ignited him, it was almost too much for him to hold back, he thrust a little too harshly as his head kissed your cervix.

“Ohhhh, fuck. Eddie. Please, you can move faster.”

“Yeah, that what my girl needs, huh? Need my cock to ruin you, huh?”

He moves, pulling your thigh higher up on his waist, suddenly punching the air from your lungs with each thrust. You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.

It was just Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

It felt like a lifetime of waiting and to have him back in your arms felt like a dream.

You reached for him, your nails digging crescents into his back. His pace didn’t let up, he felt like he was everywhere at once, invading all of your senses. Each thrust of his hips had his cock kissing your cervix, every withdrawal had him brushing that place within your walls your own fingers could never reach. Your second orgasm was building with each delicious drag.

“I’m… mmmm… Fuck,” you couldn’t get it out, but he heard your loud and clear. In one motion, he sat up, pulling your hips up with him. The new angle made it feel like he was impossibly deeper. He moved his thumb to toy with your clit, already sensitive from the first orgasm he worked you through.

“Come on baby, give me one more.” He showered you with praise, “I need to feel her. I need you to cum all over my cock. You can do that for me, can’t you baby?”

“Eddie, I…” A new sensation started to build, it had you feeling dizzy. Your orgasm was impending, but this felt different. Intense, building with each rock of his hips and graze of your clit.

“What baby?” He hummed, but it was too late you came harder than you ever have, crying out his name as it washed over you. Your pussy clamped down on him, making it almost impossible for him to keep pumping. A gush of fluid came down around you both, wetting everything in the process.

“Holy shit,” he huffed out, ceasing his movements. “You just squirted all over me. Goddamn, that was so fuckin’ hot. When did you start doing that?”

He draped his body over yours, thrusting slowly, giving your body a reprieve.

“I… I’ve never done that before.” You breathed out, chest still heaving from the exertion.

“I told you that you'd love it.” He chuckled, still balls deep inside you. Though your walls were still sensitive, you used your muscles and pulsed down around him, effectively cutting off his laugh, eliciting his own moan instead.

“Fuck Peach, you dirty girl. You could have just said you were ready,” he huffed, getting back to the task at hand as he rolls his hips back into yours.

“Where’s the… mmmmm… where's the fun in that?”

His pace picked back up; you were able to watch his lean muscles as they worked in time to reach his own release. A sheen of sweat across his forehead, eyes closed as his head was thrown back.

His thrusts became a little sloppy, so you knew he was getting close.

He groaned at your words. “Perfect, you’re fuckin’ perfect.”

A few more thrusts and he was following you.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he mumbled as he spilled inside of you, your tight cunt milking him for everything he was worth.

He finally stilled and collapsed onto you, chests heaving, both trying to come down from your highs.

He kissed your forehead, withdrawing his softening cock and lying next to you, pulling you over until your back was to his chest and nuzzling into your hair.

You didn’t speak, nothing more needed to be said in the moment. You listened to him breathing until it turned into soft snores. You relaxed into him, letting sleep slowly take you over.

You opened your eyes slowly, scanning the room, reaching over expecting to feel a warm body next to yours.

Instead, you were met with nothing but a cold space. You sat up clutching the comforter close to your chest as your heart rate ticked up.

“Eddie?” you groaned. Waiting a few beats, only met with silence.

Oh God. You grabbed the sheet, wrapping it around yourself, noticing his clothes were gone from the floor.

You raced out into the hall, running into the kitchen. Too crazed to notice the fresh pot of coffee that was brewed or the brown paper sack sitting on the counter with

“Benny's” printed across it.

Turning the corner, you barreled right into his chest.

Woah, baby, where you going in such a hurry?” He laughed but his smile dropped when he saw the worried look on your face, immediately pulling you into his embrace.

“I'm sorry baby,” kissing the top of your head. Realizing in your state what you must have thought. “You looked so peaceful. I didn't want to wake you just yet, so I went out for breakfast to surprise you.”

You were clinging to him. Face buried in his chest, letting yourself relax into his embrace, as he rubbed soothing circles across your back.

"It's ok… I just thought… you weren't there and…” Coming out a little muffled.

“Shhhh, sweetheart. I've got you. I'm not going anywhere. I promise.”

Thinking back to all those years ago, this is what you had wished for. What you needed.

You were both given a second chance at love. It was time to let go of the past and look forward to the future together.

He had you back and he’d do everything to keep you.

In the soft morning light, you had coffee and breakfast in the apartment you once shared, ready to take this one day at a time.

[butterphii]

Just Us

Help Me (Part 1)

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TW: Fake relationship, sexual tension, kissing, happiness, mostly fluff, secret crush

Note: First Jake series! Thank you @anyalikeslasagna for helping me so much through this part, it's gonna be a pretty mid length series, probably about 10 or less parts. Enjoy! ^^

-------------------Jake Peralta------------------

You were in your quiet and quaint apartment, soft music playing from your speaker as you cleaned and danced, a knock came rapping at your door.

You stopped the music with a call out, running to answer your door. As you opened the door, you saw Jake right outside with a tight, sparkly purple dress. "Hey, what's up? What's that for?" You asked, reaching for it before he pulled it away. "Let me in and I'll tell you," He said pushing you over and rummaging through your fridge. "You have nothing but junk in here!" He whined. "It's literally all the food groups, Jake. You just wouldn't know that because you only eat chips and drink only orange soda." You groaned. "True dat!" He chuckled to your reply. He sat on the couch, twiddling his fingers.

"Whats wrong?" You asked, handing him the bag of kettle cooked potato chips you had. "Well, you know how we're like besties and people usually think we're dating? Well I might..." He paused. "Have told the squad you were my girlfriend and that you'd come with me to the party with them tonight." He spoke quickly. You were quiet for a minute, trying to process the words that just came out of his mouth. "So I have to go to a party with your colleagues, whom of which I've NEVER MET, and pretend to DATE YOU?" You asked, angry he did that and never told you but happy you'd finally get to "date" Jake.

"Yeah..don't be mad, just come with me! It's gonna be ok! You're awesome, I'm totally awesome, and we'll be perfect together." He grinned. That was a sentence you've longed to hear.

"Fine. But, we need to discuss boundaries. I'm only going because I don't want you to embarrass yourself in front of your 'dad'." You were referring to the captain that Jake used to hate but now loves. "Alright! So's, what can I do an' what can't I do?" He asked, rubbing his sweaty palms on his knees.

"You can call me cute names, just nothing dumb, so like babe, baby, and dear is fine, no babydoll or baby girl." You exclaimed in disgust. "You can hold my hand, hip, and shoulder, no ass pokes. Kissing is good too, jus' no sexual jokes or anything, except your usual." The words slipped from your mouth easily. "I'm good with all of those. But, is holding you close to me ok? Like, pulling you by the waist, I guess." He asked, his cheeks a soft pink glow, his hand rubbing the back of his neck vigorously. You nodded to his question, handing him the TV remote. "Stay as long as you want, since we've gotta get into character." You told him, grabbing his hand and pulling him up off the couch.

"Ok, let me try this, just so you know, it's all fake," He smiled. "Don't take it like I'd really do this to you." A chuckle escaped his smile. You grinned at him, letting him do his thing.

He wrapped his arm around your waist, one hand resting on your lower back and the other on your upper, close to your neck. Your breath hitched, core aching. His hand moved its way to the back of your neck, pulling you close and your head up to reach his, and pressing a kiss to your lips.

His lips were soft. The kiss was softer. It was endearing. He had you pulled all the way up to his own body, a soft bulge growing under where your own pussy lay, crying for the feeling of it inside you.

He released your lips, looking into your eyes. His gorgeous brown eyes glimmering in the warm lighting of your apartment. "Was that good? Believable?" He asked, letting your body go. "Uh-Yeah. That's good." You smiled, the empty feeling filling your heart.

"Party's at 7, I'll pick you up. Wear this dress and uhh..black heels. I'll see you later, Princess." The last word was dragged out. You never said it was allowed, but you never said it wasn't. It made your heart flutter and your body warm. You grabbed the dress excitedly and skipped to your bedroom to pick out the rest of your outfit.

[roanofarcc]

LIKE THE MOVIES

pairing: trevor lefkowitz x fem!ghost reader

summary: Requested! being from the 1950s, you had missed the fad of 1990s romantic comedies. luckily you had a ghost-mate with an odd knowledge of movies and eternity on your hands. after binging countless romcoms with trevor, you’re inspired to ask him out in a very 90s fashion

warnings: self-doubt, cheesy rom-com references | read more

“If you love someone, you say it, you say it right then, out loud. Otherwise, the moment just passes you by.” - My Best Friend’s Wedding

“Can I ask you something?” On the couch, you peered at Trevor as the credit rolled over of another romantic comedy he had picked out. 

He had his arm resting on the back of the couch, close enough for you to wonder if he had wanted to put it around your shoulders during the movie. You had seen it in one of the many films he had shown you. A couple in a darkened theater, sharing a popcorn and subtle glances. Perhaps it was the films messing with your head, making you think the air between you and Trevor was filled with more than friendliness. 

“Sure,” he replied. 

“Why do you like these kinds of movies so much? Rom-coms, that’s what you called them, right?” 

Trevor smiled. “Yeah. Romantic comedies. They were everywhere in the 90s; it felt like a new one came out in theaters every week.” All of the movies he had shown you were quite good, certainly different than the films you had watched in your lifetime. “And, uh, I don’t really know. Besides them being all anyone talked about, I’ve always thought they were the best of both worlds. All that overly sappy love stuff is great, but it’s gotta be funny too, you know? I don’t know if you could tell, but I’m not a fan of stuff getting too serious.” 

You laughed lightly. “I’ve noticed.” The best of both worlds, romantic and funny. You liked that too. Your parents' relationship had been more serious, and the books you read were too sappy or sad. You liked the idea of balance, of relationships being about more than getting by or having children to make your parents happy. Of course, you knew of relationships that were so lovely, but they hadn’t found you during your life. 

“And, if I’m being honest, I always tried to copy the dudes in these movies. They always managed to score the coolest girls.” He punctuated his sentence with a short sigh and shrug. “Never worked but it was fun, pretending to be in one of those movies for a minute.” 

“I think if I had watched those movies when I was alive, I’d want to be like those girls. Like the coolest girls,” you had a slightly teasing tone in your voice, but also sincerity. There was something about the rom-com girls’ spunkiness that you admired, their boldness was something you’d never even attempted during your life. 

Trevor shook his head. “Nah, I’ve met way cooler girls since being dead. They don’t even come close.” 

“Ah,” you hummed. “Like Sam?” 

“Uh, yeah. I mean, Sam’s super cool and all. But I’m talking about someone else.” You waited for a moment for him to tell you, wondering if he meant Flower or maybe even Alberta. But after a beat of silence, he laughed. “I’m talking about you.” 

It caught you off guard, not making much sense. The women in the movies were cool, you were just, well, you. You certainly weren’t the same as when you died, changed by the ghosts and living around you for the better, but you weren’t sure if “cool” was the right word to describe you. 

“Me?” 

Trevor hesitated, looking like he had something more to say. Instead, he cleared his throat and dropped his gaze from your eyes. “Y-Yeah. Super cool.” 

Before your conversation could go anywhere else, Hetty and Issac entered the room with Sam. It was their turn with the TV, just in time for their weekly reality show watching. You and Trevor went your separate ways, an odd feeling resting like a rock in your stomach. 

Perhaps it was too bold or stupid, but you had to do something. All night you had tossed and turned, thinking about Trevor between bouts of rom-com scenes that filled your mind. Then it hit you, a plan that would either work beautifully or blow up in your face spectacularly. But you needed help, which was how you found yourself in the mansion’s study with Sam. 

“I have a plan,” you began. 

She paused her work, peering up at you with a quirked brow. “What kind of plan?” 

“I am going to tell Trevor that I like him.” The words fell boldly from your mouth, albeit a tad uneasy as you had never done something like that before. But you liked Trevor, and you felt like after weeks of watching the cheesiest movies together, maybe it was his way of telling you he liked you. You caught him stealing glances during the scenes where the main characters confessed their feelings in a bout of emotions. There was a small inkling of doubt in your mind that maybe you had read things wrong, but Sam quelled that doubt when she broke out in a wide smile and clapped her hands like one of the best friends in those movies. 

“What do you need from me?” 

It was pouring down rain, leaving puddles in the driveway and painting a scene that some would see as gloomy, but you saw it as the perfect opportunity. You stood outside, peering up at the second-story window of Trevor’s room. Sam was beside you, holding an umbrella over herself so she wouldn’t get soaked. 

She picked up a handful of pebbles before turning to you. “Ready?” You nodded and she started tossing the rocks at the window. They bounced off the glass with soft ‘tinks’ just slightly louder than the rain. 

After a couple had been thrown, Trevor appeared, wearing a confused expression. You waved him down and he didn’t hesitate to disappear from the window. 

Sam turned to you, a grin spread across her face. “Good luck!” she said before dipping back inside moments before Trevor appeared. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, glancing up at the dreary sky. 

What were you doing? You and Sam hatched a ‘plan’ but it mostly consisted of her throwing the pebbles and one of the other ghosts ensuring Trevor was in his room. She had asked you what you’d say, and you didn’t have an answer. Some kind of scripted love confession would have been handy, but that also felt inauthentic. While the movies were, in fact, scripted, they had a certain magic of making the confessions feel like a natural collection of feelings spilling out. 

“I, um…” you trailed off, but only for a moment before steeling yourself. “I wanted to talk to you.” 

He blinked, brows furrowed but lips fixed in a smile that he often wore around you. “Out here?” 

“Yes, okay,” you let out a breath before meeting his gaze. “This probably would have worked a little better if we could actually be rained on. I think that’s probably an important of this.” But you had to work with ghost logic against you. 

“Important for what?” 

Before your bravo wore out, you knew you had to speak. “I like you.” 

Trevor still looked confused. “Yeah, I like you too-” 

You cut him off with a quick shake of your head. “No, Trevor. I like you. I…” You hesitated, your confidence slipping with the heavy rainfall. Maybe that’s why people confessed in the rain, it was probably easier to hide some nerves soaked to the bone. You didn’t have that element on your side, standing dry in the middle of a rain storm. 

“Do you remember when we watched My Best Friend’s Wedding?” Trevor nodded slowly, trying to follow the message you were sending him. “And they said if you…if you love someone you should say it, otherwise-”

“Overwise, the moment just passes you by,” Trevor finished the quote in a quiet voice of remembrance and realization. 

You chuckled nervously. “I don’t just like you. I love you.” 

His mouth opened and closed once, then twice. And for one horrible moment, you thought you had completely screwed up, read the signs wrong and let the movies cloud your judgment. But then he surprised you. 

Trevor leaned forward in one rushed motion, grabbing the sides of your face gently before he closed the gap between you. It was almost a frantic kiss upon first taste, but as you leaned into it, his lips moved slowly against yours, sweet and almost too good to be your reality. 

Life wasn’t a movie, but sometimes it felt close enough to perfect that it could have been.

[rosieposey-torturedpoet]

"Now, remember, we don't know what all she's been through: she's sleeping right now and may wake up in a couple of hours"

"Yes, Medic, I know all that. This isn't my first time" Caretaker smiled warmly.

"Just wanted to make sure, good luck" Medic patted Caretaker on the shoulder and walked out, closing the door behind him.

The house was the usual cookie-cutter house that Caretaker has been in dozens of times. Many people confuse Caretaker and Medic: assuming they have the same role. However, Medic's job is to get Whumpee out of the woods, and then Caretaker steps in. Whumpee is given a room in a house that's creatively referred to as a 'Caretaker house,' which is where Caretaker will live with them full time to help them heal from day to day. Caretaker knows the drill and this house like the back of her hand, yet she still looks across the living room, over at the door that Whumpee is currently sleeping in.

So Caretaker is as quiet as possible when walking up the steps to get to her designated room.

It had been around 4 hours later when Caretaker had finally seen a sign of life coming from Whumpee's room. She was in the kitchen making dinner, with quiet music coming from her record player she set up right next to the TV. Over the years, she's bought a vynl for each of her Whumpees. Once she got to know them: and their favorite artist, she would go out and buy a few records 'inspired' by them and they would sign one.

Caretaker had zoned out making dinner: she snapped out of her thoughts only because she heard a door open: snapping her head over her left shoulder, she was suprised to see a girl who couldn't have been over 17. Her dark curly hair was resting on her shoulders and it seemed as if she was coated in bandages. Her nose was crooked, but not in the natural sense, but in the sense that it had been broken one too many times. "Uh..who are you?" The girl questioned

"I'm Caretaker, I'm gonna be watching over you for a little while"

"Okay, uhm. What's that smell?"

"Dinner, you hungry? I made sure to make some for the both of us"

Even though the girl shook her head no, she still came up and sat at a barstool: still seemingly dazed, as if she couldn't process things at a normal speed. Which is to be expected. "So, would you like to talk, or would you like me to stay quiet"

"Hm?"

"Would you like me to stay silent and let you process things for a little bit. Or, would you rather have a conversation and small talk? I'm not gonna be mad at you for picking either option"

"Tell me who you are"

Caretaker's interest was piqued hearing that: "What do you mean?"

"Why are you here? Who are you? Why do you care? And what happened to that one big burly guy that save me?"

Caretaker thought for a second, and started, "Well, for starters: that man's name was Medic and he's a coworker of mine. A very sweet guy, you were in good hands. And like I said, my name is Caretaker. I am a registered nurse and this is where I am going to be living here for however long it takes you to heal. And I care, because you're human and deserve stability as much as anyone else." Caretaker sets a place of food in front of Whumpee, "Any other burning questions?"

[wheels-of-despair]

Heaven and Hell (Or: Eddie and Evil Woman Do… Prom?!) Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie and Evil Woman are *checks notes* going to prom? Like normies?! Contains: A high school prom, two nervous freaks, an ill-fitting wardrobe, an unfortunate zit, dancing, references to other E/EW fics nobody will remember, relentless teasing, a happy ending. Words: 4.5k

"Prom's next month."

You stop playing with Eddie's hair and look down at the head lying in your lap in surprise.

He keeps his eyes on the TV. A blush creeps into his cheeks. Is Eddie Munson seriously thinking about going to prom? You fight a smile and start working your fingers through his hair again.

"Yup… that's what they said on the morning announcements."

Silence. No way he's that interested in the orange juice commercial you've seen ten times today. Eddie Munson is thinking about prom, and he's in the process of chickening out.

"You ever been?" you ask.

"Nah," he says, eyes still on the TV. "You?"

"Nah."

He bites his lip. You can't take it anymore.

"You thinkin' about going?"

He shrugs.

If you were a more patient person, you could poke and prod at him until he finally asked you. However…

"Well, if you were planning on asking me, you're too late."

He finally looks up at you, confusion on his face.

"I've rekindled my romance with Chief Hopper."

A smile spreads across Eddie's face.

"I'm sorry, Eddie," you sigh. "What we had was fun, but you just don't have the stamina. Sometimes a girl just NEEDS full night of porking."

You both snort at the same time, which leads to a fit of giggles.

When you recover, you brush his bangs out of his face. He sighs.

"So, uh…" He licks his lips while he tries to find his words. "If the bacon falls through, would you maybe think about going with me?"

You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off. "Because it's kinda my last chance, and I know it's stupid, and it goes against everything I stand for, and it'll probably be miserable, and the music's gonna suck, and you probably have a way better idea of what we could do that night, but… ugh, never mind."

Eddie turns back toward the TV, shaking his head so some of his hair hides his burning face. You gently brush it back behind his ear, looking down at him with all the love in your heart.

"Eddie?"

"Hm."

"You're the only person I'd think about going to prom with."

"Really?" He looks up at you with an uneasy smile.

"Yeah," you answer, tracing the shell of his ear.

"We don't have to."

"I know," you smile. "I want to go with you." He smiles back sleepily. "But if I get Carrie'd, I can't promise I'll spare you."

"Kay," he chuckles.

"Mother?" you ask, hovering in the living room doorway.

"Daughter?" she responds from the couch, without looking up from her book.

You take a deep breath and stare at the floor.

"Ineedapromdress."

"What?"

You sigh and raise your head. "I need a prom dress."

Her book drops to her lap, revealing wide eyes behind her glasses.

"What did you just say to me?"

"I need a prom dress," you repeat with a roll of your eyes.

"Oh my god! I have a child who's voluntarily attending a school function!"

"What's up?" Gareth asks from behind you.

"They're going to the prom!"

You slowly turn and see him looking at you in amusement.

"Shut up," you order before he can even say anything.

"She's even gonna wear a dress!" your mother shrieks.

"Shut up," you repeat, glaring at Gareth's stupid smirky face. "Kay, I'm going to bed, open to shopping suggestions and financial contributions, good night."

You squeeze past him and make a mad dash for your room.

"They're all gonna laugh at you!" Gareth warbles in his best Piper Laurie impression.

"Shut up!" you repeat one last time, then slam your bedroom door.

"He's heeeere," Gareth announces as he passes by your bedroom door.

"You look perfect," your mom assures you.

She's been working on your makeup for fifteen minutes, and it's finally the way she wants it. And you have to admit… you look pretty damn good.

She'd taken you to the city for a day of shopping, and after several hours of hunting, you'd actually found a dress without puffed sleeves, ruffles, or tulle.

"Give me a minute, I want the camera on his face when he sees you," your mom says excitedly.

"Mother, it's a high school prom, it's not our wedding."

"Let me have this!" she whisper-yells. She grabs her camera and leaves the room.

You take one last look at yourself, stand, and slip on your shoes. Heels. You're even wearing fucking heels.

You walk down the hall and turn into the kitchen…

Eddie Munson is wearing a suit.

You'd offered to help him look for one, or find him something in the city, but he said he had it covered. And he did. He's even wearing a tie, and he's tamed his hair somehow. He looks freakishly presentable (for Eddie) and is holding what you imagine is a corsage in a box.

"Hi."

"Hey."

You stand there and stare at each other. Awkward. It's awkward.

"Eddie! Give her the corsage!" Your mom stage-whispers.

He tries to hold it out to you, but fumbles it and drops it on the floor. You both reach down to get it, and you hear a RIIIP tear through the kitchen. You both stand immediately, looking and feeling your outfits.

"Was that you or me?" you ask, trying to feel the back of your dress. You knew this fucker was too tight. But your question is answered when all the blood drains out of Eddie's panicked face.

"Let me see, honey," your mom says gently, putting a hand on his shoulder to turn him. The seam in the back of his jacket has ripped.

"Dude! You Hulked out on prom night," Gareth laughs from his seat at the kitchen table.

You give him a warning shush, and for once, he obeys.

"Slip that off, I'll have it as good as new in no time." Your mom helps Eddie out of his jacket and takes it in the direction of her sewing machine. You carefully retrieve the corsage from the floor and put it on the table.

"Uh… that's for you," he mumbles, the color returning to his face.

"Thank you," you smile, leaving the box closed until your mother can return and witness this sacred and not-at-all stupid prom ritual.

You turn to Eddie and lift a hand to run through his suspiciously tame hair.

"Don't look at it," Eddie mumbles.

"Don't look at what?" you ask.

"His third eye," Gareth supplies helpfully. That's when you notice the zit between his eyes. Eddie's face reddens so much that it almost blends in. Gareth snickers. You pick up a damp kitchen towel, ball it up, and throw it at him. It hits him in the ear.

"Don't you have some place to be?" you ask pointedly.

"Nope," he grins, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Mom's taking me to Jeff's after you leave."

You roll your eyes, reach for Eddie's hand, and pull him to your bedroom.

"Sit," you instruct, pointing at your desk. He drops into the chair with a defeated sigh. You start digging through your extremely elegant shoebox full of makeup, then realize what you need. "I'll be right back," you whisper with a kiss to the top of his head.

You return with a cotton ball.

"What's that?"

"Wite-Out. My make-up's too dark for you," you joke.

Eddie's brow furrows, and you apply a dab of peroxide to his unfortunate growth. When it dries, you reach for the concealer.

"What are you doing?" he asks nervously.

"Covering that up."

He sits silently and watches you reach for this and that to cover his bump, and when you stand back and smile, he frowns.

"What's wrong?" you ask. "I can wipe it off if you want, I thought you wanted it gone."

"I feel like a clown," he grumbles.

"You are a clown."

He pouts. You point at the mirror, and he leans over to see his camouflage… and his jaw drops. You lean down until your head is next to his, so you can see what he sees.

"Witchcraft," he whispers.

"You know it, babe," you wink.

"One freshly tailored suit jacket for the young lad," your mom announces as she steps into the room. Eddie stands, and she helps him into it. She brushes her hand along the seam. "Good as new!" she declares. "But no break-dancing tonight." Eddie laughs.

After the official corsage and boutonniere exchange in the kitchen, you're marched into the living room for pictures. Each pose is goofier than the last, but you aren't allowed to leave until your mom finishes off a roll of film.

You both breathe a sigh of relief when the van doors slam shut.

"You still wanna do this, or do you wanna go get blazed and hide out at my place?" Eddie asks, probably about 40% joking.

"What time is it?" you ask. Eddie consults his watch and reads the time back to you. You pretend to consider it for a second, then shake your head. "Chief Hopper is expecting me in 15 minutes, and my little piggy does not like to be kept waiting."

Eddie snorts and starts the engine. Hawkins High Prom 1986 it is.

"Where'd you get your suit?" you ask a few minutes into the surprisingly awkward drive.

"George. The thrift shop guy. Told him I needed something prom-worthy. This was his grandson's. 'He's a lanky thing, just like you,' he said."

"It's nice," you admire.

"It's a little small, but… y'know." Eddie shrugs. "Price was right."

"Is it uncomfortable?"

"It's… a little tight," he admits.

"Baby, you don't have to wear stuff if it makes you uncomfortable."

"It's fine… as long as I don't have to move my arms much."

"Is it the shirt too, or just the jacket?"

"Mostly the jacket, the shirt's got some stretch to it."

"Ditch it."

"Ticket says jacket and tie required."

"Ditch it as soon as they let us in."

"This is why you're the brains of this operation," he mumbles as he pulls into a parking spot.

"Correct," you grin.

"Stay," Eddie orders, hopping down and scrambling around the front of the van to open your door. You're suddenly reminded of your first official date; he'd tried so hard to be someone else, but you didn't want someone else. You wanted Eddie Munson, and you wanted him just the way he was. You take his hand and slide to the ground, wincing as your heels hit the pavement.

"Is your battle armor in here?" you ask, nodding toward the back.

"Of course."

"Fetch."

Eddie smirks and walks toward the back, and you shut your door and follow him. He grabs his leather jacket and patch-filled vest, and hugs the pair to his chest.

You reach for them, and he hands them over. You separate the pair while he watches nervously, like you're separating conjoined twins that he personally gave birth to.

"Lose the child-sized suit jacket," you instruct. He tries, but gets stuck almost immediately. You muffle a laugh and step behind him to help him out of it, then slide his plain leather jacket on.

He looks more comfortable already. And considerably more Eddie-like. You go to transfer his boutonniere to his jacket pocket… but he doesn't have one. A bit of quick thinking and one rip later, his dumb little flower is attached with a strip of duct tape. You step back to admire him.

"There he is," you smile.

"Now he's gotta find his girl," Eddie says, "and then they can go do this damn prom thing."

You look down at your outfit and back at him, but he's already digging… through your overnight bag?

"Eddie, what--"

He cuts you off by slapping the soles of your favorite sneakers on the floor of his van.

"You've been wincing with every damn step since you walked into the kitchen. Lose the shoes."

You grin and sit down to swap your heels for sneakers. Sneakers that Eddie vandalized during a particularly boring assembly. It was one of the reasons why they were your favorites; the boy's a ballpoint artist. The other was--oh, that's nice. You stand comfortably and breathe a sigh of relief.

"You want a little liquid courage?" Eddie asks, shaking a bottle of liquor at you.

"Sure," you answer. You each take a swig in hopes of making your night a little more bearable. Eddie stashes the bottle in the van and slams the back doors shut.

"M'lady," he says, offering an arm. You take it, and walk toward the Hawkins High gym doors. Any time now, alcohol.

A cheerleader-in-training eyes you warily, but takes your tickets and lets you pass by her table into the gym… decked out in streamers and balloons. Wicked classy, Hawkins High.

"And you say I never take you anywhere nice," Eddie grins.

"I have literally, not once, ever said that."

Eddie laughs and takes your hand.

"Munson?!" a voice shrieks.

"Yeah?" he asks uneasily, turning to see Mrs. O'Donnell.

"What are you doing here?"

You look at each other, and back at her.

"Whatever people usually do at prom, I guess?"

"I'll have no shenanigans from you tonight, Munson."

"Wouldn't dream of it, O'Donnell."

"Don't even think about going near that punch bowl," she warns.

"Why, what's in the punch bowl?" he asks. You try to keep a straight face.

"Just punch, and that's the way it's going to stay. Isn't that right, Mr. Munson?"

"Yes, ma'am," he says innocently.

Mrs. O'Donnell looks you both up and down, sucks her teeth in disapproval, and walks away without another word.

"Like I'd waste good liquor on these ungrateful assholes," he mumbles. "Do have an emergency flask in my pocket, by the way."

"Aww, and I thought you were just happy to see me."

"That's in the other pocket," he winks.

"C'mon," you laugh, pulling him to the other side of the gym. Once you're in a quiet spot, you scan the room for familiar faces. You knew you were pretty much on your own - all of the other Hellfire boys were having a movie marathon and sleepover at Jeff's - but you thought you'd look for potential allies anyway.

"There's Nancy Wheeler," you notice.

"And the Elder Byers," Eddie points out.

"I think we're on our own, babe."

"Just how I like it," he grins.

"You gonna dance with me, or just stand here lookin' pretty all night?" you ask.

Eddie responds by flipping his hair over his shoulder dramatically.

"C'mon," you smile, nodding toward the dance floor. He balks.

"This song sucks."

"Every song's gonna suck," you remind him.

"This one sucks more than average."

"Then how 'bout we visit the snack table and lay a curse on the punch while we wait for something that sucks slightly less?"

"This way, m'lady," he says nerdily, holding out his arm. You roll your eyes and take it anyway, working together to assemble a plate full of cheap snacks and two cups of unspiked punch. You retreat to the bleachers and pick at your bounty.

"So… this is a high school dance," he remarks.

"Yup… imagine, some people's entire high school careers revolve around this thing."

"I'd kinda rather be at home," he confesses.

"In our pajamas," you add.

"Watching shitty movies," he continues.

"Eating shittier pizza."

"Maybe fooling around a little?" He waggles his eyebrows and tilts his head toward the door.

"We went through a lot of trouble to get here, Edward. I went shopping. With my mother. You put on a suit. And a tie. And grew a stress zit."

"Shut up," he grumbles, hand instinctively touching the bump between his eyes. You lean in to kiss his cheek.

"Let's give it an hour. You've gotta dance with me at least once."

"Fine," he pouts. You feed him crackers, and he starts to relax a little.

When the opening chords of "Footloose" blare through the speakers, Eddie cringes. The people on the dance floor go wild.

"C'mon," you order, standing up and reaching for his hand.

"No."

"Yes."

"Absolutely not."

"Eddie Munson, you get your spastic ass on this dance floor with your dumb-ass classmates right now."

He whines, and looks… nervous? You sit back down, face full of concern. He scans the crowd, and you look too. Eyes keep darting to you. Not outright staring. Just keeping an eye on you. Like your whereabouts are a matter of public safety. You've been so focused on Eddie, you haven't bothered to pay attention to everyone else.

"It's just…" he starts, and then stops.

"Eddie?" you ask quietly, turning your head back to him. "This is our prom, too." You slide a little closer to him and hold his hand. "And I'm glad I'm here with you."

Eddie leans his forehead against yours and squeezes your hand.

"You think they're upset that we had the nerve to show up?" you smirk.

"Probably ruined their whole night," he grins. "Dear Diary, the freaks crashed prom."

"And ate all the fucking snacks," you laugh.

A flash makes you both jump.

"Sorry," Jonathan Byers smiles apologetically from behind his camera. "You guys were being cute, and Nancy demanded a photo for the yearbook."

"It's cool, man," Eddie grins. "Can we get a copy of that?"

"Sure," Jonathan nods. "They hired a professional photographer for portraits, by the way. Over in the corner. It's included in the ticket price."

"Cool," Eddie says.

"Anddd Nancy's waving me back," Jonathan groans. "You guys have fun tonight. At least some of the freaks should."

You and Eddie both chuckle as Jonathan goes back to Nancy for his next assignment, hearts in his eyes completely undermining his complaints.

"Well…" Eddie puffs his cheeks and blows out a breath of air. He's experienced all that prom has to offer, and is clearly not impressed.

"One picture, one dance, and we're the fuck outta here," you propose.

"Deal," he agrees.

You walk, hand-in-hand, over to the photographer's corner and get in line behind three other couples. Well, two. Kimmy Little sees you standing in line behind her, and drags her date off in the other direction. You and Eddie share a knowing look, but say nothing.

When the time comes, the photographer instructs you to assume the traditional prom photo position, and you do. You let Eddie hold you around the waist and smile like a total fucking jackass for several seconds while you wait for the flash. You and Eddie stumble away with spotty vision and hands tightly clasped. He's your lifeline, and you're not letting him go.

When your vision returns, you look from the bleachers to the exit. Is it really worth walking all the way back over there to sit and be bored, when you could just leave and have this lame night be over with?

Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time" starts playing through the gym's shitty speakers, and you smile. You're a sucker for this one. Eddie looks at you with dread. He knows what's coming.

Silently, you slip backward into the crowd and pull him with you. He doesn't protest this time. He follows, eyes not leaving yours. The crowd must have parted for you. Perhaps there are advantages to loving the resident freak. You stand close and put his hands where they belong, and then yours. You stare into Eddie Munson's eyes and sway slowly to a song he tolerates, only for you.

You're glad you came. You're glad you're with him. You're glad this is the song you got to dance to. You're glad he made you swap your heels for sneakers.

But mostly, you're glad when the song is over, because you come together for a quick kiss and make a mad dash toward the exit.

"You son of a bitch," Eddie growls, trying to force his suit onto a hanger.

"Leave it, gremlin, I'll do it."

"Thank you," Eddie grins, throwing his suit on the bed and kissing your freshly scrubbed cheek. You'd washed off all your makeup and hair products together, had a little fun in the shower, put on pajamas, and smoked a joint to wind down. You were thrilled to look and feel like yourselves again. "I'm gonna go pop a pizza in the oven. Put something good on, I need to cleanse my poor ears of the top 40 garbage they were subjected to tonight."

"Yes, dear," you deadpan, hanging up your dress as he exits the room.

"Music!" he whines from the hallway.

"FINE!" you yell back. You pop in the first mix tape you find and turn up the volume. You force Eddie's suit on a hanger, put the formal-wear in the hall closet, and join him in the kitchen.

He's sitting on the counter, watching the clock and drinking directly out of a nearly empty two-liter pop bottle.

"You really know how to treat a girl," you smirk.

He burps in response.

You feel like you should roll your eyes or pretend to be annoyed, but you're so in love with this fucker, you find every dumb thing he does to be charming. You lean on the counter next to him, and he hands you the bottle. You take a swig, then pretend it's a microphone.

"I'm here with Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin, who has just been to his first and last school dance! Tell us, Eddie, how was the Hawkins High prom?" you ask, placing the open bottle by his mouth.

"Sucked dick, thanks for asking!"

"It did not suck dick!" you protest, slamming the bottle on the counter with a slosh.

"It sucked some pretty major dick," he argues.

"You got to spend time with the woman you love! In a formal setting! She wore a damn dress for you!"

"I like her better in pajamas."

"Only because I'm not wearing a bra," you scoff.

"Well… I mean, yeah," he says, hopping off the counter and taking your hands in his. "Don't get me wrong, the dress was great. Have deposited the cleavage situation in the spank bank, so thanks for that. But this is just… better. 'Cause this is us."

When you're right, you're right.

The opening chords of Black Sabbath's "Heaven and Hell" play through Eddie's bedroom speakers, and a wave of appreciation for where you are and who you're with washes over you.

"No bowtie-wearing jocks or frilly little bitches staring at us," you smile, sliding your hands to his shoulders and pulling him close.

"No restrictive clothing," he smirks, letting his eyes linger on your chest as he settles his hands on your waist.

"Eyes are up here, Munson," you remind him as you begin to sway subtly.

He looks up and grins. "Those are pretty okay, too, I guess."

You smack him in the chest, and he laughs.. and then his face falls.

"You tricked me," he accuses.

"How did I trick you?"

"This is our second dance!"

"Yes, but its to our music, so it's counteracting the pop-adjacent one at the actual dance."

"Ugh, fine," he pretends to cave with a roll of his eyes.

You keep dancing until the song starts to pick up, and Eddie looks at you with his eyes full of mischief. He starts moving just a little faster from side to side, swaying with the music as it builds. Before you know it, those spastic moves you tried to coax out of him at prom were coming out in his kitchen. You would have been perfectly satisfied to just watch him dance like a dweeb, but he grabs both of your hands and forces you to join him. You do so happily.

You dance, you spin, and you laugh together in the Munson's kitchen to a mixtape of Eddie's own making. It's the most fun you've had in weeks. Why did you spend so long stressing over prom? Prom was nothing. Prom was a bunch of rich kids in tacky, overpriced clothes that you'd be laughing at in twenty years. This is real. This is what you should be living for.

When the song begins to wind down, you and Eddie are nearly out of breath from all the head-banging and jumping around. The slow dancing resumes without complaint.

"I think this is the Heaven part," you observe.

"Huh?"

"Heaven and Hell," you say, looking up into his beautiful red face. His bangs are stuck to his sweaty forehead. His zit has lessened in intensity after a post-shower application of peroxide. His eyes are big and round and curious. This boy is perfect, and he's all yours. "Prom was Hell. Other people are Hell. This, right here? Me and you? This is the Heaven part."

Eddie's eyes crinkle as he smiles. He pulls you in close and crushes you in a hug. You squeeze him back and breathe in the calming, familiar scent of him. You love this boy more than anything.

"I love you," you mumble into his shoulder.

"I love you too," he responds. "Even if you did make me go to prom."

"This was your idea, fool," you laugh, giving him a backwards shove.

"Not how I remember it," he grins. He laces his fingers and holds them under his chin, bats his eyelashes, and continues in a high-pitched voice that sounds nothing like you: "'Oh Eddie my love, please, won't you take me to prom? It would be the highlight of my life!' Pretty sure you begged. Groveled, even."

"You are insufferable," you laugh, pushing him away from you.

"You're the one who made me go to prom!"

"You know, Munson, according to the pamphlets that everyone's been throwing at me all week, most teenagers have sex on prom night. But I think you're gonna have to get your ass kicked instead. C'mere."

"No!" he yelps, backing into a corner. "Please! I have children!"

"We don't have to share our pizza with them, do we?" you laugh, too lazy to engage in a play-fight with him.

"Pfft. No." He relaxes. "I wouldn't even share with you if I didn't have to."

Your jaw drops.

"I'm kidding!" he insists, coming forward to envelop you in a hug. You go rigid and refuse to hug him back. "I'm kidding. You know I'd save my last Fudge Round for you."

"Oh, really?" you smile, looking up at him.

"Eh… Nutty Buddy, maybe?" He screws up his face in concentration. "Nah. Oatmeal Creme Pie?"

"You are unbelievable," you scoff with a shake of your head.

"You love me anyway."

"Yeah, I guess," you sigh in defeat. "But please don't tell Chief Hopper. It would break his heart."

"Oh my God," Eddie groans, pushing you away and rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.

You cackle, and the oven timer dings.

This is definitely Heaven, but you've still gotta give him a little Hell.

[cherrychilli]

If you're lonely, call me

Minors DNI, NSFW, AFAB reader, established relationship

Summary: With your houses so close together, being next door neighbors with your boyfriend Steve comes with the benefit of being able to see right into each others bedrooms. It's late, you're feeling lonely and he's just a stone's throw away. Why not open the curtains and have some fun?

A/N: Basically, I was reminded of a movie I used to see on TV all the time back in the day called 'It's a Boy Girl Thing' and remembering how those characters interacted yelled at each other through their bedroom windows gave me a naughty idea. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Phone sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, mutual masturbation

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed this fic! (I love reading all of your comments and feedback, it really makes my day <3 )

Wordcount: 2.6K

The clock ticks past 2AM and sleep is yet to claim you. Rolling over in bed for the umpteenth time you reach out to turn your bedside lamp on, squinting as your eyes adjust to the outpour of light. It's Steve's fault that you're unable to sleep, the dull ache between your legs an unyielding reminder of how much you miss having him positioned there. Even if it has only been a couple of hours since you saw him last.

Crawling over to the foot of your bed, you crane your neck out to peer through your bedroom window and at Steve's window just a few feet opposite your own. The thin strip of light filtering through the curtains he hasn't drawn completely shut tells you that he's up too. Hopping off your bed and padding over to the window, you unlatch it with one hand and reach for the little jewelry dish sitting on the ledge with the other. After years of living next door to each other, you picked up the habit of filling the ceramic dish with pebbles and casting them at Steve's window whenever you wanted to speak to or sneak out with him without alerting either of your families. Selecting the closest one, you pitch it against Steve's window and wait, smile breaking out on your face when the curtains part to reveal your boyfriend. He returns your smile as you take in how cute he looks with his hair all tousled from laying against his pillows.

You raise your hand to your ear, thumb and pinky fingers extended while you fold the rest into your palm and mouth at him to pick up the landline that sits on his bedside table. He nods back and you turn to jump back into your bed, picking up the receiver of your own phone and dial Steve's number. It was a routine the two of you had perfected and just like every time before, he anticipates the incoming call and picks up the instant the phone rings.

"And what's got you up at this hour", he greets you playfully.

"I was about to ask you the same question", you return, mirroring his tone.

"Uh, you first", he falters, voice taking on a nervous lilt. You note the slight hesitation but decide not to prod just yet.

"Couldn't sleep", you toy with the telephone cord, withholding the real reason for your sleepless state for the moment.

"Any particular reason?"

"Bad dream", you lie. "What about you?"

"I was-uhh, reading", he replies in a barely convincing attempt. He was never any good at lying but you don't need to press any further for answers because you know Steve and you have a pretty good idea of what he could be up to at this hour.

"Steven, were you masturbating?", you inquire teasingly with mock appall, gasping into the receiver whilst clutching at your imaginary pearls.

"No!", he blurts out loud. And then more quietly, "I was about to..." he admits with defeat.

"Oh? did I interrupt?", you continue to tease, grinning to yourself when you guessed correctly.

"Not exactly. I was already thinking about you"

Your face turns warm at his confession. "Anything in particular?", you ask, encouraging him for more details.

"I liked that shirt you had on today", he answered.

You let out a chuckle, knowing all too well that the low cut tee that he's referring to was a little snug on your form and was sure to draw his attention to your chest. As you had hoped it would.

"I could tell. It was impossible to make eye contact with you today", you chide lightheartedly, not at all upset by his wandering eyes.

"I'm sorry", he laughs back sheepishly and the sound of it has you picturing the way he drops his gaze and runs his hand through his hair whenever he feels embarrassed.

Clutching the phone a little tighter, you abandon the amused tone for something a little more suggestive and closer to a whisper, "I wish I could have asked you over today". You usually did. And if you didn't it was because the both of you had decided to go over to Steve's. Only this time you had returned home without him on account of promising your mother that you would help set up the house for dinner with your aunt and cousins who had been visiting from out of town.

"Can I make it up to you?"

"What do you have in mind?", he asks and you can hear the excitement underscoring his tone.

"Come back to the window", you reply, already swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

You carry the receiver with you a few shorts steps away to your bedroom window, cord trailing behind you.

"Now what?" Steve calls into the receiver when he appears in place, watching you from behind paned glass. You bite your bottom lip, excitement buzzing inside you as you set the phone down on the window sill. You watch the curious expression on Steve's face as your fingers curl underneath the hem of your oversized t-shirt, pulling the material up to expose your bare breasts. His breath goes still, jaw slack, his eyes trained on your naked chest and despite the few feet of distance between you he swears he can see your nipples harden. You shift your weight on to your tip toes, arching your back before slowly rocking back down on to your heels, causing your breasts to bounce as you settle back to your original stance. You’re more than satisfied when Steve's lips frame a silent and awe struck “Fuck” in response, eyes wide with interest.

A thought occurs to you while he stares and instead of letting the front of your shirt drop back down to conceal yourself, you surprise him by pulling it off entirely, leaving you in just your sleep shorts. A quick flash. A little tease. He hadn't expected it but the moment you'd showed him your tits like this he'd thought a quick peek would be the extent of it. As soon as you pick the phone back up he's finally able to let out what had been trapped in his throat when you first lifted your shirt up. "Baby! fuck, what are you doing?", voice stirring with a thrilling feeling that he can't contain.

"The truth is I couldn't sleep because I've been thinking of you too", you answer, referring back to the start of your conversation. "And I think I have an idea that'll solve both of our problems".

You reach over to drag your vanity chair across the soft carpeted floor and position it in front of your window before seating yourself.

"Stevie, do you want to watch me touch myself?", you ask, tone tempting and sweet like honey.

The answer was yes. A resounding, thunderous yes but he only manages to pry a flustered, "Oh my god, angel", from his lips in response and you find that you like the sound of it just as much. It reminded you of how your knees would feel weak whenever he played with the hem of your skirt, his lips pressed against your neck as he drew soft pleas for more out of you. Only this time, you were the one making him feel weak.

"I want to watch you too. Please?", you request, voice so saccharine he couldn't imagine ever refusing.

He doesn't answer, too busy already pulling at his desk chair to place it in front his window. There's about 10 Feet of distance between your houses and you're thankful it isn't any more because you can easily make out the outline of his cock underneath his sweats from where you're seated. You can hear rustling and soft thudding through the phone as he drops down in his chair, impatiently stripping his shirt off to bring the chest hair that makes your panties pool with wet heat into view.

"So, you missed playing with my tits today?", you start, earning a raspy response from the boy on the other line.

"Yeah baby, fuck, do you know how hard it was to let you walk away from me today?".

You smile at that. "If I stayed, how would you have touched me?", you bring your free hand up to cup one of your breasts and squeeze tenderly.

Something electric rolls all the way up his spine when he hears you let out a sound, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh. His free hand moves to palm himself through his sweatpants, grunting at the respite it offers him.

"I don't think I could be as gentle as you're being right now", he answers honestly. "I like hearing all those pretty noises you make too much. I want to hear you get loud- wanna suck your tits till they're all marked up- pinch them till they're all sensitive and you can't take anymore...wanna make you cum from playing with just your tits"

You feel lightheaded in the best way, fingers rolling your hardened nipples whilst fighting the urge to let your eyes fall shut and picture just what he's describing.

"Need to know what you were thinking about. What kept you up tonight, baby?" he asks. He slips his hand underneath the waistband of his sweats as you balance the phone between your ear and shoulder, free hand now rubbing your clit over your shorts while the other continues to toy with your nipple. You can feel the dampness of your arousal there, faintly surprised that you've soaked that far into your clothes already.

"Mm, kept thinking about your big cock", you let out in a hushed moan. "Missed having it inside me...feeling it stretching me open. Please, baby take it out for me?", you ask sweetly.

Steve releases his throbbing cock long enough to hook his thumb into the waistband, pulling his sweatpants down until he can kick them off and aside. Your breathing grows heavy when you see it, thick and hard in his large fist, tip flushed a deep shade of pink as he teases it with his thumb. You tear your eyes away long enough to notice the way he raises his eyebrows at you, his eyes falling to your shorts as if to say, your turn. You follow through with his silent request, eager to rid yourself of your damp clothes. You shed your sleep shorts and panties, slick strings of your arousal catching on your inner thigh as you do so. Goosebumps form on your skin as you raise your legs and rest your heels on the window sill, spreading your thighs apart so Steve can see between them.

"Jesus Christ, sweetheart", he groans when he sees your bare pussy, precum spilling from his tip and wetting his fist as he watches your fingers tease the little patch of hair on your mound.

"So pretty, baby. Wanna taste you so bad", he husks, pumping his shaft. The wet sound carries through the phone along with his heavy breathing, drawing a whimper out of you. Your fingers travel to your folds, parting them to reveal your core to him, all sticky and warm.

"S-same here- wanna feel you in the back of my throat", you stutter, thumb bumping your clit.

He squeezes his shaft, head hanging over the back of his chair as he leans back, dragging his fist from base to tip at a torturously slow pace. You draw your tongue along the roof of your mouth as you watch him, sucking in a breath as you remember all the times you'd licked along the prominent veins on his cock. "You look so pretty with my cock filling your mouth, babe", he recalls. He raises his head to look at you again, hair settling over his eyes, all dark and intoxicating. "Especially when you start to cry...lips all swollen, your mascara running down your cheeks- shit"

Your brows are upturned and pinched together as you ease your middle finger inside your hole. The way he's looking at you has your belly blossoming with something deep and wanting and you're only sorry you're not knelt between his thighs and watching him up close, feeling the weight of his cock in your own hand, tasting him on your tongue. "Fuck, Steve...you look so good like this", you mewl, back curving into an arch as you clench around your finger. He releases a breathy laugh, "Me? darling, I'm trying not to cum too soon just looking at you". You were a sight. Legs spread just for him, showing him the most intimate parts of you, touching yourself to the sound of his voice. Watching your finger sink inside you had him biting the inside of his cheek, mind filling with thoughts of your cunt clamping around his cock and milking him dry.

You whine, working another finger inside your dripping pussy as he savors the sound of every labored breath you release. "Stevie, it's so much better when you do it", you pant into the phone, trying your best to mimic the way his fingers would curl and drag along your velvety walls. He notices the way your nose scrunches with frustration and your lips dip into a slight frown. "Don't worry, I'm going to help you get there", he promises with a groan, determined to watch you come undone. "Be a good girl for me, angel. Start playing with your clit". You melt at how sweetly he phrases it, body trembling at the sound of his voice all deep and throaty. You remove your hand from your hardened nipple to rub circles against your clit, moaning into the phone as the feeling in your belly becomes stronger. "Fuck, just like that-get your fingers nice and messy", he exhales.

He knows you're getting close, the telltale signs are all there- toes curling, thighs quivering, the timbre of your moans becoming higher and he's not far behind you. “You want us to get caught, don’t you?, he taunts, wicked smile stretching across his face. "Doing this in front of your window? that's pretty dirty, babe. Want everyone to see you like this?". The thought sends a sick sense of exhilaration coursing through your body in waves and while all you can do is moan out his name in reply he can see it written all over your face.

"I'm fucking you against that window tomorrow", he continues, abdomen clenching as his release approaches. "Gonna see how many times I can make you cum like that - wanna feel how tight you get when you cum on my cock".

The rhythm of your fingers on your clit borders on sloppy, pushing you towards the edge. "P-promise? Want you to fill me up so bad, oh fuck Steve, I'll be waiting",

The coil snaps and your lips fall open in a wail, thighs threatening to shut when you hear him growl out on the other end, "Keep them open". The bottoms of your feet are bound to be sore tomorrow given how hard you forced them into the edge of the window sill in a desperate effort to keep your feet planted and legs spread apart for him. "That's it, that's my good girl", he praises, fucking his fist with fervor as he watches you throw your head back and gush around your fingers, sound carrying through the phone. You remove your fingers from your clit when it gets to be too much, pulling the others free from your fluttering hole when the aftershocks of your orgasm start to subside.

A strangled moan on the other line has you perking your head back up in time to see Steve reach his limit, your face heating up as milky ropes of his cum spurt out to splash against his abdomen and happy trail. If you weren't fighting to regain your breath you would have told him how pretty he looks when he cums. How pretty he sounds.

There isn't anything else you can do after that but stare longingly at each other, sweaty and sticky and out of breath, smiles forming on both your lips.

"I can't believe we've never tried this before" you break the silence with a weary laugh, slumping further into your chair while somehow still being able to balance the phone against your shoulder.

"Guess we're gonna have to do this a lot more to make up for every time we didn't", he laughs back, lips curving into a smirk before asking, "Same time tomorrow?"

[cepheusgalaxy]

so with whump

as a group? fandom? or any other word syebsj

usually it's fictional character and fics right but if you were to interact with other whumpees (that the term) like as roleplay or i dunno

would you or

okay maybe that's a confusing way of putting my question suwnsj

uh just tell me about your own experiences :3 if you wanna

Ok my experiences with whump? I'm not big on roleplaying (although it looks fun. just maybe not for me) so i'll talk about the community

They're awesome or at least the bubble I'm in like

There's one guy who got his acount deleted like a thousand times but he always swings back and he draws super well I like to reference from him and he's super nice

Then there this person who makes comics and they have so many I can't keep up

Then there's this uh lady? Woman? What's like a casual way to say it in english. Like guy but for girls. Anyway, she has a series that's so fun

And there's this person with such nice caracters I kinda picked my name from there.......

Oh, oh there's one thing that's like super nice and that's BBU

Its like a community worldbuilding like. Its premise is that there is a modern kind of world where humans are kept as slaves called "boxies" (because if people "order" them they arrive in packages)—thats why we call it the Box Boy Universe—and there's this organization called WRU (no idea what this name means i think its we r umpers or smth) that "trains" them and there are Safehouses for runaways and theres also The Pet Lib Movement

And it's a fun universe because everyone can use it! And so there's a lot of collaboration like, there's some part of the worldbuilding you don't wanna flesh out? This person here already did it. There is so much lore made by so many people and the fun is that you get to decide what is canom in your bbu

Also theres this person who took such a turn on it they (i dont remember their pronouns rn) imagined how it would be a bbu world but like in the black and white tv era. They did the origins of WRU (the evil slavery organization) and its like i haven't read it yet but it's such a fun concept

I also like the prompts. There's always some crazy thing I haven't thought about and it's lots of fun

There's also the community events (like febuwhump—one of the only i participed in lmao—where we get prompts for each day of february and write or draw something) idk they're fun people

[munson-blurbs]

Saw that you’re looking for Eddie X Argyle requests, so maybe you could do something where Argyle is dating the reader, and Eddie is basically in a relationship but is a virgin, so argyle allows Eddie to practice on the reader.

Argyle teaches Eddie basically

This request unlocked something inside me 🥵

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), oral (f! receiving), voyeurism, Argyle x afab!Reader x Eddie), cheating I guess (not on Reader), some pet names, Reader is basically used as a s*x toy but we’re into it I promise, everyone is over 18

WC: 1.8k

Thank you to @pastel-pillows for helping me reach my feral potential 😘

It all started as an innocent movie night. Though you and Argyle had been dating for nearly a year, you still made sure to carve out time to spend with Eddie. He had been the one to choose Risky Business, which you’re watching as you sit in between them. Argyle rests his arm along the back of the sofa, keeping you close, while Eddie’s leaning back with his arms folded over his chest.

The telltale sound of the sloppy kisses preceding a sex scene fill the room, and you feel a slight tingle in your abdomen. You’re clearly not the only one getting turned on by the simulated intimacy, as your boyfriend begins sucking on your neck.

You giggle and gently push him away. “Babe, not now,” you protest, glancing over at Eddie just in time to see him adjusting himself over his jeans. “Y’good there, Eds?”

Eddie blushes a deep red that you can see even with the lights turned down. “Uh, yeah, sorry.”

Argyle smirks, stealthily grabbing hold of one of your tits. “You wanna go call Chrissy, brochacho?” His mischievous smile falters when he sees Eddie duck his head, and he sits forward in concern. “Shit, dude. Did you guys break up already?”

“Nah, man. ‘S just…” Eddie exhales, contemplating whether to reveal his secret. Eventually, he caves. “She was with Jason for a while, and they definitely…y’know…” He points to the sex scene on the TV screen. “And I, uh, haven’t yet.”

He expects you two to tease him about still being a virgin while in a relationship; to his surprise, you offer support.

“It’s normal to be nervous,” you reassure him. “I was nervous before I got with Argyle, and he was nervous before he got with me. And we were friends first.”

“Yeah, it definitely helps to be friends first,” your boyfriend agrees.

“Well, you’re my only girl friend,” Eddie gestures to you, clearing his throat as he rushes to further explain. “I mean, girl who’s a friend, not a girlfriend girlfriend, because you’re Arg’s girlfriend…”

Argyle looks between you and his friend, mouth twitching devilishly. He’s concocted some sort of idea; for better or for worse, you know he’s going to share it. “You, uh, you a visual learner?”

As soon as Eddie nods, Argyle’s on top of you, unbuttoning your shorts and tugging them down your legs. “Have you done anything with Chrissy? Like, sexy time-related?”

Eddie shrugs, shoving a thumbnail into his mouth and gnawing nervously. “Just fingering, I guess.”

“You ever eat her out?”

“N-Not yet.”

Argyle motions for Eddie to come closer so he can see everything. “This is gonna be kinda hard to explain while I’m doing it so…” He brings your legs onto his shoulders and turns to Eddie. “You might think you gotta dive right into it, but you would be wrong, my friend. They like to be teased a little, right, baby?”

“Definitely,” you confirm.

Argyle presses his lips to your cotton panties, trailing kisses down until he reaches your clit. You shiver at the contact, and he takes the opportunity to expand on his lesson. “See how she reacted when I did that? That’s what you want. Gotta reel them in.” He continues kissing over the fabric while you begin grinding your sex against his face.

“Now you’ve got her where you want her,” Argyle says, referring to the way your hips involuntarily buck upwards. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and drags them down, tucking them into his back pocket. Eddie’s beet red, a sheen of sweat forming along his forehead. “Repeat the same thing you just did, but right on her pussy. Underwear is strictly prohibited.”

You want to make a snarky comment about having oral down to a science, but your boyfriend’s mouth is soon pressed to your cunt; you can feel his breath on your slick folds.

“Be honest with me, Munson.” He doesn’t break his concentration, and the vibration of his words make you dizzy with anticipation. “Can you find the clit?”

“Y-Yeah, ‘s right…” Eddie vaguely gestures, but that’s insufficient for Argyle.

“Nah, man. I can’t have you moving onto the next step until I know you can find it.”

“On her?”

“No, on me,” Argyle rolls his eyes. “Yes, on her!” He steps back, leaving your perfect pussy on full display for Eddie to see.

Eddie’s breath hitches; he gently separates your folds and brings his thumb to your clit. “‘S there,” he mumbles, but before he can move away, you grab his wrist.

“Keep your finger there,” you order sweetly, “that’s, like, the perfect amount of pressure.”

Argyle chuckles. “Nice try, princesa, but you’re not getting both of us just yet.” He shoos Eddie back to where he was standing. “My tongue’s gonna be pretty ocupado for a little while, so I’ll tell you what to do now.” His thumb replaces Eddie’s, only he makes small, circular motions. “Clit’s always gotta be taken care of. If your mouth isn’t on it, your finger better be. So while you do that, you’re gonna lick her pussy—firm but gentle.”

“‘Firm but gentle?’” The instructions seem to contradict themselves.

Argyle sighs. “Yeah, like…you wanna make sure she can feel it, but don’t fuckin’ dart your tongue around like a snake or anything. I dunno, just…watch me.” And with that, he licks a stripe up your cunt, moving his finger only to wrap his lips around the small nub. Your fingers dig into his scalp and you let out a soft whimper.

“Locating the clit is basic beginner shit,” Argyle says from between your thighs. “When your tongue is on it, you’re gonna flick it back and forth slow, then get a little faster. You go too fast too soon and it’s gonna be too much for her.”

He demonstrates and your legs start to shake. You can’t hold back from moaning, “Argyle, yes, baby! Oh, fuck!” You can hear and feel him laughing as he slightly increases his pace. Between his mouth and the thrill of Eddie watching intently, it’s only a matter of time before you cum.

You whine when he pulls back, chin covered in your arousal. “Relax, babe.” He’s mean and condescending—just how you like him. “Munson, this next part is key,” he addresses him as though you’re not even there. “You said you’ve fingered Chrissy, so next time, you’re gonna do that while your mouth focuses on her clit.” One finger, then two enter your hole. He pumps them in and out, keeping one hand wrapped around your thigh to hold it steady. “Once you’ve got your rhythm…bon appetit.”

The combination of the fullness inside you and the clitoral stimulation has you writhing on the couch. Eddie’s arms are crossed over his chest, watching as your eyes roll back and gasps pass through your lips. “Mmm, fucking shit!” you cry out. There’s a noise vaguely resembling a choked sob. “Keepgoingkeepgoingkeepgoing, fuck, keep going!”

The coil snaps and you arch your back, cumming on your boyfriend’s tongue. He doesn’t stop until you tap him on the head; even then, he double checks. “All good?” he murmurs, fully prepared to continue eating you out if you wanted. You nod and offer a tired grin, breasts heaving with your panting breaths.

Argyle stands up, fingers grabbing onto the plush of your thighs for stability. “All yours,” he tells Eddie, wiping his lips as he steps aside.

“Wh-What?” Eddie sputters, seemingly frozen in place. There’s no way, no fucking way that Argyle’s suggesting what he thinks he is…is he?

“You wouldn’t perform CPR for the first time in an actual emergency,” Argyle reasons. “Y’gotta practice on a dummy first.”

“I’m not…I’m not a dummy,” you pout from where you lay on the sofa.

Your boyfriend smirks, pressing a kiss to your lips. It tastes like you and the Purple Palm Tree Delight he’d smoked just before starting the movie.

“But I got you dumb on my mouth, didn’t I, princesa?” You can’t argue with that, and he chuckles. “That’s what I thought. Now,” he turns to Eddie, patience running thin, “you wanna give it a shot?”

“Yeah, I just…” Words fail him; this was the last thing he’d expected when he’d come over for movie night. “Don’t wanna hurt her or anything…” Don’t wanna make an idiot of myself, he thinks wryly.

Argyle shakes his head. “Nah, man. You’re not gonna hurt her. I’m gonna be right here, keepin’ an eye on things.”

Eddie bends down, cautiously kissing up your thighs. He doesn’t know why he does it, but it feels right. Your legs tremble slightly, and he isn’t sure what that means, so he stops suddenly and looks from you to Argyle. “‘S that…”

“Good, good, it’s good,” you reassure him, settling in as he resumes his kisses. They’re soft and light, which is great, but he keeps that same pressure—or lack thereof—against your needy cunt. “Just…little more?”

Where you’re timid in your request, Argyle is straightforward. “Nice and firm, Munson,” he instructs. “Tongue flat against her, like you’re licking ice cream. Tastes even better. Trust me,” he adds with a wink.

Eddie follows his instructions, head bobbing with his movements. He’s sloppy with inexperience, but not disinterest, and you gently nudge his head more towards that delicious sweet spot that brings you pleasure without fail.

“Now, once you found the rhythm…there ya go,” Argyle praises as Eddie slides his middle finger into your pussy. “Damn, Munson. Look what you’re doin’ to her.” Sure enough, when Eddie glances at you, he sees your lips parted mid-moan. He can’t hold back his grin, knowing that he’s bringing you this pleasure. And, yeah, okay, Argyle’s guidance was helping, but it’s ultimately Eddie’s body that’s making you react this way.

Your hand digs into his curls as he keeps a steady pace, adding a second finger inside you. You’re already sensitive from Argyle making you orgasm, so while his ministrations were a leisurely stroll, you’re sprinting to the finish for Eddie. You practically wail as you cum, feeling his smile against your cunt as he relishes in his victory.

He stands up, wiping his lips and chin tentatively yet triumphantly. You prop yourself up on your elbows, head spinning from two consecutive orgasms.

Argyle is the first to speak, easily breaking the tension. “So, that’s how you eat pussy!” He says with a smirk, clapping Eddie on the shoulder. “Now, swish around some mouthwash a coupla times and go show that girl of yours what you’ve learned.”

But Eddie remains frozen in place, hand smoothing down the crotch of his jeans in a futile attempt to tame his raging erection. “Is there a-anything else you can teach me?” He’s speaking to Argyle, but his eyes never leave your body. It clicks for everyone in the room that Chrissy is the last person on his mind.

Your boyfriend looks at you expectantly. “Whaddya say, amor? Can our little horndog get another hands-on lesson?”

[mncein]

I CAN'T TELL YOU WHY .

"once a maestro of hearts, perhaps it's time to relinquish the stage?" (high-school au)

new jeans masterlist | main masterlist

MINJI —

"my jaw hurts so much from talking with you, hanni." minji expressed, edging further from the vietnamese, even if she hasn't even spoken yet?

"i'm simply suggesting, what's the allure behind embracing such a big red flag?" she replies, referring to the school's big player, you.

"i can't explain it. she had me captivated in a way i never intended." hanni sneers, her eyes rolling in some attitude of hers. minji is like an open book, completely oblivious, honestly.

"just observe how she acts, she's always chewing on a piece of gum, giving me a vibe akin to that mischievous heartthrob from a cheesy tv show." minji's head swivels leisurely, fixing a gaze on hanni, questioning the sincerity. once more, she's prattling about the same thing, and minji endures those words nearly every single day at school.

"you still watch those? ew." the taller girl comments with a face of disgust.

"no, you idiot. at least i don't like someone who's unloyal." minji's face turned into an offended one. well, hanni does have a point, you won't be loyal if you're a player. if you ponder on it, you practically attract all the guys and gals around the school, and those individuals are offering you the opportunity to toy with their emotions for amusement, sigh.

"consider this, she's not deserving of your attention." hanni lets out a weary sigh, her head shaking as she stows her books into her bag, preparing for the upcoming class post-lunch. minji gazes at her with a remorseful grin, comprehending that hanni only wants what's best for her, but she can't easily release those uncanny feelings on you.

"okay, i'll think about it." minji responds with a slight pout, acknowledging the challenge as she encounters you daily, unable to elude your presence.

"great, because i'd honestly figure out a method to transform haerin into a canine if you decide to date that y/n." hanni uttered, her expression potent enough to vanquish anyone under its gaze. she bid her goodbye to minji and headed off to her own classes, the taller girl watched as she gets left alone.

"seriously, i can't tell why i like y/n." minji mumbles under her breath, unaware of your presence lingering just behind her.

"you like me?" you chatted nonchalantly, not trying to be creepy or anything. her surprise was evident as she jumped from her spot, startled by your sudden appearance.

"what- why- how- what?!" she exclaims, her uncertainty leaving her at a loss for words and actions, as if her entire world has crumbled when you knew about her feelings. now she feels like your clueless admirers at first.

"i am very happy to say that i like you too, kim minji." you chuckled, stuffing your hands inside your pockets, staring at her with a sweet smile you never show around anyone. 'so this is her hidden side...' minji notes in mentally, but are you genuinely sincere, or is this just another one of your playful tricks like you've done with others?

she was still in her state of shock, her mouth hangs open but she doesn't say anything.

all in all, she remains unaware that you've truly been observant of her, and she never notices. you genuinely began to watch over her once her circle was welcomed into your own friend circle. you even knew her friends doesn't like you one bit, but you noticed that blush on minji's cheeks at specific times, especially when both of you were, kinda left alone.

"minji?"

"yes! i like you too. a lot. since the ktv bar happened..." her confession caused your heart to race and skip a beat, you never felt like this when the others talked to you about their feelings, you're serious this time.

"i demand you to be my girlfriend, kim minji."

"i accept with all my heart."

"KIM MINJI!" uh oh... someone is going to turn into a canine.

HANNI —

"i'm already telling this to you now, hanni, she's not good for you, i swear to god-"

"i know- i know, yunjin-unnie." hanni cuts off her senior, she told yunjin about her feelings for the school's heart player. "i mean, what if she has another side-"

"don't even finish, not a single relationship with her lasted for a week."

"no way-"

"do you believe me now?" yunjin asks quickly, wanting hanni's feelings for you gone instantly.

"no way." hanni utters with greater clarity, prompting an audible gasp from the elder.

"seriously, dude, don't go for it-"

"i'll take the risk and whatever comes, i'll accept it." hanni swore like her life depends on it.

"even if she breaks your heart?"

"she'll never."

...

"someone looks sad today..." haerin states as she analyzes your face.

hanni had dragged you to their club room. being the leader of it, instead of a proper meeting, she discussed on how she got you to change in an instant. the four girls snicker on every word she said about you, now being someone who knows how to obey and listen. 'that's new', they thought.

yunjin face palms as she listens to hanni, doubting the vietnamese is really a thing she shouldn't have done. hanni spoke with confidence, explaining how she confessed to you and how well behaved you looked. (and it's because she was glaring at you while she reveals her feelings...)

then she turns and faces you with a serious look on her face. "you don't regret accepting my feelings, don't you?" she glares while speaking her last two words, making you quickly shake your head no. you wouldn't dare to tease and piss off the "angel" hanni...

she turns to the girls if they had something to say. "uhm, she looks like she's forced..." danielle chuckles nervously, received a glare from hanni which makes her regret saying that.

"are you?" hanni's grip on you tightens when she catches your eyes that are already staring at hers. "go on, answer dani." you gulped when all of the eyes turned to you, curious and waiting for what you're about to say.

"you didn't even let me finish my side of confession, while you talked my attitude away." you say quickly, embarrassed about the part where hanni just makes your behaviour better with simple as words. the girls look at each other then at hanni for confirmation.

"yes, it's true." hanni nods, but still feeling the girls' eyes on her, like they were doubting the vietnamese. "what? brat taming is my specialty." she smiles smugly at you, as if she's telling that you're a brat that she could only tame, really humiliating.

"i'm not even close to being a brat, i listen and obey too, you know." you roll your eyes, she doesn't know you like you know yourself right? (or maybe she does...)

"when was the last time you listened?" she asks, eyeing you up and down with a look of disbelief in her face, first thing to have a wonderful relationship is, trust. oh well.

"i just listened to you earlier and promised i'll change!" you answer with slight frustration, this girl isn't gonna back down that easily, and that's one thing you're going to deal with everyday, from now on.

DANIELLE –

hanni and haerin looks down at danielle's phone, a picture of you opened in danielle and hyein's conversation. "no shit, she's pretty-"

"hanni! language." minji glares, the older went with the three to go to the mall and hang out, but looks like danielle had other plans. danielle stares forward, trying to find you through the large crowd of students making their way out of the school.

"whatever minji, anyways, do you like y/n?" the vietnamese asked, swiping to see more photos of you taken by hyein. danielle affirms, a charming and self-assured grin adorning her features.

haerin covers her eyes in a dramatic manner, "unnie, your smile is so bright when talking about y/n. it almost hurts my eyes." the younger peeks through her fingers, seeing danielle's fake offended look.

"does it minus your cat life?" danielle jokes back, now having a cackling haerin, which is unusual, she seems very happy today. hanni squints and looks at the scene before her, confused.

"what happened?" minji glances at the vietnamese whom spoke.

"and we have the oblivious and blind grandma pham." the three girls except hanni herself, bursts out laughing, forgetting about the y/n topic they were talking about, is this really a joke to all of them? sigh. "what's keeping you busy anyways?" the older asked, peering over the phone in hanni's hand.

"y/n's pictures hyein took secretly. dani, why do you have a "y/n, blue heart, black heart" titled album in your gallery?" hanni shows, and under the album is the date updated, and photos were added today? oh danielle.

"is that some sort of update? you almost update it every weekdays." minji adds, seeking confirmation if what she's seeing is true. danielle, whom blushed from all of that, nodded shyly while her head was down. silence, then haerin hears footsteps building up behind them which the others doesn't really notice or hear. she turns back, seeing you with hyein, walking over to them.

"uh, code jeans?" haerin attempts to mimic hanni's finger snap but falls short, yet still managing to capture the others' attention. the two older girls gasped seeing hyein, who is smiling smugly, walking beside you while headed to them.

"hi unnies, look who i brought with~" hyein wiggles her eyes brows, specifically towards danielle who is a messing blush.

"now, now. y/nnie wants to know who among you all has a crush on her." the taller gets straight to the point while putting her arm over your shoulder. everyone except danielle looks at hyein and replies with a shrug. your attention shifts to danielle, who remained quiet throughout your presence; you were genuinely surprised.

"is it you, danielle?" you verify, angling your head to catch sight of the girl's expression. finally, she musters the confidence to meet your gaze, gracing you with her now charming smile who she is saving up to show you. the girls cheered as they watch the romantic scene unfold among them.

"when i knew you liked me too, i changed, for you. hyein told me everything, we became friends since the time i caught her taking pictures of me." you paused, looking over to her unnies and haerin. "would you allow me to court danielle?"

"yes-"

"you don't need to ask them! yes!" danielle cut in, embracing you warmly and finally realizing her dream of hugging someone every day. you reciprocated the hug, at last experiencing a warmth you had never felt before while embracing someone you had previously used to satisfy your desires. it was truly a wonderful sensation, to be valued for who you are, not just for your fame or appearance. danielle had genuinely won over your heart and claimed it as her own.

HAERIN –

"haerin stop spacing off and eat your food." minji chimed in, playfully gesturing towards the girl's nearly frostbitten slice of meat. 'cause this is their grand reunion after a month of separation, not exactly a daily occurrence, but it's been ages since they last ate on a samgyeopsal resto.

amidst the laughter all around, whether it's here or there, the only thing that truly matters is haerin's gaze fixed on you, just beyond the restaurant's window. well, you happened to be with your 'date' right outside that adorable café, conveniently positioned across from the very restaurant they were in. oh, and haerin couldn't quite put into words how enviously preoccupied she was instead of enjoying her own time with the squad.

the way your nose cuts through the air with such finesse, even visible from a distance; how your eyes meticulously survey your companion, your lips crafting tender phrases. she yearned for a reality where she stood in the place of that fortunate soul, basking in the pleasure of your company.

"seriously, haerin, where are you looking at?" it was hanni who peered over the table to check on the younger one. all the girls pivot their heads towards the scene catching haerin's attention. hanni and minji's expressions twist in distaste, while hyein and danielle let out resigned sighs.

"what's up unnie? did y/n get your attention?" hyein inquired with a mischievous brow wiggle, proving she can't survive a single day without playfully poking at one of their squad members. seriously, it's her thing. danielle playfully elbows the younger one, while minji and hanni shoot hyein parental glares that could create a storm, they didn't raise hyein like this?!

haerin sighs, she really wanted these feelings off her shoulder, "i actually-"

"where did you learn those words?" haerin falls silent after minji spoke, deciding to save her words for another time. minji folds her arms, fixing a stern gaze on hyein, who trembles with nervousness – yet again caught in the act of being scolded for minor antics.

haerin maintained her watch over your romantic outing, anticipating her moment to join the conversation. yet, the passing moments seemed to stretch endlessly, a sense of timelessness settling in, and danielle was perceptive enough to recognize this. "guys! let us hear about what haerin has to say and maybe continue the argument later or tomorrow?"

haerin's attention shifts to them, all eyes fixed upon her, eagerly awaiting for her words. "uhm, i like y/n..."

a chorus of gasps resonated, haerin fancying the school's notorious heartthrob?! this had to be some kind of enchantment you'd cast on the dear human-cat.

"figures, it's quite obvious." hanni reclines in her seat, exhaling with a sense of reassurance that the news isn't negative. however, the notion of haerin being in a relationship with you takes shape in hanni's thoughts. she believes it might not be a suitable match, particularly considering your reputation for simultaneously ending several relationships.

"there's nothing wrong with it, actually," minji starts, leaning back on her chair like what hanni did, her figure relaxing more than before. "but are you really sure about this? i mean feelings get confusing in the start."

"unnie, why are you saying that like i am going to date her soon?" haerin inquires, perplexed by minji's remarks, wondering why she's bringing up such matters even when they're merely discussing feelings and not romance. yes, haerin was well-acquainted with the confusing realm of emotions. she had even heard about it in a song she played during breaks. however, she had no doubt about her feelings for you now.

"aren't you gonna confess?"

"oh that-"

"haerin right?" the girls redirect their attention to you as you call out. you're standing there, your gaze primarily fixed on haerin. they catch the fragrance of your perfume distinctly, drawing their gazes to you. although you had a date earlier, your appearance is even more refined now. why the added formality?

"y-yes, that's me, why?" upon hearing her answer, you turn back to the girls with a polite smile, which they haven't seen before.

"may i borrow her for some minutes? just by the balcony up here." before the unnies and hyein could answer, haerin abruptly stood up, taking your hand and leading you up herself.

after the girls eavesdrop on the two of you, they realized how much you have changed for haerin to like you back, that was not they were expecting, but they're happy for the both of you.

HYEIN –

(like danielle's, but hyein endgame !)

striking this angle, striking that angle, all for your snapshot, not hers. that's her covert tactic when she's trying to capture pictures of you just for herself. she's quite the enthusiast for candid shots of you – and there are quite a number of them, truth be told.

"ooh~ who is that?" danielle sneaks a peek from behind the taller figure, prompting a gasp from hyein who nearly fumbles her phone. poor hyein whirls around with eyes wide, a hand clutching her heart.

"what's happening?" minji and hanni enter the room along with haerin.

"it's nothing-"

much to hyein's dismay, danielle is a quick learner. "oh! i get it now, hyein likes y/n!"

"you what?!" hanni and minji both exclaim simultaneously, utterly taken aback by what they've just heard from the youngest member.

"really, dani-unnie?" hyein lets out a sigh, settling into one of the library chairs, with the others following suit. clearly, this is a weighty topic to address."

"explain, now." minji taps the table repeatedly. hanni elbows the older, muttering a small, "stop, you're going to pressure her."

"look unnies, it's not like what you think it is." hyein initiates, employing hand gestures to elaborate on the scenario, and she's putting in her best effort to spin a convincing tale. "i don't like her, i'm just simply taking photos of her for my friend."

"i'm not convinced, any of you have any proof to show or tell?" minji turns to the other three, haerin raises her hand. "the pictures she's taking is all going to some of her albums. i saw."

"aish, phone, now." minji gives the table another tap, signaling for hyein to surrender her phone. hanni facepalms, utterly unimpressed by minji's unconventional method of gaining someone's attention. poor hyein, it honestly sucks for hyein to be put in this kind of situation she didn't even want to happen.

"oh my, you must like her very much then?" danielle points out, having stumbled upon a whopping 213 photos of you meticulously arranged in hyein's '143 <3' album. seriously, who wouldn't deduce her feelings after encountering that extensive visual evidence?

and even before hyein could speak, you walk behind them and wrapped your arms around hyein's waist. "hey babe." you smile, looking over the jaw-dropped 4 girls staring in disbelief. (plot twist ehe)

"babe?!" minji and hanni exclaims together, again, the librarian that is currently present shushed all of you, earning gazes from the other students.

hyein smiles and reciprocates the hug and turns to her unnies with a bright smile, "surprise~" she opens her arms in a surprising them manner, danielle and haerin could only chuckle while minji and hanni sighed. "not expecting that? well, it's been quite a while.

"promise, unnies, hyein already humbled me. you don't need to worry." you provide reassurance, prompting another sigh from the elder. however, this time it's accompanied by a sense of relief – they're clearly pleased."

"you better make her happy or else i will freakin-"

hyein chuckled. "language minji unnie."

"i promise, i will, she's always be my precious baby that i wouldn't dare to get her hurt."

ps: shh! *speaking in a very quiet voice virtually* don't tell anyone i posted 😼 i've been reading books and nothing really improved my english and i'm starting to get bored 😭 anyways some of my classmates are leaving my school so i just hope someone who likes kpop especially my ults transfers and we can become bests of friends ! (or more... who knows 😼)

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - age gap,, sexual references

y/nn = your nickname for anyone confused🩷

Chapter 5

For the next two days I locked myself in my room, unable to eat, unable to sleep. Finally my mother said, “This isn’t going to help. Moping around here isn’t going to bring him back. He’s gone. He’ll be getting into his new life, and so should you.”

I forced myself to go to school and found myself swamped by photographers and reporters who were calling me “the girl he left behind” and barraging me with questions.

“How old are you, Miss y/ln?”

“I’m, uh—”

“Your records show you’re only in the ninth grade.”

“Well, ah, yes, that—”

“How long have you known Mr. Sturniolo?”

“About  . . . just a few months.”

“What is your relationship with him?”

“We’re  . . . just friends.”

“Has he called you since he returned?”

“No, but—”

“Did you know he’s seeing Madison Beer?”

“What?”

“Madison Beer.”

Suddenly feeling sick, I excused myself and left.

Each day there were calls from the United States, with offers of first-class round-trip tickets for me to appear on TV. I declined these as well as offers from top European magazines requesting interviews and photo sessions. Letters poured in from lonesome GIs all over the world. I had attracted their attention, perhaps as a soldier’s sweetheart. I also received letters from Matt’s fans, some friendly and some disheartened that maybe they had lost him.

Days passed into weeks and I became more and more resigned to the fact that Matt was now dating Madison Beer and had completely forgotten me. Twenty-one days after he left, the phone rang at three o’clock in the morning. I jumped out of bed, ran to answer it, and heard his wonderful voice.

“Hi, Baby. How’s my Little Girl?”

“Oh, Matt, I’m fine,” I said. “Only I miss you so. I thought you had forgotten me. Everyone was saying you would.”

“I told you I’d call, y/nn,” he assured me.

“I know, Matt, but there were photographers here and reporters and they kept asking me questions, and—oh, Matt, is it true you’re seeing Madison Beer?”

“Hold it. Hold it! Slow down,” he said, laughing. “No it’s not true that I’m seeing Madison Beer.”

“But they said you were.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Little Girl. You’ll find people trying to stir up trouble, just to make you upset. She’s a friend, Baby, just a friend. I’m appearing on her father’s show, and it was all set up for her to be here at my press conference when I returned to the States. I miss you, Baby. I think about you all the time.”

After that first phone call, I spent all my time writing and rewriting letters to him, but he never wrote back. Then one day he called, sounding very excited.

“I’m leaving for California in two days, Baby. I’m starting my first movie since the Army.”

All I could think about was whether he’d fall in love with his costar. As casually as I could, I asked, “Who’s your leading lady?”

Matt burst out laughing. “You don’t have to worry, Baby, I haven’t met her yet, but I hear she’s real tall. Her name’s Juliet Prowse. She’s a dancer and she’s engaged to Frank Sinatra.”

Relieved, I asked, “What’s the name of the film?”

“Wouldn’t you know it,” he answered, “G.I. Blues. I think it’ll be pretty good. I’m a little concerned that there are too many songs in it, but I think it’ll work out. It had better, or I’ll have a few choice words to say.”

A few weeks later Matt called again. His enthusiasm for G.I. Blues had turned to bitter disappointment.

“I just finished looping the goddamn picture,” he said dejectedly. “And I hate it. They have about twelve songs in it that aren’t worth a cat’s ass,” he said angrily, and then added, “I just had a meeting with Colonel William about it. I want half of them out. I feel like a goddamn idiot breaking into a song while I’m talking to some chick on a train.”

“Well, what’d the Colonel say?” I asked.

“Hell, what could he say? I’m locked into this thing. Already been paid,” he complained. “They seemed to think it’s wonderful. I’m goddamn miserable.”

“Maybe the next one will be better,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, starting to calm down. “The Colonel’s requested better scripts. It’s just this is my first film since I’ve been back and it’s a joke.” There was a long pause as static filled the line. Finally Matt said, “I gotta go, y/nn, and I can barely hear you. I’ll call you soon, be good, I love you.”

I was living in a state of suspended life, waiting for Matt’s infrequent calls. There was never a pattern to them. He would phone out of the blue after three weeks—or three months. He always did most of the talking, chatting about his current film or his costar. Occasionally, he’d talk about Nicole, saying their relationship wasn’t what he had expected when he returned from the Army. He was no longer sure he wanted to be with her. I didn’t know where I stood. Time and distance had created doubts and questions; I wanted to ask him, “Where do I fit in your life? Or do I?”

Matt was still mentioning that he really wanted me to see Graceland, especially at Christmas, when it was its most beautiful. He said I’d meet Pauline, the maid. Matt called her Pauline VO5. He laughed and said, “I’ll tell her, ‘O Five, I’ve got a little girl I want you to meet.”

This gave me some hope of a future. I wanted to believe him when he said he still cared for me. But during the periods when I did not hear from him, I couldn’t help but doubt that I would ever see him again. I heard his latest hit record, “(Marie’s the Name) His Latest Flame,” and felt sure that he’d fallen in love with a girl named Marie.

That summer, Paul Anka was on a European tour. He was to make a guest appearance at a nearby Air Force facility in Wiesbaden. I slyly arranged for my mother to drop me off at the time specified for his arrival. My intentions, unknown to her, were highly contrived and they had to do, strictly, with Matt. I wanted to ask him if by chance he knew Matt and if Matt had ever mentioned me. But when he got out of his car he was surrounded by fans, and I was too shy to push through the crowd to speak to him.

I gleaned every bit of news about Matt that I could. I listened constantly to the overseas radio and scanned every article in The Stars and Stripes newspaper. But each story about Matt I read only upset me all the more. Besides Nicole, he seemed to be romantically linked with many beautiful young starlets in Hollywood—Tuesday Weld, Juliet Prowse, and Anne Helm, among others.

I wrote him: “I need you and want you in every way and, believe me, there’s no one else  . . . I wish to God I were with you now. I need you and all your love more than anything in this world.”

It was a cold, snowy day in March 1962, nearly two years since Matt had left Germany. In the late afternoon, I received a call from him. It had been months since we last spoke.

“I’d like to make arrangements for you to visit me in Los Angeles,” he said. “Do you think we can work it out?”

Stunned, I blurted, “What? I’m not sure. Oh God, I wasn’t expecting this. It’s going to take some time, some planning.”

I didn’t think my father could ever be persuaded to let me go. There were several phone calls with Matt trying to say all the right words to please my parents. I had separate talks with my mother, hoping she’d help me convince Dad.

Once again Matt met every one of Dad’s demands: that we wait until I was out of school for the summer, that Matt send me a first-class round-trip ticket, that he send my parents an exact itinerary of my daily activities for the two weeks I’d be in Los Angeles, that I be constantly chaperoned, and that I write my parents every day.

The next few months might as well have been years. I marked off each day on the calendar until we would be together.

Los Angeles

When the plane landed in Los Angeles, I found the terminal bustling with vacationing students. But I easily spotted Nate Doe, who was still working for Matt.

It was good to see Nate. His big smile and warm embrace were comforting. I loved hearing him tell me I looked great. I didn’t think I did. The last time Matt saw me, I had been fourteen years old and five pounds lighter. I was afraid that he might be disappointed when he saw me, that he might send me home the next day.

I got my first glimpse of Los Angeles when we drove in from the airport. It was beautiful, a far cry from the drabness of postwar Germany. As we passed the MGM studios in Culver City, Nate said, “That’s where Matt films most of his movies.” Soon we were speeding along the legendary Sunset Strip and through the large wrought-iron gates of Bel Air. I was entering a world I’d never experienced. Every home along the winding road seemed grander than the one before.

We turned in at Matt’s house on Bellagio Road, a large home modeled after an Italian villa. We were greeted by Matt’s butler, who introduced himself as Arnold and said, “Mr. S is in the den.” As we walked through the door, I could hear loud music playing and people laughing. Nate led me downstairs.

Before entering, I took a deep breath. The years of waiting were now over.

In the dim light I saw people lounging on a couch and others standing over a jukebox, selecting songs. Then I spotted Matt, dressed in dark trousers, a white shirt, and a black captain’s hat. He was leaning over a pool table, ready to make a shot. I wanted to run to him, but this roomful of people was not the setting I had dreamed of for our first meeting. I continued to stand there, watching him.

He looked up and saw me and after a slight pause his face lit with a smile. “There she is!” he shouted, throwing down his cue stick. “There’s y/n!”

He made his way over to me, picked me up in his arms, and kissed me. I held onto him for as long as I could—until he put me down. “It’s about time,” he said, joking. “Where have you been all my life?”

Aware that every eye in the room was on us, I was uncomfortable and embarrassed. I quickly wiped the tears from my face before anyone noticed. Matt took my hand and introduced me around, and then we sat down together.

“Baby, I’m so glad you’re here,” he kept saying. “I can’t wait to show you around. You’ve grown up. You look great. Let me look at you. Stand up.”

As his eyes surveyed me, I became increasingly self-conscious, and I didn’t want him looking too long. He might find flaws.

He looked terrific, although I was surprised to see that the brown hair he’d had in the Army was now dyed black. He looked thinner, happier.

“Don’t go away,” he said. He kissed me lovingly, then returned to the pool table to finish his game. The night seemed to go slowlytoo slowly. While Matt continued his game a few of the girls eased their way over to me and started talking. They said Matt threw parties almost every night.

Hearing this and watching him as the night progressed, I felt out of touch with his new life, even though the girls told me he talked about me often and even showed my pictures around.

Playing pool, Matt laughed and joked around, and when one of the girls bent over the table to attempt a shot, Matt poked her in the backside with his pool cue. She shrieked in surprise and everyone laughed,everyone except me. I couldn’t help noticing that there had been a slight change in Matt. He’d left Germany a gentle, sensitive, and insecure boy; through the course of the evening I’d see that he now was mischievous and self-confident to the point of cockiness.

He also seemed quick to anger. When a girl cautioned him to watch out for a glass that was perched precariously on the edge of the pool table, he shot her a dirty look, as if to tell her, “Move the glass yourself.”

I felt a surge of uneasiness. I was unsure of what to do or say. Between shots he’d come over and give me an affectionate kiss, ask if I was all right, and then move back for his next shot. Meanwhile, the curious stares of his female admirers never left me.

It was after 12:30 a.m. when Matt finally sat down next to me. Now it was like the old days in Germany: He was suggesting that we go to his bedroom. “Up the stairs, the first door to your right,” he said. “The lights are on. I’ll be right up.” I started to rise. “Wait a few minutes, until I get up and leave,” he said. “That way it won’t look so obvious.”

I wasn’t sure if I liked that. I knew he was protecting me, but there were so many pretty girls around, I wanted to make sure everyone knew he was mine—at least for as long as I was here. I’d waited too long to be discreet. I got up, stretched a little, and politely said good night to everyone, hoping they would know exactly where I was going.

I ran up the stairs and easily found Matt’s bedroom. How different it was from his ordinary-looking quarters in Germany. I never imagined him living in such luxury—thick carpets, exquisite furnishings—but the room had a welcoming, lived-in feeling.

And then my eyes fell on the king-size bed in the middle of the room. I immediately thought of how many women might have slept there  . . . whose bodies he had embraced. . . and even worse, whose lips had passionately pressed his and driven him to ecstasy. I couldn’t think about it anymore.

I walked over to the French doors, which overlooked the driveway, and saw Matt’s guests exchanging good nights as they got into their cars. Knowing he’d probably be coming up soon, I rushed into the large adjoining bathroom.

Within ten minutes, I had jumped in and out of the bathtub, combed my hair, brushed my teeth, and dusted my entire body with some powder I’d found in the medicine cabinet. I put on my favorite blue pajamas and stood motionless before the door leading to the bedroom. I was so apprehensive that I was unable to open the door. This was the moment I had both longed for and feared. I sat down on a chair and remembered that when I’d been fourteen, Matt had said that I was “too young.” Now that I was sixteen I tried to imagine just what this new Matt, who I hardly knew at all, might be expecting of me.

About fifteen minutes later, I heard him as he opened the bedroom door, yelling down to his cousin, Billy Smith, who also worked for him: “Don’t let me sleep later than three tomorrow, Billy.” Then I heard him close the door, lock it, and call out, “Where are you, Baby?”

“I’m in the bathroom,” I shouted. “I’ll be just a few more minutes.”

“Don’t take too long. I want to see my girl.”

I still couldn’t move.

He called again: “What are you doing in there, y/nn? No one takes this long to get ready for bed.”

It was the moment of truth: Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and walked out. Matt was lying on the bed, facing me. I walked slowly toward him, climbed into the bed, and lay down next to him. Our faces were only inches apart. It was such an unexpected moment of tenderness that I was mesmerised looking into his eyes. We lay there for what seemed like a long time, staring at each other until our eyes filled with tears.

Matt softly touched my face. “God,” he whispered. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed you. You’ve been an inspiration to me. Don’t ask me why, but I haven’t been able to put you out of my mind since I left you in Germany. It’s been the one thing that’s kept me going.”

I couldn’t hold back any longer: Tears streamed down my face. Matt took me in his arms and held me close, but I couldn’t get close enough. If I could have gotten inside him, I would have.

“It’s gonna be all right, Baby. I promise you. You’re here now and that’s all that matters. We’ll have a good time and not think about you going back.”

As we lay in the dim light, he soon discovered that I was still as untouched as he’d left me two years before. Relieved and pleased, he told me how much this meant to him. It was as if every feeling I had as a woman began to emerge, and I began kissing him passionately. I wanted him—I was ready to submit entirely to him. He returned my passion. Then, abruptly, he stopped.

“Wait a minute, Baby,” he said, speaking softly. “This can get out of hand.”

“Is there anything wrong?” I was fearful that I wasn’t pleasing him. He shook his head, kissed me again, then gently put my hand on him so I could feel for myself just how much he desired me, emotionally and physically. He pressed his body to mine and it felt wonderful.

“Matt, I want you.”

He put his finger to my lips and whispered, “Not yet, not now. We have a lot to look forward to. I’m not going to spoil you. I just want to keep you the way you are for now. There’ll be a right time and place, and when the moment comes, I’ll know it.”

Although confused, I wasn’t about to argue. He made it clear that this was what he wanted. He made it sound so romantic, and, in a strange way, it was something to look forward to—just as he had said.

Later that night he told me that I had to stay with friends of his, George and Shirley Barris. Although I protested, Matt said, “I don’t want to go back on my promise to your father. Besides, if he found out you were staying with me, he’d make you go right home.” It didn’t make any sense, but I got out of bed and Matt had Nate drive me over to the Barrises’ house, where I would spend the night. Reluctantly.

Later I found out through one of the wives whom I had befriended the reason for my spending that first night with George and Shirley. Apparently Nicole had been sent back to Boston the day before, and Matt was taking precautions to avoid any awkward situations for himself that might have resulted from late-night phone calls.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd.

This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - longer chapter to make up for the last shorter one🩷

[shuniverse]

don’t talk ,, b.c

🧷 requested by anon !! hope I did ur ask justice 🫶 also, requested tag for @mimussyy !!

🎐 family issues and angst ;; lots of cursing/swearing ;; hurt/comfort ;;

;;

“baby you should really try talking to em again.”

he refers to your family, with whom you haven’t spoken to in ages.

your mother, especially.

as a child, and as an adolescent, your mother was never someone you turned to.

always shunning you, turning you away when you need help with something, any sort of guidance.

but when she did give you attention? it was always to degrade you, tell you you’re clothes, hair, interests, the things you wished to pursue in life, that they were all stupid and ridiculous, that they would never get anywhere in life.

you didn’t think of them again until you saw a post your mother made of your parents on a trip with your siblings. it had filled you with a sense of jealousy and sadness, which your ever so observant boyfriend noticed.

“chris.. you know how they treated me. they made me not wanna LIVE. I can’t exactly forgive all they did.”

“baby girl, I know they’re bad, but maybe they’ve matured now, maybe now that they see how successful you are, maybe they’ll understand, and want to rekindle the relationship.”

you sigh, looking up at your boyfriend from where he’s standing next to you on your barstool. “channie, I don’t think that’s such a good idea..”

he pouts slightly, resting his chin on your shoulder. “c’mon baby, please? for me? and hey, I’ll be here if it goes south, alright?”

you lean your head on his, and he plants a kiss on your cheek.

“alright,” you start, much to your internal protest, “I’ll do it.”

;;

much to your surprise, you find yourself in your car on your way to your parents home.

you groan to yourself. that handsome guy you call your boyfriend is sure as hell lucky you love him.

stopping in a parking spot close to his house, you throw your head back against the headrest with a thunk.

I’m really doing this.

jesus, chan. you’re one pretty guy. lucky for you.

you huff, undo your seatbelt, grab your bag and keys, and get out of the car, and walk the longer-than-you-thought distance to the front door.

with what feels like sloth speed, you move your finger to the doorbell.

you wait, until finally, after what feels like ages, your father opens the door.

he gives a small smile.

you give a nervous smile in return, and a small wave. “hey dad.”

“hey, kid. long time no see.”

he opens the door wider, to let you in.

you chuckle. “yeah, been a while, hasn’t it?”

your father gives a short laugh, and you stop as you see your mother in the kitchen, seeming to make good. she hasn’t noticed you yet, as if she ever wanted to.

but you set your past aside for the time being, and walk to the kitchen island.

you take a deep breath, and speak to the woman who made your life feel like hell for 17 years for the first time in three years.

“hey, mom.”

she halts her hand chopping on the board, and turns to look at you, her eyes widening.

“oh.. hey, hun.”

you share a stare at each other for what feels like eternity, before your father snaps you out of your state.

“hey, uh, we got snacks ready. you want some snacks kiddo?”

you nod, looking at your father with a small smile.

you sit together on the couch, making small talk and watching tv while munching on some snacks.

until, you feel the mood ruin.

your mother steps into the room, holding bowls of pasta.

macaroni to be specific.

fuck. that’s your favorite.

she hands you a bowl with a tight lipped smile, and hands a bowl to your father with an accompanied kiss to his head.

she sits in between the two of you to eat her own noodles.

it’s awkward silence now, neither one of you knowing what to say.

until your mother opens her mouth.

“so, uh, how are you, hun?”

you turn to look at her. “I’m fine, mom.”

“how, uh.. has your life been? what do you do?”

“well, I have a boyfriend and we’ve been together for four years, I’m working in the art industry and making good money, and-“

“art? see, I told you that wouldn’t get anywhere.”

god. not even a minute in?

“it’s getting me places, mom, and I said I’m making good money, my boyfriend makes good money too and he’s actually the leader of a band-“

she cuts you off with a laugh. “a band? huh, never knew you went for downgrades.”

this only fueled your anger. you couldn’t help but raise your voice. “mom, he’s anything but a downgrade. he takes care of me, he’s super sweet and probably the most handsome and caring guy I’ve ever known.”

she scoffs. “I bet it’s just so he can fuck you, that’s all guys want. especially from sluts.”

your eyes widen. “what the fuck did you call me?”

your dad looks at you wearily. “kid..”

“no!” you practically yell, and swivel your attention back to your mother. “god you are such a bitch. you were NEVER there for me, you always degraded my shit, you NEVER made me feel welcome in my own fucking home. I never felt like I could talk to you, but you expected so much from me. why? so you could use me as a slave? as someone to lean your troubles on? that I never fucking wanted? I knew coming here was a bad idea. you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut about me can you?”

she gawps at you, before standing up and huffing. “I don’t see what the problem is. we both know you’ll end up coming back in the end, you’ve always needed me, you’ve never been one to cut people off.”

“like you know! you were never fucking there for me! y’know what? fuck you. fuck you and your bullshit words when we know full well that I’m more successful than you, that I don’t fucking need you. I’m so done with this, im so done with YOU.”

“you don’t mean that.”

“yes, I fucking do. fuck you mom. dad?”

he looks at you, not knowing what to say.

“I advise divorcing her before it’s too late.”

and with that, you give your mom one final look, before stomping towards the front door, grabbing your shit and getting ready to leave, before you feel a hand grip your arm, you turn your head.

it’s your mother.

“if you leave, you’re never coming back.”

“good. have a nice life, bitch.”

you release your arm from her grip, and walk out the front door, and slam it shut, walking to your car and immediately pulling out and driving home.

on the way there, your rage turns to stress, and tears start slowly streaming down your face.

as soon as you pull into the parking lot of your apartment, you trudge up your stairs and barge through the door, making your boyfriend flinch from his spot on the couch.

“oh hey love what’s-“ as soon as he sees you with tears falling down your face, he gives a sympathetic smile and stands up, opening his arms. “c’mere princess.”

you rush into his arms, practically jumping on him, and he sits down, holding you in his arms as you sob into his neck.

he sighs sadly, kissing your neck as your body wracks itself with sobs and cries.

he runs his fingers through your hair, and finally, after what feels like forever, you lift your head up, and sniffle.

chan gives you a sad smile, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. “baby.. what happened?”

you pout, holding onto his forearm as you recall what happened. he listens to your words intently, leaving kisses on your hand as he watches you with kind eyes.

he sighs once more. “my love, I’m so sorry.. I shouldn’t have made you go see them.”

you shake your head. “it’s ok, it’s not like you knew my own mother would call me a slut.”

he gives a sad pout. “why would she even call you that?”

“well, I told her about you and how great you are, and she basically said I was only with you for sex, especially sluts, gesturing towards me.”

“aw, baby I bet she’s just jealous you have better and more sex than she does.”

you giggle. “yea, bet she’s mad you’re hot and dick me down like she’s never felt.”

he shakes his head, gently rubbing your waist. “you’re silly, baby girl.”

you kiss his forehead. “so are you, channie.”

he gently cups your face, and you lean forward as he catches your lips in a gentle kiss, and you lovingly sigh, wrapping your arms around him.

he pulls away after a bit. “my pretty baby.”

you giggle again, kissing his nose. “can we take a shower, channie? I’m tired.”

he kisses your shoulder. “of course, baby girl.”

he stands up, holding you as he walks to the bathroom.

you sigh against his shoulder.

he may be a lucky guy, but you’re even luckier.

;; 🫶

AHHH THIS TOOK ME SO LONG AGDHHDHE

hope you enjoyed!