#were fourteen. they thought i was thirteen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nereidprinc3ss · 8 months ago

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do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

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18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him.

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye.

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign.

You look at it.

And then you set your phone down.

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness.

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder.

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside.

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes.

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment.

He looks good. Almost too good.

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek.

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head.

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him.

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully.

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.”

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek.

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best.

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body.

You cover his hand with your own.

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion.

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies.

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks.

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense.

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this.

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy.

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel.

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm.

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him.

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you.

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly.

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds.

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no.

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful.

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly.

“Yes, please.”

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting.

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine.

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it.

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for.

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings.

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present.

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing.

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster.

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem.

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest.

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place.

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand.

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair.

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him.

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful.

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again.

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you.

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame.

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you.

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul.

“Spencer?”

“Hm?”

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin.

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential.

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands.

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind.

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK.

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake.

He knows.

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity.

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like.

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before.

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it?

Maybe you have it all wrong.

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you.

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick.

24 hours go by.

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up.

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure.

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off.

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking.

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep.

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed.

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone.

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said.

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room.

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while.

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs.

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones.

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble.

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no.

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly.

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence.

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans.

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure. After a pause, he sighs in defeat.

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown.

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless.

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up.

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones. It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic.

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand.

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket.

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter.

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges.

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it.

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it.

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer.

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing.

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?”

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you.

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?”

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that.

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before.

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft.

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest.

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows.

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts.

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning.

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration.

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous.

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them.

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit.

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice.

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making.

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now.

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that.

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers.

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute.

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base.

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut.

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock.

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.”

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk.

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump.

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment.

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry.

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!”

He knows.

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist.

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding.

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease.

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more.

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone.

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide.

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else.

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you.

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here.

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength.

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?”

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous.

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue.

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared.

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out.

“You regret your first time?”

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does.

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash.

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins.

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same.

You want to scream bloody murder.

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse.

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence.

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back.

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me.

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later.

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was.

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help.

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does.

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound.

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more.

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right.

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here.

“Goodnight.”

part five

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic

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metamorphicrocky · 1 year ago

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at first I thought it was endearing to see the doctor constantly being like "oh do I say things like that now? is this who I am?" because it's an old face but with all the experiences and changes that come with living longer. so unlike ten, fourteen is open about his feelings because there were lingering regrets with not telling people how she felt as thirteen

BUT NOW. not-donna saying you're scared. because of the flux. because the universe destroyed itself just in the chance it could destroy you. and you know now that you're not from gallifrey and that scares you. because the doctor is scared. everything they ever knew is thrown out because on top of everything an old face came back and the doctor can't figure out why

the timeless child and the flux just being MENTIONED brought the doctor to frightened tears and we have never seen anything like that before. the doctor is so so lost and just wants to know who they are. so regenerating into something new but old has thrown them off so much that at every turn he thinks "huh. is this who I am?" and it is so strange to see the doctor unsure about themself, questioning their identity every second. and it is HEARTBREAKING

#HE JUST WANTED TO HUG DONNA I'M DEVASTATED 😭😭#ALSO I WAS SO SCARED WE WERE JUST GONNA IGNORE JODIE'S ERA BUT WE STAY FUCKING WINNING #doctor who #doctor who spoilers #doctor who special #wild blue yonder #dw spoilers #dw specials #dw 60th #tenth doctor #fourteenth doctor #thirteenth doctor #the doctor

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mysunshinetemptress · 13 days ago

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Glitter in the Air

Grace Clinton x Albert!Reader

Warnings: Internalised homophobia, homophobia

A/n thank you @silentwolfsstuff for proofreading it for me.

You can still remember the first time you felt different, felt different from your family, from Korbin.

You’re ten when you and Korbin sit up all night as she talks about Shawn, a boy in your class that she’s currently crushing on, you listen like you always have and smile as her cheeks redden as she talks about holding his hand in the yard.

Your cheeks redden a short while later but for different reasons, the conversation moves to what boy you have a crush on.

It’s not a boy, it hasn’t been a boy since you kissed Dylan behind the tree in his backyard, You haven’t liked a boy since Aaliyah held your hand at the last school dance, since she kissed your cheek in the girls bathroom.

You’re sick you think,a short while after it happens, that’s why you have these funny feelings, maybe Aaliyah made you sick by holding your hand and kissing your cheek and that’s why your stomach feels funny, you feel this sinking feeling in your stomach as you think of it more, you’re sick now, you can’t hold anyone’s hand anymore you can’t kiss your mom good night because you’re sick, Aaliyah made you sick and you don’t want to give to anyone especially not your family, especially not Korbin and Teagan and Kylar and your Dad. So you stop, no one else can be sick like you, you’ll keep it to yourself and that way everyone will be safe.

But you can’t tell Korbin this, she doesn’t seem to have these types of feelings for girls, she’s not sick, no one seems to have these types of feeling for girls except your Dad and Kyler, but they're boys, they are supposed to feel that way, they aren’t sick like you, it what your mom says, it’s what the pastor says, it’s what the bible says.

You try to stop having these feelings as you get older you really do, you try to pray away your sickness, you pour holy water over your hands daily and you bless yourself extra going to mass but still nothing works.

You get a boyfriend when you turn fifteen a couple of months after Korbin starts dating Ethan you find Will.

He’s nice and you parents love him the same way his parents love you but you never feel what Korbin and Teagan say they feel with their boyfriends.

They aren’t sick like you.

You do however feel it with Kayla, you don’t mean to, you never meant to but she’s soft and nice to talk to not that Will isn’t but when you talk with her on the bus ride home from your match and you swear your hearts going to beat out of your chest.

Kayla tries to kiss you a couple of weeks later but you panic “what are you doing.” Kayla’s still has her hands on your face your cheeks slightly squished together “I just thought that…well you know since…” you pull fully back “I have a boyfriend Kay, Will he’s nice and I can’t do this to him.”

Kayla’s eyes widen “wait does…are you saying that if you weren’t with Will you would.” You panic at the pulling away stepping back trying to create distance. “I’m not gay.” You state harshly “I’m not sick.” You spit harsher again. Kayla tried to but she really couldn’t be mad you looked so heartbroken and so conflicted “ok my mistake.”

You avoid her on the bus from then on, and you find yourself sitting alone, she’s the only other sophomore on the varsity team, if you don’t talk to her, sit with her then you’ll be alone. You are alone. You’re the only one who’s sick.

You’ve been getting called to play for the US since you were thirteen, Korbin following a year later at fourteen. You move along the ranks of football better and your parents can’t help but show how happy they are for you, how happy your sisters and brother are for you, but still you feel lost. You still feel sick.

You travel to France in the summer of 2019 it’s a gift from your parents for getting baptised and giving your life to god, you don’t do it cause you want to, you do it in hopes it will rid you of this sickness you do it in hopes of being normal.

But it also makes your parents happy it makes Korbin happy as she bounces in the water beside you.

You sit anxiously as the US win the World Cup again. A funny feeling fills you as you watch Kelly O’Hara run to the crowd and kiss a girl, sure you knew most of the senior squad players were gay but to actually see one in real life kissing a girl, it felt weird.

But that feeling faded quickly as Korbin let out a small ew at the sight instead your body now felt heavy like you were being pulled down, “I mean I know she’s a girl kisser but can’t she do that in private.” Teagan nods “it’s sick honestly it’s like they are trying to force us into accepting it.”

You and Will are still together, even when Korbin’s gone and had three other boyfriends, but you still don’t have those feelings your friends and sisters talk about, maybe you just have to stick with him a little longer.

Maybe you just need to sleep with him and the feelings will start then, maybe the sickness will go away then.

It’s what you tell yourself leading up to the varsity teams dance, it’s what you tell yourself as you dance with him through the night, it’s what you tell yourself when your kissing in the corner of the hall and it’s what you tell yourself as your lying on the bed Will pressed up against you. But it never happens.

You break up with him just before summer that year. “I….I’m sorry Will I just, I don’t…they all have these feelings and I don’t have them and…you deserve someone who has them cause your a really great guy and I don’t…you would just be left waiting for me to get feelings I don’t think will ever come.”

He takes it relatively well, you’re just happy that you can still be friends, Korbin takes it worse than both of you combined.

“Oh my god I just heard, are you ok…stupid question sorry come on let’s go get ice cream.” You don’t know what else to do but you can’t indulge in the bad things she’s saying about him “He’s not a bad guy Korbin I broke up with him, he…I don’t have these feelings you and Teagan talk about for him and it’s not fair on him so I broke up with him.” I’m sick and he’s not and I don’t want to put that on him you think.

Korbin takes that as you fancy someone else and the heart to heart you thought you were having turns into gossip about who it could be that you like.

You're seventeen still when it’s time to make a decision about your football career. College is the best option but it’s not the only one for you like it is for Korbin.

The decision hangs heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the sunlit afternoon. Notre Dame, a prestigious institution, beckoned with its ivy-covered walls and storied tradition. It's where Korbin will be but it wasn't the dream. The dream was painted in Carolina blue, a vision of playing for UNC, a place where legends like Tobin Heath and Lucy Bronze had once graced the field.

The phone call from Manchester United shattered the familiar. A senior contract, not a youth academy invite. A chance to step onto the world stage, to play in the WSL not some college league, not the NCAA. It was a dream come true, but a dream that Korbin was still a few years off reaching.

You couldn't help but feel guilty, you were twins you did everything together, but for many years you had been charging ahead in soccer, you just had to hope she'd catch up eventually.

You don't expect it to make major news, your still only seventeen but your mom sends a clip of an ESPN headline stating your signing to Manchester United.

Y/n Albert is on her way to the WSL signing with Manchester United, Albert’s twin sister Korbin commits to Notre Dame.

You move a short while later, your parents coming with you to help you settle into your new apartment, you feel happy, content even until your mom states her worries for you living in the English city.

"I worry about you baby, you know there are so many...gays here and well i don't want any of them trying to force themselves on you, their sick individuals and your my baby."

You feel as though you might throw up then and there at the reminder of your sickness.

"Mom" you whine "No ones going to do anything, I....I'll be fine."

They leave a few days later, with the promise of geting on a flight and coming to rescue you if needed, you brush them off stepping back as your mom moves in for a hug and instead simply waving goodbye.

United finish fourth on the table, but you have a dream first season, so much so you get your first call up to the USWNT, you cry on the phone to Korbin as she cries back about how proud she is, your parents are proud to but your moms also busy wondering if you've met any nice english boys, again the moment is ruined and you feel sick again.

Y/n Albert receives her first call up for the USWNT after a dream first season with the Red Devils, making an appearance in every match this season and starting in nineteen games, assisting Untied star striker Alessia Russo with six of her eleven goals.

It's true you've assisted the majority of Alessia's goals but you haven't celebrated a single one, not on or off the pitch, in fact your team have copped on pretty quickly that you don't want to be hugged, to be touched.

You want nothing more, but the girls are to good to get sick from you, Alessia who you can't help but admit you've got a slight crush for is to good to get this awful sickness from you, its safer if you don't hug...don't touch your teammates.

Y/n Albert receives first cap for the USWNT against Costa Rica in the CONCAF semi-finals which saw the USWNT advancing to the finals after a 3-0 score.

You return back to Manchester, a winner with two senior national team caps under your belt, after facing Canda in the final, your english teamates have won the euros and while they are all showing off their medal standing around hugging your teamates, you stand far back in the corner of your dressing room.

Your medal gets passed around too, you've scrubbed it clean making sure none of your germs are on it so the girls don't get sick, its been in your bag ever since and you simply wave at Less to grab it from there when she asks about it.

It's a big deal, a real medal but you can't cause a fuss over it because then people want to congratulate you, touch you, so you wave it all off.

You wave it off. until a girl around the same age as you with a funny accent hands it back "That's proper cool mate." You look between her and the medal, three maybe four times.

She steps forward her arms open, open for a hug but they swiftly close as you step back and her face falls slightly.

She sticks her hand out "Sorry" and now your eyes flash between her outstretched hand, your medal and her face. "Less says you're not a hugger I forgot, but its really great to meet you mate, I'm Grace."

You don't move, your mind is blank, in fact all you can think about is how she says her Gs a weird way, and as her face falls slightly at your lack of response to her open hand your brain kicks in.

"Y/n." you say shakily, but still don't move. Grace drops her hand smiling and all you can think about is how your stomach erupts into butterflies.

But it only lasts a moment, only a moment until you feel your stomach drop, your blood to go cold and the heavy feeling to fall back on to you.

Your sickness is back, and you can't give it to Grace, not now not ever.

Grace and her funny little way of saying Gs.

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punkshort · 6 months ago

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Swept Away | Chapter 2: Paradise

Pairing: sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: It's your first day in paradise and, to your surprise, you get along with Joel much better than you expected.

Chapter Warnings: language, implied age gap, alcohol and food consumption, sugar daddy/baby dynamics, fake relationship, slow burn, flirting, sexual tension

WC: 10.1K

Series Masterlist

It was way too early. You hardly managed to get any sleep the night before, the excitement for what was to come too much for you to fully relax. You kept getting out of bed to look through your bag, wondering if you packed enough or forgot anything.

Joel had insisted you only needed to bring personal effects and essentials. You had given him your measurements once all the papers were signed and he sent an assistant on a shopping spree to buy you all new clothes and accessories based on the activities and events he knew you would be partaking in. He didn't bother to ask what your own personal style was like, if there were certain colors or clothes you preferred, because you were playing a part. You were his fiancée, someone who would enjoy the finer things in life and not care about comfort over style.

But just to be safe, you packed a few clothes of your own with your toiletries, books, makeup, hair products, and other odds and ends you kept shoving into your bag, thinking what's the harm?

Joel was waiting outside your apartment at three in the morning sharp, right when he told you he would in a sleek, black town car. You groggily stumbled down the steps, hauling your worn out duffel bag over one shoulder and your purse on the other. Joel's driver appeared out of nowhere, startling you when he put a hand on your shoulder to take your bag.

"Thank you," you told him softly, the stillness of the night making you feel like you shouldn't speak any louder. He just nodded and opened the back door, your bag clutched in his other hand, and you slid inside.

Joel didn't even spare you a glance. He looked down at his phone, his thumbs typing out some mile long email as you got situated next to him and buckled your seat belt.

"Thought I told you not to bring much."

"Good morning to you, too," you replied. He sighed and finally looked up from his phone.

"Mornin'. My assistant bought you everythin' you'd need."

You shrugged as Joel's driver pulled away from the curb. "I wanted some of my own things."

Joel didn't reply. He just went back to his phone while you closed your eyes and slid down further into the soft leather seat.

"How long is the flight?" you asked with your head resting against the tinted window, watching the dark, sleeping buildings pass you by.

"Thirteen or fourteen hours."

Ouch.

"That's a long time," you replied with a yawn. Joel paused his tapping on his phone to look at you.

"You can sleep on the plane, but I wanna review our backstory before we land."

"I'll try, but I've never been able to sleep the way you're practically sitting upright on a plane."

Joel frowned. "There's a bed."

You whipped your head in his direction as the driver began to get closer to the airport, the bright lights from the parking lots and runways filling the front seat of the car.

"A bed?"

"Yeah, a bed. The hell you think this is? I ain't flyin' commercial."

Your jaw dropped when the car drove past the departures exit and continued on towards the runway.

"Are we flying private?"

"'Course we're flyin' private."

You continued to stare through the front window as Joel's driver slowed down to a stop, rolling his window down when he reached a barrier to speak with a man in an orange vest inside a booth. Then the arm went up and the car continued on its way, excitement coursing through your veins as he drove down the runway, past a handful of other private jets either being boarded or refueling.

A squeal slipped past your lips when the car stopped in front of your plane and Joel looked at you once again, unamused.

"Get it outta your system now 'cause when we get there, you gotta act like this is your lifestyle. No slip ups, y'hear me?" Joel warned, but even his grumpy tone couldn't spoil your mood now.

"Yeah, yeah," you said dismissively before practically jumping out of the car when Joel's driver opened the door for you. You thanked him and danced from foot to foot, waiting for Joel to get out so he could lead you to the plane. He pocketed his phone and stretched an arm out, silently requesting you join him by his side.

"Oh, it's starting already?" you asked as you approached the plane. The pilot and two flight attendants stood next to the bottom of the stairs with wide smiles and their hands clasped obediently at their waists.

"No, just bein' courteous."

You raised an eyebrow at him and grinned when he rolled his eyes.

"Good morning," the pilot said as you got closer and reached out to shake Joel's hand. One of the flight attendants nodded to you both and ascended the stairs so you could follow her. Once you got to the top, what you saw took your breath away.

The body of the plane housed several oversized chairs peppered around two long, curved couches, and as you walked by and ran your fingertips along one of the beige cushions, the fabric felt smooth as butter. Strolling right past the glass desk already fitted with a laptop, you gawked at the big screen TV against one of the walls, which was displaying various snapshots of what you assumed to be the Fiji islands.

"Wow," you breathed as you tilted your head back to admire the lights that adorned the ceiling. They were dimmed but along the middle of the ceiling was a string of red LED lights that cast the furniture in a hauntingly beautiful glow.

"Back there's the bedroom," Joel told you gruffly. You swiveled around to see he was pointing past the main living space to a small area with a closed door. "Bathroom', too."

"This is beautiful. Do you own it?"

He nodded and picked one of the chairs to settle in, but you couldn't stop looking at all the amenities. Purple orchids sat securely to each side table and along the back wall was a narrow counter with fresh fruit, bottles of water and juice, and baked goods. Popping a grape in your mouth, you continued to examine the inside of the plane while the flight crew got everything situated for takeoff.

"This is the softest blanket ever," you told Joel when you picked up a beautiful white blanket from the back of a chair. His eyes flickered over to you briefly before focusing back on his phone. Once the stairs were brought up and locked, you picked a chair opposite from Joel and buckled yourself in, wrapping the blanket around yourself giddily in the process. He gave you another look but you just grinned.

"C'mon, lighten up. Nothing bad is going to happen if you let yourself enjoy something."

"I enjoy plenty," was all he said in response. You sighed and stared dreamily out the window as the plane began to depart.

The sun hadn't even begun to rise so once you were up high enough and all you could see was black out the window, you slid the shade closed and settled deeper into the chair.

"Thought you were gonna sleep," Joel said without looking up from the laptop he had brought over from the desk.

"Can't now. Too excited."

He narrowed his eyes at you before sighing and glancing over his shoulder, confirming the flight crew was busy and not eavesdropping. He then closed the laptop and tucked his hand into the inside pocket of his blazer, pulling out a small, blue box you only ever saw in magazine ads or movies.

"Here," he said, opening the box to show you a radiant oval shaped diamond so big you could probably see it from space.

"Holy shit," you whispered, reaching an arm out from under your blanket to nervously touch the ring.

"Don't get too excited, it's just on loan."

"Still," you muttered, "I've never seen a diamond like this in real life before."

You gulped when he took your left hand and carefully slid the ring over your finger. He gently tested it, giving it a little tug to make sure it fit before withdrawing his hand. The circumstances weren't exactly what you imagined when you were little and a man slid a ring on your finger for the first time, but what the hell? A lot of things didn't work out the way you expected in life.

"It suits you."

"Another errand for your assistant?" you joked, using the pad of your thumb to twirl the gold band around your finger, getting used to the feel. The corner of his mouth twitched and he quickly rubbed two fingers over his lips, then cleared his throat.

"Suppose we can go over our cover story, then," he said, changing the subject. You dropped your hand to your lap and tried not to play with the ring.

"Okay."

"We met at an art gallery two years ago. We'll say a mutual friend was havin' a show and we first bumped into each other in front of the same piece. I noticed how taken you were with it so I bought it for you as a surprise. When it was delivered, you reached out to the artist for my number, and the rest is history." He told the story stiffly, in one long breath as if he had rehearsed it. When he finished, he fiddled with the sleeve of his blazer, waiting for you to comment.

"What kind of piece was it?"

His eyes snapped up to yours and he tilted his head.

"Why does that matter?"

"It matters because it's how we first met, Joel. This one piece of art will forever bond us. It will be talked about at our wedding and, on our anniversary, you'll commission the artist to make a new piece, inspired by the original, just for me. We'll hang them above our bed and one day our children will hang them in their own homes. They'll tell everyone who comes to their house the story of the paintings and our love. That's why it matters."

Joel stared blankly at you for a long moment and you feared you might have gone too far and pissed him off but, surprisingly, he leaned back in his seat with a low whistle and shook his head.

"Goddamn, that's... that's good."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really," he said, rubbing his chin in thought, not bothering to hide his smirk now.

"Abstract expressionism," he eventually said. "Something in the vein of Kooning. We'll say the title of the work is Red 42 and I got into a biddin' war with 'nother buyer but I would stop at nothin' to get it for you so I ended up spendin' twice what it's worth."

"How romantic," you grinned.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, sweetheart," he replied, making you giggle as the flight crew began to enter the cabin with warm towels and a tray of beverages. You accepted a bottle of water with a small smile of thanks while Joel just waved them off.

"Okay, so what else? Shouldn't I know about your family, at least?"

Joel shot you a stern look and you dropped your gaze. For whatever reason, he seemed particularly sensitive about sharing anything personal with you.

"It won't come up," was all he said.

"Okay..." you said slowly, picking at the plastic label on your water bottle. "Well, tell me about work, then. How you got started, how you became so successful. All that stuff."

"Stuff?" Joel repeated with his eyebrows raised. You shrugged.

"Yeah. Stuff."

He sighed and looked out his window and for a moment, you thought he wasn't going to share anything about that part of his life, either, until he spoke again.

"One of my first jobs was a doorman at the Ritz in New York. I didn't have any experience but I had a nice smile and I knew how to use my charm when I had to, so I did well."

You had to bite back a remark about his smile, not wanting to interrupt him, but instead filed it away to wonder later where that smile went.

"I had odd jobs here and there, waitin' tables, tendin' bar, the usual, but I really loved workin' at the hotel. It felt like... like I finally belonged. I liked talkin' to important guests. I liked it when they'd remember my name and tip me well when I told 'em a good joke or helped 'em out with directions or whatever." He scratched his chin, still staring out the window. "But I made the mistake of thinkin' I was one of them. Y'know?" His eyes flashed to yours and you just nodded.

"Well, anyway. I wasn't. I was poor. I didn't go to college. I didn't have connections. I had nothin' but this fantasy that I belonged with these people and one day I just decided to do somethin' 'bout it."

"What did you do?" you asked softly, unknowingly leaning forward in your seat.

"I convinced the general manager of the hotel to take me under his wing. Help teach me more 'bout the hospitality industry. All the little tips and tricks, y'know? Like, pretendin' to offer an unhappy guest somethin' for free when it was already free with their stay. Offer 'em vouchers to use at the hotel restaurants. Not enough to cover their bill but enough to make 'em happy. That kinda thing."

You nodded along, mesmerized by the distant look in Joel's eye and the small smile tugging at his lips as he spoke.

"So, one day, I come to find out that general manager who mentored me was doin' some under the table shit. Any time someone famous would stay, he'd tip off the right people and get a decent buck. He figured the hotel wins 'cause it gets publicity, and he wins 'cause he's gettin' paid, right? Well, the owner didn't see it that way." Joel readjusted in his seat and you realized in that moment that it was the most he ever spoken to you at once.

"The owner didn't like that the paparazzi would be houndin' his guests. Made them wanna stay elsewhere. So, he got a memo one day 'bout who was tippin' off the paps and suddenly, that general manager job was open, and I got it."

You blinked slowly, replaying what he just said before you opened your mouth to reply.

"You got your manager fired and took his job?"

Joel chuckled dryly. "He did it to himself. I just saw an opportunity and took it."

"Okay..." you said, deciding to move past it. "Then what?"

"Spent several years as the GM at the Ritz, then the Plaza, til I realized I was thirty and had already made it as far as I could workin' for other men. A hotel off Fifth was goin' bankrupt, so I bought it with a couple other investors. My - I knew someone in construction, got a good deal on alotta materials and such, refurbished the entire spot, rebranded it and... The Parador was born."

"You did all this when you were thirty?"

Joel shrugged as if it were nothing but you could see the pride in his eyes. "Thirty-two when the first hotel opened."

"Whoa," you breathed while rubbing your eyes. You could see the sun beginning to break through the clouds in Joel's window. "That's so impressive, Joel. That's, like, a real rags to riches story."

He picked his phone up and tried to hide his pleased expression. "Why don't you go get some sleep? Gonna be a long flight 'n you should be well-rested when we get there."

You nodded and yawned behind your hand. "Are you sure you don't want to use the bed first?" you asked, but you were already standing up. He shook his head and motioned to his phone and laptop.

"I got work to do."

You wandered to the back of the plane and pushed open the door to the bedroom with a surprisingly decent sized bed. You weren't sure if you were just over tired or the mattress really was the most comfortable thing you'd ever laid on because within ten minutes, you were out like a light.

With the time change, you couldn't be sure how long you slept, but when you awoke and cracked the shade to peer out through the clouds, the sun was high in the sky over the ocean. The sunlight reflected off the massive rock on your left hand and you took another moment to admire it before dragging yourself out of bed.

When you tiptoed back out into the cabin, your eyes immediately found Joel. He was standing up with his back to you with his cell phone clutched in his hands. You let your eyes travel lower and you realized at some point he had changed into a perfectly tailored, navy blue suit.

"Isn't it going to be hot when we land?" you asked. You didn't know much about Fiji but in the past week you did remember to check the weather, and from what you saw, the temperature was supposed to be hot and humid.

Joel swiveled around in surprise when he heard your voice, his gaze dropping down your frame and suddenly you felt incredibly underdressed in your baggy shirt and leggings.

"Don't matter. I'm here on business, I ain't here for a vacation," he reminded you, as if you somehow could have forgot. "There's a couple things hangin' in the closet for you. Go pick one out and change, then we can eat." He turned back around to focus on his phone and you frowned. You weren't used to someone bossing you around like he was prone to doing but you had to remind yourself you were being paid to be there and do a job. Without complaint, you slipped back into the bedroom and shut the door before opening what you assumed was the closet to review your choices.

Your eyes widened when you saw the sampling of clothes hung up for you. The labels read names of designers you only ever saw people in TV or magazines wear, and occasionally, Celine. Your fingers gently dragged over the soft fabrics, then pulled each item out to hold it against yourself, trying to decide before finally choosing a light blue halter dress that fell perfectly at your knee and laid it on the bed.

Next, you opened a drawer, thinking there would be purses or sunglasses, then blushed when you were faced with matching sets of lace lingerie. You remembered Joel insisted sex wasn't part of the deal, and you even signed a contract stating such, but why would he buy you such fancy underwear if he didn't expect to see it? And why was the prospect of him seeing it getting you excited?

You closed the drawer, deciding to use your own underwear, then continued to explore the rest of the dresser. You found a small purse that looked like it would pair well with the dress, as well as a small bag of toiletries and a hair brush. Once you were dressed, you sifted through the bag. Should you wear a full face of makeup? What do rich people do? Probably get enough facial peels and cosmetic surgeries so they wouldn't need makeup. Remembering the temperature forecast, you decided on some tinted moisturizer and one coat of mascara. You dabbed on some expensive looking lip balm with the pad of your middle finger before brushing your hair. It was a little flat from the nap, so you rummaged around the other drawers but had no luck finding a curling iron. Luckily, you remembered to pack one.

You opened the bedroom door and walked back out into the cabin, your eyes trailing all over as you went, looking for your bag.

"Joel?" you asked, and he dragged his attention from his laptop. When his dark eyes landed on you, his shoulders stiffened, then his gaze slowly raked up and down your body, taking in your new look. Your breath hitched in your throat under his scrutiny and you shifted your weight from foot to foot.

"Do you know where my bag is?" you asked, hoping he didn't hear the nervousness in your voice from the way he was looking at you.

"Hmm?"

"My bag? I need my curling iron."

He swallowed and forced his eyes back up to your face. "Under the couch, but your hair looks fine."

You leaned forward a bit and saw the strap of your bag under the couch, just as he said. "No, it's flat, I need to -"

"It's not flat. You look beautiful."

Beautiful? That was a big jump from fine.

Your eyes darted back and forth between him and the bag, wondering if you should obey. Ultimately, you chose to forget the curling iron and sat down across from him. He didn't give you the impression he was the type of guy who blew smoke up your ass, so if he thought you looked good - beautiful - then you did.

"Do you prefer pasta or salad?" Joel asked when he spotted one of the flight crew waltzing up behind you with a smile and a pad of paper in her hand.

"Uh, whatever you're having is fine," you replied. Joel nodded and ordered chicken salads with sparkling waters for you both and the attendant disappeared back into the galley.

"When do we land?" you asked, jostling your arm and holding it up. The dainty gold watch you found in one of the drawers slid around your wrist so you could check the time.

"Couple more hours. Glenn's supposed to meet us at the airport and give us a tour of the island before droppin' us off at our hotel. Then the plan is to meet him for dinner, 'long with all the others, I imagine."

"You mean, the other hotel moguls?" you asked, and he nodded. "Do you know them?"

"Most of 'em. There ain't much real estate left on these islands so I'm willin' to bet we'll see some heavy hitters."

Lunch arrived and you didn't realize how hungry you were until you smelled the chicken and your mouth began to water. When you took your first bite, you let out a little moan and rolled your eyes.

"This is the best airplane food I've ever had," you said, hiding your mouth behind your hand. Joel chuckled and took a bite of his own salad before swallowing and wiping the corner of his mouth.

"So, you like workin' for a production company?"

You glanced up at him in surprise. For some reason, you weren't expecting him to inquire much about your real life during this trip.

"Uh, yeah. It was fun, I got to meet interesting people. It was exciting to see how movies and TV shows get made. I kind of always wanted to work for a talent agency, though," you confessed before stabbing a piece of chicken with your fork and popping it into your mouth.

"Yeah? Why's that?"

His elbows were propped on the table between you, hands cupped together with his fork in between, dangling over his plate and giving you his full attention. His eye contact was intense and it made you nervous.

"I like the idea of getting to know someone well enough to understand the types of projects they would be good in while also finding a way to make a difference in their lives. Help them achieve their dreams, you know?" You gave him a shy smile, watching as he absorbed what you said.

"I can see you bein' good at that," he said after a moment.

"You're just saying that. You hardly know me," you replied before continuing to pick at your lunch.

"True, I don't know you that well, but I got a knack for readin' people. You're quick on your feet and you're a good listener. You don't let people steamroll you and you know your worth. And, you don't quit. You're determined. Probably to a fault." He stared at you, watching your face as you worked through several emotions at once before you slowly swallowed the food in your mouth and cleared your throat.

"You got all that from the brief amount of time we've known each other?" you asked softly.

"Yep," he replied, fighting back a smirk. "How'd I do?"

You grinned and looked down at your half eaten salad, trying to hide the embarrassment from your eyes when you replied, "not bad, actually."

When you were finished with your lunch and a crew member came to collect your plates, Joel picked up his phone and it was then you realized he hadn't looked at it once the entire time you were eating.

"Do you ever sleep?"

His glanced up at you with an amused look. "Occasionally."

"Workaholic, then?"

"You tryin' to get a read on me now?"

"Maybe," you said, biting your lower lip playfully.

He shook his head and focused back on his phone.

"Good luck, sweetheart."

When the pilot announced he was getting ready to descend, your stomach started doing flips and your hands shook when you tightened your seatbelt. It seemed all the excitement you harbored before had quickly been replaced with anxiety. Taking a few deep breaths, you closed your eyes and tried to control your nerves, but Joel could see right through you.

"You good?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just getting nervous."

"Why?"

You opened your eyes. "I'm worried they'll be able to tell I'm not like you. I don't know all of the trendy designers and artists. I don't know the names of the chefs at Michelin star restaurants and I can't tell the difference between boxed wine and a three hundred bottle of Merlot." The words suddenly came tumbling out as quickly as you were landing but you found it actually felt better to talk to him about it. "For all I know, this ring could be fake but I'd believe it's real because it's heavy and shiny."

"You don't gotta worry 'bout any of that. I'll handle it. You just smile and look pretty and pretend you're in love with me. That's all you gotta do, okay?" he said with a soft tone you hadn't heard from him yet. "And trust me, the ring is real."

You grinned and looked out the window, feeling a little better. At that point, the plane had dipped below the clouds and you could see the crystal clear ocean and the lush tropical islands below. You noted a few resorts you could see from your side of the plane but at the very end of the island was a massive piece of land covered in palm trees and other thick greenery.

"That's the spot," he said as if he were reading your mind. "That's the piece of land we're here to get."

You took a deep breath and recalibrated, shaking off the anxiety. Instead, you rehearsed your story in your head and mentally practiced your greeting and smile, boosting your confidence while the wheels of the plane touched down and you were jolted forward in your seat. The seatbelt dug into your hips and your fingers gripped the armrests while the plane slowed down and eventually came to a stop.

There was a fancy looking car on the tarmac and an older gentleman with a sizable belly and a full head of white hair standing next to it with his hands shoved into the pockets of his cargo shorts and sandals.

Cargo shorts? That couldn't be...

"Glenn," Joel murmured in your ear when he stood up behind you and peered through the window.

"That's the real estate guy?" you asked while he fixed his tie. He reached down and scooped up his wallet and phone with a nod and was about to head to the stairs when you stopped him with your hands on his shoulders. "Let me fix this," you said quietly, making sure the collar of his shirt wasn't stuck underneath his blazer. When you were satisfied, you ran your palms across his shoulders with a smile. "Let's go knock 'em dead, honey."

Joel rolled his eyes but before he turned away, you caught the wide smile stretched across his face. That's where it went, you thought.

"Glenn!" Joel's deep voice boomed from the stairs as he made his way down with you following closely behind. "How the hell have ya been?" he asked, extending an arm just for Glenn to grab it and pull him into a hug with a few slaps on the back.

"I've been great, Joel. Thrilled you could make it, I know you're a busy man and taking a month out of your schedule is tough," Glenn replied with a toothy smile. Then his eyes trailed over Joel's shoulder and he lit up when he spotted you approaching. "Oh, who's this?"

Joel turned around with a radiant smile that stunned you for a moment until you remembered it was probably all for show. He introduced you by name and ushered you forward, wrapping one arm around your shoulders lovingly while you stuck your arm out with a smile of your own to shake Glenn's hand. "This is my fiancée," Joel added, and it was impossible to miss the surprise on Glenn's face when he looked back at Joel.

"You're engaged?" he asked, the excitement evident in his tone. Joel grinned and nodded.

"Popped the question a few weeks back and she was crazy enough to say yes," he replied. This jovial version of Joel was throwing you off but you did your best to not give it much thought. Instead, you focused on your own little act: playing the smitten fiancée.

"It was on the beach in Santa Monica at sunset," you said, thrusting your left hand out for Glenn to look at your ring. He gave a low whistle and raised his eyebrows at Joel. "He knows I love the beach so much. I couldn't wait to come visit your beautiful island, I'm so excited to see it!" you gushed, wondering if you were laying it on too thick, but based on the sparkle in Glenn's eye, you were doing just fine.

"Well, come! Hop in and I'll take you around before dropping you off at The Greenview. Should only take an hour, then you can get settled in before dinner," Glenn said as he opened the backseat of the car for you to slide in. Joel followed after he gave his flight crew instructions on where to take your belongings and Glenn settled into the driver's seat with a grunt.

"How's Mary doin'?" Joel asked as Glenn pulled away from the tarmac.

"She's great, she'll be joining us tonight along with my boys."

"Joel mentioned you have six kids," you piped up and you saw Glenn nod his head.

"If there's one thing I've done right in my life, it's having those kids," he said warmly. You smiled, your nerves already put at ease. You were expecting an uptight, rich type, but Glenn seemed like the exact opposite. If it weren't for the expensive car, you never would have guessed he was wealthy.

"I can't wait to have kids of our own," you said dreamily, then risked a glance at Joel. He smirked and gently shook his head.

"You won't regret it. They'll take years off your life but, dammit, if it ain't worth it," Glenn said with a look at the two of you in his review mirror. "Maybe having a couple kids will loosen you up a bit, Joel. Don't tell me you brought suits to wear the whole time you're here."

Joel chuckled and took your hand in his. The touch surprised you given Glenn couldn't even see it from where he was sitting, but you enjoyed it all the same.

"Oh, you know me," was all he said, but Glenn tsked as he merged into traffic.

"It's way too hot for those kinda formalities. Tonight we're having dinner on the beach. You don't wanna get sand in those loafers, now, do ya?" Glenn teased. Joel chuckled and changed the subject while you gazed out the window, watching the cute little restaurants and stores fly by until the car turned and suddenly you had a fantastic view of the ocean.

"Oh, wow, look at the water," you breathed, squeezing Joel's hand. "I've never seen something so beautiful before," you added, unable to peel your eyes away from the white, sandy beaches and turquoise water. You heard Joel murmur in agreement next to you but you were too taken with the thick, tropical forests dotted with shocks of purples, pinks, yellows and whites from the hibiscus plants growing wild along the side of the road.

"I think island life will suit you," Glenn said from the front seat with a grin.

"I may never leave," you joked, making both men chuckle.

"Well, that settles it. You'll have to have the wedding here, Joel."

"Don't tempt me," he replied. You dragged your eyes away from your window to look at Joel, who gave you an appraising nod.

"I think she'll be good for you. Help you relax a bit," Glenn laughed before pointing out the restaurant where dinner will be held later that evening as he drove by.

"Guess we'll find out," Joel replied, his gaze lingering on you after you turned your attention back to the window.

Glenn dropped you off in front of a beautiful resort named The Greenview, which, like many other resorts you saw along the way, was built to blend in and mimic the exotic landscape around it. The main entrance was built like a tiki hut with a fake thatched conical shaped roof and rounded, wooden pillars complete with knots framing the exterior entrance. When you followed Joel through the doors, you found the inside was similarly designed. A beautiful waterfall feature was displayed prominently in the lobby and when you walked by, you spotted brightly colored koi fish in the small pond below.

Once Joel checked you in, a bellhop ushered you towards the elevator, explaining all of the amenities the hotel had to offer as he led you to your room.

"Here we are, the Dream House Villa," he announced before unlocking the door and holding it open so you could walk in first. You gasped at the stunning layout, barely registering anything the bellhop was saying. The decor, much like the rest of the hotel, was an island theme. The floors and walls were all made of wood, and the small foyer you first stepped into held a little waterfall feature with gorgeous mood lighting built in.

You remembered what Joel had told you about containing your excitement so you bit your tongue and waited until the bellhop left before you whipped around to Joel with a huge smile plastered across your face.

"Look! There's an infinity pool right outside!"

"I see," he replied, but he appeared distracted. Still, you continued to lavish praise about the ocean view and you mentally pictured yourself relaxing on the covered daybed outside with a frozen cocktail as soon as possible. When it became apparent Joel wasn't in the same mood, you dialed it back.

"I'm sure your hotels are much nicer," you offered, but he waved you off.

"I need new clothes," he grumbled. You frowned and wandered over to follow him into the master suite where he had flung open one of the closets to reveal mostly suits, just like Glenn had suspected. "I can't stick out, I gotta blend in and make myself more relatable. He's a lot more casual since the last time I saw him. I had no idea he turned into Jimmy fuckin' Buffet."

You chewed on your bottom lip and nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Let's go shopping before dinner."

Joel groaned and rubbed his jaw. "My assistant usually does this kinda stuff."

"That's okay, I can help," you assured him. "It'll be fun. I saw a bunch of places on the way here we could check out."

Joel seemed to consider it for a moment before he sighed and shrugged off his blazer. "Alright. Lemme change and I'll meet you out there in five."

You turned to leave but when he called your name, you spun back around. "Here, your bag," he said, holding it out for you to take. "The crew brought all our stuff in here, we can move your clothes to the other room later."

"Oh, right, thanks," you said, taking the bag. "I'll go check my room out while you're getting ready."

The second bedroom was easy enough to find as it was directly across the hall. Both rooms had an ocean view and although Joel had his own bathroom attached and a king sized bed, you would do just fine with the queen bed and a bathroom down the hall.

You dropped your bag on the oversized white comforter and wandered aimlessly around the room, opening and closing dressers and drawers until you noticed two flat circular buttons built into the end table next to your bed.

"Hm," you said to yourself before pressing the first one and jumping when you heard a soft whirring noise behind you. You laughed out loud when a television appeared from behind two wood panels in the wall, then pressed the next button and watched the blinds slowly close, blocking out all the natural light flooding the room.

"What're ya doin' in the dark?" Joel's low voice carried over from the door. You pressed the button again and the blinds went back up.

"Just checking things out. Ready to go?" you asked, your gaze traveling down to take in his new outfit: a white polo shirt and khaki shorts.

"Yeah. Good thing I packed my golf clothes."

You followed him out of the room and through the rest of the villa. "You golf?"

"Yeah, but I hate it. Only came prepared 'cause I know Glenn likes to golf."

"You might be the first millionaire who hates golf," you teased when you walked by him as he held the door open for you. He grinned and made sure the door was shut tight before falling in step beside you.

"I don't mind the drinkin' part afterwards," he replied, then gently placed his hand on your lower back, guiding you into the open elevator car. You stood in a comfortable silence while the elevator took you back down to the lobby and you waited off to the side while Joel went to the front desk to request a car.

"You sure you know what you're doin'? You know anythin' 'bout fashion?" Joel asked once you settled into the backseat of a town car and he had given the driver instructions to take you to the nearest shopping plaza.

"Not really, but I saw what Glenn was wearing. I'm sure we can find some good options."

He hummed and nodded before slipping on his sunglasses and looking out the window, effectively ending the conversation. You decided to use that time to pull out your phone and text Celine, letting her know you arrived safely.

Don't forget to send me pics!

How are things with Joel? Is it awkward?

You glanced over at him, making sure he couldn't see over your shoulder before replying.

Actually things are pretty good

He's not so bad once you get to know him

You rolled your eyes when Celine's next message came through.

Remember - you're only pretending to be his fiancée ;)

Then again, if I had a daddy who looked like him, I would try to make that fantasy a reality lol

The car pulled over and came to a stop in front of a strip of shops along a quaint looking road so you quickly told Celine you would check in with her later before the driver opened your door and you slid out, patting down your dress and looking around.

"Let's try there," you said once he joined you at your side. You pointed to a store a few doors down from where the car was parked. Inside the window, you could see male mannequins sporting trendy looking beachware.

When you opened the door, you were greeted with beautiful island music filtering through the speakers. The walls were painted a deep shade of blue, most likely chosen because of the resemblance to the water, and a hand painted mural of a beach with the sun glittering off the ocean was painted behind the register.

You began to sift through the nearest rack, pulling out various linen button downs and crochet shirts after confirming his size. Joel wandered deeper into the store to look at pants while you examined each article of clothing carefully. You were trying to decide if Joel could pull off bright purple when a young woman with big hoop earrings and a loose fitting paisley dress approached with a smile.

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

You gave her a cheesy grin and held up the shirts draped over your arm. "I'm shopping for my fiancé. We just arrived and the airport lost his luggage, can you believe it?" You gave her a devestated look which she sympathetically mirrored and stretched her arms out.

"Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry to hear that! Let me take those into a fitting room for you."

"Thank you so much, I'll find him and bring him right back."

You watched her sashay to the back of the store with the armful of shirts you had picked out before turning around just to find Joel standing on the other side of the rack.

"You're good at this," Joel said, sounding astonished.

"Good at what?" you asked.

"You're good at thinkin' on your feet and comin' up with these stories." He rounded the rack and, with a little smirk, gently pinched your chin affectionately between his thumb and forefinger. It happened so fast you didn't even have time to register it before he was walking in the direction of the fitting rooms with some shorts and pants slung over his shoulder. Trailing after him, you tried to ignore the fluttering in your chest, telling yourself his touch just took you by surprise and that's all it was.

You sat in a whicker chair outside Joel's fitting room, one leg crossed over the other as you fondled the ring on your finger and listened to Joel muttering under his breath on the other side of the door.

"Are you ever going to come out of there?" you asked. He shuffled around the room and swung the door open with a deep sigh.

"I don't know 'bout some of these shirts," he said, eyes flickering to a bunch hung up separately from the rest. "The neckline's too low, I don't wear stuff like that."

"Oh, come on! At least let me see what they look like on," you begged. "I like what you have on now," you added, pointing to the light blue linen shirt and relaxed fit khakis.

"Yeah, this ain't bad," he agreed, tugging on the material a bit before shutting the door. "I'll try one of these on and that's it," he called out. You could hear the rustling of fabric and the metal scratch of a zipper and you grinned at how easily the two of you fell into these roles you were playing.

When he opened the door a few minutes later, you were completely unprepared. He had chosen to pair a green crochet top with a pair of white shorts that fell right above his knee but your eyes were glued to the generous amount of smooth, tanned chest that was exposed from the plunging V neck.

Your lips parted as you continued to stare, watching the way the muscles and tendons in his neck twitched as he spoke. Shit, he was speaking and you had no idea what he said.

"Huh?"

Joel frowned. "I said, this ain't my style. At all. I look ridiculous."

"No, you do not look ridiculous, you look good," you immediately argued.

"I'm too old for-"

"No, Joel, listen to me: you look really fucking hot," you blurted out, still staring at his bronze chest. He fell silent and a moment later, you realized what you said and felt your cheeks flare with heat. Snapping your eyes up to his, you began to apologize.

"I'm sorry, that was probably inappropriate, Jesus Christ," you muttered, pressing the palms of your hands against your cheeks to hide your embarrassment, but he just chuckled and dropped his gaze to the floor. When he turned around to close the door, you noticed in the mirror his own cheeks were beginning to stain pink from the compliment.

Joel didn't say anything else about your comment but he ended up buying all the clothes you picked out for him. When you saw the V neck shirts being rung up, he shot you a wink. You grinned and shyly looked away, once again ignoring that excited feeling in your chest.

"Hope this dinner ends quick, I'm fuckin' beat," Joel grumbled at your side as he led you up to the host stand, one hand wrapped around the inside of his elbow and the other clutching a small, blue purse that matched the backless floor length dress you chose with blue palm leaves printed all over.

"You should have slept on the plane," you murmured, then gave the host a bright smile as Joel told him Glenn's name. He quickly ushered you through the restaurant and onto the beach, where a long table was set up and decorated with vibrant, gorgeous tropical flowers.

The seats were already filled by the other guests, who were sitting and leaning across the table to chat and laugh with drinks in hand.

"Alright, here we go," Joel told you before taking a deep breath and forcing a big smile and wave when one of the men caught his eye.

"Scott! It's been years!" he exclaimed. You smiled and loosened your grip so Joel could give the other man a welcoming hug.

After ten minutes of introductions, your head was spinning. You decided to keep it to one alcoholic drink that evening because you needed to keep a clear head and memorize who the people were that you were up against. Scott and his wife Tammy owned a chain of hotels in the northeast and appeared to be a little older than Joel. Harry owned a handful of exotic resorts mostly in Latin America but was looking to expand. He was accompanied by his husband, Ian, who was an artist. Jack and Lynne had a large footprint of three star hotels across America but as Joel told you later, their hotels lacked character. And finally, Zachary owned a string of hotels similar to The Parador but had a French motif. Zachary brought along his much younger girlfriend, Zoe, who seemed incredibly sweet.

"Down at the end, those two younger guys? They're Glenn's boys. The ones that'll take over for him when he retires," Joel said, jutting his chin in their direction. You casually glanced down the table and saw two men in their late twenties on either side of Glenn and his wife, Mary. You could see the family resemblance in their faces but one had dark, almost black hair, and the other's hair was dirty blonde.

"What are their names?"

"The blonde's Trevor, the other one's Brooks."

"Trevor and Brooks," you repeated softly to yourself, silently testing your memory as you went down the table, naming each person in your head as you went. Joel watched you for a moment before he leaned in.

"You're doin' great, don't worry."

You flashed him a smile and whispered your thanks right as the first course arrived.

For a majority of the meal, you smiled and laughed at the right times while you listened to rich people tell stories about their conflicts with private schools or run-ins with government officials, stories that made the conversations you have with your friends over dinner sound like they took place in a third grade cafeteria. Joel also remained relatively quiet with the exception of tossing in a quick comment here or there to be polite but when you looked at him, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. It was no wonder he wasn't prepared when Glenn and Mary, who had just gotten done telling the table how they met in high school, asked to hear how all the couples met.

Great, you thought to yourself. We rehearsed this, it will be fine.

Scott went first, telling a funny and cute story about how he met Tammy in college. He had walked into the wrong class and he was too embarrassed to leave so he sat through a three hour lecture on women's studies. It only took him thirty minutes to realize he was the only man in the room and Tammy found his humility endearing. The rest was history.

Glenn and Mary exchanged warm glances at the story, gushing over them and saying words like fate and soulmate.

Next, Zachary began to boast about how he met Zoe, and the look on Glenn and Mary's faces slowly changed.

"It was opening night for The Barber of Seville. I had just sat down in my seat when this beautiful thing came through the curtain, absolutely convinced we were sitting in her seat. I said, 'Darling, I've had the same box seats in this theater since before you were born,'" Zachary laughed and the rest of the table joined in but you noticed Glenn and Mary only gave him tight, polite smiles as he continued.

"Well, I was taken with her, I mean, can you blame me?" Zachary joked, tossing his arm around Zoe's shoulders. "I insisted she stay and enjoy the show. By the end of the evening I was chartering my private jet to whisk her off to Italy that very night..."

Zachary continued to tell the table about Italy and all the expensive restaurants he took her to when Joel leaned into your side.

"We can't go with our story."

You whipped your head around to look at him, eyes wide.

"What do you mean?" you asked, panic lacing your voice.

"It's too pretentious. Look at them, they hate every goddamn word," he said quietly, snaking his arm around your shoulders so it looked like he was maybe talking about the food or how beautiful you looked. "We can't tell some story about your looks and my wealth. It's gotta be, fuckin'... I don't know. Warm. Romantic." He rubbed nervously at the back of his neck.

"I thought it was romantic..."

"Not enough."

"Okay, so what do we say?" you whispered.

"I don't know, I gotta think. Fuck," he grumbled, "I'm too fuckin' tired for this shit."

Unfortunately, Joel didn't have the luxury of time because Zachary finally finished up his long-winded story and Glenn's eyes landed on the two of you.

"Well, you told me how he proposed but we'd all love to hear how you first met," Glenn said, leaning forward, elbows pressed into the table with a sparkle in his eye. You glanced at Joel, your heart slamming wildly in your chest, and you knew immediately he couldn't think of anything new. He sighed and clenched his jaw before opening his mouth, about to launch into the only story you had talked about when you cut him off with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, let me tell it," you said lovingly. You could see the confusion in his eyes as they shifted back and forth between you and Glenn and he slowly nodded before you turned back to your host.

"Joel hired me," you began, dropping your hand from his shoulder. "I was a nobody. Hardly any experience but he took a chance and hired me to manage the floor staff at The Parador Los Angeles. I was so grateful for the job that I would stay late almost every night just to make sure everything was perfect for our guests." You shot Joel what you hoped was a loving glance before continuing with your bullshit story.

"One night, as I was walking down to my car, I ran into Joel on the elevator. He was surprised I was staying so late and I explained we had a wedding the next day and I wanted to make sure the wedding party's favors were all set. Each room was supposed to get a box of Belgium chocolates but they melted in transport so I ran out to get fresh ones. Anyway," you said with a little smile, acting as if you were getting lost in a memory. Glenn and Mary appeared more and more delighted with each word. "I think it impressed him because after that night, I saw him almost every day. He would walk across the floor and wouldn't say a word but I caught him looking at me once or twice. Then, I got a call one day at the front desk, and guess who it was."

"Joel?" Mary asked excitedly. You nodded and leaned into Joel's shoulder.

"He asked me to come up to his office. I couldn't decide if he was firing me or giving me a promotion, but turns out, it was neither. He asked me to dinner and do you remember what I said?" you asked, turning to face Joel with a sweet smile. He was giving you a look you couldn't quite read and you just hoped you were doing the right thing.

"Uh, I think-" he began, but you waved him off and turned back to Mary. Fuck it, you were in too deep now, anyway.

"I laughed. I laughed in his face! I didn't believe him! Why would someone like him want anything to do with someone like me? I didn't come from a wealthy family. I didn't have connections or anything to offer. But he picked me. And every day since, I wake up and ask myself," you turned your head to gaze up adoringly at Joel. "How did I get so lucky?"

He pinned you with an intense stare and, without hesitating, Joel pressed his lips against yours so softly it almost made you gasp. He tasted like the wine he had with dinner and the hairs from his mustache tickled your nose. You giggled and pulled away, but not before dragging the pad of your thumb over his lip to remove your lipstick that transferred.

"Oh, that's just the sweetest story! Isn't it, Glenn?" Mary gushed, grabbing onto his arm with a huge smile. You tore your eyes away from each other to look back down the table. "It's like something out of a movie or book!"

"Goddamn, Joel, I didn't realize you were such a romantic. Now I gotta step up my game over here," he joked before pinching Mary's chin.

Harry and Ian were next to tell their story but you weren't listening. Your pulse was racing and your hands shook in your lap as your adrenaline began to wear off. Then, Joel's hand slid over your thigh, giving your leg a little reassuring squeeze as if he could sense your nervousness.

"You did so good, sweetheart," he whispered in your ear, making your skin prickle.

He could have removed his hand after that. No one was looking, no one could even see, but he didn't. He kept it planted there as if he were grounding you to him. Occasionally, he would laugh at something one of the other guests said or take a sip of wine, but his hand remained steady under the table. The longer it stayed, the more it became the only thing you could focus on.

Once dinner wrapped up and everyone stood, his hand finally dropped and you instantly longed for his touch again. On the way back to the hotel, Joel took a work call, which you tuned out. Instead, you spent the time telling yourself it was the wine and the jet lag that had you feeling fuzzy and excited.

In the elevator on the way up to your room, once you had some privacy, Joel turned to you and quietly said your name. When you looked into his eyes, what you saw caused your breath catch in your throat. He was looking at you with a tenderness you didn't think he was capable of and it made you swallow nervously.

"How'd you come up with that story on the fly like that?" he asked, his features softening and gaze only dipping from your eyes to your lips once.

It didn't mean anything.

"I-I don't know, it just came to me, I guess," you replied a little breathlessly.

It looked like he was about to say something else when the elevator doors slid open. He pressed his hand against the side of the car to hold the doors while you stepped out into the hall. He fell in step beside you as you walked the short distance to your room in silence.

"Thank you," he managed to say once he opened the door, letting you both in.

You shrugged as if it were nothing but on the inside you were preening, excited that you had managed to please him. When you entered into this unusual situation, you had no idea what to expect or how to behave, but considering how well the first day went, maybe you overthought things.

"I'm sure the original story would have been fine, too."

He nodded and tossed the keycard on the table by the door before strolling into the kitchenette for two waters.

"Wouldn't've ruined my chances, most likely, but I think the new story put me a notch above good ol' Zach, at least," he said with a grin and handing you a bottle of water. You took it with a small thanks and awkwardly looked around the huge villa.

"Well, you should try to get some sleep now," you told him, turning just in time to catch the way his eyes flickered over the soft curves of your body.

With a tired sigh, he nodded in agreement. "'Bout to fall asleep standin' up," he joked, walking down the short hallway between your two rooms, the both of you coming to a stop outside your doors.

"Okay. Good night," you said, not wanting to prolong the tension that was building up since you left dinner.

"Night."

You opened your door and gave him a quick smile over your shoulder before disappearing inside your room. You leaned against the door and took a deep, steadying breath in, then pushed off before going deeper into your room.

Before dinner, the two of you had moved all your things into your closet and you had the foresight to toss a pair of pajamas on your bed before you left. Shimmying out of your second dress of the day, you slipped on the lavender cotton tank top and matching shorts before grabbing your bag of toiletries, but when you reopened your door to go to the bathroom, you were surprised to find Joel on the other side with his hand raised as if he were about to knock.

"Oh!" you gasped in surprise.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"It's okay, I didn't hear you."

He scratched his chin before pulling a white envelope out of his pocket and handing it to you.

"What's this?" you asked, taking it but not opening it.

"For you. For tonight. You did good, so..." he trailed off and stared at the plush carpet beneath his feet. Then it dawned on you what it was and your eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh, you don't -"

"I want to. You were hired for a job and you did it well, so you deserve it."

Your gaze dropped to the envelope, flipping it over in your hand before nodding.

"It's my pleasure," you finally replied, throat a little tight. When your eyes met again, that little glimpse of the softer side to him was gone and the cold blooded business man you first met was back.

"Alright, then. G'night," he said abruptly, then turned on his heel and disappeared back into his bedroom.

After you washed up and got into bed, you scrolled on your phone for a bit before sighing and looking at the envelope of cash propped up against the lamp on your end table, acting as a glaring reminder of what you were hired to do.

So why did you feel so conflicted taking it?

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#joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller au #joel the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us au #the last of us fic #swept away fic

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mud-castle · 25 days ago

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Ok but now I’m imagine that he grew up like tall, even close to Tigerclaw’s height… like gods Maine coon firestar

Graystripe: starclan Fireheart! How you get so big suddenly! You were so tiny when we first met

Fireheart (not really thinking, too much interest in the shrew he was eating): oh that because I was four moons old when we met

Whole clan goes silent

Longtail: I TRIED TO BEAT UP A BABY?!

Lol, Maine Coon Firestar would have to be like two moons old for him to be considered small for a six month old apprentice.

For the sake of maturity you could make him as big as a normal apprentice by making him three moons. Which is still bad, but he's probably old enough that his speech wouldn't tip them off.

I really want to write a oneshot about this now.

Cats, mostly the different queens, noticing how off his development is compared to the other apprentices but dismissing it because he's a kittypet. Of course he looks like he's about to cry during training when he gets knocked down. That's his kttypet weakness showing. Of course he still pounces on cats' tails and romps with the kits. Kittypets are immature like that.

I think Firepaw might not tell Bluestar out of fear of being kicked out for not being able to keep up. When he gets older he probably realizes how silly it was but to younger him that was a valid threat.

Since Yellowfang figured out that he was a kittypet on her own, I think she'd notice she's fighting a kit and immediately back off. She'd probably have an argument with Spottedleaf later about how no, him being part of a prophecy does not justify you making a kit an apprentice. You should've told Bluestar. what is wrong with you.

Following the timeline, he'd be made a warrior at like six or seven moons old. Canon Firestar was at least a young adult when he became leader, Maine Coon Firestar wouldn't even be fully matured at a few moons less than two years old.

Maine coons also don't shed their kitten coats until they're two years old. So Firestar suddenly starts shedding an insane amount and finally gets his adult coat and the clan is silently horrified. I mean, they're probably already concerned that he never stopped growing until he was leader. Even Tigerstar was grown at the age they thought Fire was. If you want to be symbolic this could happen around the time they form Lionclan.

Tigerstar is beefing with a teenager until his death.

Fireheart is like a fourteen year old trying to train a thirteen year old Cinderpaw. No wonder it ended badly

#warrior cats #warrior cats au #Firestar #Ask

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macfrog · 1 year ago

Text

secrets cowboy like me chapter fourteen

one day i'll rein my chapters back in. today is not that day. thirteen thousand words of...a little bit of fucking and a lot of fighting. i love you all and i still can't believe the love you continue to show this series. you're all actually insane. i present to you: the penultimate chapter of cowboy.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: the one where...everybody finds out.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), a big argument, a lot of guilt, angry disappointed dad, one mention of alcohol consumption, lil bit of sub!joel, unprotected piv, tiny bit of degradation, tiny bit of praise kink, creampie, cursing, smut, fluff, angst

word count: 12.9k (dry heaves)

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

You haven’t slept a wink. Not one second.

You and Joel were awake until one in the morning on the phone; you – panicking, spilling words into the receiver, watching different cuts of your dad realizing everything as though projected across your blank ceiling, and Joel – monotone as fucking ever, batting every single theory away.

He doesn’t know a damn thing, he’d said. You didn’t miss the way his words hung over the edge of the sentence, trembling almost.

You scoffed and hissed back down the line. You don’t fucking know that! How can you know that?

You think he just found out about us and thought, Hey, better get some shut-eye before I deal with this? Really, baby?

I think he doesn’t know what he found out. I think he’s probably tryna convince himself that he’s wrong.

So, let him. He’s wrong. We go with that.

Joel knew he wasn’t doing anything to calm you down. Wasn’t offering anything you could seriously take on. You know he wasn’t trying to.

He was as worried as you were – he was just pretending not to be, because what fucking good would it do to have the two of you bouncing off one another with panic?

Still, he stayed on the phone the entire night. When he fell asleep, you lay in bed and tossed everything over in your head like tearing back the pages of a diary. Last night, then Frank’s, then the weekend before that, then the Hillcrest – all the way back to that first ride home. The pissing rain, the boxes of nails rattling in the glove compartment with each sway of the truck. Recalling every word spoken, every move made, every expression pulled and glance stolen and fucking breath taken.

Any sound from beyond your door shot a bullet of adrenaline through your veins, coursing through your body like ice. As if it was your dad, barreling in at 3AM to have it out with you.

You reckon you’d be ready if he did. Wide-eyed, fists clenched, heart hammering.

Joel groans back to life at eight. You hear the ruffling of bedsheets, the crackle down the line as he drags the phone across his mattress and pins it to his ear. You lift your own. Joel and 08:43:36, 37, 38 underneath it on the screen.

His voice drums low and groggy from the speaker. “You are gonna have my phone bill through the damn roof. I’m exhausted, darlin’.”

“I can’t think of anything else. He knows, Joel.”

He sighs. You can see his head falling into his hand, see his thumb rubbing circles into his temple. “Let’s just see what happens, alright? There ain’t any chance you left your phone in the living room ‘n he came across it, thought he’d keep it for you comin’ home?”

“I’ve barely left my room all week. Why would it be down there?”

Joel’s quiet. He just breathes down the line. After a minute, he clears his throat.

“Come over, would ya?”

“Huh?”

“Come over. I wanna see you. I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Joel, I’m –”

“Hey. Don’t make me ask again, alright? C’mon, now. I got some errands to run; you’re coming with me.”

He doesn’t have to say much else to convince you; you’re already pulling your bedsheets back and hanging up. Your hoodie and shorts are still hooked over the foot of your bed. The sun filters through the drapes, edges you nearer the door. Your chest fills with something calling itself bravery, and slowly, quietly – you click the door open.

The hallway is silent. A blushing gold in the morning light. The house is still – eerily still. Your dad’s room door is open, bed made, sheets tucked neatly under the mattress. Like he had time to spend on it. Stuff to mull over as he made it.

The carpet softens your footsteps when you finally move for the stairs. The birds are singing outside. The wallpaper canvases your shadow, a little monster creeping along one step behind you, passing picture frames which dazzle with sunrays and mirror a half-lit reflection back to you. One side you – the other, missing.

You lean over the last step, craning your head and shoulders into the hallway. The clock on the wall opposite ticks to no one. Tick tick tick tick. And aside from it, from its taunting tutting, there are no other signs of life. His jacket hangs from the peg. His boots lying below, laces tangled.

The sun separates into brittle shards through the window, illuminating the way to the kitchen. You’re not fucking prepared to follow it.

Shoulders hunched, like it might make a difference, you step forward and lower your thumb and index finger over your keys, aiming for them like a shaky arcade claw machine. Tick tick tick. They jingle as you hook your fingertip through them. Your nose wrinkles.

“Hey.”

He appears around the corner like an apparition. The keys drop back to the unit with a violent clatter.

“Jesus!”

“Woah, woah.” Your dad holds a palm up, laughing nervously. “Sorry. Where you headed?”

“Uh, J– Sarah’s. Some errands she wants some help with.”

He nods. “Yeah? You don’t want breakfast first?”

You drag your eyes to meet his for the first time. He looks drawn, skin like webbing, as though it’s just draped over his skull. As though you could put your finger through it like parchment, just push straight through. He looks like he’s had about as much sleep as you have.

“No, thanks,” you say, the sunken, sullen sight of him crumbling your voice to dust. Your lips move wordlessly, waiting for another lie from your tongue to offer over. But between the way he looks, weary and forlorn, and the thin veil of truth left between you – nothing materializes.

“Why don’t you – why don’t you hold back a second?” Dad beckons you forward, folding his fingers to his palm. “Got somethin’ I wanna talk to you about.”

“Dad, I really gotta go, I –”

“Just – come on. I’m sure Sarah won’t mind.”

He disappears without waiting for a response. Shifts back into the living room, shadow following him like a cloak across the door. You hear the creak of his chair as he settles down into it, the unsettling squeal of leather and spring.

Your feet are planted to the hall floor. To move in either direction feels like a trap. To follow after him – sit opposite and swallow back what you think you know is coming. All of his suspicions stuck in your throat like a bitter, powdery pill. Or to turn away – leave him in an empty house, nothing but the sound of his own breathing and that tick tick tick affirming your guilt.

No more excuses filter through – none of Joel’s ideas, none of his explanations. You let your shoulders drop and your eyes close. The only image behind them is that six-foot, graying, droning idiot who’s probably sat waiting for you to pull up so he can take you to fucking Trader Joe’s or whatever.

And his shirt, which he’d probably drape over your shoulders before he’s even said hello. And his smile, which would draw you onto your tiptoes, draw your lips to his. And his hands, and his waist, and his pulse in step with yours as you follow him around the quiet store, the Saturday morning air daring you to hook your fingers around two of his every now and then. The longing a gnawing in your chest, burrowing deep beneath the cage of your ribs.

He's not here, though. It’s just you. And if you call him now, if he shows up unannounced – it’s only going to confirm what your dad thinks. Fuck it – what he knows.

So you unstick your sneakers and haul yourself through to the living room.

He’s rocking in the chair when you sink back into the couch. Balls of his feet pushing him back and forth. His fingers to his lips, like keeping the words at bay for now. Like feeling the jagged shape of them through his skin.

You throw a pillow over your legs, shaggy ivory fringe tickling your bare thighs. Your dad doesn’t speak. When you lift your head, his eyes flit from yours down to your restless fingers knitting the tassels of his pillow.

“What is it?” you croak.

“Mind if I ask you somethin’?”

You shrug. “Go for it.”

He waits a beat. A hesitation. Like he doesn’t want to ask the first question. He’s at the edge of a cliff. One more step and he’s plummeting down the rocky side, into a fog of cloud. Nothing will ever be the same. Only – you’ve already pushed him. He’s already falling. He just hasn’t realized it yet.

Maybe he feels the drop in his stomach, right now. Maybe the wind screams in his ears. He finally asks, “When were you gonna tell me about y’all gettin’ into a barfight on Friday night?”

Unexpected. But keep your fucking cool.

Your fingertip whitens, blood halted by the knot of the cushion fringe. You chew on a torn leaf of skin from your lips. “What?”

“You ‘n Joel. When he picked you up. What the hell happened?”

Your eyes slide from his to the patio door behind him, garden lighting up with the sun scaling higher in the sky. You stare there until it burns, until it’s all just a blur of color in your vision, and then pull a half-blinded gaze back in his direction.

You’re frozen, as if he has you at gunpoint. Shoulders tense, eyes wide. Dontshootdontshootdontshoot. “Who –? Who said that?”

“Hank. Was on the phone to ‘im last night. Anna said Joel was squarin’ up to some kid in Frank’s. You wanna tell me exactly what happened?”

“Nothing.” Liar. “Nothing happened. It was just some asshole. Joel was just lookin’ out for me. For us. Me ‘n Anna.”

“She told Hank he knocked the kid out. That Sam had to stop it from gettin’ outta control.”

He stares at you, and there’s no mask on his face. No cover, no disguise. He’s suspicious. And he doesn’t care that you know it. He’s not just asking about the barfight.

“Are you gonna say it or am I, hon?”

“Say what?”

Your last thread of insane hope that he’s innocently wondering about Frank’s is snapped in two by the words that tear out of his mouth, so quick they rip into your skin like shards of glass.

“What the hell’s goin’ on between you two?”

Your body suddenly drops further into the couch, the weight of your blood freezing to ice in your veins. Your joints seize, your jaw locks. Air passes across your open lips with no intention of carrying words back out the way it came. You forget any ability you had previously to come up with excuses, to cover up, to lie. Hell, you’re not sure you’d remember your own fucking name if he asked that next.

You say nothing. And he cocks his head, drums his fingers on the arm of his chair.

Say something.

“Nothing.”

Say something more convincing.

“Nothing?” you repeat, a shrill pitch in your voice like it’s a question. Like he’s dumb for even thinking there might be something weird going on. Like he’s the idiot.

The clock in the hall ticks to itself, amused. Fifteen little snaps. Each one sounds like a plate of glass beneath your feet, cracking a little more, a little deeper, a little wider. The abyss opening its wide, dark jaws beneath you.

Your dad’s expression doesn’t change. He crosses his arms, head leaning back a little. He almost looks sad. Almost looks like he might give in. Send you on your way, on your errands with Sarah.

But something recharges him, something must flicker behind his eyes, because he sits forward again and watches your reaction intently as he says –

“Then explain the text messages you been sendin’ each other.”

Another blow hits your stomach, rippling waves of white heat through you. You feel hot, a scorching panic right beneath the surface of your skin so hot that it mistakes itself for ice cold. A panic which radiates from your heart, pulsating through your entire body, every limb beginning to shudder involuntarily. Your silence is answer enough.

He sighs. Sits forward with his elbows on his knees. “I knew y’all were close, knew you cared about each other. You sure always talked to ‘im more ‘n you ever talked to me, even before you went off to college. But I’ve been noticing things lately…Something’s different. Something’s changed.”

Your eyes trace his form as he talks. It’s fucking dizzying. He’s animated, like a character from some eighties cop show who finally solved the mystery. He knows. He knows everything. Your jaw won’t move to answer.

“Seeing you two together – talking, laughing. The way you look at each other these days. ‘n you’re always near each other, ain’t you? Always hoverin’. It ain’t anything like before. That day the three of us went to Costco, that – I –” His anger seems to boil over, cascading from his lips in an angry burst of hot breath. “I felt like a spare tire in the back of the truck that day.”

“We’re…We’re just…f-friends…I don’t –”

He holds a finger up. Doesn’t want to hear it. Not until his speech is done. The sun moves behind a cloud; the living room suddenly drains of light. “That day you said you were spending the night at Anna’s. Said you were havin’ a pool day, right?”

“Right,” you whisper, eyes closing over. They feel heavy. Tired and teary.

“Right. Except,” he brings his finger down, aims it straight at you, “Hank says you weren’t never there. Anna was at Sal’s all day Sunday.”

Fuck.

“Dad…”

You’re pleading with him now. Enough, I’ve heard enough. I know you know. As if you might still be able to stop the train, dig your heels in and hold on tight to derail it. Derail his thoughts. Salvage the situation, string it back together with shame and atonement.

But he doesn’t listen. He doesn’t even hear you.

“’n that’s when I got to thinkin’ – last Monday, at Joel’s. I went over to fix his sink – you remember I told you about his sink?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “I went over there, and he’s cookin’ this great big breakfast – pancakes, all of it – and there ain’t no one else in his house. Just him. Sarah was in Nashville, you remember?”

You take a deep breath. This is it. The ship’s beginning to disappear beneath the black waves.

“I thought maybe he had someone over, maybe expectin’ that girl from the plant hire…Anyway,” he bats his hand, bats the hopeful glint in Lois’s eye from his mind, “I’m walking downstairs, on my way out, and I notice somethin’ on the floor by the door.”

His chair squeaks timidly as he moves, his right arm lowering, scooping for something you can’t see yet. But when he shakily lifts it, your eyes fall to your knees. It hangs before you, apologetic and ashamed.

Joel was right. He knew it. You palmed him off. You told him your dad wouldn’t – couldn’t – put two and two together. And here he is, sat feet from you, holding the final piece to the puzzle in a quivering fist. Proof that, when he was in the house that day, you were only feet from him. Wrapped in his best friend’s shirt, dripping wet from his shower.

“This bag,” he hisses, and the tears finally drop onto your cheeks. They scurry to your chin, gathering and throwing themselves to your chest. Your shoulders drop, your eyes still low. You can’t look at him.

He speaks slowly. Speaks through his teeth. Every word like its own poisonous jab.

“Now you tell me: what in God’s name is your bag doin’ in Joel Miller’s hallway, at ten in the mornin’, when you’re supposed to be at Anna’s?”

Your fingers touch your forehead, a burning pain beginning to sting through your skull. You can feel your pulse in your temples. You’ve never wanted Joel to be stood in front of you so badly in all your life; just to deflect some of the interrogation off of you, just to give you breathing space. Just to protect you from the onslaught of questioning from your dad.

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head. The bag hits the carpet with a thud. “No, there ain’t no way. You were at Anna’s, right? You ain’t with Joel Miller, no way. I’m thinkin’, Please, God, don’t let that have been my daughter’s bag that day. But I’m right, ain’t I? You were there, weren’t you?”

You blink rapidly. The tears multiply quicker. The room is glossed in a protective film of salt and adrenaline. Give me something to say back. Give me something to say back.

“Where were you, hon? Musta been hidin’ somewhere, right?”

Give me something please think of something please come over please walk through that door please tell me what to say.

And then it comes to you. You blink the mist from your eyes. He said…he knew about texts you’d been sending Joel. How did he…?

“How did you know about the texts?”

“Pardon me?”

You straighten up and look him dead in the eye. Your voice feels hoarse. It sounds nothing like you. “How – did you know – about – the texts?”

“That’s your concern right now?”

“How – did you know?”

He begins to sputter, like the heat turned up under a pan on the hob. “Look, hon, you had me worried sick. Disappearin’ and I got no clue where you are. Always having an excuse to go off somewhere alone, no explanation. Don’t even get me started on those marks on your neck.”

Your hand immediately clamps around your throat, hot skin stained pink hissing into your palm. Joel’s teeth on you last night. His words cushioning the sharp bite. I love you. The heat hurts, now, when it felt so comforting just a few hours ago. It burns. It throbs. It feels like shame.

Your dad’s voice brings you back into the room.

“There’s another thing – last night,” he flings a laugh to you, “you were so quiet. So damn quiet. Didn’t say a word the entire time, and then I leave for all of ten minutes, and suddenly the two of you are headin’ over to his for – what was it? UCLA pamphlets?”

There’s a break between his words, a gap which makes you think that he wants you to answer. Like he’s giving you a chance, extending his arm. But he fills the space with a jeering laugh, and keeps talking.

“Where are they, huh? These pamphlets? ‘s why you were at Joel’s, right? Go on, go get ‘em. Show them to me.”

Your face solidifies. Lips tremble. There’s a scowl pulling your brows together. You’ve no right for it to be there. “Stop it,” you seethe. “Tell me what you did.”

“He’s the only one. The only one who could get you to talk. I had to check, kiddo. I had to know.”

Your stare doesn’t let up. Your lips bolt shut, refusing to say another word until he confesses. Which he does. Almost breezily.

“I looked through your phone. While you were gone. I – I went upstairs, ‘n I took it.”

He says it casually, as though he’s simply checked the newspaper. As though he’s just relaying the columns to you. Someone’s had a baby. Someone else won three grand on a scratch card. By the way, I know you’ve been messing around with Joel.

So it takes a minute for what he’s said to hit you. But when it does, the wave crashes over your shoulders so violently that it throws you to your feet, tasseled pillow whipped to the other side of the couch.

There are tears searing across your eyes. A twisted grimace of a smile on your face, a laugh breaking roughly from your throat. Some crazed, disbelieving, ugly little laugh.

“You – you checked my…my fuckin’ phone. You – you fucking –”

His head jerks back, offended. “Hey, now, listen to me –”

“I’m not listenin’ to another word! Am I twelve?”

You stalk over to the kitchen. The rattle of your dad’s chair tells you he follows.

“Well – you tell me, hon, ‘cause right now, you’re making a lot of real stupid decisions.”

That same ugly laugh echoes around the house. You grip onto the kitchen island. The room starts to wheel.

“Who the hell are you to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do?” you pant, eyes tight shut. Your thumbs begin to slip, sweat gliding between your skin and the counter.

“I’m your father! I’m lookin’ out for you, damnit! You think I wanna be havin’ this conversation with you right now?”

The granite countertop blurs in and out of focus when you open your eyes. You hook onto it, using it to haul yourself around the island until there’s distance between your wobbly figure and his. And you remember one week ago, when the same counter separated you and Joel, and you think of Joel, and think of his fingers around your wrist, and his fist against Knox’s jaw, and his teeth in your neck.

“Look,” your dad’s voice floats somewhere over the image of Joel’s eyes, “let’s just – let’s calm down. You ‘n me – we’re gonna talk this out. We’re gonna have a calm, mature discussion about all of this. You’re gonna tell me exactly what’s been goin’ on, and then I’m gonna head over to Joel’s – alone – and talk to him.”

But his voice doesn’t sound calm. There’s a tremble to it – a tremor as fragile as glass, as thin as ice. It’s crackling as he speaks. He can hardly keep a hold on it himself.

If he goes over to Joel’s – this you know – there ain’t anything calm or mature that will come of it. Suddenly the images in your head warp, and it’s your fingers around Joel’s wrist, someone else’s fist against his cheek, someone else’s teeth and the venom spat between them.

“Dad,” you pant, “it’s over. He ended it. It’s been done for, like, two weeks now. It was nothing.”

“Oh, nothing, was it?” He steps closer. You retreat. Edge further around the counter, further from him. His head tilts, eyebrows curl. He looks like a vulture, eyeing its prey. “Then what were the two of you up to last night?”

“We – we went for ice cream, that’s all. He wanted to make sure I was alright.”

He’s not convinced. And he shouldn’t be, either. He coughs a laugh. “For three hours? You were eatin’ ice cream for three Goddamn hours?” His cheeks wobble as he shakes his head. Then, in a softer voice, like he’s arming himself with a chisel to prick at the weakest parts of the sculpture, “What’d he do to you, girl?”

The marble cracks and snaps wide open. Anger floods out in hot waves. Any composure you’d managed to scrape together flushes clean out of your body.

“Nothing I didn’t want him to fuckin’ do. Stop treating me like I’m some kid who’s – who’s been tricked, or something. I’m twenty-three, Dad, I’m an adult.”

His silence sends another misdirected shot of panic through you.

“I was in on it just as much as he was,” you weep, fingers searching for a scratch of beard or kiss of flannel.

Your dad scoffs then, hands slapping against his thighs, and turns away. “There ain’t no gettin’ through to you,” he announces to the timid living room.

Still bracing yourself against the island, you take the break in his tirade to catch your breath. The only thought running through your head, losing velocity with each circuit, is Joel walking through that door. His face when he notices you with your flushed cheeks and wide eyes. His hands reaching for yours, through all the lies and hurt. Your dad, stood opposite, tight as an arrow and ready to fucking fly for him. Fists balled, teeth bared.

“He doesn’t even know,” you realize, staring at the glow on the floor cast by the front door. “You haven’t told him you know, have you?”

“’course I ain’t told him. I wanted to talk to you first. Not that it’s gotten us anywhere, huh?”

“I’m gonna text him.”

“Hon, don’t you d–”

“I am not having this conversation on my own. There are two people involved here.”

You pull your phone from your pocket and scrawl some messy message to Joel. Three messy messages. Something like he knows everything, can you come over? I need you. Some needy, dramatic, helpless message.

The typing bubble appears for a fraction of a second. So fleeting that you almost miss it through your tears, before it drops back to nothing. He doesn’t reply.

Doesn’t pick up, either, when you call him. Three times in a row. Three missed calls; three Hey, it’s Joel, sorry I missed yous.

The phone rattles off the counter when you drop it, your head falling into your hands. Your dad wanders back over to his armchair and collapses into it with a sigh, his fingers massaging his temples. The two of you mirrored, the same storm circling between you, only ice in his veins and fire in yours.

Fear keeps your feet planted to the kitchen floor; adrenaline alone keeps you upright. Your fingers push hard into your forehead, an ache sat directly behind that dizzies you. Blood thudding its fists against your eyes, screaming in your ears.

How the fuck did this happen? It feels ridiculous to ask, but it’s all you got. When did the two of you get so lazy? Start forgetting to cover your tracks? Or – maybe worse – stop caring enough to even try?

Of course, saying you were with Anna was a dumb fucking move. Her dad is one of your dad’s buddies. One of Joel’s, too. That was always going to fuck it all up. And you were too caught up, too hellbent on seeing Joel, too fucking horny to stop for five seconds and keep your damn story straight.

There’s nothing to say, nothing that might fix this. There’s no winding your way out of it. The trap has you by the throat. Your jaw aches from trying to free yourself.

Your dad sways side to side in his chair, staring silently at the wall ahead of him. Your face burns with shame, with anger, with embarrassment. Your heart stings from the hurt, from wanting Joel here, from his ignoring your pleas for help. And, most annoying of all – from letting your dad down.

It doesn’t matter what you tell yourself. How you spin it. Sure, you’re twenty-three. You can make your own decisions. That much is fucking clear now. Doesn’t mean they’re always good. Even when they make you laugh until your cheeks hurt, make your stomach flip with excitement, make you scream from pleasure.

Make your heart do things you’ve never felt it do before. Things you never knew that it could do.

You let your dad down. He can barely look at you for it. You know damn well that it was worth every second, and yet, right now, nothing but thick, awkward, unbreathable air between the two of you – it feels like it should never have happened.

You’re bent over the counter, head resting on your folded arms, breathing still staggered – when you hear it. The squeal of brakes outside. An engine cutting. A door slamming.

Two knocks on the door, and Joel pushes it open. You’re already in the hallway, watching his heavy head and loose shirt cross the threshold.

He looks up and your eyes meet. His hair’s a mess, he’s in the same tee from last night. He’s gotten straight out of bed and into his truck, and he’s braced, like he doesn’t know what’s coming. Which direction to expect the first punch from.

Your knees weaken at the sight of him. The safe haven of his arms, the home of his chest. The beating pulse behind it whose language you’ve become fluent in. Even now, when everything’s fallen apart, his being here washes relief over you like cool water dousing an inferno. Your body relaxes, your breathing quietens.

Joel nods towards you. You okay?

You shake your head lightly, and he flicks his fingers. You’re in his arms before your brain tells your limbs to move.

“’s okay,” he breathes, lips lined with your ear. His chest is soft, warm; you take fistfuls of his shirt. He strokes your hair, mumbling, “Told you we’ll be alright, yeah? It’s goin’ to be alright.”

You weep into him, lips dripping with salty tears. They part to reply, when a low growl rips between your bodies. Joel loosens his grip and you step back, turning around to face the ghost of your father at the end of the hall.

“Get the hell away from him.”

He advances, takes a few steps forward. You meet him halfway, gripping onto his shirt, planting yourself firmly between him and Joel.

“Woah, woah,” you say, pushing on his small chest, “let’s all just calm down. Dad.”

He’s smaller, scrawnier, older, and weaker than Joel. He’s never going to lift a fucking hand to him. Not if he wants to keep it intact. He wouldn’t square up to a fly, never mind an actual worthy opponent – but your gut tells you to make damn sure he doesn’t even try.

“Get out of the way, hon.”

“No. No way. And let you –? No.”

He’s not even looking at you. You’re nothing but an obstacle. He’s staring a few feet behind.

“Baby,” Joel says, voice weary and surrendered. “It’s alright, now. C’mon, outta the way.”

“Baby?” your dad seethes. “You just call my daughter baby?”

“Called me it as long as he’s known me, Dad.”

“’s different now,” he spits. “What the f–? I mean, what the fuck, Joel? What were you even thinkin’? Putting your Goddamn hands on my daughter?”

You don’t usually hear your dad curse. All through growing up, even when you left home – you could count on one hand the number of times you’ve heard it. It sends a bolt of fear through you as if you’re five years old again, and he can’t do much worse than say bad words in front of you.

You don’t usually see your dad do any of this stuff. Raise his voice, ball his fists. Lean forward, feet planted on the ground, like daring Joel to make the first move. Joel – his best friend. The guy he was supposed to be able to trust more than anyone in the world.

Angry. Furious. And you think: if there were a time he had a right to feel this way, to act like this and throw threats around as though they’re light as air, if ever there were a moment – this would be it. A betrayal. A secret this big.

Joel takes a step forward. He doesn’t seem scared. More – placating. Letting the tantrum run its course. He holds his hands out. “Let’s just – let’s just talk.”

“Talk,” your dad repeats, spitting the word like it’s rotten in his mouth. “You wanna talk? Let’s talk. What the hell have you been doin’ to her? Hm?”

Joel shakes his head, shoulders lifting. “I ain’t been doin’ nothin’ to her. That’s not what this is.”

“Hell,” your dad scoffs, “not what it is. Why don’t you explain to me exactly what it is, then, Joel? If it ain’t you takin’ advantage of a young girl? Takin’ advantage of my kid?”

Your head whips back to face Joel, hand lifting in a bracing motion. He sees it – sees the way your head shakes, imperceptible to your dad. Please don’t tell him. Not yet.

It’s bad enough that he knows you’ve been messing around. It hurts enough that he knows you’ve been lying for the entire summer. Telling him the full story – the conversation in the truck, the words exchanged over ice cream and the quiet tick of traffic lights across the street – would only hurt more. Would only sharpen his anger. He’d ask more questions; he’d drive his dagger deeper.

Joel pleads with you. His eyes do his bargaining. You don’t relent. Please.

“You know what I keep thinkin’ about,” your dad interrupts, “you know what’s runnin’ through my mind? That damn garden party. Those cupcakes. You puttin’ your thumb on her lip. I should’ve known the second you touched her what was happening. You arrogant, shameless son of a bitch, Joel, you got no idea what you –”

“Dad. Enough.”

Sure, you’re trying to calm him down, palms outstretched and motioning like he’s a wild horse, rearing frantically and threatening to crush you. But it also stings to hear him talking about Joel like that. Talking to him like that.

The same Joel he’d sling an arm around, knocking their beers together when the Rangers won. The same Joel you know he’d spent hours sat out back with, talking into the night and sharing stories and secrets with the stars.

The same Joel who covered your legs with his jacket last night, who held you when you were hurting, who reminded you what it was like to feel your heart again, beating rapidly in your chest.

He’s not talking about the same Joel. Not the Joel you know. Yours.

He’s still rambling. “…’n all this time, you pair have been closer ‘n you were lettin’ on.”

“You don’t understand,” you plead, “you don’t know him like I do.”

Your dad scoffs, twisted smirk on his face. “Oh, I know ‘im. I’ve known him a hell of a lot longer and a hell of a lot better ‘n you have, hon. Known him since he was fifteen, askin’ me ‘n my buddies to buy ‘im a case of beer from the liquor store. His little brother in ‘n outta jail like God only knows what. I know exactly what he’s like.”

“What he’s like?” you huff, exasperated. You spin on your heel, arms coming down on your sides with a slap. “Joel, help me.”

“Don’t you dare look at ‘im! Listen, kiddo, I know him. Know what he’s like at Frank’s, takin’ women home left ‘n right, then forgetting their damn names. Know he sure as hell can’t remember that schoolteacher’s name, can you, Joel? You remember her?”

“Quit it,” you tell him over your shoulder, still facing Joel.

Your dad laughs from behind you. It turns your stomach. “I’ll bet he never told you about that one, did he? That’d turn you off ‘im in a heartbeat, wouldn’t it?”

“Nah, he told me about Jess.”

Your dad’s voice cuts. Joel’s head finally lifts, his eyes ungluing from the floor to look at you.

You shrug back. “I figured it out. Sister’s name is Mia – she’s a year younger ‘n me.”

You swear he almost fucking smiles. Almost. It’s funny, or at least, it would be if you weren’t both in the middle of tearing your entire dynamic apart. Any other time, he’d nudge you, or tousle your hair, and say you were too clever for him, or something about being old again.

When you turn back to face your dad, he looks like he’s run out of words. So, he repeats ones he’s already said.

“I…Well, I know him, honey. And he ain’t someone you oughta be with.”

“How’d you figure that?”

He sighs. “I just told you my reasons.”

“’cause he wanted beer when he was a kid and he’s slept with people before? ‘cause Tommy gets himself into trouble – trouble that Joel then gets him out of?”

“No, I –”

“You don’t know a damn thing about any of this. You won’t listen to me. If you’d hear me out – hear us out, then you’d –”

“Don’t you dare tell me I’d change my damn mind. Don’t – you – dare.” Your dad’s voice is quiet and slow. Dangerous. Laced with something you’ve never heard in it before. It’s not worth finding out what.

Your head shakes, knee jerking with nerves. “I don’t…I don’t know what else to say.”

The fire flickers, loses light for a second. His voice softens. “Honey…This –” he waggles his finger between your body and Joel’s, “this thing y’all have been…It ain’t right. It is not right, what y’all have been doin’. You are far too young for him. He should know better, and the fact that he doesn’t – well.”

Your brows tighten, eyes pinching around painful tears. “I know why you’re mad. I get it. I’m sorry. But I can’t –” You sigh. “You are suffocatin’ me, living here.”

His façade drops instantly. He pushes his fingers into his eyes, groaning. “Hon, you’re not hearin’ me.”

“I hear you loud and clear, I –”

He cuts you off, throwing his arms up into the air with another loud yell. The words melt into one long drone, a mountainous ramble which peaks and falls in pitch; one minute low and angry and the next high and frantic.

You sigh, shoving by him for the living room. Joel reaches for your hand, your fingers brushing against his.

“Baby,” he says.

“Ah!” Your dad blocks his advance, shaky finger held to his chest. “You dare, son.”

You’re swipe the bag from the floor by your dad’s chair, your change of clothes still in a crumpled heap at the bottom. Slinging it over your shoulder, you whip past your father and lock your hand with Joel’s.

“Hey,” Joel says, slowing you down. “Darlin’, where are you –?”

“I wanna leave.”

“Huh?” he asks, brows raised.

“I want to go,” you whisper.

He glances over to your dad, dumbfounded by the stairs. “Where d’you wanna go?”

Your shoulders roll. Anywhere. Just take me away.

He doesn’t hesitate; barely thinks it over. He tightens his grip on your hand and pulls you toward him. Your feet stumble over the carpet.

“Where in the hell –?” Your dad’s snarling picks up again, his final chance. “I don’t think so –”

Joel’s backing up towards the front door, led by the pull of your hand. “Emotions are pretty high,” he announces, “why don’t we have this conversation once everybody’s calmed down?”

“Joel, if you take her, I’ll–”

“I ain’t takin’ her anywhere. She’s an adult.”

Liar. His hand wouldn’t let go of yours if you tried to pry it from his clutches.

“I’m leavin’,” he says, “she’s just coming with me.”

Your dad barks your name, and you freeze. Joel stops, too, allows you the time to turn. Like a deer in the headlights.

“I’m going, Dad,” you shakily tell him.

“I swear to God,” he says, “if y’all walk outta that door…”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean for any of this.”

He shakes his head. “Stay, hon. Let’s talk.”

“You’re not talkin’, though. All you wanna do is argue. I wanna go with Joel.”

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere with no one! ‘specially not him!”

You shrug, give your head a solemn shake. “Stop me.”

Joel hears the exhaustion in your voice, the scratch of your throat. The way the words melt into one another. He tugs on your hand, leading you through the front door. Your dad doesn’t speak again, and you don’t turn back to check on him.

The neighborhood is silent in the early morning. Yards empty, curtains still closed. No one, not even the sun, tucked behind a thin veil of cloud, sees when you pile into the front seat of Joel’s truck.

“Baby,” he says, pulling your seatbelt over your body.

Your eyes fix on the asphalt ahead. “Just drive.”

“Hey. Look at me.”

When you turn to him, he takes your jaw in both hands. “I love you,” he says.

“Still?” you squeak, eyes heavy with sleeplessness and tears.

“More.”

“This is fucking insane, Joel.”

He nods. “Yeah. ‘n you’re worth all of it.”

“Hey,” Sarah calls when the two of you spill in through the front door. She’s on the couch, Switch console in hand. “What’s up?”

“We have a – a lodger, for the next…little while,” Joel grumbles, tossing his keys onto the sideboard. He kicks off his boots and slides them to the wall, straightens up and looks to you.

You follow suit wordlessly, slipping out of your sneakers. Joel places them by his.

“Cool,” Sarah says, standing up. “How come?”

“Just – dad trouble,” you whisper, deflated. She’s wandering around the couch. A defeated sound rings from the console hanging from her thumb.

Her head tilts. “I…I got plenty room for you,” she flashes you a warm grin, “it can be like a big-ass sleepover.”

You return her smile, a slow, grateful breath filling your lungs. Joel’s arm wraps over your shoulder as your mouth opens to answer.

“No, uh…” He clears his throat. “She’ll be in my room. With me.”

Sarah’s expression is blank. She blinks between the two of you, arms limp either side of her hips. Your eyes flit from Joel to her and back again, wide, waiting. Waiting for someone to move, or speak, or yell.

Joel looks indifferent. Unbothered. As if he just told her it’s sunny outside.

She takes a step forward, and by instinct, you draw back. “Sarah…” you mutter, and she swings around the newel post. She dodges your outstretched hand, whether accidental or deliberate – you’re not sure.

“No, it’s…Okay. Yeah. I’ll – I gotta…Yeah.”

You watch as she climbs the stairs backwards, still looking from your pleading face to her dad’s stoic. She shrugs, wiggles the Switch and mumbles something about it needing charged, before she’s spinning and taking the last few steps two at a time.

When her bedroom door closes, you slump back. Joel doesn’t let go of your shoulder, catching you and pulling you into his chest.

“Fuck,” you whisper, lips pressed against his tee. He smells like pine, like mint, like you.

“’s okay,” he says into your hair, hand curving the shape of your skull. “She’ll come around. You know Sarah.”

You turn, ear against his chest, listening for his heartbeat. It doesn’t tell you anything new. You miss the days you used to listen for secret messages in the soft rhythm.

Joel’s chin rests on the crown of your head. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “None of this is your fault, you hear? None of it.”

“Now you’re just lyin’ to me. You know that ain’t true.”

A hum rumbles against your cheek like the earth readjusting, rearranging beneath your feet. You lift your head, loosen your grip around his waist.

“You need sleep,” he tells you, thumb swiping gently beneath your heavy eyes.

You don’t protest.

Joel takes your hand, leads you mutely upstairs and into his room. His bed’s not made. The shades aren’t even open. He lifts the sea of sheets, tosses them twice in the air and then pulls the corner back, letting you sit on the edge of the mattress.

He undresses you carefully, like your limbs might crack and burst at the slightest touch. He replaces your hoodie with a fresh tee of his own, one that still smells like the world before its end, and you lay back into bed slowly.

It’s shaped like you – the divot in the mattress. You slot back into it like you never left. The curl of your back and the fold of your knees. You’ve left little pieces of evidence all over the place – all over Joel.

He runs a delicate hand across your head, the repetitive movement lulling you off to sleep. Pushing the boat out.

“You need anythin’?” he asks.

You shake your head, arms wrapping tight underneath your pillow. “I’m good,” you whisper, and the waves pull you under.

His bedside lamp is on when you stir, the left half of the room a glowing honey color. His bare leg slotted between yours, your hands intertwined on his chest. His finger drifts back and forth against your palm, the strokes matching your breathing.

You’re still tired, eyes still rolling beneath heavy lids, but when some commentator screams at the game playing on the TV screen, you snap awake.

Joel curses under his breath, begins tearing the bed apart for the remote – but by the time he turns the volume down, your head is propped against his pillow, knuckles rubbing your eyes.

“Sorry, baby,” he sighs, kissing your forehead as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“’s okay.” You flash him a lazy smile. “What time is it?”

“Almost five thirty.”

“Damn,” you mutter. “Slept all fucking day.”

“You needed it,” he says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “You want some dinner? Or – breakfast?”

You nod. “Sounds good.”

He disappears downstairs. The echoing of pots and pans and the hum of the extraction fan follow in his wake. You groan, stretching out like a starfish across the messy bed, forgetting for just a moment why you’re here, and what’s happened, and how different everything is.

It feels the same, even after eight hours sleep. Same guilt, and shame. Same anger and resentment towards your dad. Same punch to your gut anytime you picture his face, the wrinkled frown. The trembling fist holding your bag in midair.

The blow is soothed only by the swelling of warmth across your chest, looking around the room. The safety you feel here, as though you’re cut off from the rest of the world. Your father on pause the second you left the house; Joel’s room and his bed giving you time to catch your breath and recalibrate.

You’re not thinking about when you’ll have to go back home. You’re just not.

You knot your shorts back around your waist, take one huge swig of the water Joel left for you, and open his bedroom door, your head throbbing with each movement.

There’s a figure at the end of the hall, frozen in space like a phantom.

“Morning,” she says. Her hair is tied back, oversized hoodie over her shoulders.

“Hi.”

“You sleep good?”

“Must’ve. Missed half the day.”

Sarah smiles.

“Are you gonna kill me?”

“Hm,” her head tips back and forth, “not today. Don’t have the energy. Watch your back tomorrow, though.”

For the first time in almost twenty-four hours, a genuine laugh pushes its way past your lips. The knot in your stomach loosens, even if only a little.

“You wanna come help with dinner?” she asks, nodding to the stairs.

You smile. “Please.”

The three of you settle on pasta with some tomato sauce from a jar mixed through. You sit opposite Sarah as Joel sets the plates down, sliding into the seat next to yours with a gentle squeeze on your knee under the table.

The three of you talk. About nothing in particular – college, Rita and her cross stitch, some client of Joel’s whose wife got caught having an affair – but it soothes the ache in your heart. It feels like a blanket over your shoulders, a spot by the fire, a voice in your ear promising you that things are still okay. That they can still be this way: light, alive. The earth is still moving, the stars are still pinned up in the sky. Tomorrow will always come, and the day after that.

Sarah asks about LA. You tell her you didn’t know she knew. She grins and says, “Well, now that I do – you better put an application in.”

You hum around the fork between you lips. “Maybe.”

“Come on. The two of us out there together? For six whole months? You gotta do it. Tell me you don’t wanna do it. Are you gonna do it?”

Joel casts her a glower, his stony expression pushing her back in her chair.

Your eyes shift from hers over to his. He runs a slice of garlic bread around the curve of his plate, coating it in sauce, before he notices you staring. His face breaks into a tiny smirk.

“I don’t know,” you decide, turning back to Sarah. “I still gotta think it through.”

She nods earnestly. “Yeah, you should sleep on it. And then, first thing tomorrow, we’re doing it.”

The two of you let her have the final say, falling quiet until some new conversation is shifted onto the table, and then another, and then another. When you’re done eating, Sarah takes your hand and drags you back upstairs.

Sarah Miller’s bedroom has been baby pink for as long as you can remember. Joel painted it one summer while she was at camp, eliciting help from your dad to shift all the furniture. As she grew up, she covered the walls in posters, changed the sheets, changed the curtains, strung fairy lights to distract from what she saw as a kiddish color.

But she never asked to change it. Always wanted the same blushing pink her dad had picked out when she was ten – even if secretly.

Her blinds are tilted, golden light from the slowly lowering sun filtering through onto her carpet, stained with tiny dabs of nail polish. She throws herself down onto the bed, her curls igniting brown in the summer light, and you slowly sink down beside her.

“Nice Zayn poster,” you note, pointing to the straight-browed, dark-haired figure painted in a moody grayscale on her ceiling. “Interesting placement.”

“Was so I could dream about him every night.”

“You didn’t wanna take him to California?”

“Didn’t have to,” Sarah smiles, tapping her temple, “he’s all up here, baby.”

You snort. Your eyes flutter closed; hands clasped on your stomach. She sighs contentedly by your side, listening to the chatter of birds out front.

“I miss this,” she says eventually, her voice smooth and soothing. She elbows you lightly.

“Me too,” you reply. And then, with a deep breath: “Sarah…are you okay?”

When she turns back, the sunlight catches in her eyes. They twinkle, like she’s some doe-eyed Disney character. Someone who might be able to wiggle her fingers and make the last day disappear.

“Am I okay?”

“Yeah. With…everything.”

She shrugs, mumbles an I dunno. “What can I do about it? It’s weird, but…it’s none of my business. I guess…I guess if y’all are happy, then – you know. I’m gone half the time, anyways.”

“It is your business, too, though,” you tell her. “I don’t wanna make you feel weird.”

“I think you got bigger things to worry about right now. Sounds like your dad’s pretty mad.”

You sigh, looking back up to the boyband poster. “Yeah. He’s pretty mad.”

“My dad told me what happened. Well, parts. I can kinda guess the rest. Can’t really blame him, I guess.”

You shrug. “Guess not, but then…I am twenty-three, y’know? I’m not a kid. I can make my own mind up.”

She’s still staring at you, but you don’t return her glance. Something tells you that you already know what it says. Still, she verbalizes it.

“Would you be okay if I slept with your dad?”

That is so not what I thought you were gonna fuckin’ say.

You shoot her a look. “What?”

“’m askin’. Would you be okay with it, if I –”

You lift your hand to shut her up. “That is…so totally different.”

“How is that different?” she scoffs.

“Because…because…my dad’s not hot.”

Sarah gags.

“And – and also you’re not friends with him. It’s just different, alright?”

“You were friends with my dad?”

You’re laughing with her now. You can hear how pathetic your justification sounds. “Kinda, yeah. I was close to ‘im.”

“Yeah, that much is obvious, now, babe.”

You smack her arm and she giggles.

“I think he’ll come around. Your dad.”

“I don’t. Not ever.”

“Why wouldn’t he? His best friend would become his son-in-law, I would become his granddaughter-in-law –” She gasps and props herself up on her elbow, staring you down. “Does this make you, like, my stepmom?”

You spit out a laugh, and Sarah throws her head back against her pillow, clutching her belly.

“You’re my fuckin’ mom, dude!”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” you reply, covering your face with your hands. “Aw, fuck,” you breathe, giggling.

You settle back into the bed, your heads leaning against one another as you stare up at Zayn and his audience of glow-in-the-dark stars. Sarah hums something softly to herself, her ankle rocking, her fingers tapping.

The two of you were raised together. Sisters, when neither of you knew what that word really meant. You figure she’s as close as you could find – someone who reflects all of your favorite parts of yourself and who calls out the uglier ones without hesitation. Someone who comforts you with a punch to the arm, a mocking quip about your hair or the something in your teeth. A safe little secret keeper, for all of your wildest dreams and biggest fears.

“I guess this is all why you were so down in the dumps last night, right? Your dad knew then?”

You shake your head. “Not at that point. He found out after we all left. Realized it all on his own. It’s all just…so fucking stupid…”

She sighs. “My dad – if he…if he makes you happy, then I don’t even know. As long as I don’t have to see it – we’re cool.”

One cinderblock of weight lifts from your chest, allowing a rugged breath to escape. “Wish my dad would take a leaf outta your book,” you mumble.

“He’s just mad,” Sarah says. “He’s just mad, and he’ll eventually calm down.”

“Doesn’t matter even if he does calm down,” you reply. “My dad has more of a…restrictive parenting approach.”

“Can you really parent a twenty-three-year-old?”

“He finds a way to try.”

She scoffs, saying, “I get it. My dad’s more, try it ‘n see. Your dad is, like, try it ‘n see…what your punishment is.”

You both erupt into laughter, and Sarah reaches for the TV remote.

“Exactly,” you tell her, tugging on the hem of Joel’s shirt. “Although, if your dad found out you were with my dad, I don’t think he’d be cool with it, either.”

“Yeah,” she smirks, flicking through Netflix titles, “y’all got what you deserved.”

The sound of Sarah’s bedroom door closing over stirs you. Her room is the color of rust; the stream of amber sunlight on the carpet replaced by that of the streetlights. Beneath the door, the sliver of light is shifted by the sway of a silhouette walking off down the hall.

Sarah’s snoring quietly beside you, still in her jeans. Keeping an eye on her, you roll off the bed and creep towards the door, a slow groan coming from the handle as you twist it. Joel’s at the opposite end of the hall, disappearing into his room as you shut Sarah back into her warm slumber.

“Thought you were sleepin’,” he whispers when you slip into his room. He’s already sat in bed, leant against the headboard. The room a thick darkness, a black cloud of dusk spiraling around you and cutting you off from the rest of the world.

“Heard you come in.” You wander over, pausing at the side of the bed. “Wanna stay with you.”

“C’mere,” he says, holding a hand out. You take it, pulling yourself into his lap. He slips his hands under the hem of your shorts, fingertips brushing the crests of your hipbones. “You okay?” he asks, thumbs swiping gently on the seam of your thigh.

“Never better. You?”

He sighs in response and looks off to the window, the light catching his eye. You tilt your head and bend forward, kissing below his ear. He smells like whiskey. You breathe it in, inhaling like the sharp scent might fold you under a numb blanket of inebriation, too.

Joel takes a fistful of your hair and pulls you from his neck, watching the shift in your expression before he kisses you – steady, bracing. The first time since everything went so wrong.

For a few minutes you pretend nothing has changed – you’re still sneaking around, shushing one another; someone’s in the next room, there are still secrets to be kept. You slip your shorts down your legs, kicking them over the side of the bed; Joel’s sweatpants follow soon after. His hands surrender and you push up on his chest, dragging your core against his stubborn crotch, lips never losing contact. Tongues rolling against one another, noses bumping; a tangle of breath between you until you’ve no idea which is yours and which is his.

It’s all you know how to do, after all. It’s how this started, it’s how it got out of control. The two of you taking out your needs on one another. Right now is no different. You need to feel something other than the dread in the pit of your stomach, the ache in your heart anytime you look at him and know he feels it, too.

You come up for air and suddenly the feeling dissipates; doubt sets back in and fear washes over you like ice water. Your hips cease, Joel’s hands lift from your body. He pushes the hair from your face to find his own expression mirrored in yours.

Everything has changed.

You watch his movements, the light trace of his finger on your bare skin, the pinch of fabric as he adjusts his boxers. The careful movements of his own hips, trying not to incite anything more.

“I love you,” you offer, when he doesn’t say anything. Whispered, like it’s a question, like something to dangle in front of him to make him bite.

At the very least, it unsticks his gaze from the cotton print over your chest and back up to your face – where he softens and says, “Oh, darlin’. I love you, too.”

He gives you a squeeze and pulls you by the shoulders closer, letting you feel his lips on yours again and again, until you’re out of breath. You nuzzle your head under his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of his heart at your ear.

Joel trails his hands up and down your spine. He breaks the silence first – stammers his way through a question you’re not sure how to answer.

“Was I – was I hurtin’ you? All this time?”

You lift your head, looking blankly at him. “What –?”

“Was I hurting you?”

“Hurting me?”

He nods. “Everythin’ we were doin’. Everything we’ve done. You wanted me to be doing it, right?”

He looks…scared, as though forty years have been shaved from him over the course of one day. Eyes glassy like he might burst into tears; bottom lip almost trembling with uncertainty.

You sit up and cup his face; he breathes a sigh of relief when you look him dead in the eye and say, “I wanted you to be doing all of it.”

“All of it?” he repeats.

“Yes,” you nod, “nothing you ever did ever hurt me.”

He lowers his gaze. “’cept when I left.”

“You came back.”

His thumb curves beneath the slip of fabric on your hips, toying with the elastic. There’s more in his question, you know it. He’s not convinced by a word you say.

“It’s just…all such a fuckin’ mess,” he groans, fingertips massaging his forehead.

You hesitate, unwilling to agree and unable to disagree. It is a fucking mess – that much is true. But if that’s all it is, then why does your heart pause for breath whenever you see him? Why does the mere thought of his presence, the tiniest glimpse of him – why does it all send your stomach somersaulting?

How can something supposed to be so bad, make you feel so fucking good?

“It was wrong of me,” Joel says, “to flirt with you that night I first saw you again. To put you in that position. But I did, and we ended up here. And I’m glad we did, baby, you know I am, but…it’s on me. This thing with you ‘n your dad.”

“You don’t think he should back off a little? Don’t think he’s oversteppin’ a mark, even a tiny bit?”

He shakes his head. “I’d do the damn same, ‘n you know it. I shoulda known better. Shouldn’ta let it happen. You mean more to me than the world, and I – I caused all this hurt for you.”

Sure, it’s real noble of him to take all of the blame, but it wasn’t just him. You had a part in it, too: your batting eyelashes, your hands where they shouldn’t have been. Your jaw tightens when he says it, holding back from telling him you want as much responsibility in this as he’s taking, even if he won’t allow it.

But an argument with Joel, right off the back of one with your father, isn’t really something you need. It wouldn’t help anything. So, you swallow your words and whisper new ones.

“You shouldn’t have flirted with me?”

His eyebrows flick, concern knotting them together. He sits up, scooping you in his arms. “I meant I should’ve never let it get to this point.”

“’n what about the first time you touched me?”

The memory plays between you: the weight of him on your body, the sound of the stereo system firing up downstairs. One hand between your legs and the other pinching your heart.

The light in your eyes starts to bleed through your body into Joel’s, distorting the projected image of that scene in your bedroom. It ignites somewhere low, travelling upwards until his stare locks with yours: an understanding weaving between you both.

You lean back from him, drinking in the sight. “Nothin’ but trouble, right? That’s what you said, that first night. You knew damn well where it might go. ‘n you still wanted it, just as bad.”

“Darlin’, I’m not sayin’ I didn’t, I –”

“No, no, I get it. I get it.”

You push his shoulders to the mattress. Fire in your belly, some kind of twisted energy pumping through your veins, you grind down on him again.

That thing, about this being all you know how to do? About taking your needs out on each other?

Right now, you need distraction. You need something to tire you out, to drain you of energy, to stop your thoughts for five minutes. You need someone to hold you, and love you, and make you feel good. Joel’s the perfect distraction.

He’s still hard. You’re still wet. It’s easy.

You drag your hips lazily over his, cotton riding against lace. He’s growing harder, bigger; he’s pushing up into you. You respond by pushing down, and Joel groans.

“Hey,” he takes hold of your thighs, “baby, we don’t have to –”

“Then, let’s stop.”

He says nothing.

You reach down past the band of his boxers and take him in your hand. He bites back a moan, his head falling into the pillow. You’re stroking him: long, hard strokes, fist tightening around him, fingers dipping between your folds to apply your slick to his length.

“Say the word, Joel. We’ll stop,” you pant, unsure if even you buy the words you’re saying. “You said it: none of this should’ve ever happened. You should’ve never laid a finger on me.”

His arms lift, throbbing biceps curving around his pillow and crumpling it against his skull. He doesn’t tell you to stop, because he doesn’t fucking want you to. He needs this – needs you as much as you need him, needs you more than he needs the air in his lungs.

And you’re right: it is different now. Now, it’s out in the open. The whole world could know, for all the two of you care. And maybe that’s the kick to it, now. No more hiding. No more fleeing from shadow to shadow.

You tug his underwear down and lower yourself, dragging your folds up and down the width of him while sticky precome gathers at his tip, dappling the trail of hair from his navel. And when you can’t do it anymore, when the mere sight of him drenched in your arousal threatens to send you over the edge, you line him up to your entrance and sink down, slow.

He moans into the pillow, fabric muffling your favorite sound in the world. And he doesn’t stop, his chest doesn’t stop rumbling until you reach his hilt, where he gasps.

“Darlin’,” he whimpers, hands coming back down to hold you in place.

You bat them away. “Uh-uh,” you tut, pinning his wrists above his head. “Not a – fuckin’ – finger.”

Joel grits his teeth, eyes locking onto yours, directly above him as you slide up off his cock, hips circling as you do, and then back down. Your free hand curves around his ribcage, the solid flesh of his torso stabilizing you.

“Poor baby,” you coo, pouting your lip. “Can’t even touch me. Can’t put a hand on your girl when you need to most.”

“Fuckin’ – whore,” he grunts, and your hips grind to a halt. You release his wrists.

“That what you think of me?” you ask, sitting upright on his lap. Joel’s still buried deep inside you.

“No,” he’s breathing, lips curling, “no, baby. Keep goin’.”

“I’m not the one goin’ back on my word here.”

He flashes a thick, filthy smile. “I know, I know. Go on. Make me proud.”

You lean forward again and he sighs, the feel of your wet cunt wrapping like satin around him.

“You think he’d trust you, anyway, after everythin’?” you mewl. “Think he thinks I’m in a different room right now? Tucked up in bed, safe ‘n sound? Nah, baby, he knows. He knows what you’re doin’ right now. Keep your hands off me? You can’t keep your cock outta me.”

Joel moans in agreement, hands gripping into the sheets to ground himself, hips bucking up against yours. You place your hands either side of him on the mattress and start to bounce, skin slapping, bed shaking.

“You like that, huh?” you moan, feeling the sharp kiss of his head at your cervix. Nudging, nudging, nudging. Blunt pain, blissful pleasure. “Like me riding it. Takin’ what I – oh, fuck – what I need.”

He lets out a guttural moan, writhing around underneath you. It’s like he’s forgotten where he is, forgotten you guys aren’t alone in the house; drunk on the sight, smell, sound, and feel of you on him, not even trying to stifle his sounds anymore.

You close your eyes and hope Sarah doesn’t wake anytime soon.

You’re keeping the façade up for Joel, but on the inside, you feel the exact same. His words echo in your ears, shouldn’ta let it happen, and how quickly that melted into make me proud. Your head starts to swim, your eyes heavy, your body trembling.

The thatch of hair at the bottom of his cock brushes against your clit, a gasp drawing between your teeth. Pain begins to rip upwards on the inside of your thighs, forcing you forward.

“Joel,” you pant, leaning over him. “Fuck.”

“Gotta let me touch you, baby,” he whispers, hands lifting beneath the fabric of your shirt. His fingers ghost across the curve of your shoulders. “You need it, don’t you?”

You whimper in response and Joel slips past the moment of weakness, taking a strong grip of both shoulders and pulling himself upright on the mattress. The tee slips from your body in one breath, and his hands follow the incline of your neck to your jaw, holding you steady as he fucks up into you.

“You want me to fill you up?” he asks, leaning back with a palm flat on the bed behind to watch himself disappear between your legs.

You’re nodding desperately. “Mhm.”

“Gotta ask nicely, remember? Be a good girl for me?”

“Dick,” you hiss, draping your arms over his shoulders.

He pouts. Sweat gleams on his upper lip. His voice cracks, weakens like stone beginning to crumble. “’s not v-very n-ice, baby.”

“Comeinme,” you beg, your fingers swirling around the dark hair at the bottom of his skull. “Please, come in me.”

“Atta-girl,” he groans, and his hands instantly lock on your hips. You don’t stop him this time, letting him push you down as hard as he can onto his cock, coming as deep inside you as he can.

And then – that familiar feeling of being his. Filled with him, your eyes and your nose and your mouth and your cunt spilling with the sight, smell, taste and feel of him. He coats your walls, throbs deep inside you as he claims every tiny corner of your body.

He growls as his cock twitches, and you watch his expression go from determined, to blissful, to fucking exhausted when he stills and his head rolls forward into your chest. His breath hot and staggered between your breasts; light kisses peppered onto damp skin.

You watch him through a post-sex haze, the air between you thick and blurry, as he presses his lips into your chest. He sucks along the cushion of your breast until he reaches the nipple, lips cupping around it, tongue flicking with all the effort he has left in him.

When he lifts his head again, one final kiss to your sensitive flesh, you balance his chin under your thumbs.

“You come?” he asks, the words propelled by a heavy exhale.

You shake your head slowly. “I’m tired, anyway.”

“Alright,” Joel groans, flipping you over. He pushes your thighs apart, his spend leaking from your slit and running southwards.

“Joel,” you giggle, “c’mon, I’m tired. You don’t have to –”

He’s already pushing himself lower, whipping the dark cotton tee from his shoulders and brushing his naked chest over your stomach. You lower your arms to hook under his.

“Hey. Come here a sec.”

Joel blinks up at you. “What’s up?”

“Just – come here.”

He kneels back up to you, hovering over you with his hands under your shoulders. His limp cock lies against the inside of your thigh as he lowers his weight onto your hips. You tilt your head, mapping his face.

Your knuckle runs across his cheek, the jagged bristle of his beard on your warm skin. Like running your hand under water, unable to tell whether it’s scalding hot or freezing cold – there is no saying whether you’re so used to him now that the feel of him is unaffecting, or entirely all-consuming. There’s no middle ground. Not anymore.

“I know –” You sigh, your voice swollen with a soft cry. There’s no stopping the tears anymore. They just come. “I know you think you should’ve known better. But I am so fucking glad that you didn’t.”

It’s done nothing but pour all day. You woke up this morning to the rain battering against Joel’s window, your body hooked against his by his arm.

Day four. Still no call, no text, no nothing from your dad. You haven’t exactly returned the favor – the closest you dared was having Sarah drive you to your house while he was at work so you could dip into the hallway, grab your car keys, and drive straight back to Joel’s. You pulled up in his driveway alongside each other and she rolled her window down, checking your expression before snorting.

It’s like a damn Mission: Impossible film, she jested.

The pain feels blunter, more distant than it did on Saturday. Like your father has bowed his head, faded some into the dark background of upstage. You realize, a few days in – the movie nights and the meals homecooked by three chefs; the way Joel’s scent starts to become yours, his T-shirts hanging loose over your shoulders and his boxers snug against your hips – that you forget to check on the shadow of your dad. Forget the spot he once stood in, the thunderous cloud cast over his head. The same one that so regularly used to pour rain over you.

Sarah went out with her friends a few hours ago. She called to say she’d miss dinner, so you and Joel ordered Chinese. You’re sat with your legs in his lap picking away at some noodles, scrolling mindlessly on your phone while he catches up on some baseball highlights show.

“Fuckin’ – idiots,” he mumbles, fork angrily picking at rice.

Your eyes don’t lift from the Instagram caption you’re reading. “Fuckin’ idiots,” you flatly agree.

Joel’s head turns. “Alright, Miss Big Rangers Fan. I remember a time you pretended to be into ‘em to get my attention.” He attempts to grab your phone, and you swipe it from his grasp.

“Shut up,” you giggle, grabbing hold of your takeout box. “Joel – be careful!”

He snorts, settling back into the couch, changing the TV channel. You give his thigh a little kick, tugging your blanket up. As the TV switches from one showing to the next, your phone buzzes.

You glance down, chopsticks halfway to your mouth, and freeze.

Dear Candidate…

“Joel.”

“Hm?” he asks, eyes glued to the flickering screen.

“Joel.”

“Yes, darlin’?”

You unstick your stare from the phone, looking up to meet his perplexed expression. “They got back to me.”

He squints for a second before the remote is dropped to the cushion. “And?”

“I don’t know, I just saw the first line.”

“Open it, baby. C’mon. Whatever it is, you gotta know.”

“You know what,” you shrug, “I’m good. I don’t need to know. It’s all good.”

“Hey.” Joel snaps his fingers scooping your gaze from the floral, bohemian name on the header of the email and up to his own. “Open it, or I’m kickin’ you out.”

You mock gasp. “You’d put me out on the streets?”

“Worse. Put you back to your dad’s. Now open the email.”

Your thumb trembles as it hovers over the screen, one tap away from the biggest change in your life since you left for New York. Like it’s five years ago, and you’re sat in front of your laptop, psyching yourself up to open the response to your college application.

“Okay,” you breathe, slamming your thumb down. Joel leans in, staring at the screen from upside down.

It swipes across and your eyes flit down, focusing hard on the sentence beneath the opening line. You blink rapidly, waiting for the wash of tears to clear and dissolve it to Unfortunately, or After careful consideration, or We appreciate your interest.

But it never does.

Invite to interview stares back up at you, waiting for your face to break. Expectant, a little nervous. Jittering inside your shaking fist. Joel breaks first, when he spots it.

He almost throws his food onto the coffee table, taking your container from your hands and bundling you up in his. He pulls you into his body, presses heavy kisses to the crook of your neck as you laugh, your entire body quaking with joy and terror and relief and anxiety.

“What’d I tell you?” he says, kissing you roughly. “I knew it, babygirl. I knew you would – Fuck, I am so fucking proud of you.”

“It’s just –” sniff, “– it’s just an interview, remember. I might not get it, in the end.”

Joel shakes his head. “I don’t care. You’re a damn sight closer to gettin’ it than you were three days ago.”

You sit for probably twenty minutes, laughing and then weeping and then laughing again – until the food is cold, there’s a new episode of South Park rolling on TV, and Joel’s T-shirt is soaked with your tears.

“I gotta call Sarah,” you whisper, finger sifting through his hair. Your head buried in his neck, your knees either side of his hips.

“She’s going to lose her fuckin’ mind,” he mumbles into your shoulder, laughing to himself. “She’ll sit off-camera in the corner of the room, so they can’t see her, ‘n hold up cue cards.”

You giggle, letting it dissipate into something weaker, something unconvinced. In a small voice, you say, “We just got one step closer to being four states apart.”

He looks up at you, curving a hand around your jaw, and pulls your lips against his. It’s slow, tender – his every thought and feeling translated into physical movement, transformed into a spin of butterflies in your chest.

When you pull away from him, smiling dumbly, he clips your cheek. “That scare you?”

You hesitate, afraid to tell him the truth. But it’s Joel. He knows every thought that passes through your head. You nod, eyes filling with a salty sting.

“Why?” he asks.

You glance out to the street. “’cause I love you. I don’t wanna leave you.”

Joel nods. Considers it. Then says, “You know why it doesn’t scare me?”

You lift your eyebrows in response. Why?

“Because I love you. And we are gonna be just fine.”

And you believe him.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #fic: cowboy like me

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woso-dreamzzz · 8 months ago

Text

Head

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You get a concussion

It was a rare day off for both Magda and Pernille, one they spend watching movies without a certain thirteen year old studying at the kitchen table.

It's during a small gap in choosing the next movie when Pernille gets the call.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Miss Harder. We're just calling in regards to y/n?"

Pernille sits up. "Why? Is something wrong?"

Her first thought is that you've had an anxiety attack. You haven't had one in a while. You've been happy with your school work and you've been happy with your training. But Pernille can't think of any other reason why the staff were calling her.

"I'm afraid that she caught a ball in the face a little while ago and collided with her posts," The staff member explains," We've had her checked out by the medics and it's a low-grade concussion but we're just wanting you to come and pick her up."

"Yeah, yeah, of course. We'll be right there."

Magda looks confused as Pernille drops the call, not really getting an answer until they're already in the car.

You're sitting by the receptionist when they get there, holding a cold compress to your head.

"That's quite the egg you've got there," Magda teases as she looks over the swelling," Does it hurt?"

You huff. "A little bit. Is it true I can't come back to training for ten days?"

"You can't come back until you're fully healed," Magda says," Ten days is the average. Could be up to fourteen."

You huff again, kicking your training bag in annoyance. "It's not that bad!"

"It's bad if you start getting into the habit of playing while injured," Magda replies with a pointed look," Come on, up. Let's get you home."

You stubbornly don't talk in the car, arms crossed over your chest until Pernille snaps at you for not using the icepack.

She fusses with you when you get home as you're shepherded onto the sofa and buried under blankets.

You groan when she flashes a penlight in your eyes.

"Why do you even have one of those?" You complain, trying to push her hand away.

"Who cares why?" Pernille says," Stop moving."

"They already did it at practice," You say, still trying to avoid the light," I'm fine. It's just a headache."

"Did they give you painkillers?"

"Momma," You say," I'm fine."

She gives you a look. "Magda, grab some painkillers please."

Magda rolls her eyes. "If she says she's fine then she's fine."

"That would be the case if she wasn't your daughter," Pernille argues back," You do this too, so painkillers, please, Magda."

You're practically forced to swallow down some pills before Momma and Morsa settle in with you. You lay horizontally on the sofa with your feet in Morsa's lap and your head in Momma's.

The tv is switched off due to your concussion but you can hear Morsa watching something on her phone.

You try to sit up but Momma's gentle hand in your hair forces it to remain in her lap.

"Momma," You complain," I just want to-"

"Go on your Morsa's phone, yes, I know but you know concussion protocol. No technology."

"It's unfair," You say," She's teasing me!"

"Hey!" Morsa laughs," It's not my fault you got hit in the head!"

You stick your tongue out at her and the argument goes back and forth for a while before Momma manoeuvres you to your feet.

"I don't want to nap!" You say as she pulls you up the stairs.

Pernille doesn't listen to you and, for some reason, you allow yourself to be tucked into bed. Your head pounds even though you've taken a painkiller and you reach out to grab her wrist when she moves to go.

"Momma," You say, hating how your voice suddenly sounds all weak and pathetic," Please don't go."

"Of course not, princesse," She assures you," I'm just going to turn off your light. You're silly for thinking I'm leaving you alone while you're injured."

"You're silly for thinking either of us are leaving." Morsa appears in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame as you give her a wry smile.

"Are you here to go on your phone while I can't?"

Morsa laughs. "Who do you think I am, princesse? I can't just want to take a nap with you?"

"Going by your track record? No."

She slips into bed with you, wiggling around under the covers for a moment. "Can I have some pillow?"

You turn on your side, resting your head on Momma's chest with a smug smile. "No."

"Come on! You're not even using it!"

"Why don't you use your phone as a pillow?" You taunt and Morsa groans.

"Are you really holding that against me? I'm not the one with the concussion!"

"Magda," Momma says," Stop teasing her."

"Yeah, Morsa, stop teasing me!"

"And you," Momma says," We're meant to be napping. You're hurt."

You huff. "Do I have to?"

"Yes. So close your eyes and go to sleep. Maybe if you nap, you'll heal up quicker."

You don't need much more convincing than that.

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #the big adventures universe

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 9 days ago

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a/n: fic for #13 on the 13th! i love mat and squeaks so much and the fact that you guys love them so much too just makes my heart expand like the grinch’s 🤍 they’re my favorites to write for and i hope you guys enjoy this one! so much more mat and squeaks to come 🥰

word count: 6.4k

tw: mentions of past miscarriages, mentions of fertility issues, anxiety, mentions of vomiting, pregnancy and all that goes along with it

summary: you and mat have an early christmas gift for talia (and inadvertently, the rest of the family too)

It’s way too early in the morning, cold and dark outside when Mat finds you in the bathroom, head in the toilet while you vomit. He gathers back your hair in a fist and brushes the stray wisps off your forehead. Otherwise, he’s quiet, just providing support for you.

You finish with one last dry heave and he holds your hand while you get shakily to your feet, leaning your free hand on the countertop. He keeps a hand solid on your lower back while fishing out a miniature bag of oyster crackers from a drawer in the vanity and sliding the Listerine bottle closer to you.

One swish of mouthwash and a few oyster crackers later, you’re feeling better. Not even close to perfect or normal, but better.

Mat opens his arms for you to step in and lean your cheek against his shoulder. His arms wrap around your upper back and yours loop to rest at his lower back. He’s warm and smells like the bergamont and lime Aesop soap bar in your shower and Tide laundry detergent, a little like animal crackers too, which is probably leftover from Talia waking up after he got home from Toronto the night before and making him come lay in her bed with her until she fell back asleep. Of course, Mat had fallen asleep in the too-small bed, the both of them snoring quietly when you left your bed to go find him.

“Lucky number thirteen,” he mumbles against the top of your head. His breath ruffles your hair and you snuggle closer to his chest. The worn fabric of his undershirt is soft against your cheek.

“And three days,” you reply, stomach flipping slightly. Whether it’s nausea or anxiety, you’re not sure. Likely a healthy combination of both.

“And three days,” Mat agrees. His hands rub circles over your back and you’re soothed enough that you could go back to sleep. Too bad you have a million things to do today, things to check off your list with only three days to go before Christmas.

“Maybe we should wait,” you say after a beat of comfortable silence. “Maybe we should wait for fourteen or fifteen weeks. It’s longer.”

It’s safer, you think but don’t say.

Thirteen weeks is longer than any of your past pregnancies too, other than Talia’s. But it still feels so early and so fragile. You’re trying so hard to be excited, and you are, but that excitement is tamped down by fear and anxiety.

Mat kisses the crown of your head. “Doctor said everything looked really good last week. And you’ve still got morning sickness, which you —“ He cuts himself off, but you know what he was going to say.

‘Which you didn’t with the last few’ - your symptoms had disappeared so early and you thought it was a blessing, that you weren’t vomiting every morning, that you weren’t as tired as you’d been with Talia. Turned out to be nightmare after nightmare.

But you nod against his chest, feeling grateful for the morning sickness that’s shown no sign of stopping, as long as it means a happy, healthy baby in just over six months. June can’t come soon enough.

“We can wait to tell T,” Mat continues, picking up as if he hadn’t stopped mid-sentence. “If you want. But Doctor Harmon said we were okay to start telling people and I think she’ll really like that Christmas present.”

At a delightfully hilarious five and a half, Talia’s been asking about a sibling pretty consistently for two or so years now. Especially after hanging around the team and seeing all the siblings in action. You know she’ll be thrilled for a baby brother or sister and that’s what worries you a little. If it goes badly, if it ends like the others, it’s not just yours and Mat’s heartbreak. It’s Talia’s too.

And you can handle your heartbreak, but you never want Talia to experience that.

“I can hear you thinking,” Mat chuckles, squeezing you closer to his chest. “I know you’re worried, I am too. But how can we let that perfectly wrapped present go to waste?”

His joke lands and you giggle, knowing the box hidden under your bed with Talia’s gift is wrapped with messy corners and too much tape, a Mat Barzal specialty. He’d insisted on wrapping the gift, “contributing to the process” since you were keeping the real present all bubble wrapped and safe in your womb.

“Okay, yes, yeah,” you repeat a few times, convincing yourself. “Let’s tell T and just…just enjoy the ride.”

Just enjoying the ride is something you’d worked really hard on in therapy the last few years, some days easier than others - the pile of ratty Moleskine journals hidden away in your closet full of your every thought from the past five years, good and bad. The newest one, coincidentally started on the day you’d gotten a positive pregnancy test, is already a quarter full of your up and down thoughts and scribbles.

“That’s my girl,” Mat’s hands cup your cheeks, tilting your face up so he can kiss you, even as you protest, reminding him of your vomit breath. He laughs as he kisses you anyway, mumbling, “minty,” against your mouth.

You shake your head at him, smiling. He squeezes your cheek and guides you back into the bedroom, flipping the light switch off. You settle on the bed, dragging a pillow into your lap and watch Mat start to get dressed even though it’s so early.

“I’ve got practice at 9:30,” he says, voice muffled as he pulls his undershirt over his head. You unashamedly watch his stomach muscles work, ogling his chest even though your libido is temporarily dead and buried. “We can wake T up and tell her before I go or we can do it when I get back.”

“When are you getting back?” You wrap a blanket around your shoulders, smothering a yawn in the fabric. A wave of exhaustion hits and you blink slowly. It’s too early for you to be awake on a normal day, but the extra pregnancy hormones have you both exhausted and unable to sleep. There’s no chance you’ll go back to bed, not when you have to finish getting the house ready for your Christmas guests.

Mat shrugs. “Depends. But probably around eleven, eleven thirty?”

He rummages through his drawers for a pair of sweats and you remind him that he has to go and pick up both sets of parents and Liana from the airport in the afternoon. “So maybe we should tell her now?” You chew at your thumbnail.

Fully dressed in casual athleisure for his drive to the practice rink, Mat nods and reaches over to pull your thumb away from your mouth. You scowl at him.

“I’ll go wake her up,” he laughs. “Even though she definitely could use some more sleep.”

You wave him off. “She’ll nap when you’re gone,” you reply. “Unless, of course, she wants to help me get the house ready.”

Mat raises an eyebrow at you, laughs, and heads down to Talia’s room. You grin at his retreating back and get up to rinse your mouth with Listerine again and give your teeth a good brush. You always feel gross after vomiting. Once you feel fresher and more awake, you change out of your sweaty pajamas and into a Christmas-appropriate dark green waffle knit lounge set. You feel much more human with real clothes on and you pat your stomach, a faint outward curve already forming between your hipbones.

This pregnancy is showing quicker than all the others, physical proof that you’re holding onto for your sanity.

“Mommy,” Talia’s whine precedes her and you smile automatically when you see Mat come back into your room with Talia curled up in his arms. Her face is buried in his neck and her dark curls are wild with bedhead. One leg of her cartoon Grinch patterned pajama bottoms is pushed halfway up her skinny calf and her arms are locked around Mat’s neck, her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, bunching it between his shoulders.

“Hi, baby,” you reply quietly, reaching out your arms for her. Mat transfers her to your lap and she curls up like a little cat, her cheek squished against your breast. “Daddy woke you up, huh?”

You smooth back her hair, the soft scent of her watermelon L’Oreal Kids shampoo wafting up to your nose. The French braid you’d tied her hair into last night is a wreck and you know she’ll complain when you have to brush out the knots later. But right now she’s so soft and sweet with sleep, seeming much younger than her five and a half years. You trace the tip of your finger over the slope of her nose and she wrinkles it at your touch, face relaxing again almost instantly.

“He said I had a s’prise,” she mumbles, blinking up at you. “But Christmas isn’t today.”

“Nope,” you agree and the mattress dips when Mat sits down next to you. “Christmas is in three days, but Daddy and I do have a gift for you early.”

That perks her right up, predictably. Talia blinks like a little meerkat, scrambling to sit up on your lap. She looks over at Mat, who’s grinning widely, and then back up at you.

“A gift before Christmas?” She asks, her ‘s’ whistling a little from the space left behind from the front baby tooth she’d lost a few days ago. “How come?”

Mat pulls the box out from under the bed and places it on Talia’s lap. “Because it’s a special gift and we wanted to give it to you early, since you’ve been such an awesome kid all year,” Mat says and you can hear the slight tremble in his voice. It reminds you that all of your fertility issues and miscarriages weren’t just hard on you, they were hard on Mat and he was a rock throughout everything, no matter what you threw at him emotionally. You reach out and squeeze his knee, giving him a small smile. He returns it with a wink.

Talia pokes her fingers into the corner of the wrapping paper, her sparkly nail polish catching in the light, and gives Mat an impish little smile. “Daddy wrapped this,” she says. “The corners are all wrinkly.”

You laugh at the roast and Mat’s jaw drops in fake outrage.

“They are not!” He yelps, reaching out to tickle Talia’s sides. She shrieks and wiggles, laughter echoing around the room.

“No! No, Daddy! Stop tickling!” She shrieks between gasping laughter and Mat relents, laughing too as he leans back into his spot. Talia’s hair is even messier, her cheeks flushed from laughter, and you can’t wait to have another one running around the house. A lump of emotion clogs your throat.

“I don’t like tickling,” she grumbles adorably and Mat apologies. Talia forgives him and pulls at the paper on her gift again. “Can I open now?”

You and Mat both nod and Talia wastes no time in ripping into the paper. Scraps go flying and Mat gathers them up, crumpling the paper in a ball that he tosses back and forth between his hands. Talia stops briefly when she sees the gift box and then tosses the lid off the side of the bed. You roll your eyes slightly at her dramatics, but then she’s pulling the sweater out of its tissue paper and laying it over your legs.

“What’s it say?” She cocks her head. Immediately, she recognizes the first word, “big,” and then starts sounding out the next, “si-sis-sister?”

You’re holding your breath while she sounds it out, your heart pounding when she wrinkles her nose and repeats, “big sister?”

Talia looks at you and then Mat, frowning while the wheels turn in her head. It takes a second and she repeats, “big sister? Me?” pointing at herself. Her eyebrows lift on her forehead.

Mat nods and you grin at her, “you’re going to be a big sister, love bug.”

It’s a surprise when Talia bursts into loud, hiccuping sobs and you’re caught unprepared. Tears stream down her face and she chokes for air, holding the sweater in a death grip, turning her knuckles white. Mat looks at you, wide-eyed and terrified of Talia’s reaction, until she wails, “I always wanted a baby!”

“Oh,” you cuddle her close, stroking her hair and letting her cry and snot all over your shirt. “Oh, my baby, I know. You’re overwhelmed. It’s okay, shhh, it’s okay.”

“I get a baby?” She asks and you nod even though she can’t see you. Tears well up in your eyes.

Mat’s hand rubs circles on her back and he’s whispering quietly to her, inaudible over the blood rushing in your ears.

“You’re going to have a sibling, love bug,” you say into her hair, choking on your own overwhelming emotion. “It’s really big news, right?”

Talia nods against you and you hear her blow her nose against your shirt. It’s gross, but you don’t mind.

She keeps wailing, crying happy tears and mumbling about how she always wanted a baby sibling like all of her friends. It cracks your heart and mends it all at once, knowing how long she’s waited and how happy she is to be finally getting a built-in best friend.

Tears drip down your cheeks and you feel Mat’s hand on your back, pulling you close. You and Talia are folded into Mat’s embrace, his palms cupping each of your heads to keep you close. Her cries settle down to a few sniffles and eventually she pulls back from your chest to look up at you.

Her big hazel eyes, Mat’s eyes, are red rimmed and still watery. You push damp strands of hair off her cheeks and kiss her forehead.

“I’m so happy, Mommy,” she says simply, lunging to throw her arms around your neck and squeeze you in a hug.

“I’m so happy too, TB,” you reply, the easiest and most honest words you’ve ever said.

Mat, never one to be left out, laughs and chimes in, “I bet you’re not as happy as me.” He kisses the top of Talia’s head, ruffling her hair. You can see a suspiciously wet shine to his eyes.

Talia leans from your lap to Mat’s, hugging his neck to tight it almost looks painful. “Nuh-uh,” she shakes her head. “I’m the happiest. I’m the happiest cause it’s my baby.”

“Hey,” you tickle her sides lightly, “it’s mine and Daddy’s baby too.”

She shrugs and grabs for her sweater again, yanking it on over her head. She pushes her hair out of her eyes with the backs of her hands, looking for all the world like an electrocuted mad scientist. “I’m gonna wear this forever and tell everyone I’m a big sister like Reese and Winnie,” she announces proudly, a huge missing-toothed smile splitting her face.

Her smile melts your heart and she starts rolling around on the bed, chanting “big sister, big sister,” to make you and Mat laugh.

You lean against Mat’s chest, his hands coming to rest on your stomach. He whispers in your ear, “I’m so glad we told her.”

“Me too,” you murmur back. Talia rolls back over to you and smooshes her face up against your stomach and Mat’s hands.

“My baby’s in there?” She asks and without waiting for an answer, kisses your stomach and says, “hi baby, I’m Talia. I’m your big sister and I love you.”

And that’s all it takes for your waterworks to start, tears flowing free and fast, to the point where Talia looks a little spooked and Mat has to shepard her downstairs for breakfast while you follow along a few minutes later, still sniffling and wiping at your eyes.

Mat serves you up a plate of pancakes, plain and no syrup to be easier on your stomach, and you kiss his cheek in return. He looks incredulous, “I make celebration pancakes and I only get a kiss on the cheek? Wow, Squeaks, wow.”

You roll your eyes at him and plant a dramatic, loud kiss on his lips, making Talia giggle over her own pancakes. There’s already a smudge of chocolate on her Big Sister sweater’s collar and you can’t help but smile.

Mat’s off to practice a little bit later and then it’s just you and Talia since school is already closed for the two-week break. She’s surprisingly clingy while you get the guest rooms ready for everyone, following at your heels with a handful of Calico Critters clutched in each palm.

She asks a million questions about the baby - when is it coming? Is it a boy or a girl? Is it gonna live in her room? Can we name it Sparky? (Late June, it’s going to be a surprise just like she was, it will live first in yours and Mat’s room and then will get its own room, and no. Definitely not.)

You flip through the pile of Christmas cards that have gone unopened for a few days, enjoying looking through the family pictures sent by all the wives and girlfriends you’ve made friends with throughout the years. A particularly cute family photo of Matthew Tkachuk, his wife, and their son makes you smile. Talia climbs up on a stool to look at the cards with you, pointing out each player that she knows and recognizes.

(“Mommy, did we send a card of me?” “Yes, baby, remember when you took a picture with us and Santa at Daddy’s work? We sent that one out.” “Oh, we should’ve sent the picture of me and Minnie at Disney ‘cause I looked real cute in that, Nana said so.”)

At some point, Talia dumps the Calico Critters back in their designated box and picks up her Bitty Baby, carrying it around and hugging it tightly. The sight makes you wobbly, praying silently that this is the baby that stays.

Mat comes home from practice, wet hair shoved under his Stadium Series beanie, and barely drops his keys before he’s swooping Talia up into his arms and blowing raspberries on her cheeks. He’s got a giddy energy that isn’t just from a good practice.

“Big sister, ready to head to the airport in a little bit?” He asks, gamely accepting the minor blow to the head from a plastic Bitty Baby leg.

“Yes!” Talia shouts. “Let’s go now!”

You chime in, “you’d be so early! There’s still about two hours until the planes land. That’s four episodes of Bluey,” you add, anticipating Talia’s next question.

She frowns, but shrugs and tells Mat, “Mommy said we can’t name my baby Sparky. I like Sparky.”

Mat grins at you and winks. To Talia, he says, “how about we work on it? There’s a long time to come up with a good name.”

You know Talia’s likely not going to give up on Sparky, but over the next hour she offers up Princess Jasmine, Tweety Bird, and Bingo as alternatives. Every time she refers to it as “my baby” though, you feel like you could cry again. Mat was right, telling her was a really good idea.

Until it comes time for them to leave for the airport and you have to tell her, gently but firmly, not to spill the beans. You zip up her jacket, hiding the words on the sweater she still refuses to take off. She’d even refused the option to put another sweater over it. This kid.

“But I wanna tell ‘em,” she whines, batting at the hat you try to pull over her head.

“We will tell everyone,” you assure her, winning the battle. The knit cap is snug over her ears, flattening her dark hair against her forehead. She looks adorably grumpy, a miniature replica of Mat. “But Mommy and Daddy want to surprise them with a Christmas present, okay? It’s our secret. Can you promise?”

Talia hums and bounces from foot to foot, considering. You cross your fingers that she gets it.

“I guess,” she relents, grabbing up a Princess Jasmine doll in one hand and an Aladdin doll in the other. Bitty Baby has been relegated to her crib for a nap that’s lasted more than an hour and you’re nearly jealous of a baby doll.

Mat appears in the front hall with his car keys jangling and a grin on his face. “Ready to go, TB?”

She bounces around, nodding and chanting “yes yes yes” in response to Mat’s question.

You giggle and pat her on the butt. “Save that energy for the game tomorrow,” you tease, getting to your feet and holding the door open. It’s starting to flurry a bit, the light flakes swirling in the air prettily. Mat kisses you quickly on his way out, nudging Talia between the shoulder blades to get her moving.

“Bye, Mommy!” She shouts, waving over her shoulder. “Bye, Baby Sparky!”

You wave at them, closing the door just after watching Mat swing Talia around before opening the car door for her to climb inside.

By some Christmas miracle, all three incoming flights - your parents from North Carolina, Mat’s parents from Vancouver, and Liana from London - were scheduled to land within ten minutes of each other, so Mat only had to make one trip to LaGuardia.

He glides the Defender easily into an open spot at the Arrivals curb, praying that the trip from baggage claim to the car doesn’t take everyone that long.

“Remember,” he turns around in his seat, lowering the volume on the Disney Princess medley soundtrack Talia had insisted on, “Baby Sparky is a secret. So don’t tell everyone okay?”

“Okay, but what if I just told LeeLee?” She says, not looking at Mat, but playing with her dolls. “And then you and Mommy can tell everyone else.”

“No,” Mat laughs, despite himself. “You can’t tell LeeLee. Don’t say anything, okay, Tals?”

Talia shrugs and agrees. “Okay, I won’t say anythin’ about Baby Sparky.”

Mat reaches his hand out for a high five and Talia slaps his palm enthusiastically. She makes Mat turn the music back up while they wait and sings happily along to ‘Part of Your World’ until Mat’s phone vibrates with a text and he grins.

“Take a look out the window, T,” he says, pointing towards the airport. “We’ve got some visitors.”

Talia shrieks happily, kicking her legs and waving wildly at her grandparents and aunt as the five of them come into sight. Liana waves wildly back, making a silly face for good measure.

Mat gets out of the car to help with the luggage, accepting a hug and kiss from both moms. Liana punches his arm and then gives him a one-armed hug before helping him with the luggage at the trunk. They both wave off the parents for their help and gesture for them to get in the car.

“Hi Nana and hi Pop and hi Grandma and hi Grandpa,” Talia chirps excitedly as they all get in the car, in one breath in the way only little kids can manage. She tilts her cheek up to get kisses from her grandmothers as they climb into the third row of the car.

“Hi Talia,” Nadia grins, tweaking her cheek.

“Hi, sweetie,” your mom replies, cupping Talia’s chin between her thumb and index finger. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Hey, TB,” Liana calls from the back of the car, hoisting her suitcase into the trunk. “No hellos for your favorite aunt?”

Talia wiggles around in her booster seat to wave at Liana. “LeeLee! Did you know I’m gonna be a big sister?” She shouts the question and Mat freezes.

“Fuck,” he mutters quietly, remaining extremely still as all five family members turn to look at him. He gives his mother an awkward grin. All three women are aware of the issues you’ve had in the past, he knows. Liana especially since you’d confided everything in her during her visits and on multiple phone calls. When you couldn’t or wouldn’t talk to Mat, he was just grateful that you had Liana at least to confide in.

“Mat?” Nadia prods him for a response.

“Yeah!” Talia continues, oblivious. “Mommy said we can’t name the baby Sparky, but I wanna call it Sparky anyway.”

“Oh my god!” Liana yelps, reaching out to shake Mat’s arm. “Seriously?” She does a little dance in place.

Mat nods, laughing a little. “Yeah, seriously. We told T this morning, but,” he shoots the kindergartener a playful glare, “she wasn’t supposed to tell anyone yet.”

Talia’s still oblivious, chattering happily to her grandfathers, both of whom have huge grins on their faces. The moms are wiping away tears in the third row, reaching over into the trunk to hug Mat awkwardly.

“Oh, I’m so happy for you guys,” your mom sobs, overwhelmed.

Mat accepts the huge hug Liana forces on him and finishes getting the bags in the trunk, the honking already starting from other cars waiting at the curb.

Once everyone’s in the car, Liana wedged in the middle seat and already starting to entertain Talia, Mat lowers the music and whistles to get attention on him.

“Look, T wasn’t supposed to tell you guys about the baby,” he says, easing out into traffic. “We wanted to do something special on Christmas, so if you could all pretend that you know nothing, that would be very helpful.”

Your mom sighs from the third row. “It’s going to be so hard to pretend,” she tells Nadia, who agrees. They’d both been discussing a baby shower, which Mat definitely thinks is a little premature, but he can’t blame them for being excited. He’s beyond happy himself.

“I get that,” he replies. “I really do. But remember, I’ve got a fragile, hormonal pregnant wife and she really wanted to surprise you all. Please play along and ignore Talia.”

“Hey!” Talia pipes up, abandoning her doll to Liana’s lap. “It’s mean to ignore, Daddy!”

Mat catches her eye in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry, TB. But you did promise Mommy not to mention the baby and here we are.”

Talia squints at him, scrunching her face up and making Liana laugh at the expression. She pouts and kicks at the back of Mat’s seat. “I was excited, Daddy! I was so excited I cried, ‘member?” She grumbles.

Liana tugs at one of her dark curls. “Yeah, she couldn’t help herself, Mat,” she teases. “We’ll all be on our best behavior, promise.”

There’s no doubt in Mat’s mind that the five adults in the car will absolutely ruin the surprise the second they get home, but he crosses his fingers and hopes anyway.

Traffic is light, surprisingly, and you’re waiting at the door when Mat pulls into the driveway less than two hours after he left. You wave as everyone piles out of the car, catching Talia in your arms when she runs up to you.

“Mommy! LeeLee said she brought me sou-soubeniers?” She yelps.

“Souvenirs,” you correct gently, helping her out of her jacket and frowning when you see the sweater you’d forgotten she was wearing. “Go wash your hands, baby.”

Talia scampers off and you hope that buys you a little time to get her changed before everyone sees.

Your parents and in-laws parade into the house, all four of them giving you extra tight hugs and kisses on the cheek. Your dad murmurs that it’s good to see you and Mike gives you a wide smile, hugging you for a moment longer than usual.

Nadia cups your cheeks in her hands and just looks at you for a few seconds before shaking her head and pulling you back in for a second hug. Strange.

Something prickles at the back of your neck and when your mom greets you with watery eyes, you know exactly what happened.

Liana shoots you a delighted smirk, wrapping one arm around you in a hug as she passes. “Merry Christmas,” she beams, kissing your cheek.

Mat is last, dragging suitcases behind him and wearing a sheepish expression. You hold the door open for him and deadpan, “blabbermouth junior told everyone, didn’t she?”

“Literally the second they got in the car,” Mat admits. To his credit, he doesn’t try and lie.

“I should’ve known,” you laugh, following him into the house. Your mom already has Talia on her hip, Big Sister sweater proudly front and center as she demonstrates to the grandparents that she can read the words. They all look up guiltily at you and you just laugh more. “Spoilsport ruined the news,” you say, flattening your hand on your stomach, “but Baby Barzal should be here in June. God willing.”

The sudden cheer overwhelms you and gets you teary eyed again before you’re enveloped in a hug that nearly smothers you. Mat’s grinning at you from the safety of the fridge, until he gets accosted by the moms. He pats them on the back, laughing.

After the excitement of the news, you fall into your usual visit routine - changing out of airplane clothes and placing an order from the Italian place that everyone loves before settling into the den to catch up.

“I was going to give you guys these on Christmas,” you start the sentence before you disappear upstairs and return with three boxes in your arms. “But might as well do it now.”

Talia whips her head around, abandoning the bag of pretzels she’d dug out of the pantry and is sharing with your dad and Mike. “More presents? For me?” She asks, clambering over the arm of the couch to fall into Nadia’s lap and poke at the wrapped gift. “Oh, Mommy wrapped this. It’s so pretty. It event has a ribbon,” she chirps, stroking the velvet bow loops.

“Ooh,” Liana laughs at Mat, “burned by your own kid.”

“Oh, ha ha,” Mat rolls his eyes at his sister and when he’s sure Talia’s distracted, flips her off.

“Behave,” Nadia chastises, tone firm even though she’s smiling. Talia’s already pulling the paper away from the box in her lap and Nadia lets her continue.

You curl up against Mat’s side and watch everyone open their gifts - Polaroid shaped Christmas ornaments with the baby’s sonogram in the little photo spot, Coming Soon scrawled in cursive over the bottom of it.

It would’ve been nice to surprise everyone on Christmas morning, but there’s something even nicer about doing it now. With everyone relaxed and excited and able to really enjoy the moment without the chaos of presents and breakfast and stockings.

“Wait?” Talia squints at the sonogram. She pokes her finger against the black and white image. “Is that my baby?”

“Mhm,” you hum watching your mom explain exactly which blurry blob is the baby. “That’s the first ever picture of the baby.”

“Do I have a picture like that?” She asks, appropriating Nadia and Mike’s ornament for herself and lying across their laps while she studies the image.

Mat nods. “Tons of them,” he replies. “We can show you later, if you want.”

She hums distractedly and you let the grandparents take over for a bit, spoiling her and distracting her while you relax against Mat’s side, his hand snaking down to rest on your stomach under your shirt. His palm is warm and dry and his fingers draw absent shapes against your skin. He turns the fireplace on from his phone and the room gets cozier, full of noise and laughter and joy.

It’s the best start to Christmas week that you could’ve ever imagined.

And it turns out that everyone knowing about the baby early is a blessing in disguise, because your mom and Nadia don’t let you do a single thing the next day. They get breakfast ready for everyone and the dads get the sidewalks and cars clean from the few inches of snow that had fallen over night.

You try to help, but are shooed away to the couch to rest. Liana and Talia join you intermittently. Your baby curls up on your lap with her Bitty Baby, listening as Liana fills you in on her love life in code that goes over Talia’s head.

Mat’s gone most of the day for morning skate and is back for his pre-game nap before disappearing again around 3:30.

Talia insists on wearing her Big Sister sweater again, but the combined powers of Liana and your mom work to get her to put an Islanders jersey over it for the game. The adults are decked out in gear too and you go for comfort over style in an oversized henley and vest with leggings. Your nod to team spirit is your custom Islander Nikes.

Since the whole family is there and it’s the last game before the holiday break, Mat sprung for a suite and you’re grateful for it because you can relax and not have to worry about Talia slipping away.

Periodically, the other girls pop in to join you and as much as you try to keep her distracted, Talia announces your news to everyone that stops in, chirping, “I’m gonna be a big sister!” with a big, chocolate smudged grin and a few bunny hops.

You’ve never been excitedly screamed at and hugged in your entire life, a permanent grin making your face hurt by the time the second is halfway done.

Mat finishes the game with a trip to the penalty box, a goal, two assist, and the team wins. Maxine Nightingale fills the arena and Talia shimmies along to the chorus, cheering for Mat as he’s announced as the first star and skates over to chat with Shannon.

“Congrats on the win,” Shannon grins and Talia hangs over the glass, waving at Mat. You hold the back of her jersey in a tight fist, ignoring the way your stomach swoops with anxiety every time she lunges forward.

“Thanks, Shannon,” Mat’s face is larger than life on the screen and his smile is megawatt. “Feels really good to get the two points at home.”

Shannon laughs and nods, “I bet! And with these two points and the Ranger loss last night, the Islanders are heading into the holiday break at the top of the Metro. Just another thing to celebrate, right?”

“Oh yeah!” Mat’s lips curl up in a cock smirk that has your dormant sex drive sparking slightly. “A lot to celebrate this year,” he looks up at the suites and you swear he makes eye contact with you, his smile growing more genuine. “Just really glad to get the win with my family here.”

“I’m sure they’re all waiting to start the holiday celebrations with you, Merry Christmas, Mat,” Shannon smiles and the interview ends with Mat wishing her the same and heading off down the tunnel.

“Bye, Daddy!!!” Talia shouts out, waving.

You snatch her back from the glass and she pouts at you briefly before skipping over to Liana to mooch some M&M’s off of her.

“Are we heading home before Mat or did you want to see him?” You ask, sitting down on one of the couches outside the suite. A yawn catches in the back of your throat and your mom brushes her hand over the top of your head. You lean into her touch like a cat, warmed by her affection.

“Let us take you home, baby,” she replies. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m okay,” you assure her, passing Liana a baby wipe from your bag so she can wipe the chocolate off of Talia’s face. “T likes to see Mat after the games, so we can all meet him out at the garage and split into the two cars.”

“I wanna see Daddy and Uncle Bo and Noah,” Talia calls out, wriggling away from Liana and the baby wipe she’s wielding.

“Jesus, stay still TB, you’ve got a chocolate five o’clock shadow,” Liana laughs.

Mat is waiting for you downstairs, immediately scooping Talia up and giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek. “My good luck charms!” He grins, hair damp.

“Daddy, where’s Noah?” Talia drapes herself over Mat’s shoulder, looking around for her favorite defenseman. “I wanna show him my sweater.”

“You already showed Alexa,” you remind her. “She’ll

show Noah the picture you posed for. And remember, you’re going to see everyone at Aunt Syd and Uncle Matt’s Christmas Eve party tomorrow.”

Somehow you manage to get Talia in her car seat in Mat’s car, the rest of the Barzals going with Mat too and leaving you to drive home with your parents. Mat kisses your forehead before he gets into the driver’s seat of his car and tells you to be safe.

You nod and end up in the back seat of your own car when your dad insists on driving home. You’re grateful for it, honestly, slumping against the door and yawning. It’s been a long day and you’re definitely ready to head to bed.

“I’m so happy for you, baby,” your mom murmurs over the Christmas music playing on the radio. She has her arm extended behind her so she can hold your hand. “Make sure you take care of yourself and if you need me to come and help, say the word. Whatever you need, right, hon?” That last bit is directed at your dad and he nods in agreement, a man of few words.

“Thanks, mom,” you can’t help the waver to your voice. Quieter, you continue, “I’m scared.”

“Oh, my girl,” your mom turns around in her seat and gives you a soft smile. “It’s only natural, after everything you and Mat have been through. But I’m going to go light a candle tomorrow and you’re going to stay positive and in June you’ll have a beautiful new baby to love on.”

You nod and wipe at your eyes, your free hand splayed on your stomach. In your purse, your phone vibrates and you pull it out to find a text from Liana - a video of Talia in her car seat, singing the wrong lyrics to ‘All I Want for Christmas’ loudly and proudly. She’s totally off key, but she’s having the time of her life. Before the video ends, you can hear Mat in the background laughing and saying, “T, next year you can teach Baby Sparky the lyrics.”

Tears flood your eyes again and the reality continues to hit - this time next year you’ll have a second baby all geared up to celebrate their first Christmas.

You can’t wait.

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal fic #nhl fic

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simonisferal · 9 months ago

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not you again. "scaramouche x male reader"

YOU were the smart kid in high school till he came along and ruined it. Now that he got you shipped away to your grandmother's, you're out for revenge. To beat him is your greatest wish but would that change now when he's your seatmate, partner. and roommate? Oh for fuc—

warnings: physical violence/fighting, the occasional underage drinking, heavily sexual themes and intercourse + some kinky shit (honestly, who knows), scaramouche is scaramouche 🤦‍♂️, exes to academic rivals to lovers, vulgar language, angsty(mentions of SH, suicidal thought, OD/ED), slow updates, homophobia (sort of), i know nothing about law so don't come at me, slow burn, and i think that's it!

written pieces will marked with 📖

pheonix wrights — miles edgeworths

ᴥ season one — glow up, dick up

episode one — who the hell are you and why is your bitchass tryna fight me?

episode two — a man can't punch another man without it seeming homosexual nowadays, can he? 📖

episode three — if im sent away, im taking my dignity with me / fuck you

episode four — yes grandma, i'll rub your bare feet. just don't call grandpa over to tell his war stories again... 📖

episode five — i wonder how much he's suffering right now

episode six — in my slut era!! (i stay home with grams and gramps watching family fued)

episode seven — you'd think being the new kid is shit but it's actually worse since i'm hot

episode eight — who is juicytoot124 and why are they liking my tweets??

episode nine — fuck the school, fuck the students, and fuck the chairs too / who is he talking to

episode ten — this is NOT the USA miley cyrus was partying in 📖

episode eleven — holy shit, he has a sister? or is that his girlfriend..? 📖

episode twelve — kaeya, pass me the bottle; i’m getting wasted tonight

episode thirteen — holy shit. am i hallucinating or do i see a bobble-headed bitch coming my way? 📖

episode fourteen — it might be the paranoia coming in but i hear cops 📖

episode fifteen — how's my day? oh i was hiding in a fucking closet with my ex boyfriend from the police because of someone decided to steal alcohol. i wonder who.

episode sixteen — so i can't be a whore but my enemy can fuck around with his ex? not cool.

episode seventeen — wait, summer's over? i was just getting ready to rot in bed!

episode eighteen — basically what i'm hearing is that i'm a god and everyone loves me! /sarcastic

episode nineteen — yeah, so, what i just said previously was a fucking lie. 📖

episode twenty — ah shit, here we go again. 📖

ᴥ season two — and they were roommates?

episode twenty one — my clear conscience can't take this anymore; time to escape prison!

episode twenty two — everything i say was a joke unless you're into it, then it's not 📖

episode twenty three — first day of hell

episode twenty four — am i interfering someone's love triangle??

status: ongoing

started: 04/13/24

taglist: @m-march7th , @wawanluvr , @shutingstar , @pookiemax , @chemiru , @scaradooche , @swivy123 , @yangbbokari , @academiq , @thystarsshine , @zoropookie , @notrsz , @justyoureader , @mercy-not-merci , @kiekole , @kazumiku , @featuredtofu , @yourfavoritefreakyhan , @b2tr09 , @ell1e2010 , @pwaap , @vxcmx , @vamxpi , @moonslie04, @allaboutiknowthatyoubeingdead , @somnium-kiss , @crxwned-mxnarch , @khisuko , @jad3-n , @emptydinner-plate , @popcorn-milk , @liuaneee , @neversore, @alicerosejane

(@simonisferal 2024)

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yeokii · 10 months ago

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⌗ ADORE YOU ﹕이희승 (TEASER)

꒰ synopsis ꒱ all hopes were crushed when you realized there was no way to get close to your crush, choi beomgyu. your advances to get close to him never seemed to work. so, you decided to get closer to his best friend, heeseung, by joining the broadcasting club. but as scripts change, so do crushes, and you end up falling for his best friend instead.

▸ auditions are open . . . !

ㅤ❕MATCHMAKER ── crush bsf ! heeseung x reader

fast forward ⃕ [ genre ] : written, fluff, angst, 90s au, unrequited love

meet the members ! beomgyu, gaeul, jungwon, taehyun, juyeon [more tba.]

warnings 𖧷 [only in this scene] unrequited love, yn kinda uses hee, thats all I think

ㅤhe's a real catch ▹ est. 2OK ❨ 이희승 ❩ ⌗ catch adore you here!

⌕ [ archives ] one result found . . . hi (still on hiatus kinda) js came here to post the fic teaser :D (im prolly gna post this after mocks or after my igcses) also ty @yenqa sewlmate for writing the synopsis (ly dookie) send an ask or comment to be added in the taglist !

THE FALL OF NINETEEN-NINETY SIX MARKED A PIVOTAL MOMENT IN YOUR LIFE. Ever since you came into the world, you never really could grasp the concept of love.

You wrapped your head around the myths and tales your mother would read to you every night. You thought that every princess would have her own shining knight in armor. So, after thirteen years of living, where was yours?

Your knight in shining armor, or knights in shining armor, existed within the pages of the comic books you read. You often wondered if they would magically pop out of your books and transport you into their world. Similarly, you wondered whether any of the characters from your adored TV shows would step out and bring you into their lives.

So, it wasn't a surprise when your jaw dropped to the ground as you saw the most beautiful man in your life (well, technically, boy). If the epitome of beauty was a fourteen-year-old boy, it would be Beomgyu.

But it wasn’t just his face that made your thirteen-year-old self swoon over him, it was also the way he acted. You loved the way he conversed, his smooth way of talking at a young age and the way he smiled at you every time he made jokes with his friends. You loved how his eyes lightened every time he’d pull a silly prank.

But the problem was, he never talked to you. You admired him from afar. You never actually had the guts to talk to him, as if. You were content with watching his funny actions from a distance.

There were some moments when you pushed aside your nervousness and talked to him. You remember having butterflies in your stomach the moment you first talked to him. There were times when you both were paired up as project partners for a biology assessment and at that moment, you swore you could’ve worshiped the floor that your biology teacher walked on due to her giving you an opportunity like this.

You knew this was an opportunity to make your move. And you did. You brought him small snacks with little notes on them. Gave him gifts regularly. Maybe even took lessons from your best friend on how to subtly flirt with him. You really thought you had him. Because whenever you used to play out these little acts, you saw the subtle smile on his face. You were so close. It’s like the universe laid it out for you. Gosh, how lucky you were!

Luck. The luck that you thought you had. If luck was a person, you would’ve tackled it to the ground already. Because the day you were about to confess to him was the day he announced his new girlfriend.

His first girlfriend. You doubt you called it ‘love’ since the only thing she cared about was that he was popular and pretty. That’s it! All that girl could get from Beomgyu was his looks and his reputation. You could’ve scoffed at the sight.

Beomgyu was so much more than that. He was loyal, kind, and trustworthy. And she went for his looks. Even though she had him, you felt as if she was missing out on so much. You were partly sad due to them getting together and also due to Beomgyu getting used to his looks.

So, you were practically prancing when you heard the news of their breakup a month later. Did you care that Beomgyu was absolutely heartbroken? Well, yes, but you felt relieved that Beomgyu was finally unleashed from that mean troll's wrath.

And as he got older, he grew more handsome. And God did you love it. When you entered high school he was a completely different person. He had gotten more flirty and way more pretty. He was way out of your league.

Out of the years you were in this crappy high school, you made absolutely no improvement in your and Beomgyu’s relationship. Beomgyu, who kept getting new flings every summer and tons of situationships seemed to discard your existence. One could only say ‘What the fuck?’

Your thoughts swirled, and you had a collection of emotions roaming around your head until your best friend jolted you back into reality with a gentle nudge on the shoulder.

“Are you even listening?” Seori’s voice cut through your thoughts, annoyed, since she had to explain what she was talking about in the first place.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” You blinked, focusing your attention on your best friend.

She sighs, “I was saying that I think Doyoung is going to ask me out.” Seori pouts “Why does he not get that I don’t like him that way, jeez.”

Her ramble about her current boy toy washed out in the background. You were once back in your thoughts until you saw him heading into the cafeteria. Beomgyu entered the cafeteria, his smile widening at something his best friend said.

Lee Heeseung, Beomgyu’s best friend. His ride or die. As long as you can remember, they were attached to the hip. They were basically the package deal. If Beomgyu was the life of the party, Heeseung would hold up his hair while he threw up in the host’s toilet. While Beomgyu was the exact depiction of a social butterfly, Heeseung remained aloof, keeping people at arm’s length. You could only wonder how he dealt with Beomgyu’s outbursting personality.

“Earth to Yn!” Seori snapped her fingers in front of your face which once again, brought you back to reality.

“Sorry.” You sheepishly smiled looking at your best friend's annoyed face. Your friend followed the gaze you had fixed before looking over to her. And her eyes followed the trail of your alleged ‘man’–– Beomgyu.

“Him again.”A sigh erupted from Soeri, having enough of your rambling over your four-year-old crush.

“I’m sorry, alright!” You pouted, your back hunching over the disappointing development between you two which was nowhere to be found. “He’s just so cute, God!”

Your sigh was followed by your best friend. Not long after, your best friend’s fed-up expression converted into a rather eager one.

“I got it!” She exclaimed, her hand hitting your back while she practically screamed. You winced in pain as a few fellow students gave you judgemental stares.

“All you have to do is be close with his best friend, Lee Heeseung.” She slowly said, almost like a mastermind coming up with a villainous plan–well, you would consider your best friend to be some sort of evil criminal.

But this, this opened new angles in your head. It felt like the universe–or more like your best friend–laid it out for you again. Your once unsolvable puzzle showed a new direction, and the missing piece was all in front of you.

Okay, maybe you felt bad that you were going to use Heeseung like that, even looking forward to it. But, you were really desperate. To the point where you would actually be eager to attend Sunday mass just to ask God for Beomgyu to like you back or even spare one glance at you. Well, what could you do?

Out of excitement, you pulled Seori in for a hug with a squeal while giving her a kiss on the cheek which she in return, yelped. “Seori, you’re a genius!”

“Yes, I know.” She laughed a bit, escaping your tight grip on her before wiping the spot you kissed her hastily with her hands.

“I mean, how hard could it be?”

You smiled and your gaze wet up to the boy you loved for most of your life, then slowly to the equally handsome boy.

Jackpot.

adore you tags . @wonsbaer @isoobie @armydrcamers @heegyuwrld @nxzz-skz @txtlyn @enhastolemyheart @positivelyinlovewithjungwon @sumzysworld @eleanorheartschishiya @petalsofink @bluujeans @jvjsssnaa @iamliacamila @m3chigo @oldjws @kyrjnie @heartswonn @aeminju @en-dream @yeahsspider @imstupidcheesecat [closed]

tags . @flwoie @zuyairus @bubblytaetae @yenqa @haknom @redm4ri @hanniluvi @haechansbbg @taejaysreads @shinunoga-iie-wa @teddywonss

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keerysfreckles · 8 months ago

Text

decode — OP81 (au)

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

summary: when two summer camp counselors fall in love in the span of two months

warnings: none! just a long one 😅 i got carried away oopsies, not proofread!!!

a/n: missing my summer camp hours 😞😞 this is how i cope

masterlist !

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

y/n can't remember a summer when she wasn't at the summer camp in her home state. every summer since she was five years old, she was found at camp. when she was fourteen she signed up to be a junior counselor in training, then at sixteen became a counselor in training, and now at nineteen is an official camp counselor from one of the younger girl cabins.

y/n was ecstatic. she couldn't believe her eyes when she got the email that secured her summer job. except it wasn't going to feel like a job. she knew this wasn't going to feel like some chore like others would describe their job to be.

the whole bus ride up to the summer camp, y/n talked with her friends that went to camp with her in the previous years. her two closest friends were sat around her on the bus, sofia and nat. sofia met y/n during her second year of camp, and haven't stopped talking since. y/n and nat knew each other during camp during their last years as campers, but didn't start talking until their counselor in training years.

arriving at the camp felt so surreal for y/n. she was excited to see her second home, and her other friends that arrived yesterday by plane. she wondered if there were any unfamiliar faces this year, besides the new campers.

y/n, nat and sofia grabbed all their belongings and walked to their assigned cabins quickly. nat was going to be with the youngest of the girls, ages five and six. y/n was with the seven and eight year olds. sofia was on the other side of the girls' cabins, working with the twelve and thirteen year olds.

all of the counselors had "meetings" to attend before all the campers arrived tomorrow. no one really considered them as meetings however, knowing they were going to play ridiculous games in the large grassy field until sundown. the camp director thought it was a fun way to "get to know the other counselors".

as nat and sofia were getting a drink of water after a very intense game of dodgeball finished, a new counselor caught y/n's eye. there were three new counselors at camp, but this one was the only one that y/n really wanted to learn about. she looked at him from across the field. he seemed to be taller than her, with slightly pale skin and light brown hair.

"oh great, y/n's got another camp crush," nat appears by her, with sofia coming up on the other side.

"it's not a crush. i don't even know the guy!" y/n defends.

sofia and nat share a skeptical look, before sofia continues. "every year since you were seven you've found a guy to fawn over, and just because we're counselors now, we all know that's not stopping you."

nat chuckles at sofia's words, and y/n just rolls her eyes. she knew sofia was right, but she'd never admit that out loud.

after three more interesting games in the field, all of the counselors walked back up through the forest and towards the dining hall. there weren't any sort of seating arrangements, letting the counselors and other staff members sit wherever they'd like.

most of the counselors knew each other from being campers together, so they were all sat relatively close to one another.

luckily for y/n, the boy she was looking at earlier in the field was sat diagonally from her. she heard from sofia that she talked with him on the way back up from the field. he introduced himself to y/n and nat, and y/n instantly recognized his australian accent.

a handful of international counselors were found at camp every year, and y/n thought it always made it more interesting.

oscar, y/n, nat and sofia continued talking all throughout dinner. one of y/n's old friends from camp, lando, slid beside her halfway through dinner, and him and oscar got along pretty quickly.

at the end of the day, one of the many traditons at camp was for all the counselors to jump into the cold pool. don't ask y/n where this tradition exactly came from. she's been told so many times, yet she never remembers. however it came about, y/n was grateful. she's dreamt of doing this since she was a camper.

all of the counselors were lined up beside the pool, with the camp photographer, lauren, on the opposite side. the counselors were all still dressed, wearing their matching camp polos, and even kept their shoes on.

on the count of three they all jumped in, making the pool erupt in waves as twenty counselors splashed around. some got on each other's backs and were dunking one another, while other couldn't contain their laughter.

as y/n was wiping hair out of her eyes, oscar looked at her with a smirk adorning his lips.

she knew what he was about to do.

"no! oscar don't!" she tries to protest, but her laugh overpowers her words as oscar wraps his arms around the girl and pushes her under the water.

oscar watches y/n's smile widen once they're under water, and her hands are on his arms for a moment, only to push herself to the surface.

nat and sofia watched the interaction, as y/n now started splashing the aussie. "twenty bucks they're together by the end of the summer," nat wages.

"forty."

"thirty."

"thirty-five, final offer," sofia turns to nat.

"deal."

—

the morning the campers were arriving came quickly. so quickly y/n felt like she hasn't slept the night before. she was in the middle of making all the name tags for her campers bunk beds, so no one fights over who gets which one. she was cutting colored paper into simple flowers when sofia knocked on her cabin door.

"what's up sof?" y/n doesn't look up from her task.

"how'd you know it was me? it could've been nat," sofia sat on the twin bed, facing y/n.

"you walk heavy," y/n states, making sofia roll her eyes.

"whatever, unimportant," sofia quickly dismisses, "camp news is that a certain someone was talking about you after we jumped in the pool last night."

y/n groans, setting her paper and scissors down in her lap. "we've only been here twenty-four hours and there's already a rumor?"

"oh shush, you know you love it because lover boy was talking about you," sofia shoves y/n's leg playfully.

"first of all, don't call him lover boy. i only know his name. it's not like i'm deeply in love with him."

"you will be," sofia interrupts.

"second of all," y/n enunciates, "shouldn't you be getting ready for your campers to arrive?"

sofia laughs, "they're twleve year old, edgy, hormonal girls, they're not gonna want cute flowers and lady bugs saying who's sleeping where."

"you're no fun."

twenty-two minues pass and now all the counselors, the camp directior and co-director are all outside waiting for the buses to arrive. y/n was thrilled to meet her first set of campers.

the summer was broken up into three sessions, each session lasting two weeks. campers could choose to stay all three, but most only stayed for one.

y/n prayed her face wasn't flushed as she realized she was standing next to oscar. turns out, he was looking over campers the same age y/n was. the two made comfortable small talk until the buses finally pulled up into the dirt area.

once ever camper was off the bus and given their name tag, everyone made their way to the benches for announcements to start.

y/n's cabin was sat right in front of oscar's, with nat's right beside her. sofia's cabin was on the other handful of benches, considering they were the older campers.

announcements took an hour, as usual, and before everyone knew it, it was time for lunch.

the first lunch of the summer was always so special to y/n, even when she was a camper. this was when she met sofia, and years later she met nat in the mess hall as well.

lunch passed quickly, and y/n was back in her cabin, helping her campers fill out the forms to pick their camp schedules. she learned all of their names, and even learned about their favorite things. y/n's smile never left her face for the rest of the day.

—

three days into the first session and y/n was buzzing. she was in charge of the arts and crafts class campers could pick as one of their activites. she saw a few of her own campers in the morning, and surprisngly a few older boys during the afternoon.

she was in the middle of cleaning from the tye-dye the kids made today. she already hung up their shirts to dry, now she was cleaning off the tables where extra dye had gotten.

"do you need any help?" oscar stepped over the pile of rocks outside the arts and crafts shed, scaring y/n in the process.

"jesus osc, don't scare me like that," y/n laughs as her heartbeat comes back down.

oscar wasn't sure where the nickname came from, but he wanted it to stay.

"shouldn't you be watching over your swimming pool?" y/n asks, knowing oscar's sctivity this session was free swim. she didn't know what he was going to do the other two sessions, she meant to ask him later.

"nah, lando's got the last five minutes covered. all the campers got out anyway, complaining it was too cold." y/n knew lando from her last year as a camper. he was her first kiss, and call it cheesy but it was during the camp dance. neither of them speak ahout it to this day, and they planned to keep it that way.

oscar sat atop one of the cleaner parts of the table, chuckling as he notices y/n very colorful hands.

"why didn't you wear gloves?"

y/n shrugs, "gloves are too much of a hassle. plus after two showers i bet it'll come off."

"i could always dunk you in the pool again."

"no, no never again," y/n can't help but laugh.

y/n throws the dirty rags into a bucket, she makes a mental note to take it to the small camp laundromat later in the evening.

oscar hops down from the table, "do you want to walk with me to dinner?"

"you mean night time announcements?" y/n lets out a giggle at oscar's now pink cheeks.

"yeah uh– that's what i meant."

"how much were you really paying attention during the announcements really meant for the campers?"

"you know i could easily push you right now right?" oscar detours the conversation.

"oh i know you wouldn't."

oscar's about to reply, but y/n's name gets called by a few of her campers walking up beside the duo. she bids oscar goodbye, as she walks with the three younger campers.

dinner goes smoothly as it has been for the past couple of days. oscar smiles to himself when he realizes he's sat next to y/n tonight, with one of her best friends sat across from him.

the counselers were given a different table seating every day. the campers places stayed the same, and they were sat by others their ages. each table had twelve campers, with two counselers at the head and foot of the table.

the first fifteen minutes of every meal is silent, another camp tradition where no one truly knew where it came from. but after those fifteen minutes were up, the mess hall was buzzing yet again.

the campers were starting to take plates and dishes towards the side of the mess hall where the kitchen staff was. oscar stood up from his table, grabbed the extra dessert no one wanted and walked towards y/n.

she was talking with one of the girls at the table, while oscar silently placed the ice cream down. y/n looked to her right and smiled seeing who it was.

the interaction didn't go unnoticed by sofia or nat. sofia was walking back to her table when she saw oscar getting up, and she was quick to point it out to nat.

"you looked like you could use another dessert," oscar sat down on the empty bench besides y/n.

"well i'm sadly already full, but i'm sure maisie here wouldn't mind," y/n boops the blonde girl next to her on the nose before sliding the bowl towards her. "just don't tell the other campers," y/n whispers, earning a giggle from the camper.

"are you excited for the camp dance next week?" y/n asks oscar. each session had their own dance and carnival.

oscar nods, "oh definitely, but i'm more excited about the carnival."

"do you know who booth you guys are in charge of?"

"no clue, but probably something easy since i'm dealing with seven year olds," oscar laughs.

the two continue talking for a moment, until the camp director instructs for all the campers and counselors go to the main building for a movie night.

—

y/n couldn't believe her own eyes. she was watching kids leaving with their parents, while others got on buses to go back home. she was sad when she had to say goodbye to her campers that morning. nat gave her a hug, but it was still hard for her.

nevertheless, she was just as excited to meet the new campers arriving next week. during the counselor's week off, they get a different trip in between each session. the first was a trip to a waterpark near the camp, and everyone was buzzing when they got out of the camp vans.

the day was filled with most counselors riding the water slides, while other tanned or gossiped. there was thirty minutes left of their day pass, y/n and oscar planned on going into the lazy river before they had to go back to the camp.

over the past two weeks the pair has gotten extremely close. they hung out whenever they could. they'd sit by each other at any given moment. a few of the older campers noticed the chemistry that was starting to build between the two.

y/n's right hand and oscar's left one kept grazing while in the lazy river. neither of them were going to do anything about that.

"you've been quiet today," oscar speaks up, looking over to the girl.

"just grateful," her response was simple, but oscar knew how she felt. it was hard for him to say goodbye to his campers earlier in the week, but just like the girl, he was excited about the new campers coming this sunday.

after a few moments of silence, y/n starts to laugh.

"oh god, i broke her," oscar jokes.

y/n keeps laughing, "no, no. i just can't believe you knew practically every move to the line dances from the camp dance."

oscar's face slightly flushed, "you're just jealous of my dancing skills."

"sure osc, that's what it is."

—

exactly two weeks later and the second session camp carnival was in full swing. it was always held on the tennis courts, and each cabin was in charge of a booth. some were definitely better than others, consider five year olds had little to no patience.

at the start of the carnival y/n and her whole cabin were sat around the face painting table, fast forward an hour and a half, now y/n was sat alone, watching all the festivies around her.

"you know you can enjoy the carnival too right?" oscar comes out of nowhere, making y/n jump slightly.

"can you stop scaring me like that?" she laughs, and scoots her chair over so he can sit in the empty one.

he hands her the cotton candy from his other hand, receiving a thank you from y/n.

"but really, why are you here by yourself when you should be out there," he pauses to point to all the campers and a few counselors dancing to an ariana grande song.

"what if someone wants their face painted and no one's here to help?" y/n picks at the light pink cotton candy.

"you and i both know every camper who wanted their face painted came here right away."

"yeah okay," y/n agrees, "but not everyone's gotten their face painted."

"who hasn't? there's maybe three campers without something on their cheek."

"you," y/n smirks. she hands her cotton candy to oscar before grabbing the tray of face paints.

oscar groans, "is this payback for dunking you in the pool?"

"yes, that's exactly it," she giggles.

oscar watched as y/n stood from her chair. she was contemplating what to do, but eventually ordered oscar to close his eyes. 'screw it' y/n internally spoke, as she dabbed the non-toxic red face paint onto her lips with a clean brush. she set down the mirror, happy with the amount and bent down to kiss oscar's cheek.

it took him by surprise, and he could feel his cheeks redden at the feeling of her fingers on his chin and lips on his cheek.

y/n begins wiping her mouth, ridding the left over red paint. oscar smiles, "well now it's only fair i give you something in return."

y/n shakes her head, still having a smile adorning her features, "i'm the one working the face paint table, not you osc."

oscar's about to argue, but lando, nat and sofia all come running to the table as the campers are starting to leave the tennis courts.

"hey are you guys–"

lando cuts nat off with a chuckle, "nice face paint osc." that earns him a punch in the arm by sofia.

nat rolls her eyes before continuing, "you two ready for the counselor campout tonight?"

y/n's been talking about the campout since the start of summer, to anybody that'll listen.

the group of five went their seperate ways towards their cabins to pack a small bag for the night, and made sure to say goodnight to their campers, before a counselor in training came in the cabin for the night.

the counselors split up between two pick up trucks, with people riding inside and in the back. y/n and oscar's legs kept hitting each others after almost every bump, not that either of them minded.

the girls slept in one tent while the boys slept in the other. camp rules that both groups hated. it was starting to get dark when they arrived, so the boys started cooking pre-made hamburgers on a makeshift little grill over the fire, while the girls set up the tents.

during dinner everyone split up into their own groups. oscar, y/n, lando, nat and sofia put their chairs close to each other as they enjoyed the warmth of the fire and the sound of the crickets around them.

"is that a new hoodie y/n?" nat asks, curiosity filling her voice.

sofia joins in, "yeah, i don't think i've seen that."

y/n involuntarily blushes, "it's oscar's. he's letting me borrow it cause i got cold."

lando gives oscar a small high five while nat and sofia share a look. a look that the two have been sharing at least once a day.

—

four days later and y/n is upset once again. the second session campers are filtering out of the camp, and it feels five times worst than the first time y/n dealt with it. oscar walks up to the sad girl and places his hand lightly on her back.

"will pancakes and a hug cheer you up?" he smiles while handing her a plate with three pancakes covered in syrup.

y/n laughs and turns to face oscar, "both would definitely cheer me up."

y/n wraps her arms around the boy, and her body is flooded with warmth at the contact. she rests her head against his shoulder, her nose brushing ever so slightly against his neck. goosebumps rise on oscar's arms.

oscar leads the pair over to an empty bench so y/n can enjoy her pancakes to get her mind off the campers leaving.

"jeez osc, did you put enough syrup on these?" she laughs.

oscar throws his hands up in defence, "i didn't know how much you like."

a moment of silence passes between the duo, before y/n breaks it.

"are you gonna want your hoodie back? because it's extremly comfortable and it might make it's way into my suitcase by the end of the summer."

oscar smiles, "keep it. maybe it'll give me a reason to visit you after summer."

y/n reciprocates a smile, but a sad feeling makes it's way through her body again. she doesn't know what her and oscar are going to do after summer. neither of them have brought it up. the thought of having to leave oscar and never see him again terrified the girl.

—

the camp was well into session three, and y/n was more than excited for today. it was her twentieth birthday, the session three camp dance was tonight, and it was her favorite theme every summer.

y/n was helping her campers get ready, thanking herself for getting ready beforehand. she thought they all looked adorable in their different 70s inspired outfits. they ranged from bell bottom leggings, flashy colorful skirts, and fringed vests.

y/n and her cabin was walking towards the tennis courts, as well as the other cabins. just as they turned the corner, oscar was standing off to the side of the gate. y/n saw, and smiled as he beckoned her over.

she told her campers to go with nat's cabin, before running towards oscar, being careful not to fall in her chunky platform boots.

oscar takes in her appearance with a smile on his face. from her white platform boots, to her pink colorful dress with the flared longsleeves, and finishing with her white headband.

"you look adorable," he spoke, his words coming out faster than his brain could think.

y/n couldn't help but blush, "thank you osc. you don't look too bad yourself."

now y/n looks over oscar's outfit. she giggles as it's such a similar outfit to what pierce brosnan wore on the cover of the mamma mia poster. fitting perfectly to tonight's 70s disco theme.

"did you find my birthday present for you?"

y/n nods, remembering the small wrapped box placed at the bottom step of her cabin.

"i haven't opened it yet, just like the card said."

"good, and don't forget to meet me back here after all your campers are asleep yeah?"

y/n nods again, "what could you be planning piastri?"

oscar shrugs playfully, "guess you'll have to wait and see."

before the australian leaves, he kisses y/n's forehead. it happened so quickly y/n could barely comprehend it before he was already gone.

after almost two hours of dancing, picking at snacks and talking, y/n was finally feeling her feet starting to hurt. maybe the platform boots were a bit much, but she still thought they were adorable. she groaned as she sat down for the first time that night.

"hey, you alright?"

she picks up her head, seeing oscar standing in front of her with two cups of water. he hands one to her before sitting in the empty chair beside her.

"i don't think my feet have ever hurt this badly before," she laughs while unzipping her boots. she could care less about how dirty the ground was right now, she needed her feet to breathe.

"so glad i didn't wear the platform boots i packed," oscar joked, and his smile grew once y/n started laughing. he never got tired of hearing her laugh.

"have you had a good birthday so far?"

y/n lets out a content sigh while leaning her head on oscar's shoulder. "i have osc, it's been really fun. and i can't wait to see what you have planned for later."

—

just as oscar instructed on his birthday note to y/n that was attached to her birthday present, she's currently waiting in the tennis courts. her counselor in training was looking after her cabin, but all y/n could think about is what on earth oscar could be planning.

her fingers fidget with the blue bow on top of the box, and she's thankful she changed out of her boots and into her converse. she threw on oscar's hoodie she still hasn't given back, because it always gets chillier at night.

her thoughts were interrupted however, when the lights to the tennis court turned off. all she heard around her was whispered voices and shuffling feet.

"guys?" she laughs, more than confused on what they could be doing.

the lights suddenly turn back on, and y/n can't help but laugh at the four in front of her.

"happy birthday y/n!" her friends yell.

sofia's holding a small pile of presents, one from each of them (minus oscar's gift in her hand).

nat and lando are busy holding up a small banner, wishing y/n a happy birthday.

finally oscar was holding a pink box, which y/n could only guess was a birthday cake.

"guys!" y/n gushes, her heart feeling extra full at the moment.

everyone sets down whatever was in their hands to hug the birthday girl. oscar's hug was a bit longer than the others, and y/n definitely noticed.

"you guys didn't have to do anything for my birthday. it being on the day of my favorite camp activity was plenty."

nat shushes her, "nope, we all agreed we were doing something for your birthday as soon as the session started."

lando pipes up besides nat with a green and black wrapped gift in his hands, "enough with the sappy shit, open my gift first y/n."

y/n sits down before opening the gifts. nat and sofia sit to her left, while lando stands in front and oscar stands behind her to her right.

she opened everyone's gift, thanking each of them afterwards, and finally got to oscar's gift. the one she's been waiting for all day. she tears the blue ribbon off and takes the lid off.

however, y/n's confused once she sees two plane tickets. one to new york from maine, and one back to maine from new york.

"osc what is this?"

oscar squats down and holds himself up by placing his hand on y/n's thigh.

his voice was soft as he explained, "my mom helped me with this one. i called her before this session started, and i got her to buy the tickets for me. she was able to get then shipped before your birthday. so now you can come out to new york for two weeks with me."

y/n keeps looking at the plane tickets in her hands. her eyes were filling with tears while oscar spoke. no one's ever done anything like this before.

lando, nat and sofia left quietly, giving the pair a minute alone.

"love?" oscar lets the nickname slip before he has time to catch himself.

"no one's ever done something like this for me before," y/n's quiet, not wanting her voice to give out.

"hey," oscar wipes a tear that was falling on her cheek, "you deserve this. we get to spend two great weeks together, and you'll even get to see my cool apartment."

y/n laughs at his attempt to cheer her up, and is glad it's working.

y/n pulls oscar into one of the tightest hugs imaginable. he stumbles slightly, but holds onto the girl just as tight.

"thank you osc," she whispers into his neck, before placing a light kiss to the exposed skin.

y/n starts pulling away from the hug, but oscar just holds onto her tighter. he silently moves his left hand to cup her jaw, with his thumb catching another loose tear.

from outside of the tennis court, the eavesdropping trio all gasp as the two finally kiss. after weeks of endless flirting and longing glaces, they're finally kissing.

y/n holds onto oscar even tighter now. partially for stability, and partially to make sure he's really there. that this was really happening.

the two barely pull apart, their lips only having centimeters between them.

just as the two go to kiss again, sofia pops out from the darkness and into the light of the tennis court. "six feet of space!"

nat's quick to cover her mouth after she mentions leaving room for god, and nat and lando are quick to apologize, letting oscar and y/n be alone again.

—

"there you are!"

oscar's pulled from his thoughts as y/n makes her way over towards him.

he's sat on the bench outside the unoccupied cabin near the volleyball court. he went there a lot this summer, always giving him the space to think.

"i've been looking everywhere for you," y/n smiles while sitting beside him.

oscar can't help but smile when she does. he's told her a thousand times how contagious her smile is.

"are you excited?"

y/n didn't need oscar to elaborate, she knew exactly what he meant. today was the last day of summer camp. all of the campers left yesterday, and today was the day y/n and oscar were flying to new york together.

"i don't even think excited is in the ballpark to describe how i'm feeling," y/n laughs, leaning into oscar.

after a moment of silence, y/n's curiosity gets the best of her. "osc?" he hums in response, "what are we?"

oscar smiles to himself, "well i was hoping i'd get to call you my girlfriend."

y/n's smile grows immensely. "only if i get to call you my boyfriend," she giggles.

oscar kisses her softly on the lips, before interlocking his fingers with hers.

"oh!" y/n pipes up, "yesterday one of my girls made us matching bracelets."

y/n takes two bracelets out of her (oscar's) hoodie pocket. they were both pink, with different shades of pink beads threaded through the string. one said "O ♡ (your initial)" and vice verse with the other bracelet. oscar chuckles as he takes the one starting with his own initial.

"i love it," he looks down at it once more, "i'm never taking this off by the way."

before y/n reciprocate, the camp director comes around, telling them this is their last call to leave the camp and say goodbye to who ever you need to.

nat and sofia both left by bus earlier in the day, leaving oscar to deal with an unhappy y/n for an hour until he gave her another one of his hoodies.

"are you ready to go?" y/n stands while holding her hands out.

oscar gladly takes her hands in his, "yep. just one more kiss in the place where i fell in love with you."

#shelbi writes #keerysfreckles #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri x fem reader #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri x female reader #oscar piastri x female!reader #oscar piastri f1 #oscar piastri au #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fic #f1 au #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri imagine

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sanguineterrain · 2 years ago

Text

i'll put us back together at heart - s.h.

Summary: It's 1987. You haven't spoken to Steve Harrington in nearly five years. Then Dustin Henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at Family Video, where he can rent any movie he wants.

Pairing: ex-best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings/tags: friends to strangers to lovers. the reader is twenty in 1987 and i technically made steve twenty-one/about to turn twenty-one. s4 happened but eddie's alive and vecna's dead. no earthquakes or anything like that; reader has no idea about what really happened. lots of angst, mentions of billy hargrove (yuck) and steve's s1 asshole friends.

A/N: oh my lord. i don't know where this eighteen-wheeler of a fic came from but here it is. there is a happy ending, not to worry. i'd never do that to y'all <3 feedback and reblogs are always always appreciated!

divider by firefly-graphics

August 1981

"I wish we could stay eighth graders forever."

You lift your head from your orange pool floaty. Steve drifts on the surface of the water. His hair is longer, way longer than you've seen it in the three years you've been friends. He says it's better for styling that way; he's even bought a gel and cream for his hair. You don't understand why he wants to change something that doesn't need changing.

"Why?" you ask. "I thought you were excited for high school."

He hums. The sound echoes in his backyard.

"It's bigger than middle school. More kids, more teachers, more work. I like eighth grade."

"I'll help you with your work," you say.

Steve turns his head and smiles at you. Part of his face is in the water, the image distorted.

"You'll do great," he replies. "You're so smart."

Steve doesn't say those things to get you to help him like other kids do. Steve means it.

"You'll do great too," you say. "You're funny and nice and my best friend. People will like you."

"You think?"

You nod. Steve turns his head and closes his eyes again.

"We'll stay friends, right?" he asks.

The floaty squeaks as you move to sit up. You paddle to Steve so you can look at his face.

"Why wouldn't we?"

"I dunno." His eyes are still closed. "You might make super smart friends. And I'll just be a dumbass holding you back."

You shove Steve's shoulder lightly.

"You are not dumb, Steve."

One muggy June night had had Steve admit he wasn't thirteen, like you and all the kids in your class, but fourteen. He had been held back in third grade after his parents moved from Illinois. It's why my brain's mush, he'd said. I was born dumb.

He had made you swear not to tell anyone.

"You're not dumb," you say again. "Say it, Steve. Say you're not dumb."

His frown deepens, but he still won't look at you.

"Tommy says I am."

"Tommy Hagan is a shithead," you shoot back with so much venom, Steve's eyes fly open. "It's not true, whatever he tells you."

You hate that they've been hanging out more this summer. You can't tell Steve that, because it's not like you own him. He can be friends with whoever he wants. But you can't help that your skin crawls when Tommy and his stupid girlfriend, Carol, drops by and pulls Steve away from you.

“Promise?” he asks.

“Yes, Steve. I promise.”

“‘Kay.” Steve smiles a little. “Thanks.”

You nod and lay back on the floaty.

“Wanna get ice cream after this?” he asks.

“Just us?”

“Just us.”

Now. (January, 1987)

You slam the phone back onto the receiver. A girl playing Pac-Man carefully glances at you.

Whoops. Right. You're still at work.

You smile and give a thumbs-up. She turns around. You return to your wallowing.

You’ve called three different video rentals. Jewel Films, which is about to go out of business; More Movies, whose attendant hung up on you before you could say Molly Ringwald; and finally, Blockbuster, which is thirty minutes outside of Hawkins. None of them have a copy of Pretty in Pink.

And okay. You could just watch another movie. You don't need that specific one. But this year has been shit. You'd thought after starting college, you'd finally break out of the Hawkins forcefield that had limited your social life. You'd thought you'd make friends and not be so terribly lonely. Life is supposed to get better after high school, isn’t it?

Obviously, whoever said that is a big, fat liar.

“Dude!” you hear a familiar voice exclaim. “Stop hogging the game!”

Tawny curls peek from under a green and yellow hat. The hat hovers over an older boy who’s glued to the Tempest booth. You go to them. Dustin Henderson lights up when he sees you. You can read his hat now; it says Camp Know Where ‘85.

“Hey, Y/N!” he greets brightly. “This guy has been here for a half hour. I left to get nachos and when I came back, he was still here.”

“I’m this close to beating my score!” the kid insists.

“Come on, guy," you say, one arm on the machine. "You gotta give other people a turn."

The kid, evidently demon incarnate, sneers at you.

“Who’s gonna make me? You?”

You lean against the side of the game, considering.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” he says.

You snort.

“Sixteen? And you’re still on Tempest?”

He glances at you.

“So?”

“Everybody your age is playing Rampage, that’s all.”

You wink at Dustin. He beams.

“And, uh, I saw a couple girls hanging around Rampage,” you add.

The kid turns to you. You tilt your head innocently.

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Seriously. People always flock to the new games.”

Which is true. The girls part is not, but he doesn’t need to know that. With that attitude, he won't be getting many phone numbers anyway.

You drum your fingers on the game like you have all the time in the world. And sure enough, the kid takes his quarters and heads towards Rampage. Dustin jumps in delight.

“You’re awesome, Y/N!"

You grin. “I try. Where are the others?”

Dustin sours.

“They ditched me. To hang out with their girlfriends! Can you believe that shit?”

“No way!"

He shakes his head.

“I know, right? My friend told me that that’s what happens in high school. People change, y’know? And he’d know, I guess. He’s old like you.”

You scoff. “You make me sound like some kind of ancient. I’m not that old, Henderson.”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He pats your arm. “In many cultures, the elderly are wise. Now in my experience, this hasn’t been the case. But I think you’re wise.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Dustin smiles like the little shit he is and puts his change in the slot.

“Well, contrary to what this other friend says, I’m sure it’ll pass,” you say. “You guys will hang out again."

You swallow your acidic truth. Dustin's a good kid, and so are his friends. You don't want him to turn cynical like you have. He's too young.

Dustin shrugs, starting the game.

“I guess so. I got a copy of The Lost Boys for us to watch on Friday. They said they’ll be there.”

“Whoa, seriously? That one just came out, how’d you get a copy?”

“My friend,” he says. “The one I mentioned. He works at Family Video and reserves stuff for me.”

“Huh. I thought Family Video was closed."

You'd applied to work there last year and never got a call back. You'd gone by once and it had looked abandoned. Hence why you now work at the arcade across town.

"It almost did, but Keith took over so now it's barely scraping by."

"Ah. Sweet deal on the movies."

“Yeah,” Dustin agrees, eyes crinkling. “My friend's pretty cool. You'd like him."

"Would I now?"

"Absolutely," he gushes. "He's a total badass too. He won his first fight last year. He used to be a jock but he's recovered."

"Wow. Impressive."

"Mmhm. I could ask him to hold stuff for you too, if you wanted.”

“You would?”

The game makes a sad game over noise. Dustin sighs and takes a gulp of his slushie.

“Yeah, totally,” he says through a mouthful of blue raspberry ice. “Which one do you want?”

“Pretty in Pink? I missed it in theaters."

“Sure. I’ll tell him to hold it tonight and tomorrow you can pick it up.”

“Cool. Thanks, Dustin.”

Dustin gives you an apple-cheeked grin.

“Gotta stay in good graces with the arcade attendant who lets me play Tempest as long as I want.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, walking away. "Don't get slushie on the game."

"'Kay!"

Dustin only gets a little bit of slushie on the game, but he cleans it up with about a million of the cheap snack bar napkins. When he leaves, he tells you to mention his name at Family.

"Who do I ask for?"

"You can talk to either of them," Dustin says. "Doesn't matter. Except Keith. You know Keith, right?"

"Unfortunately.” Keith used to terrorize the arcade before he blessedly moved on. “He works there?"

"Barely." Dustin scoffs. "He's almost never there, so don't worry. And feel free to ask for more movies. They owe me one."

Your sole interactions are with professors and a gaggle of high school freshmen. But now you get to watch any movie you want. Maybe this year won't totally suck.

The bell rings pleasantly as you step inside. There's a few people on line, so you take your time walking in. There's a movie display with about thirty copies of RoboCop. A cardboard cutout of RoboCop stares back behind his red helmet.

"Can I help who's next?"

You go to the counter. A girl about your age with a choppy haircut smiles at you but it's sort of strained. She has a pin on her green work vest that says Ask me!

"Please don't ask for Adventures in Babysitting," she says.

"Oh. No, I'm, uh, Dustin's friend?"

You can't believe you're name-dropping a high schooler.

She nods in realization.

"Oh, yeah. God, I keep telling that dweeb not to promise holds."

You wince.

"Sorry. If it's going to get you in trouble…"

Her brows raise. She smiles a bit.

"No, it's okay. Usually my coworker deals with it but, well. He's taking an extra long break today. So, what movie was it?"

"Pretty in Pink," you say.

"Classic," she replies. "John Hughes fan?"

"Somewhat. I didn't get to see it in theaters. I like Molly Ringwald."

She grins.

"Me too. She's pretty."

"Super pretty," you agree.

The girl considers you, then sticks out her hand.

"I'm Robin," she says. "Nice to meet you."

You take her hand. "Y/N.”

"Did you go to Hawkins High?"

"I did. Graduated last year."

"Oh, cool. Are you in college?"

You nod.

"Hawkins State. Twenty minutes from here."

"Sweet! I'm taking a gap year, but afterwards, I’m gonna apply there. It's cheap. College is college, right?"

"College is college," you agree. "But I wish I'd gone away for school."

You don't know why you're telling her this. You've known Robin for all of two minutes. But she seems friendly. And her sense of style is cool. She wears a blue blazer and tie underneath her vest.

"How come?" she asks.

"Everybody from Hawkins is there," you say. "And I… I just want a new start."

Robin smiles sympathetically.

"They're jerks," she says.

You huff. "Yeah."

You'd turned yourself into a social recluse a million years ago. It's your own damn fault you can't befriend anybody in this town. At least, not anymore.

Robin types into the computer, then smacks the monitor. She groans.

"Ugh. Gimme a second," she says. "Stupid technology."

"No problem," you say, smiling. You like her. Maybe you can integrate Family Video into your regular routine, become friends. You can see Robin becoming a good friend. One you wouldn't grow apart from.

She disappears into the back room. You browse the old releases and stop at Die Hard. This one you saw in theaters. John McClane is a badass.

You think of Dustin, and his supposedly badass new friend. It's too bad you didn't meet today. Dustin has a good sense about people. If he says so, it's possible you and this friend really would get on.

The bell rings again. You're slow to look up. The entrance is empty when you do. You keep reading about John McClane's adventures.

"Have you been waiting long?"

You turn at the new voice. The video slips out of your hand and clatters onto the counter.

Steve’s hair has grown since you last saw it. He looks different too, though he has yet to break out of his signature church boy polos. There's a smattering of stubble on his jaw. His arms are lean with muscle. He wears a matching work vest like Robin's, name tag printed Steve in blocky font.

He looks at where you've dropped Die Hard and smiles.

"This is a good one," he says. "John McClane is a total badass."

You blink.

"Did you want to rent that one?" he continues, meeting your eye.

"No," you manage.

"Okay, no problem. Just browsing?"

He doesn't remember you.

You stare and stare. Steve leans in, concerned. He's changed, but he hasn't. He's still handsome with his swoopy hair and big, dark eyes, but the Steve you knew wouldn't have been caught dead working at a video store.

And he doesn't remember you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, sounding genuine.

You take a step back from the counter. The blood roars in your ears. Robin comes back in, Pretty in Pink in hand. She looks at you, then at Steve.

"Got it!" she tells you. "Computer should work now."

"I have to go," you say.

You don't look at Steve again, instead focusing on Robin.

Her brows rise.

"Oh. Is everything—"

"I forgot my wallet," you blurt. "I can't pay for the movie. Sorry."

"That's okay, we can just—"

You run. The bell chimes over her words. You keep running until you get to the bus stop, three blocks away.

Only there do you stop to catch your breath.

And then you cry.

February 1982

"What do you think about Marie?"

You look up from your textbook. Steve is doodling in the margins of his notes. You gently prod his arm. He returns to reading but his leg starts to bounce under the table.

"Marie Iverson?" you ask.

"Yeah."

Steve glances at you. He pushes his hair back. It had taken him freshman year to get his bearings with all the gels and creams, but now, his hair is a point of pride, always perfectly coiffed. Seniors call him "The Hair" and high-five him in the hallway. You hate it.

"I don't know. I don't know her that well."

"She's cute."

"I guess so," you say.

It's harder to get Steve to focus on homework these days. Last year, he happily made flashcards with you and even bought fancy gel pens to share for your notes. Now, he prefers to talk about girls or—

"I was thinking of asking her out."

The tip of your pencil breaks. You really ought to start using pens, but you don't like being unable to erase.

"Shit, here. Take mine."

Steve offers his still perfectly sharpened pencil. You stare at it.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah." You take the pencil. "Thanks."

"Sure. So what do you think?"

"I don't know, Steve. I thought you talked about this stuff with Tommy."

"I would, it's just…" Steve shifts uncomfortably. "He can be rude about it sometimes. He doesn't even get why we're friends, y'know? Doesn't understand why I don't just date you."

Tommy is a moron, but you've said that since last year, and Steve's never listened before.

"Some people don't get it," you say mildly, because you have an upcoming French test and there's no use in getting upset over Tommy Hagan right now.

"But you do. And you know about this stuff better than me. Girls and all."

"Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I know what girls are best for you to date, Steve. It's weird to talk about."

Steve deflates.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry."

You sigh and rub your temple.

"I thought you knew all about that," you say, extending an olive branch. "Asking girls out and stuff."

"Well, I mean, I've kissed girls but I've never… you're, like, the only girl I really know."

Something like pride swells in your chest. Selfishly, you want to keep Steve. You don't want to help him if it means losing him. Oh, you're so greedy, aren't you? You watch Steve run off with Tommy and Carol and nameless seniors and seethe, because Steve was yours first. Steve is yours.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah." You give him back his pencil and fish for another one in your bag. "Did you ever think about writing how you feel?"

"Writing?"

"Yeah, like a poem or a letter."

"I'm terrible at writing," Steve laments. "The letters get all jumbled and I never spell a damn thing right."

He'd told his mom once how letters melt into each other, how b's become d's. She'd taken him to get his eyes checked, and when the doctor said Steve was fine, Deborah Harrington had told her son to stop begging for attention.

"Someone who really likes you won't care about spelling mistakes, Steve," you tell him. "As long as you write from the heart. Don't do that cheesy shit and quote Romeo and Juliet. They're young, impulsive, and they die at the end, and that's not romantic."

Steve laughs, nose scrunched.

"What!" you demand. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, 's just—of course you'd have something to say about quoting Shakespeare."

"It's overdone," you say, crinkling your nose. "And girls would much rather read your own words."

"So you think I should write Marie a letter?"

"If you really like her," you say. "Only write letters for girls you really like. Otherwise they lose their meaning."

Steve frowns. "I don't know if I should write her a letter, then."

Don't, you want to say. Don't write any of them letters.

You shuffle your papers into a stack.

"Can we study now?" you ask.

"Oh, sure, yes. Sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologizing, Steve."

He shifts closer to you. His leg has stopped bouncing.

"Lemme take you out," he says.

You nearly swallow your tongue.

"Wh–what?"

"For ice cream," Steve clarifies. "Like we used to. Dairy Queen."

"Oh. Okay, sure. But after we study."

Steve beams. "I'll drive you."

Steve's dad had bought him the BMW as a birthday present this year—not that Richard Harrington actually knows when his own son's birthday is, considering the gift was three months early. Still, it's another point of pride for Steve and about all anybody talks about whenever his name comes up. Steve is the only person in your grade with a car. Junior girls hit him up for rides. You make yourself scarce when they do.

You don't care. You liked Steve before the car. And the clothes. And the hair.

Your throat feels tight. You want your best friend back.

"Just us?" you check.

You can't tell these days. Steve seems to hang out with everybody but you. You're shocked he'd even asked to study together.

"Oh, sure," Steve says. "I just have to drop off Tommy and Carol first, okay?"

You check your watch and close your book.

"I have class," you lie. "I'll see you later."

Steve catches your wrist. He looks at you and you're struck by how sweet his face is. It's not like you didn't understand why girls want him but it's Steve. Your Steve, who still sleeps with a nightlight and who framed a picture of a sports car he cut out from a magazine because he'd thought it would make him cooler (it didn't. You still tease him about it.)

"Please," he says. "For helping me."

Your eyes slit. "I didn't help you to get stuff, Steve. I helped you because you're my friend."

Steve blinks like he's forgotten what it's like to be friends with someone just for the sake of being friends.

"You're right," he agrees. "You're not like that. I'll tell Tommy and Carol to find another ride. It'll be just us. I promise."

You perk up at that. "Really?"

"Really. You can sit in the front with me and we'll play Bruce Springsteen, like we used to. Please?"

"Okay, Steve." You ache. You’ve never been very good at telling him no. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."

And maybe… maybe your best friend is still in there after all.

Now

You ask your shift manager if you can work at the snack bar today. It's in the back and you won't have to deal with any game hogs.

"You didn't put enough syrup in my slushie."

You might have overshot the perks, though.

Slushie Girl's hair is bleach blonde and hairsprayed to God. You want to tell her that all that hairspray doesn't keep friends. Or brain synapses.

"I don't make the slushie," you say for the third time. "That's how it comes out of the machine."

She shoots you a mean look.

"I'm complaining to the manager."

You paste on a smile.

"You do that. Have a nice day."

She finally walks away, probably on the hunt for your manager, who's definitely smoking a joint outside to avoid this exact situation.

Dustin comes around the corner and this time, he's with the rest of his party. You smile.

"Hey, Y/N!" Dustin greets.

Lucas waves at you. Max and Mike are arguing and therefore are in their own world. And there's their newest addition, El, whose story you're still not clear on, as well as Will, quiet as always.

You lean your elbows on the countertop.

"What'll it be, gang?"

"Six nachos and six slushies, please. One blue raspberry, three cherry, and two Coke."

You fill up the slushies first. Dustin dances on his toes.

"So did you pick up the movie?" he asks.

"Oh." You try to smile. "I went there but I couldn't. I forgot my money. Pretty dumb of me."

Dustin accepts this with no argument.

"Well, you can go back. They'll hold it for a few days."

You're never setting foot in there again, but you don't tell Dustin that.

He takes his slushie and immediately starts drinking.

"Slow down, dude. You'll get a brain freeze," you say.

"You sound like Steve," Dustin informs you. "Doesn't Y/N sound like Steve?"

Lucas nods.

"Yup. They're both parents."

You feel queasy. You focus on making the nachos, the cheese pouring out thick and gooey.

"Did you meet Steve?" Dustin asks. "You probably know him from high school, but he's different now."

"Yes," you say quietly. "I knew him."

"I promise he's different. Even Mike likes him, and Mike hated his guts. Right, Mike?"

Mike pauses in his animated discussion with Max and looks at you.

"What?"

"I'm telling Y/N about how Steve is cool now," Dustin explains.

"Oh." Mike shrugs. "He's fine. Much better now that he's not dating my sister."

"He's not?" you ask. "But they were in love. I–I mean, that's what I heard, at least."

"She dumped his ass," El says, and it sounds a little ridiculous in her soft monotone.

Max scoffs, taking her Coke slushie.

"Did you live under a rock? It was a huge thing."

"Now Steve is lame," Mike says with a snort.

"Getting dumped doesn't make somebody lame," you say with an old ferocity you'd thought had disappeared.

"Okay, jeez." Mike holds up his hands. "Steve's alright. He's different, that's for sure."

"He's our paladin," Lucas says. "A protector."

Dustin nods eagerly.

You blink. "He protects you guys?"

Max elbows Lucas. You have no idea what that's about. El steps forward and smiles softly.

"Yes," she says. "He's our babysitter."

"Aren't you guys freshmen? I thought you were too old for babysitters."

"Oh no, Steve doesn't get paid for it or anything," says Mike. "He just does it 'cause he has nothing else to do."

"That's not true!" Dustin argues. Then he shrugs. "Well, it's a little true. But he does like us. He's a good guy. He cares about his friends."

You bite your tongue, not wanting to reply to that.

"That's great, guys. The girl, Robin? She seems pretty cool too."

"That's Steve's best friend," says Dustin. "She's great."

"Oh." You wince. "Best friend?"

Dustin huffs. “Yeah. They don’t date. He won’t say why."

"Platonic with a capital P," Max confirms. “It’s obviously because he’s in love with somebody else.”

“Not Nancy!” Lucas protests.

“There are other girls besides Nancy, Sinclair.”

You busy yourself with serving the last set of nachos. The kids pull out crumpled bills and coins in return. You count the money and stack it directly into the register; you know there won't be any change.

When you turn, they're still there. Dustin has his signature grin on, eyes squinty.

"Yeees," you drag out. "Can I help you?"

"We need a favor," Lucas says. "Please."

"Hmm." You lean over the counter. "What's up?"

"They're showing Prince of Darkness on Friday," Dustin explains. "But it's rated R."

"So just sneak in. Isn't that what you guys did at Starcourt?" you ask.

"We had an inside man then. They're a lot stricter at the new one," Lucas frowns. "They ask for IDs 'cause some mom complained after her kid snuck in to watch Risky Business."

"And why can't your babysitter take you?"

You sneer at the thought. Steve spending his Friday nights herding a bunch of adolescent teens into a movie theater. There's a reason you consider Dustin affectionately delusional.

"He has a stupid date," Dustin groans. "He's a serial dater, Y/N. It's terrible. He gets lucky once and totally ditches us."

Now that sounds like the Steve you knew.

"I see. I don't really like horror stuff."

"You don't have to stay!" Dustin insists. "You can watch whatever you want after we’re in. I'll pay you back for the ticket."

“This would be so much easier if Steve still worked at Scoops,” Mike grumbles.

You blank for a moment, the image of Steve in a sailor’s hat and those ridiculous shorts whiting your brain.

“Um,” you begin. “You know I don’t have a fancy BMW to cart you guys around in, right?”

“It’s cool. We’ll get there,” Max says.

“So?” Dustin bounces on his toes. “Sooo?”

You sigh. It’d been nice of Dustin to get you the movie, even though you’d chickened out and ran. And it’s not like you have anything better to do.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll get you guys in.”

Dustin pumps his fist. “Thanks, Y/N! You’re my favorite old person.”

You roll your eyes. “Funny. Any funnier, and I might rescind my help, Henderson.”

“Byeeee!”

They all disperse to the arcade. You wonder how on earth Steve got involved with them.

March 1983

“Okay, but if you had to choose.”

“Pass. I would literally rather swallow pennies than kiss Principal Coleman’s bald-ass head, Steve.”

Steve takes a triumphant swig of beer. “So you’re saying you’ve got the hots for Benny the janitor.”

“No!” you insist through giggles. “I don’t. God, you’re gross. Can’t believe I’m being treated like this on your birthday.”

“Exactly! My birthday.”

He rolls onto his side in his deck chair and nearly faceplants on the cement. You reach out, reaction time delayed.

“Steve!” you yell. “Careful.”

“I am, I am,” he mumbles, and rights himself on the chair. “Jus’ wanna see you better.”

“I keep telling you you need glasses.”

“I do not,” he whines. “My vision’s ten outta ten. Could a guy who needs glasses do this?”

He crumples up a Twinkies wrapper and throws it towards the garbage. The wind picks up and sends the wrapped into the pool.

“Shit,” he says.

You belly laugh in delight.

“Wait, wait, redo. Go fish it outta there.”

“Oh, as if. I’m not going in there. I told you you need glasses. Even Mother Nature agrees.”

"She does not. Mother Nature thinks I'm a doll."

You hum and close your eyes. Alcohol always makes you sleepy.

The chair scrapes against the concrete. You hear a crinkle of a chip bag. Those are your only warning before you’re crushed by two hundred pounds of drunk boy.

“Steve!” You wheeze, squirming as his hair tickles your face. “Get off!”

"’M sleepy,” he mumbles.

“Well, don't sleep on me, weirdo.”

“‘S cold.”

“You run, like, a hundred degrees, don’t lie.”

He lifts his head. “So you’re saying I’m hot?”

“I’m saying all that booze cooked your brain,” you reply sweetly.

“I’ve been wounded,” he moans and plops onto your shoulder.

“Ugh.” You resign to your fate and lean back. Steve’s not actually that heavy; even drunk, he has a lot of control over his weight and he’s situated himself so he isn’t crushing anything important. No, you squirm underneath him for a very different reason.

“Steeeeve,” you whine. “You’re gonna squish me into a pancake.”

“Can’t believe no one else came.”

You still. Steve’s face remains buried in your shoulder. His body is beside yours, and he has an arm slung over your belly.

“I didn’t—didn’t want a party,” he continues. “I always throw parties. I thought I’d do somethin’ different. An’ none of them even wished me a happy birthday. ‘Cept you.”

You rest your hand on the back of his hair. It’s wind-blown and messy from the drinks, free of his heady hair gel. You’ve never loved it more.

“Did you tell them your birthday is today?” you ask gently, even though you know he did.

“Yeah,” he says. “Told all of ‘em. Guess they weren’t listening.”

“I listen.”

Steve looks up at you. His eyes are glassy.

“God, I miss you,” he says.

You feel the wall you’ve built this year crumble, just a little.

“I’m right here, Steve.”

“I know but—been a jerk lately. I know I have. You’re my best friend, okay? Nothing’ll change that. I–I love you so much.”

Your breath hitches. Steve barrels on, not noticing.

“And I’ll be better. We’ll hang out more. Not–not here, drunk. But for real. We’ll go to the movies. Y’wanna see a movie?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I wanna see a movie.”

“‘Kay, what movie? Anything you want. We’ll get popcorn and Raisinets.”

“You hate Raisinets,” you choke through a watery laugh.

“I’d eat Raisinets anytime with you.”

You lay there, in the dark, the only sound being the pool filter.

“Let’s watch the new James Bond.”

“Hmm, okay. But you’ll have to say the name eventually.”

Your nose crinkles. “I am not calling it by its name.”

His laugh is warm in your neck.

You don’t tell Steve to get up again. He snuggles into you, leg over yours. You fall asleep like that, curled underneath him.

Now

“Wait.” Max stops. “Shouldn’t we have, like, a game plan?”

“Game plan?” El asks quietly.

“Yeah. Some of us aren’t so great at playing it cool.”

She stares at Lucas.

“I play it cool!” he squawks. “I am so cool!”

“Right.”

“Just let Y/N do the talking,” Will says. “She’s technically the adult so she should act like this is a conscious choice.”

You shrug. “Makes sense to me.”

Dustin beams. “This is gonna be great!”

“Or a total disaster,” Max says.

You go to the counter, the kids trailing behind like ducklings.

“Six tickets for Prince of Darkness, please,” you say. “And uh, one for Dirty Dancing.”

The attendant looks at you, then at the kids.

“Don’t you mean seven tickets for Prince of Darkness?” she asks. “It’s rated R.”

Shit. “Right, yes. Sorry. Seven tickets. And one for Dirty Dancing. We have another friend who’s late.”

“Uh-huh.”

The attendant, whose bored expression you’ve recognized on your own face after long days in the arcade, hands you your tickets without any questioning.

“I think we’re in the clear,” Lucas whispers when you enter the concession area.

You wait for them to buy their snacks. Max persuades Lucas to let her mix M&Ms into their bucket of popcorn. He agrees and shuffles closer so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder while they share.

“Okay, last stretch,” Mike says, shoveling a frighteningly large handful of sour worms into his mouth. “We just have to get past the ticket guy.”

Said ticket guy is a kid who can’t be much older than you. You think you might’ve gone to school together, but you’ve made it a point to eviscerate everything about high school from your mind.

“Hey,” you say, trying to act cool. Maybe you’re the one Max should’ve been worried about, instead of Lucas. “Uh, here are our tickets.”

He takes the tickets, then looks behind you.

“Prince of Darkness is only for people seventeen and older,” he says.

“I’m an adult, so I’m with them,” you explain. “I’m, like, their guardian?”

“Yeah, uh—” He hands you your tickets. “No can do. There needs to be an adult for each person under seventeen.”

“Come on,” you cajole. “They’re high schoolers. It’s not like they’re gonna be scarred for life watching some zombies, or whatever.”

He shrugs. “Rules are rules.”

“She’s an adult!” Dustin argues.

“Look, if you’re gonna hold up the line, I’m gonna have to—”

“Yo, Gillespie! That you?”

Dustin turns and lights up. The seven of you part for Steve Harrington and his date, a pretty strawberry blonde you think you had biology with.

“Harrington, man, what’s up!”

Ticket Prick gets up to slam Steve into a bear hug. You barely resist an eye roll.

“Shit, I haven’t seen you in a year! Where’ve you been all this time? Hey, did you hear about that shit with Munson?”

Steve flinches. It’s a tiny movement, indiscernible to the trained eye. But it’s there all the same.

“Gillespie, c’mon. Don’t bring the party down with that,” Steve says, all sweet charm.

“Sorry, sorry. Daisy,” he greets the girl attached to Steve’s arm.

“Gil,” she replies with a giggle. “You smell like popcorn butter.”

America’s future taxpayers. Terrifying.

“Are you gonna let us in or not?” Max interrupts, arms folded.

You feel a burst of pride.

Gil shoots her a dirty glare and puffs up, ready to fight a fourteen year old. Steve cuts in smoothly.

“Gillespie, listen. I know her.” He points to you. You bristle. “I can personally vouch that she’s just trying to do right by these kids. They wanted to see Prince of Darkness, y’know? Get away from the parents.”

“It’s a sick film,” Gil agrees. “You seen it?”

No, of course Steve hadn’t seen it. He hates horror.

“Planning on it,” Steve says, the ultimate image of playing it cool. “Look, you remember sneaking into the movies. Fast Times? Ring any bells?”

Max rolls her eyes. You’re inclined to do the same.

Gil laughs dopily, and nudges Steve. “Hell yeah, I do. That was a crazy night, Harrington.”

Steve smiles thinly. “Sure was. So whaddya say? For old times’ sake?”

Gil considers your little troupe. Then he shrugs.

“Why not. Manager’s not here anyway.”

He takes the tickets and tears them to stubs, then gives them back.

“Theater six. On your left. Enjoy.”

The kids stampede into the left theater wing. You hang back with your own ticket.

“Appreciate it, man,” Steve says, all smiles. “Take care, alright?”

“Hey, you too, Harrington! We gotta catch up!”

Steve and Daisy go in. You expect them to walk right past you, and Daisy does, predictably. But Steve stops.

“I’ll catch up, okay?” he tells her. “Find us some good seats?”

She paws at him a little, then goes, sodas in hand. You stiffen as Steve walks and stops three feet away from you.

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry about that. Gil’s an asshole.”

“I know. He yawned during my poetry reading sophomore year. And then you guys went to the movies together.”

Steve shrinks. “Your poems were great.”

You’re suddenly exhausted.

“What do you want, Steve?”

“I just… I wanted to see you. Say hi.”

“Okay.” You cross your arms. “Hi.”

“You forgot your movie,” he says. “The other day.”

“I didn’t want it that much.”

“Dustin said you looked everywhere for it.”

“Well, in the end, it didn’t really matter,” you say. “Not enough to stay.”

“Y/N—”

“I think your date’s waiting for you,” you interrupt. “Better get back to her. Wouldn’t want to taint your reputation.”

Steve makes a noise like he’s been wounded. You turn on your heel before you can think better of it.

“Wait.” He catches your wrist. Steve’s grip is light, like you’re something precious to hold. You wrench your arm away. “Y/N, I want to apologize. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask. “For forgetting me? I didn’t expect you to remember, Steve.”

“I didn’t forget you,” he insists. “I could never forget you. I wasn’t—please, can I just explain?”

“I don’t need your explanations,” you snap. The hurt corrodes your tongue like acid. “I know what happened. We were both there. You left.”

Steve’s eyes are huge and dark. He looks like you just stabbed him in the heart, and that makes you feel worse. You’d thought telling him how much it hurts would put you back together, but all it did was break you more.

So you run. Again.

You slam through a back exit and rip your ticket into a million pieces. The wind is cold and unforgiving. Your eyes sting.

You call out sick for two days in a row. You kind of expect to get fired, but then again, people have been leaving Hawkins and if you’re not here to serve the masses their slushies, who will be?

So, after lying in bed not thinking about movies and strawberry blonde girls and how sick you are of this town, you get up and put on your arcade vest.

Now it is two in the afternoon. You’d heard it was supposed to snow today.

Robin eyes the snack counter like it holds the next plague outbreak. You don't blame her; you make it a point to wash up to your elbows after work.

"Slushie?"

She looks at you like she’d forgotten you were there. "What?"

You point a thumb at the machine. "Are you here for a slushie?"

"Oh. No, sorry. Red dye makes me insane in the brain. Steve actually—"

Robin stops, grimaces. So he's told her. Probably everything, if the kids had been telling the truth.

You're honestly surprised she's here. Unless it’s to, like, swirlie you in the vat of artificial cheese.

"Are you here to drown me in nacho cheese?" you ask.

Robin's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "What? No!"

"Just checking." You lean against the counter. "What can I do for you, Robin?"

Robin suddenly looks like she's never interacted with a human being before. You like her a lot. Steve probably does too.

"I came to drop off your movie." She holds the tape over the counter like it's a pool of lava.

"But I didn't pay for it." You shove your hand in your jean pocket; you only have a couple dollars on you. "I guess I can get you the money tom—"

"It's on the house. For a fellow Molly fan."

Robin wiggles the tape with two fingers. You take it and wait for a catch. There is none.

"Thank you," you say. "You didn't have to do that."

"Actually, it wasn't me," she confesses. "I'm just the mailman."

You prepare to hand it back but Robin shakes her head.

"He's not going to pop out of the slushie machine, okay? He's just trying to make it up to you."

"He doesn't need to make it up to me," you bite, except those aren’t the words you mean. "Why does he even care? We're not in high school anymore."

Robin smiles a sad smile.

"I know," she says. "We’re not. I know he should've known to fix things earlier. He's received a lot of blows to the head, though, so he's still catching up."

The thought turns your stomach. More? More you weren’t there to protect him from?

"He doesn't owe me anything," you say and wave the tape again. "You can take it back and leave it for somebody else."

"Y/N, I know we don't know each other, like, at all. But it's important to me you know that Steve cares about you, because you’re important to him. And you knew him way before I did, and you probably know a lot of stuff I don't, and that's good because he has a friend like me, but he should also have a friend like you too, Y/N."

"I don't want to be his friend," you mumble.

"Yeah," Robin says. "I figured. But I don't think that's a confession he should hear secondhand."

You look at her, stunned. She's such a clever girl. You hope she treats Steve well.

"If you two are—"

"We're not," she says, like this is a regular explanation she goes through. "Steve and I are friends. Steve has crashed and burned with every single date since his fall from regency. Steve is the best person I've ever met."

"Yeah, I’ve heard. You and Dustin are his biggest fans."

Robin snorts. "Trust me, I'm not proud of it."

You shake your head. Your eyes feel hot.

"This town is so shit," you say.

"Yeah," Robin agrees. "It really fucking is. But I'm not asking you to give this town a second chance. Just him."

"Why are you trying so much?" you ask. "You don't even know me."

Robin shrugs. "No, but you're the one person Steve used to be friends with who's not an asshole, and I think us non-assholes need to band together."

"I can sometimes be an asshole."

"Me too. So are those little dweebs. How about calling ourselves the Semi-Assholes Club?"

You laugh. "We'll get jackets."

"With partially drawn butts on the backs," Robin says with a giggle.

You look at the tape in your hand.

"Does Steve like John Hughes?"

"He does. He's a total sap for those. He thinks he's in his own coming-of-age movie because he's delusional."

He sounds perfect. He sounds like the friend you loved.

"I did want to watch this one," you say.

"It won't hurt you to," Robin promises.

You suppose not.

December 1984

You don't believe the whispers. All week, the rumor mill spins tales of Billy Hargrove finally pushing the King off his throne. There's no way he'll show his face, a girl at the adjacent lunch table astutes. I sure as fuck wouldn't.

Steve Harrington is a loser. Steve Harrington got dumped for Jonathan Byers. Steve Harrington may as well be dead, and on and on.

Every line gets you angrier. A boy who sits behind you in chemistry taps his pencil like he always does. Tap, tap, tap.

Halfway through class, you snap at him to quit it. He does, but not without a tinge of embarrassment. You’re so angry this year. Angry at your loneliness, angry at the unfairness of said loneliness. You might’ve done this to yourself, and that fact only gets you angrier.

You see Nancy Wheeler in the hallways with Jonathan Byers, and the confirmation of that rumor should make you happy. It doesn't.

A week later, most of the excitement has died down. Everybody’s moved onto the next big thing, which is to deduce who fucked in Vice Principal White's office. One look at V.P. White, and it had been decided that it can't have been White himself.

You can't care less. Once upon a time you might’ve laughed about it with a friend, but you don't have any more of those, and high school is bullshit with or without them. So.

Steve walks in twenty five minutes into the period. Mrs. Kaplan gives him a downright beastly glare and demands to know where he had been.

"I'm sorry," is all he says. "If you give me detention, I understand."

There are a few snickers that rub at an old hurt, one that had flared up whenever somebody dared to make fun of your best friend. It doesn't bother me, he'd said, and you'd known it was a lie.

It bothers me, you’d replied, and Steve had hugged you tight.

Mrs. Kaplan seems more stunned Steve hadn't swaggered past her like a peacock escaped from the zoo and lets him go sit down without a fight. He takes the only empty desk, two rows across from you. You stare. You can't not.

Half of his face looks like it was mashed in a garbage disposal. It's purple and a sickly yellow. His eye and lip are still swollen. You stare and stare. You feel queasy.

Billy had done that. You're so angry. You think you might never get past this grief, this loss of a once permanent fixture in your life.

No one wished Steve a happy birthday this year, you realize out of nowhere.

You stare and stare and stare until Steve looks right back. You're blindsided by thick guilt, like blinking through a milkshake. And then the familiar curl of anger returns because why the fuck should you feel guilty? You aren't the one who fucked everything up, who mascerated this good thing. Steve did this to himself. Steve deserves to walk the halls alone. It's Steve's fault.

But when you look at him, at his raw wounds, at his bruised knuckles, you know that he already believes he deserves every punch Billy Hargrove gave him.

You hate Steve Harrington. But you really wish you'd been there to drive him to the hospital.

Now (And Forever)

The tape sits buried in your drawer for three days. You don’t know what Family Video’s return policy is, but you hope you’re not racking up late fees. You doubt name dropping Dustin will work again.

It’s Saturday when you decide to watch Pretty in Pink. You remove the video from its sleeve. An envelope falls out.

The front has your name printed in squished, loopy script. You remember January at Steve’s house, a stack of thank-you cards courtesy of his mother awaiting the Harringtons’ sign-off. Steve’s hand would cramp and you’d take over while he made grilled cheese for the both of you. Love, The Harringtons, and there was no love in that house, but you think maybe Steve loved enough to make up for it.

Hi, the letter begins. I hope you’re good. Robin told me you’re going to Hawkins State.

That’s fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you. Are you still writing poetry? I liked that one you wrote about the birds who shared a branch and kept each other warm. I still have it in my notebook in my room.

I’m sorry for the other night. I’m sorry for every night since freshman year, honestly. I’m kind of a dumbass, but you know that, so it doesn’t really excuse anything. I think I’ve actually lost brain cells since we drifted apart.

You crumple the corner, suddenly hot with anger. Who keeps telling him he’s dumb? You want names.

I didn’t forget you, you know. I got scared and I thought maybe I could ease into it, but then you recognized me and… well. I don’t blame you for running.

Anyway. I’m talking too much about myself, when there’s nothing to say. I’m really sorry about what I did, or, actually, what I didn’t do. Somebody told me I was living on autopilot, and that it wasn’t really living at all. I think it was you.

I’m not living on autopilot anymore. I woke up. And I realized that you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. I love Robin and the kids and this little family that has apparently invayd invaded your life too. Sorry about that. They never leave and they eat all your food. Good luck.

But I miss you. I always have.

Shit happened these last few years that I’ll tell you about one day, if you want. I’d rather not, though, because you’ve always been the paranoiac (like that one? Robin said it’s an SAT word) of the two of us and I feel like this would just make you even more of one. But I will tell you, if you want to hear it. I want to tell you everything. I want you to tell me everything too. Like we used to.

I want you to tell me how college is going. Who the annoying jerks in your classes are so I can go beat them up (kidding). I want you to stop by to rent movies so I can lend them for free and you’ll yell at me about taking advantage of fre friendships.

Fuck, I miss you. It’s always been there, bubbling below the surface. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry I didn’t write this sooner. I know you said writing is how we express things we can’t say. You were right. You always are. Can’t believe I forgot that.

It’s okay if you don’t want to be friends. I mean, it hurts, but I respect it. I understand. Most days, I can’t believe people can bear to be around me. But then I hear your voice in my head, telling me that most people are shitheads and that I’m golden and. Well, I don’t know if I believe that, but you were right that most of the people I surrounded myself with were shitheads. Except you, of course. And then I went ahead and fucked that up.

I’ve been working on finding the non-shitheads of the world. I think I’m doing pretty well. And I wrote this because I realized that while I will probably end up buried in this fucking town, you’re going to do something incredible. And nothing incredible ever happens in Hawkins, so I figure you’ll be far away when you do it.

I didn’t want to miss this chance to write things I never said. So here they are. And you can do whatever you want with them. You’ve always been the best of the two of us. I trust you.

You should watch Dirty Dancing. You’ll like it. I did. I’ll see it again if you want. I’ll watch anything with you.

Did you know there’s another Bond movie coming out in the summer? We could watch that one together too. If you wanted more time to decide.

Sincer

Your friend,

Steve

You don’t bother ejecting the tape. You run all the way to the bus stop, Steve’s letter in hand.

You have to see him. No other thoughts register except that one. You have to know if Steve wrote these words because he can’t say them or because you won’t listen.

It isn’t too late when you get to Loch Nora. The neighborhood is dead, which is weird. Steve’s house looks frozen in time: his parents’ car isn’t in the driveway. You wonder if they’ve ever come back since you’ve been gone. You wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no.

There’s a tarp over the pool. The gate is locked with a chain. You can’t sneak in through the fence like you used to. Not that you would. You don’t think strangers can sneak through pool gates.

You knock on the door three times. And wait.

Steve’s car is in the driveway, a duller burgundy than when he first got it. There are a few scratches in the paint. No longer a prized possession. Maybe well-loved instead.

The door swings open.

Steve says your name like a prayer. You swallow and steel your spine.

“I got your letter,” you say.

“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. His hair is damp like he’s just showered. It curls around his ears. Waves of want hit you.

“I don’t want to be friends,” you continue before he can speak. “I don’t—I can’t do that again.”

Steve’s mouth draws into the saddest frown you’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not—I don’t mean it like that.”

His brows knit. “What?”

“I…” You pull out the letter and wave it. “Did you mean it? Do you love me?”

“Yes,” Steve whispers. It’s like a shout in the quiet street. “I meant it.”

“Like a friend?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Will you love me like a friend forever?” you ask.

“Always.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you as something more,” you blurt, watery. “I have for a long time.”

You hear the door shut. This is it: your heart on the line, all for nothing—

“Then I’ll love you as something more back,” Steve says. “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”

And he holds you the way you’d held him so many times. You inhale and wrap your arms around his neck. You’ve got an iron grip around the letter. Tears slip down your cheeks.

“I missed you,” you confess.

Steve nods against your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, and it sounds a little wet. “I missed you too.”

“You were wrong,” you say into his neck.

“Hmm?”

You pull back to look at Steve.

“Incredible things do happen in Hawkins.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve smiles, cheeks blotchy. “Like what?”

“We found each other again.”

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