#wish they could work with flo again...

[picspammer]

Cosmic Love by Florence + The Machine Directed by Tabitha Denholm and Tom Beard ✨

[pathologicalreid]

heyyy!!! I just wanted to say I really love your work and this is my first time sending a request so sorry if it’s not very specific 😭💕

If you’re still doing requests, I was wondering if you could do a fem reader x Spencer Reid where it’s similar to your cryptic pregnancy one, except Spencer is at home with her when she’s in labour without realising, and she’s just in a lot of pain and it all of a sudden gets worse and she’s just in the bathroom shouting for Spencer, he comes in and eventually works out what’s going on, readers sort of in denial? Maybe the ambulance doesn’t get there in time so Spencer has to help her give birth? Lots of fluff and hurt/comfort :)

Also completely fine if your not comfortable doing it, but again really love your work and hope you have a great day 💕 :)

three's a family | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: cryptic pregnancy, traumatic birth, precipitous labor, hospitals, medical inaccuracy (its just me and google against the world), takes place after 9x7 "gatekeeper", surgery, near death experiences, periods, home birth word count: 3.16k a/n: anon i'll be so honest with u i wasn't sure if i was gonna write this but then i learned what precipitous labor was and i was like "i would not wish this on my worst enemy... i'm going to force it on y/n" BUT please keep in mind that there is a .000012 probability of this happening to you (i did the math) this is the wildest thing ive written to date i think

“I’m going to try a bath,” you murmured over to Spencer, wincing as you dragged yourself out of bed, walking at a turtle’s pace to the bathroom, hoping the warm water would soothe the cramps away.

Your period came and went as it pleased; it was just your luck that it decided to give you debilitating cramps on your one day off. Padding on the tile floor behind you, Spencer leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom, “I could run to the store and get a new heating pad.”

Sticking your hand under the tap to check the temperature, you plugged the drain once you found it to be satisfactory. You shook your head, “No, it’s fine.” Your original heating pad must’ve gotten lost somewhere in the depths of your storage closet, but you didn’t have the patience to look for it. You could manage just fine without it.

“Will you let me know if you need anything?” He asked, leaning forward to press a comforting kiss to your forehead.

Nodding, you hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your pajama pants and pulled them down, watching as Spencer pointedly flicked the bathroom fan on – something you often forgot to do.

You lasted about thirty minutes in the bath, not only was the water beginning to grow lukewarm, but if anything, your cramps were getting worse while submerged in the water. Grunting, you reached over and tugged the plug from the drain, watching as the water drained, you managed to pull yourself to a squat before you felt stuck.

Aunt Flo really had it out for you this month.

Burying your face in your hands you accepted defeat and called out for Spencer, reaching up and trying to stand again, but only succeeding in knocking over several shampoo bottles. “Spence!” You tried again, white-knuckling the edge of the bathtub as you bowed your head. A creeping feeling that this wasn’t your period was beginning to rise.

You listened as your husband made his way up the stairs, turning the corner into your room, and opening the door to the ensuite. Moving quickly, Spencer dropped to a crouch in front of you, cupping your pained face in his hands, “I don’t think this is your period, angel.”

Clamping your lips together to prevent yourself from crying out, you simply nodded in response. How awful was it that you were going to die, naked, in your bathtub?

Spencer wiped tears away from under your eyes – you hadn’t even realized you started crying. “What does it feel like, darling? What else could it be?” He asked, voice urgent but gentle as he tried to stop you from panicking.

As you shook your head, you couldn’t focus on anything else besides your breathing as another pain rose up through you. “It’s like a cramp, but with more pressure,” you said, depending on the bathtub and Spencer to keep you upright as your legs shook beneath you. “Like something’s pushing on me, kind of like I have to shit.”

Reaching behind him, Spencer dug through one of the drawers in the bathroom vanity before retrieving the handheld mirror that you used when you cut his hair. Before you could ask what he was doing, he placed the mirror at the bottom of the tub, just beneath you. “I think you’re in labor,” he announced, breaking the news to you.

“There’s no– fuck,” your voice broke off as you dropped your head onto Spencer’s shoulder, breathing through what was apparently a contraction. “I’m not pregnant,” you insisted as your symptoms started to make sense. You had been in labor all morning.

Nodding to himself, Spencer quickly kissed your cheek before standing up and making sure you were stable before stepping to the side.

You frowned as you looked up at him, “Where are you going?”

He didn’t go far, opening the linen closet and piling towels into his arms, “I’m getting towels to put in the tub beneath you, and then I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“You want me to give birth in our bathtub?” You asked, furrowing your brows quizzically before letting out a low whine as another contraction hit.

Stopping what he was doing, Spencer dropped down to you, running the flat of his palm up and down your back as he gently reminded you to breathe. “Did you want to change positions?”

Immediately, you shook your head. You already had an insurmountable task ahead of you and you saw no reason to add to that task by trying to move. “This is fine. Squatting is good, right?”

Nodding assuredly, Spencer smoothed your hair away from your face, “Gravity can help the baby descend the birth canal, and some people even say that the position can increase the pelvic diameter.”

While you were currently less concerned with the diameter of your pelvis and more concerned with feeling like your body was being split open, you continued going through the motions as he called for an ambulance, trying to explain the situation to the dispatcher.

“Have you been timing your contractions?” Spencer asked, tilting his head at you curiously as the dispatcher spoke on the phone.

Releasing a groan, you gripped the ledge of the tub, “I didn’t know they were contractions!”

Relaying that information over the phone, Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll take care of it.” He continued to reassure you, taking one look at your desperate expression before ending the call with the dispatcher.

He understood that you were vulnerable right now, and you didn’t want that broadcasted to a stranger on the phone. If you weren’t so preoccupied with remembering to breathe, you’d be more grateful. After a contraction ebbed away, Spencer stood up.

“I have to go unlock the door for the paramedics,” he told you, keeping a wary eye on you. “I’ll be right back,” he comforted you as he took one last look at you before tearing out of the bathroom.

In record speed, he returned to the bathroom as promised, “It’s bad,” you cried, the pressure on your pelvis becoming insufferable.

Crouching in front of you, Spencer studied your face before he spoke carefully, “I have to check your cervix.”

Despite his carefully chosen words, your lips still parted in shock, “You have to what?”

“I’ll use my hand to measure how dilated you are, and then… we’ll go from there,” he told you, nodding almost imperceptibly. At this point, you weren’t sure who he was trying to reassure – you or him. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you answered instantly, “indefinitely.”

You bit down on your lip as you let Spencer check you, understanding entirely why people choose to get epidurals – this was horribly uncomfortable. “On the next contraction, you need to push, okay?”

For just a moment, your breathing faltered as your scared eyes met his, “Spence, wait,” you pleaded.

Smoothing your hair back, your husband did everything he could to comfort you, “What is it, love?” He asked, his voice soft.

“I’m scared,” you confessed, voice cracking ever so slightly as tears flooded your lash line.

He leaned forward to gently kiss your lips before pulling away to press his forehead to yours, "I've got you. You're going to be fine. You're both going to be fine."

You could see his carotid pounding, and somehow the fact that he was secretly as scared as you was more comforting than the words that came from his mouth. As you pushed, you focused on everything that Spencer was saying instead of the pain. Don’t push for more than eight seconds. Remember to breathe. Your body will know what to do. I love you. I love you. I love you.

By the time Spencer was saying something about the head, your hearing had gone muffled. “You’re doing so well, baby,” you made out his voice and nodded dazedly. “You’re wonderful. I’m so proud of you – just a little more,” he cajoled.

Taking a moment to breathe, your ears and eyes focused as shaky breaths filled your lungs.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,” he murmured, dropping a kiss on your bare shoulder as he comforted you, continuing to keep you upright.

You shook your head, sniffling as your eyes screwed shut, “You’re perfect. Don’t stop. Keep talking,” you begged, needing something to focus on other than the pain.

“There’s about a point zero four percent chance of you getting pregnant and not finding out until you’re in labor,” he told you, hoping that the information would help you wrap your head around what was happening to you. “One to three in one hundred people have a precipitous labor,” he continued to speak as you pushed, and you wondered what the odds of you squeezing his hand so hard that you did damage were.

Against your better judgment, you looked down to check your progress, “Holy fuck,” you said breathlessly. You weren’t entirely clueless, you knew that once you got past the shoulders the remaining pushes would be easier. You also found yourself grateful that Spencer knew what he was doing – this was, after all, the second baby he had delivered.

You bore down, determined to get the baby out while Spencer untangled your hands, bringing his own down to catch the baby. Out of breath, you panted heavily as you started to feel lightheaded. “Done,” Spencer said quickly, “it’s done. I have him.”

Carefully, Spencer held the baby along the length of his forearm, rubbing the tiny newborn’s back. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath, and it dawned on you that the baby wasn’t crying.

At the realization, your legs finally gave out from beneath you, watching with wide eyes as Spencer tried to clear your son’s lungs. White hot tears streamed down your face as you whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You took a gasping breath as you silently pleaded for a cry, “I didn’t know,” you sobbed, guilt building a pit in your stomach.

With bleary eyes, you looked on as the baby finally spluttered and let out a wail. “There you go,” Spencer cooed softly, his own voice stiff with emotion as he cradled the baby and handed him off to you.

You were still sobbing as you held the baby to your chest, “I’m so sorry,” you continued to babble, watching as Spencer briefly disappeared into the bedroom before returning with a blanket and wrapping it around the both of you. While holding the baby, your vision started to blur around the edges.

Watching you intently, Spencer cupped your face in his hands, “I love you.”

Nodding, your face crumpled before you responded, “I love you too.”

When the paramedics announced themselves, Spencer called out for them, not wanting to leave your side. The two of you focused your attention on the wriggling baby in your arms.

He was premature – too little to stay with you in the recovery room. The NICU doctor had estimated that he was born at approximately 32 weeks, meaning he’d likely need to spend a few weeks in intensive care. “I want to see him,” you said insistently, looking over as Spencer as he fussed over you.

“You just had abdominal surgery,” Spencer responded simply, as if that was meant to clarify everything for you. He continued fluffing your pillow, which wasn’t entirely productive considering you were lying on the pillow.

As it turned out, you had experienced what was called a precipitous birth, or a rapid birth. It tended to be dangerous, and the fact that you did it in your bathtub only heightened that danger. You reached your arm out for Spencer, “c’mere,” you muttered, trying to get him to stop fretting. “Did you listen to anything that the doctor just said?”

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Lots of rest, no physical exertion, IV medication for now-“

“Did you hear the part where he said I was going to be okay?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him curiously, you watched as he took your hand in his and sat on the edge of your bed. “I’m going to be fine,” your voice was determined, you had a few small incisions on your abdomen from the surgery to repair a tear in your uterus. “Thank you for looking after me,” you whispered.

Your husband gently smoothed your hair back from your face, “I should’ve noticed it sooner.”

Using all of your strength, you squeezed his hand comfortingly, “You were incredible,” you assured him. “If it weren’t for you, neither of us would’ve made it.”

He shook his head, “Don’t say that.”

Raising your eyebrows, you cocked your head to the side, “It’s true. I couldn’t have done it on my own, I’m so, so thankful for you, my love.” 

You had passed out in the ambulance as a direct result of blood loss, so you were brought to a trauma bay as soon as you made it to the hospital. Once they were in the ER, the baby was taken to the NICU, leaving Spencer with a lot of decisions to make.

When you woke up in the recovery room, the first thing you did was ask about the baby.

Spencer, of course, had been up to see him. The nurses claimed he seemed like a fighter, and Spencer knew the survival odds of a 32-weeker, so he turned his attention to you. Every other option had already failed, so the next option was a laparoscopy. Your husband admitted that while it seemed extreme, the very last choice was a hysterectomy, and he didn’t want to make that decision.

Furrowing your brows, “When can I see the baby?” You asked, not entirely sure how to refer to the infant just yet. It wasn’t until then that you realized you needed to name him at some point – your son.

“Once your blood pressure goes up,” Spencer told you with an authoritative tone. “You lost a lot of blood in the ambulance, but the blood transfusions will bring your blood pressure back up.”

Tilting your head to the side, you glared at your husband, “And is this rule from a doctor with a medical degree or a doctor whose name is on my marriage certificate?”

In response, Spencer shrugged, sitting in the beige armchair at the side of your bed, “That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”

You rolled your eyes dismissively, “Will you go see him?”

He leaned over the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his. “I can, will you be alright on your own?”

Nodding almost imperceptibly, you squeezed his hand affectionately, “I just don’t want him to be alone.” You whispered as tears pricked your eyes, you took your free hand and waved at your face, “god, what’s wrong with me?”

“A sudden drop of estrogen and progesterone immediately following birth causes mood swings. Nothing is wrong with you, your body is acting naturally,” Spencer explained patiently, dropping a gentle kiss on your lips.

You sighed before melting back into your pillows, “At least something about this feels natural,” you responded. Your brain felt like a spinning top, while your body felt like you were being weighed down by an elephant in a commercial for COPD medication.

The fact that the NICU nurse informed you that your son had a ninety-five percent chance of living a completely normal life did nothing to calm your nerves. He’d have to stay in the NICU for a few weeks and you tried to convince yourself that the extra time to prepare for him to come home would be good for you, but the idea of leaving him alone at the hospital – save for a small army of doctors and nurses – put a pit of dread in your chest.

Spencer had the forethought to warn you about the tubes and wires that he was hooked up to, ranging from oxygen to a feeding tube. “He’s been undergoing red light therapy to be treated for jaundice, but you can hold him for a while if you want to,” the nurse told you, leading the both of you through the NICU as Spencer steered your wheelchair through the hospital.

Your breathing hitched when you finally saw him, this tiny stowaway that had been growing inside of you for the last several months, and he was just so little. While you were still in your own room, you had convinced yourself that you’d hold him, but now you weren’t so convinced.

According to the sign in his room, he weighed three pounds and ten ounces and was sixteen inches long. He was sound asleep in an incubator, a small hat on top of his head, “Spence,” you breathed.

Behind you, your husband placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I know.”

“Did you want to hold him?” The nurse asked you gently, looking over at one of the machines that he was hooked up to.

Genuinely, you didn’t know. “Is… is that okay?” You asked, wiping your sweaty palms on the blanket draped across your legs.

The nurse gave you a knowing look, “Even better than okay, it’ll be good for him to have that kind of contact from both of his parents.”

Frowning, you watched as it took two nurses to break him out of his acrylic prison before they carefully placed him on your chest, making sure you were okay before they stepped back. Your movements were stiff at first, you had never held a baby this small before, but you eventually remembered to breathe and gently cooed at the baby in your arms.

Spencer crouched down next to you and started to ask the nurse a bunch of questions that he had likely been holding in for hours, but you just kept your eyes on the sleeping baby. He was too small to open his eyes, but everyone assured you that he’d get there.

The nurse stepped out to give you some privacy, leaving the door open just in case you needed something, “This doesn’t seem quite as difficult while I’m holding him.” You knew there was a steep learning curve ahead, but with a newborn on your chest, the pit in your heart dissipated.

“That’s called oxytocin,” Spencer said, sitting in a chair, eyes fixated on the infant in your arms.

Humming, you skimmed the pad of your thumb across your son’s tiny back, “He looks like you,” you observed quietly, they had the same nose.

Your husband smiled softly, “You can’t possibly tell which parent he takes after yet,” he informed you.

“And yet, I know he looks like you,” you insisted softly, and Spencer didn’t push back. “You look like your daddy,” you whispered to the baby, “he was the first one to hold you, you know?” You looked over at Spencer, “he’s been my superhero for four years, and now he gets to be yours too.”

[vivwritesfics]

VIIIIIIIIV 👀 horsegirl x Lando HORSE GIRL X LANDO please, I beg! 🙏 ~nurse-buckley (I wish you could ask of side blogs)

GIRL I GOT YOU (tagging you so it comes up in your notifs) @nurse-buckley

At her last competition, she'd had a fall. Gismo had put in an extra stride before the jump that she wasn't ready for, and she was bumped out of the saddle. It hadn't been a nasty fall, and she was fine, just a little shaken. But her helmet had been the first thing to hit the floor. When she got up it was covered in sand, which she quickly brushed on and got riding again.

After the competition, she checked her hat. She squeezed it against her chest and it creaked. "Fuck," she said, looking up at Gismo. It was her only helmet, one she had owned since she was seventeen.

Lando saw the video of her falling off. She showed it to him as they cuddled on the couch. "We got disqualified and my hat broke," she muttered, letting out a sigh.

"Let me get you a new one," Lando immediately said.

But she shook her head. She hated it when Lando paid for things, especially when he helped to pay for the horses. When they started dating her instagram got flooded with comments, calling her a gold digger. She'd worked too hard for that.

"Lan, no," she said, slipping her phone back into her pocket. "Besides, I'll be able to afford one soon."

Still, though, Lando didn't like it. He let out a huff, tightening his arm around her. Until she got a new helmet she couldn't ride, and he hated that.

The Charles Owen collaboration came just days after that. Lando immediately knew what he dad to do.

It wasn't often that Lando came to the yard. The horses were out in the field and she was cleaning their tack when Lando showed up. She looked up at him as he walked across the yard, avoiding the mud. No matter how hard he tried, though, he'd still leave the yard with mud splashing up his sweats.

"Hey," she called, running up to him and wrapping her arms around him. Lando breathed in. The smell of horses was masked by the scent of leather soap. "What're you doing here?"

Lando held two bags towards her. "I got you presents," he said.

She gave him a suspicious look. Taking one of the bags from him, she opened it up. The shape of the hat, even in the Charles Owen bag, was incredibly recognisable. "Lando, you didn't," she said, pulling the hat from the bag.

It was gorgeous. The pattern was incredibly recognisable, since it was already in green all over his F1 helmet. But, instead of being green, it was black and grey. Lando had taken a gamble having the LN4 logo printed in small on the side, but she loved it. Thank god she loved it.

"I asked them to make a hat just for you when Flo had her helmet collab," he said as she tried it on. It was almost a perfect fit, just a little too wide, but that was easily fixed.

Lando held up the other bag, shaking it slightly. Still wearing her new hat, she took the bag and opened it... to see another hat. This one was a plain skull cap, black with no peak. She pulled it out to find a hat silk beneath.

"No way," she whispered, pulling out the hat silk. It had the same pattern as the hat currently on her head, but this one really was neon green.

Lando grinned as she threw her arms around him, still wearing the hat. "I love you, I love you, I love you," she said, carefully kissing all over his face.

She pulled the hat from her head and held it close to her chest. "You're the best boyfriend ever."

He didn't tell her about the matching saddle pad he was currently having made.

[cloveroctobers]

access all areas — 10. Zilla Fatu [Winter Prompts]

A/N: i was battling between making this either Jey or Zilla inspired…and I decided to risk it lol s/o tiktok for putting me on again yet I’m still learning him lol 🩵

PROMPT IS FROM HERE + HERE & I’m using: 27. confessing a crush when it's snowing. DIALOGUE PROMPTS —“It's just a wish, I know wishes don't come true." // "Who told you that?"

WARNINGS: This is a shorty fluff! absolutely the language! Suggestive themes & Zilla being Zilla? Whatever that means 😉

<- if you’re bored or open to reading something else cute read my previous floppy flop anthology prompt here.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆ .𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆ .𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆

“You calm down yet?” Is the first thing you say to the brooding man, sliding the door shut behind you as you step out onto the deck.

He sucks his teeth in response, not taking his glare from the approaching evening view, elbows resting along the banister, “Don’t come over here wit that mane.”

You laugh, squeezing the collar of your fur jacket tighter around your neck while you took a spot beside him, “Or what? You gonna cuss me out too? Everybody knew what they were doing sending me out here to deal with your ass.”

Zilla rolls his dark eyes up to the sky.

He knows there were plenty of options that could have had the task of talking to him: Jacob who knew Zilla pretty well and always tried to coach him into having a level head but after that shit he just pulled with Solo at his log cabin? That man was ready to toss Zilla out on his ass himself! Then there was Jimmy who usually tried to see everyone’s POV and that he did when it came to Zilla and Solo’s everlasting beef, Jey (who was currently tipsy) no longer had patience for Zilla’s mouth and as much as the twenty-five year old loved to be at functions with Jey, when they got into disagreements it always had the potential to go extremely left (their tempers combined was insane work) between the two however they could always squash it at the end of the day, and even Roman who was just getting the chance to really know the youngest member, was witnessing it all and open to figuring out where Zilla’s head was at—since they were all in their twenties once before.

Ultimately you stepped up (with light pushing from the other ladies, mainly Ava and Jey) to make sure Zilla was alright after he and Solo almost threw hands. It was all going so well, everyone was having a good time until the competitive sides egos came out.

“And how’s that? You not getting me to sit around the campfire and singing songs with that mutha—

“Alright, relax.” You interrupt with your hand held up, “How is it that I’m cool with your own blood and you’re not?”

Zilla muttered, “Maybe that’s part of the problem too.”

You tilt your head to the side, “What?”

“Let’s not act like I didn’t see him tryin’ to push up on you.”

You’re frowning now.

You and Solo been friends long before you met Zilla. At first you didn’t think he was even open getting to know you because you had ties with Sikoa but eventually Zilla pulled his head out of his ass, apologized for being an asshole for awhile, and you two were able to turn over a new leaf. There were no doubts that the both of you heavily got on each other’s nerves—Virgo men—but somehow there was always love there.

“It’s not like that.” You sigh, “Never has been and I don’t know why I have to sound like a damn broken record for you to get it.” You snap, leaning on your own elbow, and pressing another hand into your hip.

He blinks, “Does he know that?”

“I’m not doin’ this with you, Isayah.” You exasperate, “I came out here to check on your well-being, not you focusing on non-existent problems. Especially when you’re still out here entertaining other bitches like a dog in heat.”

It’s Zilla’s turn to furrow his brows.

“I dunno where that’s comin’ from but I’ll bite, say what’s on your mind then, ma.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you peek down at your acrylics as if that was more important, “…I’m just saying you’re using whatever you can find—something as ridiculous as Solo being into me, as an excuse to whoop his ass at any given time, is funny when your phones been going off from your little groupies since you got here.”

“Ah,” Zilla leans back and points, “You keepin’ tabs on me? How sweet.”

“Shut up, ain’t nobody thinking about you.”

Zilla smirks, “I mean…it’s coo if you are.”

“Me when I’m trying to deflect.”

“I’m not.” Zilla laughs a little, “I don’t gotta lie to you. There’s been a few that I’ve been talkin’ to but it’s never gone any further…cause I’m waiting on your ass, surprisingly.”

From the corner of your eye you spot flakes starting to glide down from the sky. The deck suddenly feels warm compared to the frigid air that first greeted you and almost made you want to crawl back inside.

“Huh?” Is all you can get out.

Zilla mocks you, “Huh? You heard me.”

“So…” you kick at the air awkwardly now, “I guess this is the part where I confess I’m feelin’ you too.”

He nods, “I thought that shit was obvious way back when I was hittin’ it right on Halloween with my hands around your throat?”

Instantly you smack his arm, making him laugh and lick his lips. “I didn’t need a refresher, thank you!”

“I dunno I thought your ass might of forgot,” Zilla turns to fully face you now, “I certainly didn’t.”

And there he goes giving you that taunting stare, that could make one with the most fear in their heart, quiver in place.

Reaching a ring finger out to the man, he breaks eye contact for a moment and reaches his own hand out to interlock with yours. It’s instant static but it’s brief because he’s tugging you right into his embrace. You melt into his frame, his arms locking around you just right as you gently sway side to side in the cold evening. Of course one hand that isn’t wrapped around your shoulders, slides down to hold your backside that’s buried beneath your fur jacket—knowing he would much rather get a real feel—you laugh to yourself.

“Can’t help yourself, can you?”

“I mean…you just said you’re down to be mine, no?”

“I don’t know if I said all that.” You pull back to glance down at his lips, a smile playing on your own glossed ones.

He closes one eye pretending to think about it, “You kinda did admitting your truth to me, girl. Don’t act brand new.”

“That’s all you!” You go to shove him with a laugh, that he mirrors, “Actin’ all fool over you know who when he’s just a friend and whomever is in your phone, you need to dead that by the way.”

“Yes ma’am.” He agrees, “Can I get some love now?”

“Are my hugs not enough?”

“Yeah sure, you smell divine and look even better but I’m really trying to see what you taste like.”

Oh?!

“I thought you didn’t forget.”

“Of my other girl, nah.” He shifts his eyes down your frame, making you gasp, ready to smack him again, “Sweeter than any cherry pie I’ve ever eaten.”

“You don’t like cherry pie.”

He shrugs as if it’s obvious, “You’re my exclusive.”

Shaking your head, you’re not sure what exactly you were going to do with this man but you turn to get a better view of the snow that started to come down harder now. Like a young child, you go to the banister to gaze up at the pretty fluffs that demanded to be seen.

You feel the weight of Zilla’s arms lock around you now, which makes you lean back against him, enjoying his warmth—despite the fact that he was only outside in a hoodie—which you didn’t want to hear a thing about when he caught a cold—and the touch of his lips against your neck.

“…Whatchu wish for?” He asks after a moment, noticing that your eyes were closed as soon as you spotted a star that flew through the sky.

If you blinked you might have missed it.

You’ve always been into shooting stars and the galaxies and shit. Zilla could be a yapper himself but he remembers a late night session after your first and only time together, that y’all got into a conversation of the unknown.

Granted you may or may not have been under the influence that Halloween night but those thoughts still occurred even without.

Lightly turning your head against his collarbone, you realized you’ve been caught, “It's just a wish, I know wishes don't come true."

Zilla frowns, “Who told you that?”

“It’s silly.” Your attempt to persuade him to drop it would be ignored.

Zilla scoffs, “It was me wasn’t it? You don’t gotta be shy about it…plus I actually like hearing what’s on your mind if we’re being honest.” He taps at your temple gently.

You can’t help but to beam at him, “Aw, aren’t you cute!”

Zilla rolls his eyes at you slightly squealing, “Don’t start.”

“Want a kiss?”

“Hell yeah…New Years about to come early.” He returns the grin, licking his lips as you spin to wrap one arm over his shoulders, the other goes to lightly scratch at the back of his head just how he liked, foreheads touching, noses brushing against each other, as you breathe each other in just before Zilla makes the move to place his lips right on yours.

He still knew how to make your toes curl just with one kiss.

“I love yo ass.” Zilla admits, once he catches his breath, an ounce of fear shining through his own dark eyes for a moment before he easily masked it.

A smile that reaches your own eyes speaks before you do, “I know.”

Zilla throws his head back in annoyance, “Forreal? This what you on?”

You nod playfully, “Can’t give you too much access can I?”

“Access?” Zilla repeats with a glance from underneath his lashes, “We been passed that, don’t you think, baby?”

Humming you move to rest both hands on his chest, “I would say you’re right and the feeling is mutual but that might get to your head.” You tease.

Zilla rubs at his face, laughing to himself, “Oh aight, bet. Imma get it out of you though, just you wait.”

“I don’t doubt it.” You wink, pulling the sides of his hood forward more as a brisk chill full of snow glided by you two, and then you toss your leg up over his hip.

Zilla doesn’t hesitate to grip your clothed flesh, his gaze darkening as you lightly bite your bottom lip, “Yeah, I think you’re asking for trouble as if you don’t know that I’m about it any time and anywhere. That hot tub cover is calling our names.”

You peek around his frame, leaning a bit to see the covered tub up ahead and that was enough of a hint into Zilla’s mind.

“Ayo! Y’all better be clothed out here!” Jey calls out, peering through his fingers and lets out a sigh of relief, “Zil, your time out is over! Bring your asses back in here, we about to fire up: den of thieves.”

Zilla groans as he says back over his shoulder to his older cousin, “Man, why your drunk ass gotta be so loud for?! Can’t you see we’re busy?”

“Well get un-busy! I’m sure you will find some other time to get nasty at some point while we’re all here…and you’re welcome by the way!” Jey sends the two a grin before leaving the door open, letting you two know that this wasn’t up for debate.

Watching action movies was part of the family gathering, along with a lot of shit talking and over talking that definitely pissed a few off that we’re trying to get into the storyline. You and Solo were part of the few that hated excessive talking so you just hoped the snacks were good.

Placing a lingering kiss on an irritated Zilla, you savored his lips, which turned a scowl into a smile, then you intertwined your fingers, dragging him back into the cabin full of chaos.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆ .𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆ .𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆

[byechristopher]

⠀

I hate you, too [pt.2].

– CHRIS STURNIOLO SMUT & ANGST.

PART ONE.

Author's note: HI, I finally wrote it. I originally made a poll but, the answer was pretty clear so, here it is. It was requested, by the way! I'll reply to the message because I forgot to put it here, thanks for the request, dear. Side note, I was listening to Never Lose Me – Flo Mili (during the smut part, obvi). Do not copy/steal my work. :)

Warnings: filthy smut, super super long, didn't proofread, rough smut, car sex, angst. That's pretty much it. Minors dni. Thank you.

It's been a week since the party I attended, the one where I encountered him.

My mind has been consumed by reflections on that night, so much that I haven't been able to do anything else other than that, except for work. While I assume he might not have dwelled on it, I can't help but wonder if he thinks about me – about the way we touched, the way I looked at him when he prepared to leave. When I didn't want him to leave.

I shake my head, realizing I can't continue this self-inflicted struggle. Accepting the ongoing intimacy with my ex was challenging enough, let alone having feelings that linger inside me, still to this day. I almost gave in that day, when I saw something in his eyes, something that said he still cared about me – mending my dress, that sweet kiss, his declaration of hatred, a reminder of our past. That we once hated each other and that's why we weren't together anymore. Or so we thought.

Deciding that just sitting here, mopping around and feeling sorry for myself isn't going to help at all, I get up determined to go outside and have some fun. No house parties, no hosts, no Chris, no nothing.

My friends are already up for it (and I love them for it), because it only takes ten minutes for them to come over so we can get all dolled up together. It's a few minutes past midnight and we're finally ready (okay, we did have a few pre-drinks then and there), so we immediately call a cab. We reach our destination just a few minutes later and after greeting the girl that was at the entrance of the club, she lets us in and we get lost in the crowd.

You know how it goes; flashing lights everywhere, people kissing and drinking, almost pitch black all around. Looks like clubs aren't that different from house parties after all. A group of friends offers to buy us drinks, and who are we to say no (there's no way we're dancing with any of them, but it's fine) – we're already having the time of our lives, we're drinking, we look amazing, everything seems possible.

Except for the impossible.

Because there's no fucking way Chris happens to be in this same club; I completely lose the ground beneath my feet. I want to turn my back to him, I really do. But at the same time I want him to see me again. I want to see him again.

My friends notice where I'm looking and they know better than to say anything – so they just leave me be. Chris notices me as well and everything stops. Not again. I hope he doesn't come here but deep down I'm praying he does.

"Never had a bitch like me in your life.."

What is it with me, Chris and songs that we both used to like (and have sex while listening to them)? He's looking at me, and I can feel his intense gaze once again. As he drinks something, for a moment, I wish I could see this sight up close, look how his tongue touches the glass. Fucking hell.

Me and my girlfriends sway to the music, letting every beat ignite a playful dance between us. As we keep each other close, the music wraps around us, and for a moment I forget about him. Lost in the rhythm, we surrender to the dance, singing along.

He's here. Well fuck.

He grabs me by the waist and pulls me closer to him – I can't help but roll my eyes, turning around to look into his blue ones, holding my own drink close to me.

"How dare you interrupt my dance?" I yell in his ear so he can hear and he smiles.

"I stayed to watch you for a bit before I approached and interrupted your dance. You were just too irresistible, damn." as usual, he has a big smirk on his face and I just want to slap it off his face.

His arm stays on my waist and I can't find the strength to push it away – his hand roams around my naked back thanks to my dress, not that I'm complaining. He leans in to wrap his lips around my straw, tasting my drink while looking at me.

"Tastes much better with that lipstick you're wearing.." he teases and licks his lips, "..bet you love it even more when it's around my dick." his gaze darkens and my legs shake a little.

"What a shame you'll never see it on you ever again." I give him a sarcastic smile and push him gently with one hand.

"You sure about that?" his lips are touching my ear and again, I hate myself for letting him have such an effect on me.

"Yes. I don't like sharing my lipsticks." I raise a challenging eyebrow, indirectly asking him if he's been fucking anyone else besides me – because if that's the case, I feel like I will completely lose myself.

"Mhmm.. you're already thinking about other girls sucking my dick?" he tilts his head with an innocent-like look on his face, "..jealous about it?" his thumb rubs my bottom lip and his smile returns.

My blood is boiling to say the least, but I know him way better than to show that. So instead, I smile, "I don't have time to think about your dick, baby. Someone else makes sure I don't." take that.

No one. Absolutely no one can make me stop thinking about him in general but I had to say something. Otherwise I might just start crying.

Something shifts in his eyes and I internally high-five myself for achieving to make him jealous once again. He leaves. What? He literally just lets me go and goes back to where his friend group is, turns his back on me and everything. Well, shit.

I'm more than jealous but I want him way more than our egoistic bullshit; I'm shameless, I want him.

I move swiftly through the crowd, desperately trying to find him before i change my mind – and I do find him. He doesn't really expect to see me there but he does and he smiles. I quickly wrap my fingers around his wrist this time, dragging him with me like he did in that house party the previous week. Safely, I lead us out of the club, making sure to not answer any of his questions.

Once he realises that I'm not speaking to him until we reach the car, he stops talking and simply follows me. We finally get into the car and I start the engine.

"Do you realise how crazy that was?" he finally says, he really didn't expect me to just do that.

"I thought you liked crazy." I smirk this time and he huffs, licking his lips and leaning back against the passenger seat, making himself comfortable.

Once I make sure we're somewhere where no one will be able to see us, I immediately stop the car, lock it and I practically jump on him, straddling his thighs. His hands immediately grab my hips, his mouth hungry, searching for my lips and his eyes even hungrier.

"You drive me fucking crazy." he almost growls as he quickly rides up my dress, exposing the rest of my thighs and panties.

I undo his shirt with shaky fingers, leaving it on but making sure I have access to his naked body. I almost attack his skin with hungry kisses and love bites as he keeps himself occupied with my butt, kneading and smacking the skin every now and then.

I wrap my lips around his nipple and now my lipstick is long gone – his moans fill the car, fogging up the windows as I continue sucking on his sensitive nipple. He pushes my panties to the side from behind, his finger traveling from my ass to my pussy, rubbing the entrance and collecting all of the juices. I can't help but moan against his skin. With his free hand, he grabs a fistful of my hair, tugging at it to make my head fall back – with my neck now exposed, he finds the opportunity to attack it with his kisses and bites. In the meantime, I unbuckle his belt, moaning every time his teeth sink into my sensitive skin.

His finger keeps teasing my wet entrance, but his other hand finally lets go of my hair and I immediately lean in to kiss his lips hungrily. As I sit up as much as I can, I push his pants down with a bit of his help, doing the same with his boxers as I start rubbing his cock.

"You must be very loyal to that other guy, hm?" he chuckles and wraps his hand around my throat.

"Your other girlfriends haven't been able to satisfy you, it seems. You're about to cum already..." I click my tongue, completely avoiding what he said to me, "..either that, or you're still obsessed with me.." I whisper, grinding down on his dick as he keeps grabbing me by the throat, "do you think they'd like that?"

He chuckles, moaning as soon as he feels the warmth and the wetness of my pussy, "do you think your little bitch will like it when he sees the marks I left for him?" he whispers, tightening the grip around my throat.

I groan, realising my neck must be all bruised up already. This fucking asshole.

Grabbing his dick again, I lower myself down on it as we both moan in unison – he immediately hugs me, his warm fingers digging into the skin of my back as I start to finally move.

"Fucking hell.." he whispers, his face buried in my neck as his hands cup my ass cheeks, guiding me up and down on his cock.

"Fuck.. Chris.." I moan loudly, one hand around him and the other one pressing against the car window, leaving a mark behind.

"Baby.. like that.." he mutters and I can feel myself clenching around him as soon as he calls me that.

He takes my breasts in his hands, squeezing them gently and kissing them with every chance he gets. I can feel him throbbing and I know it is almost time.

He immediately licks his fingers and presses them on my clit, making me stop my movements and tremble, my eyes roll to the back of my head.

"Don't stop. Keep going." he orders and I do exactly that. My burning thighs don't make it easy, especially in his goddamn car, but I don't care. As soon as I start moving up and down his dick again, his fingers start moving.

"Chris.. Chris, please.." I moan, gasping every time he picks up the pace. My breasts bounce with every movement, both of my hands now are on his shoulders supporting myself as I feel myself getting closer and closer.

"I wanna feel it, cum on me." he moans and his touch on my clit becomes as gentle as it can, and that's when I lose it. Once I come down from my high, he pulls out and cums all over my belly, almost shouting my name as he squeezes his eyes shut and grips my hips so hard that I'm sure it'll leave bruises behind.

It takes a while for me to start breathing normal again – and at the same time, I was afraid of what was going to happen when all of this stopped. But for now, I am trying to live in the moment as much as I can; he holds me in his arms tightly, I can feel his heartbeat and his breath tickling my hair, and I can swear I feel his fingertips caressing my back, drawing invisible circles on the skin.

I almost want to cry as he holds me close, I am so overwhelmed with emotions I didn't know I still had in me, that my hands start shaking.

"There's no one else. Only you." I whisper against his shoulder, my cheek pressed against it.

He takes a moment to respond, but he eventually does, "no other lipsticks for me either. Only yours." he whispers back.

This is what happens all the time ever since we parted ways – I call him, we have sex. He sees me outside, we have sex. We are ruthless, merciless, ready to tear each other apart without thinking of the consequences. So when we're finished, and all the hatred and lust is gone, what's left is two vulnerable, broken hearts and a love for each other that once existed.

I don't know how to react at his words. I feel relieved but I also feel angry, I feel hurt. Everything all at once.

"Come on." he says and makes me lean back against the dashboard. He grabs some baby wipes he keeps in his car and starts cleaning up my belly, my thighs, everywhere. He cleans himself up as well and throws them away in the little bin inside the car. He fixes my panties and my dress as well (as much as he can).

He tries to make me get up, but I stay in place. He looks at me but I don't move an inch, "can I ask you something?" I muster up the courage to ask.

"What is it?" he sighs, he knows something heavy is coming.

"Why are you so cold all the time?" he furrows his eyebrows at my question, and he looks like he is about to say a million reasons why what I just asked was stupid, "..so cold, playing it cool all the time, as if nothing happened." I say and I almost regret it.

"Are you fucking serious? What did you expect? You broke up with me, yet you still wanna have sex with me. Do you want me to be all lovey-dovey with you?" he narrows his eyes and I bite the inside of my cheek.

He's correct – what did I really expect? I vividly recall the day I ended our relationship; he was devastated, it was like something shifted within us since then. I was devastated, too. But the decision to break up felt necessary and inevitable. Our hectic schedules kept us apart for days on end. And being the jealous toxic assholes that we both are, this never ended well; it drove me nuts, I had to end it. However, ending the relationship doesn't mean my love for him ceased; on the contrary, I'll never stop loving him. And as for the sex.. well, it's pretty self-explanatory; he's the only one who knows what I like and what I don't. His touch is the only thing I knew for years. And that was the only way I could be close to him. I might've regretted that decision. Might've.

"No. But I would at least expect you to be respectful towards me, we were together for so long." I look down at my trembling fingers, there's pain in my voice.

"Yeah, well, do you know what else would be respectful? You, owning up to the decision you fucking made for the both of us." he's staring into my eyes, "when you break up with someone, especially when you've been with them for a long ass time, you don't go back to them. No matter what the situation is. That's what's respectful. But can you handle that?"

I don't know what to say. And I hate the fact that he's right – I know I fucked up.

"I don't think I can handle that, no." I say truthfully, my voice feels small and now I feel small too, in front of him.

"Yeah, well, that's your fucking problem now." he leans back against the passenger seat and clears his throat.

"Why do you come back?" I whisper, fearing the answer.

"You said it yourself that day. It's the only way to have you at the moment. And I'm taking it." now there's pain in his voice, "but do you realise how toxic that is? That's draining us way more than our schedule did." he runs his fingers through his hair and looks out of the window.

"So what are we supposed to do?" I ask. I feel so dumb.

"As I said. Own up to your decision. I never wanted to break up with you, which is why I never did. You should be the one who stops any contact between us. Not me. If I could, I would, trust me on this one." there's an emptiness in his eyes that I can not quite comprehend what it means. It doesn't let me see through him like I usually do.

"Chris.. damn it, I can't." I whisper, tears fill up my eyes but he's not having any of it.

"No, fuck off. You're fucking selfish." he's getting angry now, the vein in his neck is popping out, hands turning into fists and his knuckles turning white.

Fuck. It seems like everything I say is wrong. I want to just scream and cry and run away.

"I am not selfish, Chris. I am stupid.." I can't stop the tears that fill up my eyes, "..I never wanted to end things with you, I promise. I thought that.. that was the only way for us to calm the fuck down.. we were jealous, and crazy, and toxic." I let my hands fall on his lap.

"And what we're doing now is not toxic? How do you think I feel coming back to you after you broke up with me, just so we can fuck and tell each other we hate each other?" his jaw is clenched and his eyes are turning lighter. He's about to cry.

"I am sorry, Chris. I cannot imagine that, no.. I just.. I made a mistake.. and I am deeply sorry. I am paying for it as well.. this whole time, I really thought you just didn't care.. otherwise I would've made a move way sooner." I explain as much as I can, I am fully crying now.

He's holding back as much as he can – he collects me in his arms for yet another comforting hug when he notices I practically can't breathe, "first of all, breathe for me, okay? I need you to be calm so we can solve this." he rubs my back soothingly and my heart almost jumps out of my chest, because that's exactly who I fell in love with. That's the Chris I knew.

He does make me calm down way faster than I thought. I wipe away my tears and collect a single tear that left his eye as well.

"I love you. I always will." I whisper, cupping his cheeks.

"You know I love you too." his voice is very low, "I cannot stop loving you."

"Do you want to try again?" I whisper timidly, "I will try my best to make you trust me again." I say and I mean it.

"Pretty girl.." he mumbles, grabbing my chin gently, caressing it, "..you better try your hardest, hm?" he whispers and I nod like a little kid, "I promise to make more time for us, we deserve it. You deserve it."

⠀

⠀

⠀

[wilson-is-a-slut]

I need to talk about son of a coma guy for a second because I don't think that some people realize that the aforementioned coma guy also did some old man yaoi type shit back in the 80s

this is the coma guy:

and this is john larroquette, aka dan fielding from the '84-'92 sitcom night court:

dan is a district attorney in manhatten, new york. he is very much the character who is obsessed with his looks, who he's seen with, how much he's worth and women; and when I say women, I mean the stereotypical big boobs, blond and ditzy.

one look at his character and he come off as a misogynist, who only sees women as objects, and while that is true for that type, it is not true for all of them. dan has a great deal of respect for the women of the court room he works with. selma, flo and roz, the three female bailiffs throughout the series, respect (and scare) dan, even though he is a pig (there's also billie and christine but that's a whole other can of worms not fit for a house blog) selma and flow are both older women who die during the shows run and roz is not his type, but even if all three of them were his type, I don't think that anything would have happened because of their respect.

and this being the late 80s early 90s, there are of course jokes about him being perceived as gay, even going so far as to being stuck in an elevator with a gay man for an entire episode (now a little side tangent about that episode, I don't necessarily think that dan is homophobic, but more so offended that someone thought he was, I just had to put that out there) of course he takes offence, he goes out of his way to sleep with women left and right, even going as far as to get out of work early to do so (a lot like house in that aspect, but we'll get to that later)

now I don't know exactly what shipping culture looked like back then (if anyone can tell me though that would be really cool) but I think it's safe to assume that nobody was hardcore shipping dan with harry t. stone, the presiding judge of the courtroom where dan worked.

now on to dan and harry,

I mean, just look at the two of them. I love dan and harry very much. dan cares a great deal for harry, even though he would never admit that. in fact, the very first episode, dan tries to get harry removed from the bench. dan and harry are very liked minded when it comes to the court; I think that's why dan "tolerates" harry as much as he does. and while harry wished dan spent his personal time on thing other than women and dan could care less about harry's hobbies, they both care and respect each other.

ok ok , now on to the comparison of dan and house.

they both have a past they wish they could have buried:

dan - his parents being country folk, dan in fact being his middle name and being from louisiana altogether

house - his dad, stacy, and in part his leg (there's definitely more to this list but you get the drift)

and one last character comparison I wanna make is that they both pay for women; that's said outright, but I honestly think that in terms of who would keep paying for longer before asking themself "what the fuck am I doing?" is dan. now, that might come as a shocker to someone whose never seen night court, but house is more self loathing than dan and I think he would realize first that what he is doing stopped being fun 100 dollars ago and oh, my leg is starting to hurt again. dan would go for broke, metaphorically and physically, until he was broke and until the two (or three or four) of them broke the bed. all dan cares about is sex and all house cares about is forgetting, they just happen to show off in the same way.

I will leave you all with me projecting that dan and harry are house and wilson respectively because I am in fact that far gone

your honor, it's the same picture

should I do harry and wilson next??

[whore4brielle]

MECHANIC SEVIKA ✮⋆˙✮⋆˙

Siri play NEVER LOSE ME by FLO MILLI ✮

Ever since you entered the shop it was no doubt that everyone was staring at YOU. Maybe it was your see through top and pink short skirt that made everyone’s attention draw towards you. Anyone who dared looking could practically see your underwear due to the skirts length.

.

✮

You sat down in the gray chair. It was an outside parlor. A couple of guys you knew resided in Zaun fixed your car. You had been sitting there quietly. Your legs crossed, the short cleavage which your short pink skirt didn’t cover showed.

“Y/n”

You heard a familiar voice as she approached you. You gently stood up from the gray seat. When she reached you she gazed up and down at the curves of your body and what wasn’t covered by the skimpy outfit.

“ wow. Somethings never change about you.” The slightly taller lady crossed her arms. And you could say the same about her, her cold stance and muscles.

“Well I can say the same about you” you spoke. You glanced the woman over before noticing her take a cigarette and a lighter out of her jean pocket. The woman lit it and blew a tiny hint of subtle smoke in your face. Any other time the act would’ve pissed you off. But you stayed calm.

The woman chuckled before returning to her work. But you were practically there all day. You stayed there until it was time for closing. Even though your car was finished in the shop. Sevika knew what you wanted.

✮

.

“What’s your problem?” Sevika asked has she finished her last car of the night. She would have to finish all of her leftover work tomorrow morning. It wasn’t any big deal since she did it all the time.

You leaned onto the hood of the car as soon has she closed it.

“I know it all sounds dumb but I’ve really missed you” and that’s how you got sevika back into this fucked up trap again. You were worser. It wasn’t just the clothes you wore. You were just a fucked up person.

✮

.

“Fuck me ontop of the hood” you’ll say after an aggressive make out session. You in sevika’s lap has she sat on the gray chair. It always started with kissing each other. Getting the feel of each other again. She was taken aback by your request. But she picked you up anyway and took you over to the unfinished car she worked on. “Mmm good girl” you’ll say before smiling. It was the only time you ever degraded her. The muscular women only just scoffed knowing she had more power over you then you had over her.

“So what do you want me to do to you” her hand traced over your thigh. The white wife beater she wore made it hard not to look at her breast. Her black skinny jeans. The belt wrapped around her waist holding them intact. The chain on her neck and the lip piercing above her lips.

“Just finger me and then you can eat me out yeah?”

The woman nodded has you slid your skirt and underwear halfway down your legs. You squealed has your cunt made contact with the coldness of the hood but sevika stood so close to you. The pain easing over as she placed her hand up one of your thighs before dipping into your hole. She wished she could just eat you out right now. She looked down at the wetness you had already succumbed onto the hood.

She dipped her middle finger into you. You placed your head down into her shoulder before your first moan fell from your lips. She made sure to go slower. She would abuse your hole later. If she even got the chance to. ✰

When she did finger you faster it wasn’t much. You could still feel pleasure from it but it was enough to also make you cry out. It was enough to make you cum and reach an unforgettable high. When she was done with you. You had practically soaked the hood of the car. Sevika’s touch always did that to you no matter if it was ontop of a car or somewhere in the past.

✮

.

You had stole one of sevika’s cigarettes. Putting it into your mouth has she lit it. A short break would only last a couple of minutes. Your stanima was good. But you had sweat pouring from your forehead. You tried to fix a couple of your hair strands before putting your thumb and index back on the cigarette. Letting smoke leave your mouth. You stood up off the hood. Sliding your shoes off so you could slide your panties and skirt off.

It took everything in you not to lose your composure at the sight of sevika on her knees below you. She just slightly blushed at the uncomfortable position she was put in. She looked up at you. Uncomfortableness slightly switching to a more stoic expression. You let the cigarette out beside sevika. Before getting yourself into a comfortable standing position. Slightly holding onto the front of the car.

Sevika tugged at your waist before placing her tongue onto your clit. It was the way that she was much more rougher with you when she ate you out. The sensualness she had when she fingered you was all gone.

Her tongue lapped circles around your clit for a few. Messing with the clit piercing that you had. Before she inserting her tongue inside of you. You ran your fingers through her strands as she fucked inside of you. Covering your mouth. Afraid that the two of you would get caught if you moaned out. You weren’t able to control a small amount of the moans that spilled from your lips as you were closer to your climax.

Sevika sped up inside of you, grabbing hold of your legs as you rode her face. It didn’t stop you from trying to go faster has you closed your eyes slightly. Uncovering your mouth as you let moans slide past your lips. Grip tightening on the front of the car.

It didn’t take you an extended time to cum. It was expected from how quick you were moving. Slowing your pace down has you came. You removed your hand from sevika’s hair has you caught sense of reality. Gasping at the sudden finger hovering your clit. You’ll shyly smack sevika’s hand before she stood up.

-

“You can stop by anytime to return the favor.”

“Yeah as if” you’ll say. Has you gently pulled your undergarments back up.

Knowing you’ll be right back at the shop sometime next week ✰.

-

✮

[galebrainrot2024]

GalexTav Enemies to Lovers Part 30

Summary: A little bit of dialogue to get us back in the swing of things, maybe Gale's opportunity to set things right. We're back, baby. I will likely skip over big action scenes and such since many people have likely played the game. I may include some if it feels relevant to the story. TBD. My goal is to follow these two until the end.

Part 29 | Big List of Fics | A03

Gale’s mouth was drier than the Sands of Itzcala and his palms were coated in a slick sheen of sweat. They were approaching a burly looking creature as Karlach and Wyll had caught up to them, the strange noises that echoed through the tower unsettling. 

“You alright?” Karlach frowned, hitting Gale lightly on his shoulder. He nodded although it was far from the truth, offering a fake grimace of pain. She rolled her eyes. “Come off it, I barely touched you.” 

Moments earlier when they ascended to speak with Disciple Z’rell, Tav distracted her mental prodding with lustful images of Gale. She filled her mind with scenes of their bodies entangled, echoed sinful gasps for air within the corners of her imagination as she envisioned their indulgence of one another. Gale’s face was hot, and sweat pooled at the back of his neck. The bulge within his robes had not quite deflated. His ears were hot and he ignored the murmurs of Shadowheart and Astarion and their pointed looks. It felt like he was underwater. 

He wondered whether or not the images highlighted her true desires or if they were merely a strategic move to detract from their (in Gale’s opinion) obvious infiltration. She could have thought of anything, though, and her immediate reaction was to think of him. Z’rell’s distaste for Tav’s choice in sexual partners barely registered for him to be offended. 

“Gale, I didn’t know you had it in you,” Astarion cooed, nudging him in the side. “It almost makes me want to take a bite out of you myself.” He bared his fangs slightly and licked his lips and Gale rolled his eyes, stepping away. 

“You wish - I’ll have you know, my blood tastes awful.” Gale’s lips twitched in a smirk.  

The downside to the tadpoles influence included thought-sharing so both were privy to Tav’s unholy thoughts - it wasn’t often they encroached on one another’s private musings, however in the seat of the absolute with Z’rell’s modeling it was if their thoughts were one. Once dismissed, their minds grew quiet once more. Tav stalked ahead of them and Gale was too nervous to utter a sound. 

“So,” Shadowheart said cooly, inspired by Astarion’s bravery, “You and Tav must know each other more… intimately than I thought.” 

Heat flicked up his neck. “Gods, no,” Gale said, dropping his head and ignored her eyes widening. If only. 

“Oh. Her imagination could have fooled me. A shame, I was hopeful that your tongue was really that practiced..” Shadowheart tapped her fingers against his shoulder, grinning. 

Gale rose a brow skeptically and cocked his head. “Are you flirting with me?” 

Shadowheart’s cheeks flushed and she shrugged, “Merely curious about your portfolio of talents.” 

“Hm, aren’t you just,” Astarion said, running his fingers up Shaodwheart’s back. “I admit, I am too.” 

Karlach snorted and shook her head, “Easy. Let Gale dig himself out of the ditch with Tav before either of you try a thing. Don’t put my hard work to waste.”  

Gale turned to her, his eyes narrowing. “What work?” 

But before Karlach could answer, the bugbear they were approaching spoke. “Well. Flo didn’t tell a lie. She said you’d find me, and here you are. Karlach, isn’t it?” 

Karlach bristled and Tav turned to them, watching as the four approached. Her eyes darted back and forth between Gale and Karlach, each time she caught his gaze she’d look away abruptly. Gale knew that look, he had seen her throw it his way thousands of times. But, he knew better than to hope. 

“Now there’s a name I’d hoped never to hear again.” Karlach said, sighing and straightening her shoulders. “What was Flo doing here?” 

“Didn’t think to quiz her about her business.” The bugbear said, shrugging. He snorted and pulled out a handful of Soul Coins. “Told me to hold onto these in case I ran into you,” he jostled them in his hand. 

“Hm,” Karlach mused, “I should have known better. What does she want, then?” 

“Nothing, just told me if you wanted them you’d have to hear the stories of each one.” 

“Classic,” Karlach shook her head, and looked to Tav. “Well?” 

“Do we need them?” Tav asked skeptically, but the look on Karlach’s face edged her forward. “Alright, let’s have the coins.” 

Gale hissed through his teeth, “Karlach, we haven’t needed them yet -“ the icy stare she shot back at him was foreign so his lips sealed instantly. 

When the merchant was done with each sordid tale, he handed Karlach the coins and they turned away, lingering in the grand hall. 

“Who’s Flo?” Tav asked. 

“Florenta the Garrotter. A cambion I knew back in Avernus. The closest I had to a friend,” the weariness in her tone was unmistakable and Gale laid a hand on her shoulder. “That said, she would’ve choked the life out of me if I ever turned my back on her. The fact she knows where I am or might be going doesn’t delight me.” 

“Do we need to worry about her?” Tav said, folding her arms across her chest. 

“You’re safe with us,” Gale said reassuringly, ignoring Tav’s question. Though he had never gone toe to toe with a campion before, surely it couldn’t be more difficult than what they’d faced thus far. 

“I doubt she’ll come looking, her precious feet are too delicate for the material plane.” She snorted and leaned into Gale’s touch. “Thank you, though.” She put her hand over Gale’s for a moment before moving it from her shoulder. “I’m grateful to have friends, real friends now who care whether or not I burn alive.” 

Wyll came up behind them, shaking his head woefully. “In my years as the Blade, I’ve witness countless cruelties, faced unimaginable evil…. Thorm is made of pure hate - the coast will rejoice when the bastard’s fallen. I know my father is somewhere in this tower and I won’t leave him in Thorm’s hands. I’ve scouted the premises, there’s a dock at the back - my guess is that it leads to the prisons, we may find both the Tiefling hostages and my father in one fell swoop. And, whether or not you care to help her, Minthara was likely dragged there as well.”

Tav dusted off her hands and took a sip from her canteen. A drop of water lingered on the edge of her lip. Gale’s fingers twitched, as if they had a mind of their own to brush it away. He clenched a fist and she rubbed her thumb against the corner of her mouth, clearing the water. “Seems like we have our work cut out for us.” 

They stood in a tight circle, Tav’s robes brushing against Gale. He felt the electricity move between them, the buzzing of their cells eager to know one another. He shook his head. Focus. 

Gale felt the knot in his stomach tighten - if they were truly at the heart of the absolute, it was only a matter of time until he would need to use the orb. He could see no other way. Defying his already miffed Goddess did not seem like a viable choice - the notion of being trapped until the end of time in a wall of faceless, being crushed and assaulted at the forefronts of the blood war… no. Gale couldn’t bear it. 

Astarion pursed his lips. “If we’re going to talk, shouldn’t we do it less conspicuously? I love a little drama - but I would like to walk out of here alive. Talking about our plans at the heart of the source we are trying to usurp is foolish, don’t you agree?” 

Shadowheart nodded curtly, “Astarion’s right. Last Light is less than a quarter days walk - we should head there, make camp.” 

“Tease out a plan,” Wyll offered, his excitement for justice palpable. 

Gale interrupted, rubbing his chin “While we’re here, shouldn’t we at the very least inspect Balthzar’s chamber? We may find something of use.” 

“We should,” Tav said, nodding once. “Alright - Gale, you and I can explore the chamber, Karlach and Wyll can you both chat with the folks lingering around? They may know something. See if there’s anything worth battering around here. Astarion, Shadowheart - why don’t you start headed back to last light, gather whatever supplies we need? It may be the last time we set up camp there for the foreseeable future.” 

Astarion gave a mocking salute, “Yes, captain.” 

Gale’s throat constricted. His eyes flicked to Karlach who seemed to try to communicate this was his chance to set things right. He felt his heart thrumming against his chest and waited a moment before turning his gaze to hers. “Gale,” Tav looked up, her eyes locking with his. “Shall we?” 

[mothandpidgeon]

Aunt Flo's First Visit [pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader]

MASTERLIST - follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

Pairing: pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After Sarah gets her first period, Joel is determined to be a supportive parent despite the fact that he doesn't know the first thing about menstruation. But when he goes to the pharmacy to shop for supplies, he finds himself in way over his head.

Words: 2k

Rating: G

Warnings: period stuff and everything that comes with it

a/n: This is really fluffy and a little silly. I saw a tik tok by a menstrual product company about a customer trying to find the right thing for his daughter and it just gave me such Joel energy this happened. I haven't finished any fic in MONTHS because I'm working on my book and that's not finished either so it feels really good to complete something. (If you want to keep up with my publishing journey, I'm mainly documenting it here.) Please enjoy.

Also, I challenged myself to write in present tense bc I never do and I really was struggling so pretend the grammar is all correct. Thank you.

Joel knows how to do a lot of things. He can manage a crew, change a flat tire, and build just about anything. He never considered himself smart by the classical definition but he knows how to make a car battery from scratch despite the fact that he got a C in chemistry. 

If somebody had told him a decade ago that he’d one day be paralyzed with fear in the feminine hygiene aisle, he would’ve laughed. But right now, Joel would give all his knowledge along with his left arm if he could just figure out what the hell he ought to buy for his daughter.

He knew this day would come eventually. It’s his own damn fault he never prepared himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he must’ve expected Sarah to just know how to handle it. Being a single dad wasn’t a walk in the park but he couldn’t imagine how much harder it would be if Sarah wasn’t so damn self sufficient. Even at 13, she can get herself fed and dressed and off to school without help. Of course she could figure this out on her own.

But Joel was reminded that Sarah’s still just a kid when she finally told him that she’d gotten her period for the very first time. She was so embarrassed to admit it, Joel practically had to drag it out of her. 

He was angry with himself. He should’ve been ready, wished that he knew the right words to say. Joel promised himself he would put things right so she wouldn’t feel like she ever had to hide anything from him. 

That was a lot easier said than done, he realizes now.

Joel stands in the aisle overwhelmed and confused. Boxes and soft packages in friendly, pastel colors stare at him from the shelves. He’s never spent much time with the feminine hygiene products, not unless he was scooting by them to pick up a little carton from the family planning section. He hasn’t bothered to learn about that stuff. Women’s stuff. He’s not disgusted by menstruation, isn’t afraid of it. It’s just one of those things he never had to deal with. 

Without Sarah’s mom, though, he’s had to figure out plenty of girl things. He can remember the lesson on managing Sarah’s curls from the kind woman at the hair salon. Names of Shampoos and oils that felt foreign were now routine and he’s mastered using the combs and clips that looked more intimidating than some of his power tools. But he struggled for a good long while before that kind stylist took pity on him. 

And here he is again, flying blind into the female whirlwind. 

There’s so many options on the shelf. Words like HEAVY and gentle and sport. And the prices. Christ! He thought the hair stuff was expensive.  

Joel’s head is spinning but he has to get it together. He’d vowed long ago that he would be Dad and Mom too. That’s what his daughter deserves. 

Just a year ago, he hovered outside of the dressing room at the mall as Sarah tried on training bras. 

“Did you find one? You were in there for a while,” he said when she emerged.

“Dad,” she replied in that tone she was using more and more often, the one that told him to shut up.

It isn’t the changes to her body that scare him, all of the subtle ways she’s becoming less familiar. His little girl is growing up and he mourns her childhood. It won’t be long before she’s driving, going off to college. Maybe she’ll have a daughter of her own but Joel hopes she’ll wait longer than he did, have a chance to make a life for herself.

Speaking of which, he realizes he’s going to have to sit her down for a real talk about boys next. He better get ready for that one. Explaining where babies come from hadn’t been too difficult. Condoms and venereal diseases are a whole different ball game. Teenage boys are gremlins– he’d know– and Sarah’s so smart and pretty, she’s going to have to be careful. 

Joel doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at the shelves when a woman appears in the aisle, another shopper. She’s got her keys looped around a finger, headed straight for the tampons, her flip flops smacking against the bottoms of her feet. Joel has a box in his hands. He doesn’t even know what he’s picked up, it’s just got the least intimidating packaging and the price is reasonable. He can’t help but catch the woman’s eye and the look she gives him is a little wary. It must be obvious that he’s out of his depths. But she gives a polite, tight lipped smile and proceeds to ignore him as she approaches the pantheon of period products. 

He watches as her eyes dart around the shelves and quickly she makes a selection, plucking up a box clad with pink and purple silhouettes. So easy. Well, it must be easy for her. He wonders how many times she’s visited this part of the pharmacy, if her mother brought her to the store when she was Sarah’s age and showed her all the options. 

His free hand fidgets at his side and he swallows dryly. He feels like an idiot but he reminds himself that he’s got to do this. For Sarah. The woman is already half way back to the end of the aisle by the time he’s found his voice. 

---

“Excuse me, miss. Could I trouble you for a second?” you hear from the man behind you. 

You turn around, confused, but there’s nobody else that he could be talking to. Here you thought you could get in and out quickly. You’re cranky and tired and all day you’ve had toe curling cramps. It hits you like a ton of bricks every month. All you want to do is get home to your couch to watch some crappy reality tv. 

But this lumberjack of a man– broad shoulders wrapped in a flannel shirt– is giving you puppy dog eyes. You’ve never been hit on while holding a box of Tampax Pearl but there’s a first time for everything. 

“I apologize. This is real awkward,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck with a big hand. “I’m trying to get something for my daughter but I’m a little lost.”

His voice is warm and sweet and he’s handsome as hell but you keep your distance. 

“Didn’t she tell you what to get?” you ask. 

His expression grows even more bashful and his voice lowers. 

“I’m afraid it’s, uh…well, it’s new territory for both of us,” he admits. 

You can’t help the sympathetic smile that forms on your lips. Some poor preteen girl just got welcomed into the cruel arms of womanhood. It will be all downhill from here. Wild mood swings, angry breakouts, blood leaking through her favorite pair of pants. At least, it seems, she’s got her dad on her side. It takes a lot of balls for a guy to pick up a box of tampons let alone stop a stranger and ask for help. 

You’d like to tell him that you’re too busy to help– you can hear your Haagen Dazs calling you all the way from the freezer– but you at least owe it to this kid to help him out. 

“What’ve you got?” you ask, nodding towards the powder blue box in his grasp. It looks so little in his big hand. You walk back towards him and take a look. “Oh. Nice try but I wouldn’t go with that.”

He regards his choice again. It’s kind of adorable, the way the corners of his mouth frown as he squints at the words on the front. “What’s wrong with these?” His words aren’t defensive, he’s genuinely curious. 

“Tampons can be pretty tricky when you’re that age. And those don’t even come with an applicator,” you explain. You remember trying to use a tampon that first time. You’d never put anything up there before and it stung like hell.

“Applicator?” His brows furrow and you can see fear in his brown eyes. 

“So you can put it…in,” you tell him and motion with your finger, jabbing your pointer upwards. 

His cheeks go pink. Ears too. You try to suppress a giggle as his brain short circuits for a second. His throat works as he swallows and places the box back on the shelf— gingerly, like it might explode. 

“Which are the ones that don’t…go inside?” he asks. 

It’s impossible to keep from grinning. 

“Pads,” you say. 

He nods. 

You choose a package and place it in his hands. It’s a multipack, everything from light to heavy, and no wings so she doesn’t feel like she’s wearing a diaper. 

“Try this,” you say. “She might not like them. It takes some trial and error.”

He reads over the circle in the corner that claims it’s 100% Leak Free! You can see he’s still overwhelmed but he’s far less nervous. He really is good looking and you have to wonder how he doesn’t have a woman in his life to help him out.

“This many?” he asks. 

“She might need more.” You shrug. “Just stay away from the scented ones. And you have Tylenol at home?”

“I think so.”

“How about a heating pad?”

He shakes his head. 

“Go get one,” you advise. 

He blows out air and then steels himself with a nod, ready to face the red menace. 

“I’m awfully grateful for your help,” he says and you can tell by the look on his face, he means that. 

You feel your own cheeks heat. 

---

Joel ends up behind her in the checkout line after securing an electric heating pad and grabbing an extra bottle of Motrin. 

“What do you think?” he asks, showing her what he picked.

“Good job,” she tells him. Her smile is tinged with amusement but his chest still swells with pride. Maybe he’s not such a failure of a father after all.

Now that he’s less bewildered, Joel can’t help but notice how pretty this woman is. She’s dressed for comfort without any make up as far as he can tell but that smile and the kindness in her eyes is what does it for him. If they met under different circumstances, maybe he’d try to flirt. Not that he’s had the opportunity to practice recently. It’s for the best, though. There’s absolutely no way the combination of bumbling idiot, single parent, and menstruation makes for a romantic connection. Besides he’s here on an errand for his daughter.

Joel tries to keep his eyes from wandering over her as the teenager behind the register rings her up, the pink box and two bags of M&Ms. She gives Joel one last smile before leaving the store. 

He thought he might feel embarrassed buying nothing but period supplies but he’s too busy thinking about how helpful she was. Sarah would just about die from mortification if he told her a complete stranger gave him a crash course in maxi pads. He chuckles to himself. 

“Hey!” someone calls as Joel approaches his truck.

It’s her, the woman from the pharmacy, crossing the parking lot. Joel smooths his hair.

“These are for her,” she says, handing him one of her bags of candy. “Chocolate helps.”

Joel gives a soft laugh as he weighs the M&Ms in his hand. “That I knew,” he says. 

“And, uh, here,” she tells him, holding out the long receipt. 

Joel takes the paper. On the back she’s scribbled her name and phone number. 

“You know, I don’t know. I just thought– if she has any questions. Or maybe if you do,” she says, shrugging. She’s much less confident now than she was in front of that endless selection of menstrual products. It’s cute and makes Joel feel a little less like an idiot for the way he was fumbling a few minutes ago. 

“I owe you one,” he says.

She shakes her head. “Just be patient,” she warns. “She’s gonna be a bitch but don’t take it personally.”

Joel grins. 

“You’re a good dad,” she tells him and he doesn’t know how to respond to that.

She’s already backing away towards her car and waves again. 

Joel looks at her number, once again finding something he doesn’t know. He’d give his left arm to figure out how soon is too soon to call. 

---

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[marwritesgood]

Kiss it Better

Pairing: Steve x Hopper!Reader

Summary: While Y/n was used to going unnoticed, she was all Steve could think about.

series masterlist // main masterlist

A/N: Just some indulgent fluff in the form of backstory before we get back to the main story line.

November, 1982

Y/n shoved her books into her locker and let out a huff. It had been a long school day and she had only an hour to commute to her part time job and don the most hideous uniform known to man. A hell of a start to sixteen, but she had had worst birthdays. This one would be different, she was sure of it.

Slamming the door shut, she jolted as she recognised Steve leaning against the lockers adjacent to hers, grinning like he knew something she did not. Y/n tightened her grip on her bag and cocked her brow, mostly amused and the smallest bit flustered. She drew her lips together tightly, trying not to think about how flushed she felt.

“Did you see our grade?”

It was his first A in a while, but that wasn't what had him feeling giddy, it was the excuse he had to go to her locker and strike up a conversation with her. After their time working on their group project came to an end, he had been grasping at straws trying to find reasons to talk to her, to hear her voice again.

“I did. You’re welcome," Y/n smirked. Steve scoffed jokingly.

“I’m pretty sure it was my good looks and charisma that swayed Mrs Madison." He inched closer to her, brows raised teasingly. Y/n narrowed her eyes, the corners of her mouth perking up.

She could never tell if the type of banter they had was platonic or if it was just a consequence of Steve being the biggest flirt in Hawkins, but she knew it was risky to think anything else of it.

“No, I think it was my research.”

Steve chuckled, standing straight. They were quite the unlikely duo, but he liked to believe

“Well either way, we make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, smiling affectionately.

When she was first assigned as his partner for the project, she had more than her fair share of reservations. Now, her feelings towards Steve had become far more complicated for all the best reasons.

Steve put his hands in his pockets and glanced down momentarily at his shoes, contemplating what to say next. He met her gaze with a nervous smile and began to back away.

“I guess I’ll see you around.”

Y/n nodded, her expression dimming until she noticed Steve’s feet come to a halt. Suddenly, he was turning back to her, his face lit up.

“Oh, and happy birthday.”

She froze, her brows knitted together, puzzled. No one ever really remembered to wish her a happy birthday except for a handful of her friends and Flo from the station.

“How do you know-“

“You mentioned it last week, remember?”

Steve felt a knot form in his stomach as he realised how potentially weird it was for him to remember a comment she brought up nonchalantly eight days ago. Steve was so sure she would grimace and find a way to politely exit the conversation, but she just smiled.

Y/n barely remembered mentioning it, yet he did.

“Um, you know actually I’m having some friends over at my place tonight, if you wanted to come,” Steve added.

It was nothing special, but if Y/n was going to be there, he knew it would be a good night. Maybe he would even get her a cake, and a nice gift that didn't cross the friend-line too far for comfort.

Y/n gave it a moment's deliberation and frowned, deciding the plans she had already set in stone were too precious to cancel.

“Thanks, Steve, but I... I’m having dinner with my dad tonight.”

Steve smiled defeatedly and nodded huffed, looking around the corridor as more and more students were heading out the door until his eyes landed on one of the posters for the upcoming dance. Steve drew in a sharp breath and wondered if he could muster up the courage to finally ask her. She was preoccupied buttoning up her cardigan, and it seemed like as good a time as any.

“Well, hey, the winter dance is coming up in a couple weeks and I…”

Her eyes shot up as did her hopes, despite her best efforts to steady herself and remember play it cool. It was just another stupid high school dance she would inevitably find herself at, but if somehow she ended up going with Steve, something inside her knew it would be different.

She watched intently anticipating his next words. Steve had been holding his breath, choked up at the way she was gazing at him. Panic began to seep in.

“I know the band that’s playing," he blurted out rapidly. "They’re pretty good, so should be fun night.”

“Oh." There was no hiding her disappointment. Her shoulder slumped but she maintained some semblance of a smile. “That’s cool... I guess.”

Steve swallowed thickly. He could have sworn the light in her expression dimmed, and he hated himself for chickening out, but there was always a voice that questioned if he was just kidding himself. It was hard to hear anything over it.

“Well, have a nice dinner with your dad,” Steve murmured before turning around and walking away. There was still plenty of time before the dance, perhaps by then he will have worked up the courage to ask her.

***

April, 1983

The passenger seat of Steve's car may as well have had her name written on it. It remained in the exact position Y/n had it adjusted to and the clutter she couldn't manage to squeeze into her bag by the time she had to go. Steve would not have had it any other way.

Her uniform was drenched in rainwater from just the distance she had to run from the store to the parking lot. Steve gave her on of his jackets to drape over her shoulders for the car ride, mumbling something about the radiator being broken and not wanting her to catch a cold. Y/n was too distracted by the smell of his cologne to remember his exact words.

He drove slower than normal, taking his time to focus on what he could make out of the road markings in between his windshield wipers going back and forth rapidly.

“Thanks again for giving me a ride home," Y/n said loudly, making sure he heard her clearly. His eyes never leaving the road ahead, Steve smiled easily and shrugged.

“It’s nothing.”

He did not have to think twice about it. When Y/n told him she finished in 5 and he knew the rain would only getting heavier, Steve knew he would wait around to drive her home so she would not have to wait at the bus stop. There was no chance he was going to do anything else.

Y/n glanced at him, feeling overwhelmed by all that she felt towards him. A year ago, she would have been walking in the rain, thinking about how she would scrape together the leftovers in the fridge to make herself some dinner. Now, she had Steve.

“It’s not nothing.”

Her voice was quieter, but Steve caught what she said and held it tightly. There was a sincerity and vulnerability in her voice, something he knew she let very few people have access to. He liked knowing he had become one of those people.

Steve took a split moment to steal a glance at her. She was sitting in his car, his jacket draped over her shoulders, and she was looking back at him with an expression that drove him crazy. He wanted to remember every second of this moment.

Y/n turned back to the road and her face fell.

“Shit.”

Steve slowed down when he saw it too. A massive portion of a tree must have snapped off from the wind and landed right on the road that led to Y/n's place. Officers had already blocked off the road. A familiar one approached Steve's BMW, walking towards the passenger window, as opposed to Steve's.

Y/n wheeled her window down and gave Officer Robinson a brief hello before immediately asking what the hold up was. There was no other way of getting to the cabin, only through that road. She had already thrown a wrench into Steve's afternoon by letting him drive her home, she hated to think what a road blockage meant.

“It’s gonna be at least a few more hours until we can clear it, Y/n.”

She sighed, frustrated, knowing a few hours meant they may as well clear the rest of their day. She looked to Steve, her face riddled with worry, only to be meant with a calm gaze that brought her ease.

“We can come back later,” he said softly, his tone assuring her it was no biggie even though she knew it was more than a minor inconvenience. Y/n turned back to her dad's colleague.

“We’ll come back later, Robinson.”

The officer nodded and backed away so Steve could turn the car around. The first few minutes of the drive back to the main road was filled with Y/n apologising and asking if he was sure he didn't mind killing time with her. Steve assured her it was fine, but he knew she would be difficult to convince, so he suggested they make an adventure of it.

Apparently Hawkins had a hidden gem, a spot that Steve loved that he knew not many knew of, Y/n included. It was a lookout just around the corner from the post shop. Even through the torrential rain, the view was a sight for sore eyes. The two of them sat in silence at first, as Y/n looked around through the windshield. Then, she heard the faint sound of Steve's stomach rumbling. She turned to him and smiled, amused.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?"

“Starving," he answered. He was supposed to pick up something to eat after stopping at Melvald's, but ended up getting sidetracked and forgetting about it completely.

Y/n grinned before picking her bag up and placing it on her lap. She reached in and pulled out a small box, one ominously familiar to Steve.

“Good thing I picked up some donuts on my break," she exclaimed, opening the box up to reveal four of the custard donuts from her favourite bakery, the very donuts Steve teared up trying to stomach just a month ago.

He gulped as she picked two of the four donuts and handed, handing one to him. Thankfully, she looked away just as Steve began to grimace. He stared at the abomination and decided to try his luck at keeping Y/n distracted from realising that he had not and would not eat it.

It was a good thing the lookout oversaw such a nice view. Y/n was scoffing a donut down and going back to looking around.

“How have I not known about this lookout?”

Y/n had grown up in Hawkins just as Steve had. Hell, her dad was the sheriff of the damn town. She was so sure she knew the town back to front when Steve insinuated there was secret spot she did not know about.

“How did you find this place?”

“I have my ways," Steve shrugged. "This is my special spot.”

Y/n scrunched her nose up. Special, she repeated to herself. That was a loaded word.

“Don’t tell me this is where King Steve takes his dates," she grimaced. It was no secret Steve was a player and Y/n often had to remind herself that just because he was good to her, did not necessarily mean his entire persona had changed.

“No,” his answer came quick. Steve turned to her and waited until she was looking back. He needed her to know. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever brought here.”

She drew in a deep breath and as she breath out, her lips curved into a smile. No one had ever come close to making her feel the way Steve did. Y/n never thought of herself as someone who would have people lose to her. She was used to being alone and keeping everyone, even her own dad at an arm's length. It was better that way, safer. Then Steve came along, and all of that changed.

Y/n desperately wanted him to know that, but she could never bring herself to tell him. It was not the kind of thing friends told each other, and that was all she was to him.

He looked back at the view, and Y/n drew her attention back to her donut, taking another bite and anticipating having a second one.

“Ugh, this is just what I needed," she looked at Steve and realised he was still holding in his hand, though in a way that made her suspect he was trying to hide it. “You haven’t even eaten yours.”

Steve's face went red.

“Yeah… I’m pretty full already."

“But, you said you were starving."

Y/n drew her brows together in confusion and narrowed her eyes at him. He pursed his lips together and she could have sworn she heard him curse beneath his breath.

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

She couldn't understand it. Steve was starving and she gave him one of the best donuts in the state of Indiana, but he was refusing to eat it. Finally, it dawned on her.

“Steve. Do you not like the donuts?”

His silence was all the answer she needed. Y/n didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or let out a gasp. Either way, she could not make any sense of it.

“But you said you liked them when you first tried them!”

“I did! I…” Steve knew he couldn't do it. He couldn't dig himself deeper into lie that was only meant to be a little white one. He sighed. “They’re the worst donuts I’ve ever had.”

Y/n laughed curtly in disbelief. If Steve had told her he hated the donuts she loved so dearly, her ego might have been a bit bruised, but she would have been ok overall. She narrowed her eyes, puzzled by what went on beneath that beautiful head of hair.

“Why did you lie?”

Steve thought about it for only a moment. The reason was really quite simple.

“Because it made you happy,” he answered.

Her eyes went wide and everything inside her came to a stand still.

“Oh," was all she could mutter before averting her eyes from his intent gaze. She did not want to sit in silence any longer and let his words continue to simmer in her mind. Y/n knew her heart would not be able to bear it.

For the first time, Steve's car was beginning to suffocate her. Each passing second made her more and more conscious of just how close they were to each other. Y/n desperately needed a change of scenery.

“Hey, where’s that burger place you always talk about?

“It’s next to the post office."

Perfect, she thought. She needed to take a breather and Steve needed something to eat.

“Do you wanna go there and grab a bite?" Y/n quickly glanced at him, her heart still racing. "It’s gonna be a few more hours, anyways."

Steve agreed and started the car up again. It was a short and silent ride to the diner. Steve held the door to his car and the door to the diner open for Y/n, something he had developed a habit of doing, though she never thought much of it. Not until now.

The diner had only a handful of patrons when they got there. Steve muttered something about how he always sat at the counter so he could sneak a peek into the kitchen. The tension between them had begun to settle and by the time their food came, two orders of Steve's usual, things felt normal again.

Y/n took one bite of the burger Steve claimed was the best on the menu and he could hardly contain his anticipation. She chewed slowly, taking in the divine taste, with Steve watching her intently.

“Well, what do you think?”

She shook her head, taking a sip of her milkshake before going back in for more.

“I really wanted to hate it to get back at you for not liking the donuts,” she said honestly. It would have been nice to tease him for it, but there was nothing to tease about. Y/n sighed. “But these burgers are so good!“

After she took another bite, she heard a faint chuckle and realised Steve was smiling at her, clearly amused. Swallowing her bite, Y/n cleared her throat.

“What’s so funny?”

“You… you have a little..."

Before she knew what he was referring to, Steve lifted his hand and swiped his thumb over the left corner of Y/n's lips. Suddenly, she couldn't take her eyes off him. His hand was cool to the touch, but so soft and comforting, she wanted to lean into it. So she did.

After wiping away the mustard remnants, Steve locked eyes with Y/n, but only for a second. He had no time to register it. No time to chicken out and pull away. No time to reason with his anxieties. She leaned in and kissed him. Her hands rose to the sides of his face and he knew he was done for.

A moment passed and Y/n began to pull away, catching her breath as she opened her eyes and came face to face with the most dazed expression she had ever seen, and on Steve Harrington of all people. She could hardly believe that just happened, so much so, she let out a breathless laugh beneath her breath.

“You can’t do that," Steve whispered, pressing his temple against hers, his eyes going back and forth between her eyes and her lips “You can’t just kiss me like that then laugh it was nothing.”

She shook her head.

“It wasn’t nothing.”

Steve drew in a sharp breath and closed his eyes momentarily. The fearful voice in the back of his head was nowhere to be found. He looked at her and sighed.

“I like you, Y/n.”

She leaned back and stared at him, dumbfounded.

“You... You what?”

“I like you," he repeated, his voice a little louder. "I really really like you. I have for a while now.”

Y/n heaved, her eyes wide and stare blank.

“Really?”

Steve smiled softly.

“You haven’t noticed?”

He could have sworn there were multiple times he had been terribly obvious about it. After all, most of his afternoons and his weekends belonged to her, as did the passenger seat of his beloved BMW.

Y/n's heart never knew such a rush. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to kiss him again, but she couldn't bring herself to throw caution to the wind and risk getting hurt by yet another person she cared too much about for her own good.

"Are you being serious?"

Steve put his hand in her and laced their fingers together slowly.

“You... You do this thing with your hands when you're focused and at first I thought it was just a crush but then… Then I kept looking for excuses to talk to you. Just to hear you say my name again."

It was like nothing he had ever felt before.

"And I listened to that ‘60s song you said was your favourite," he added. The Bee Gees were not necessarily his kind of music, but the way she described it and the way her face lit up when she heard that one particular song made him want to listen to it everyday. "I even got it on cassette so I could just casually play it in my car. And I pretended to like those terrible donuts just ‘cause it made you smile, and-“

She did it again. Leaned in and kissed him softly, shutting him up completely, silencing every thought and every voice that echoed in his mind until all he could think about was the feeling of her touch.

Y/n pulled away quickly this time. She really only kissed him to shut him up long enough so she could finally get a word in.

“I like you too," she admitted, betraying the emotionally unavailable persona she once took great pride in maintaining and deciding she liked her odds when it came to Steve.

He stared at her, lifting his hands until the sides of her face were in between his left and right fingertips. He wanted to take it in for a moment. Just a moment. Then, he leaned in and kissed her, soft and fervently.

Even with her eyes closed, Y/n could picture everything around her glowing. Her suspicions were confirmed when they pulled apart and she looked around at a room that appeared tenfold brighter than she remembered. It had been a while since she felt anything close to that.

“Do you think the road’s clear now?” Steve asked, looking outside and realising the previously torrential rain had stopped completely.

“I don’t care," Y/n answered without waiting a beat or even taking a moment to look outside.

All she wanted was right there in that diner with her. Steve looked at her and reached for her hand, grinning like the lovestruck fool he knew he was and would always be for Y/n.

***

March, 1984

They opted for one of the booths that day. Steve said he was pissed off with his basket ball coach and needed to give Y/n a play by play of everything that went wrong. She happily obliged. It was a nice breather from being cooped up at the cabin all day with El.

When they walked in, the server at the counter recognised them and pointed to the day’s special written on a chalkboard displayed on the counter. Y/n took one look at it and realised what day it was.

“Lewinsky of all people, the benchwarmer can’t make a free throw to save his life and coach still put him on.” Steve packed a small handful of fries into his mouth and chewed, before looking up and realising his girlfriend was staring blankly at her food, her eyes glossed over. Slowly, he waved his hand a few inches in front of her face. “Y/n? Are you listening?”

She looked up and sniffled, quickly realising she had been too in her head to pay attention to Steve’s story. She shook her head and frowned apologetically.

“I’m sorry.”

Steve couldn’t even remember what he was annoyed about, not when there was something going wrong with Y/n. He moved his plate to the side and leaned his elbows on the edge of the table. Reaching his arm across the table, Steve took hold of her hand.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“It’s stupid,” she whispered, wiping her eyes, not wanting to dampen the mood any further. Steve knitted his brows together and shook his head.

“No it’s not.”

She was tearing up. Whatever it was, he knew it was a big deal to her, and so he couldn’t ignore it.

Y/n sighed, realising there was no use in trying to pull a brave face. Steve knew her too well to buy it. She drew in a sharp and shaky inhale before meeting his gaze, her eyes watering again from just the anticipation of saying it aloud.

“Today’s the anniversary of my mom’s death,” she explained in a hushed tone. Her lip quivered and her expression grew sheepish as she went to continue. “… And I completely forgot until now.”

The day used to carry so much weight to her. Her emotions would usually begin to deplete at the beginning of month and she would spend the entire day wallowing alone at home. Now it completely snuck up on her and she hated herself for it.

Steve shrunk back, at a loss for words. Only one came to mind.

“Shit.”

“I’ll be ok, I just-“ Y/n cleared her throat and wiped her tears away. She could wallow later but it wasn’t fair to Steve to do it now. “Finish your story.”

His expression was unmoved.

“Your mom... What was she like?”

Steve spoke cautiously, knowing it was the most delicate of matters when it cane to Y/n’s life. He had always been curious, but never wanted to pry. If there was ever a day to ask, he figured it would be today. Deep down, he knew Y/n wanted to talk about her too.

“You don’t have to do this, Steve,” she whispered.

“I know," he took hold of her hand again.

Steve didn't have the best relationship with his mom, but from the few times she brought her up in conversation, he knew Y/n had a good one with hers. A great one. He wanted to know more about it.

“How did she- uhm… never mind,” Steve shook his head and dismissed the thought, scared it was too sensitive of a question.

“It’s ok, Steve,” Y/n assured him.

He wasn't the first person to ask her how her mom died, and unlike almost everyone else who did, he didn't annoy the crap out of her.

She used to dread having the dead mom conversation with people that came into her life, but it didn't feel that way with Steve. Y/n didn't feel like a news story or neighbourhood gossip or the town's sob story.

“Was she sick?” Steve asked hesitantly.

It was hard to make any conclusions about Y/n's mom, given how little he knew about her. There were rumours that spread around town when she passed, but Steve couldn't bring himself to buy into any of it. It didn't feel right. Though he and Y/n were barely friends, they had been classmates for as long as he could remember. He still remembered seeing her the day she came back to school some time after the funeral.

He always wondered what happened, and how Y/n managed to get through it at such a young age.

“She got into a car accident," she explained. "A drunk driver hit her, and she died a few days after.”

Y/n remembered the torrential rain that fell that night. She remembered the phone ringing in the middle of the night and the scream her dad let out after he collapsed on the floor. She remembered her mom's sister coming into town the next day, and how she knew that was a bad sign. Everything that came after was a blur to her.

Steve squeezed her hand three times and offered a small smile.

“What was she like?”

Her eyes began to light up. That was the one question that she loved being asked when it came to talking about her mom.

“She was great,” Y/n started, the corners of her lips perking up as she remembered, not the rain or the phone call or aunt Jenna, but her mom. “… She was the best, actually.”

“I bet she was,” Steve smiled.

Y/n grinned, meeting his gaze. If he only knew.

“She was twice as strict as my dad,” Y/n explained. Steve was surprised, just as she expected. “But anytime I was having a bad day she used to sneak into my room with a tub of ice cream and two spoons.”

Her mom wouldn't even have to ask. If Y/n had a certain expression, or slammed her bedroom door a certain way, or said goodnight with a certain tone, her mom would be at her side with their favourite dessert. She had a sixth sense when it came to her daughters, and it wasn't until she passed, and took with her their ice cream nights, that Y/n realised how much missed it.

“Sounds familiar,” Steve chuckled, remembering El mention something about how Y/n had special ice cream in the freezer.

She grinned. Y/n always loved it when others drew similarities between her and her mom. She took pride in it. To her, the more she took after her mom, the less she took after her dad.

“People said I looked just like her too,” Y/n beamed. “Same hair, same eyes… Same laugh.”

“Yeah?”

Y/n nodded, chuckling beneath her breath. It was the one sound she would probably never forget. As strict as her mom was, Y/n grew up hearing her laughter almost all of the time. Hers and her dad's.

“My dad would tell the most stupid jokes all the time," Y/n explained, a bittersweet feeling settling in her chest. "—and she’d laugh at every single one… even when she was angry with him.”

She would give anything to relive a moment like that again. To hear that sound again in reality and not in memory. To eat ice cream and rest her head on her mom's shoulder, letting go of whatever was burdening her.

“I wish I got to meet her,” Steve mumbled, hoping it didn't sound silly to Y/n. In truth, he had met her a few times in passing, but those didn't count to him. He wished he got to meet her as the mother of the girl he loved.

“Me too,” Y/n smiled weakly. She thought about it often as well.

“Do you think she would’ve liked me?”

Steve pursed his lips together forming a sheepish grin. He thought about that a lot. Though it was merely a hypothetical, it was oddly important to him that she would have.

Y/n gave it a moment's deliberation and smiled.

“Yeah,” she laughed. “She would’ve.”

There was no doubt about it. She would have been skeptical about how much pride he took in his hair and in his car, but she would have seen how much he loves and care for Y/n and that would have been enough for her.

The more Y/n thought about it, the more she realised that, wherever she was, her mom would not be holding it against her that she forgot what today was. If anything, she would have been happy. She would have been happy Y/n wasn't wallowing anymore. That she had someone to lean on now, who didn't let her carry her burdens alone. That her sweet Y/n was so busy making good memories with someone she loved, she forget to remember the bad ones that once debilitated her.

***

December, 1984

Steve stood at the gym entrance and scanned the room. Dustin didn't have to be told twice before racing past him to find his friends. Finally, Steve spotted her standing with El by the bleachers in the same dress she wore to their high school winter dance. She had her arms crossed. That was never a good sign.

“If it isn’t the two prettiest girls in Hawkins,” he sang, approaching the Hopper girls with a nervous smile. Y/n was glaring daggers at him.

“I see Mike,” El chirped, eager to leave Steve to deal with the mess he made.

With El gone, Steve inched closer to Y/n, his arms instinctively reaching for her waist only to be swatted away.

“You’re late, Harrington."

He promised her he would be early, and he knew how much Y/n dreaded having to deal with their old teachers herself. And after all, he was the only reason she agreed to chaperone the middle school dance.

Steve froze, his expression equivalent to that of a kicked puppy.

“Woah. Harrington?” Steve held his hand to his chest. He knew she would be mad at him, but calling him by his last name was a low blow. “C’mon, I’m only a few minutes late.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, pushing him away as he leaned in to steal a quick peck.

“First of all, there’s a no kissing rule."

The teacher in charge, Mrs Bernstein was very clear about that rule. That was, after a long-winded story about renovations they made to the science labs and then a lecture about the problem with today's youth.

“Second of all," Y/n added. "You can’t talk me into signing up to be a chaperone with you just to show up late and leave me to face Mrs Bernstein on my own.”

It will be fun, he told her. We'll be doing it together. Y/n wanted to make him pay for every second she had to plaster on a smile and supervise middle schoolers on her own.

Steve grimaced.

“Bernstein still works here?”

“Yes, and I volunteered you to be on snack table duty with her for the first hour.”

Y/n gestured to the opposite end of the gym where the elderly lady was waiting with likely a million stories with a million details and no end. She smirked, pleased with herself.

“Have fun.”

Steven turned to his girlfriend and pouted. She wasn't really going to make him do that, he thought. Y/n patted his back and pushed him forward, proving him wrong.

Bernstein was just as he remembered her, boring as hell. Steve lasted half an hour before he started looking around the gym, searching for an out.

Luckily, he spotted two kids sneaking out of the gym just as Bernstein was wrapping up her spiel about the price of gas. He never thought of himself as a snitch, but if it meant getting to his girl and getting his kiss, he did what was necessary.

With Bernstein gone, all that was left to do was pay Mike five dollars to watch the snack table, and he was making his was to Y/n. She still had her arms crossed, but Steve had a feeling her stance would change. He stood beside her, close enough so that she could hear him over the music.

“Dustin had a hair emergency and asked me to stop by his house on the way here," he explained. "It took a lot longer than I expected."

Steve was expecting a comb and a bit of mousse would fix it, but when he realised what he was working with, he had no choice but to start from scratch.

“Ok... that’s pretty sweet," Y/n sighed, her lips perking at the thought of it, her arms instinctively falling to her sides. Steve started to smile and pulled a small box from his jacket pocket.

“Then, since I was already running late, I decided make another stop so I could pick up this."

He held the box out for Y/n. With narrowed eyes, she opened it slowly, revealing a small corsage. It cost him twice the normal price and a full five minutes of begging, but the florist was able to pull together a boutonniere for Dustin and a corsage for Y/n in a moment's notice.

“Still mad at me?”

“No,” she grinned, holding her wrist out so he could put the corsage on for her. After tying it on, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. Y/n held the side of his face, running his fingers along his cheek until her eyes landed on the bruise still evident around his eye.

She frowned. Even a week after his fist fight with Billy, his face was still slow to clear up. She studied the bruising and scarring closely, her brows crinkled together in concern.

“Does your face still hurt?”

“Only a little,” he assured her, gently pulling her hand away before she got herself worked up again.

“He’s such a piece of shit," Y/n muttered.

"I know," he laughed.

They turned their attention back to the kids they were meant to be chaperoning, but his hand never left hers. She couldn't stop thinking about that fight. She brushed her shoulder against his and offered a playful smile.

“I reckon I could have taken him if you hadn’t stood in my way."

Another kick to the groin, and Billy would have been crawling away. That was what she told herself every time she remembered her boyfriend catching a fist that was alarmingly close to colliding with her face.

“Of course you would have," Steve smiled, squeezing her hand three times and playing along with the hypothetical she had clearly been building up in her mind. But deep down, he knew he was never gonna let her find out.

***

i do not give permission for any of my works to be copied, translated or reposted onto another site.

cardigan series taglist:

@littlepadfootmoony @geeksareunique @agustdeeyaa @babygirlwilly @rqmanoff @midnightsgetawaycar @ilovereadingfanfics @lou-la-lou @dickgraysonspersonalwhore @starkleila @shireentapestry

[togrowoldinv]

A Good Person

Florence Pugh x Reader

You watch your best friend get ready for her movie premiere. Feelings come to light when you least expect it

Note: Florence just looked too good tonight I had to continue my tradition of writing fics about her premieres. Enjoy this one!

Florence Pugh Masterlist, Main Masterlist

Soft music fills the room as you watch Florence’s hair and makeup artists work their magic. You think she’s even more beautiful without all of the fixing up.

You’re definitely in love with her.

“How do I look, darling?” Florence asks you.

“Absolutely perfect,” you reply with no hesitation.

Florence smiles and the artists finish up. Her stylist will be in soon to give her her outfit, but this moment is with just the two of you.

“I wish you could come with me,” Flo says.

“I know,” you say. “But Granzo Pat will be a great red carpet companion.”

Florence chuckles at that. “They should’ve given me two passes and then I could take my best friend too.”

“I’ll still be in the crowd, just not on the carpet,” you say, trying to cheer her up.

“Yay!” She says with her typical cute smile. She brushes her shoulder against yours and nods to the arrangement on the table. “Thank you for the flowers by the way.”

“Of course. Every movie star needs flowers for their big premiere.”

Flo smiles so widely that her cheeks hurt. You always send her flowers for her premieres no matter where in the world she is. No one has ever been as kind to her as you have been.

She leans in closer to you and is only inches from your lips when the door opens. Florence stands up quickly and greets her stylist. They go into the other room for Flo to get dressed. You sit there wondering if maybe you dreamed that that had just happened.

Had Florence wanted to kiss you or was the just caught up in the moment?

About ten minutes pass before Florence emerges from the other room. Her outfit practically makes your jaw hit the floor.

“What do you think?” She asks.

She does a little twirl so you can get the full view of her look.

“You look amazing,” you say. You notice her cheeks flush as you look her up and down. Nothing in you can help the way your eyes are drawn to how her breasts spill out of the side of her top. You’re probably staring a little too long.

Florence’s team tells her it’s time to go to the car and you gather your things.

“We’ll catch up,” Flo tells them and she grabs your hand before you can leave the room.

“What’s up? Are you nervous?” You ask her. Sometimes you have to get her a pep talk before these events.

“No it’s just- that moment we had earlier,” she says.

“Oh, no that was just- well I don’t know but we don’t need to worry about it. You have a premiere to get to,” you say.

She seems to think for a minute before she abruptly pulls you by the hips against her body. Her lips crash into yours. You kiss her back with everything you have.

You break away and laugh at the way her lipstick is smeared. “Sorry about that.” You wipe the corner of her mouth with your thumb.

“I love you,” Florence says. “I’ve loved you since the day I met you.”

“I love you too, Flossie. I love you like I’ve never loved anyone before,” you say.

The two of you kiss again before you’re interrupted by her stylist knocking on the door.

“I really don’t want to go,” Florence says, breathless from kissing you.

“You go on and shine, baby. Call me tonight?”

“How about I come over tonight?” She asks, a mischievous grin on her face.

“Absolutely,” you agree maybe a little too quickly but she does an excited dance and it makes it worth it.

You two leave the hotel room and get in the elevator with the rest of the team.

“What happened to your lipstick, Flo?” Her makeup artist asks.

Florence just giggles and you steal a glance at her. She winks at you and you smile to yourself.

You are so happy that you can finally be with her.

[austinslounge]

Its very rinse cycle repeat with Kaya. We hear about her dating someone, they break up n shes quickly with someone else. Again if she wants to b known for that then thats her prerogative. I do think she still wants to be a actress and its smthn shes passionate about it, shes just absolute shit at it.

I remember the way Baz was looking at Zendaya/Austin at sum type of awards ceremony n ive been wanting them to b in a musical ever since lol, you cant tell me Baz wasnt plotting. Any of the young Dune 2 cast wuld b fun to see him work again. Timmys so goofy it wuld b fun to see them in a comedy n maybe him n Flo in a period piece. Viola n Angela r grest choices too. Ive been into Josh Oconnor ever since Challengers n i think they wuld b good in a movie.

I remember the way Baz was looking at Zendaya/Austin at sum type of awards ceremony n ive been wanting them to b in a musical ever since lol, you cant tell me Baz wasnt plotting.

Oh yea, Baz was definitely plotting something! 😂

The way Baz was looking at Austin and Zendaya at the SAG Awards, you just know he was definitely plotting a movie idea in his head for the two of them together lol 😆

Any of the young Dune 2 cast wuld b fun to see him work again. Timmys so goofy it wuld b fun to see them in a comedy n maybe him n Flo in a period piece. Viola n Angela r grest choices too. Ive been into Josh Oconnor ever since Challengers n i think they wuld b good in a movie.

I agree Anon! 😁 I would love to see Austin work with any of the Dune cast members again! I wouldn't mind seeing Austin and Timothée working together again. I also wouldn't mind seeing Austin and Florence working together with each other as well either. She's awesome!

My biggest issue with "Dune 2" (aside from the fact that I felt that Austin as a main villain should have received more screen time) is the fact that Denis didn't develop more tension btwn Paul and Feyd, or show any backstory to their characters. I also wish that we would have seen Feyd interact more with Chani (Zendaya) and Princess Irulan (Florence). But definitely felt that Paul and Feyd should have insects interacted more so that we see why they hate each other so much.

I also feel that we should have known a bit more (or at least gotten more hints) about Feyd and his childhood and history with his uncle. I loved what Austin brought to the role, but kind of feel like he (Feyd) wasn't given much of a character arc in order to make him a truly well-rounded villain.

I still think they should have cut Dune Part 2 into two parts, and given more backstory to Feyd (for sure), Lady Fenring, and Princess Irulan.

I think the knife fight scene should have been saved for the end of the third film. It would have had more of an impact if Paul and Feyd had already been meeting each other and then the climax was the fight scene.

But maybe Feyd in the books isn't really a big character, so maybe Denis could only go by what was in the books. I've never read them so I'm not sure.

[scarisd3ad]

Jump then fall | Steve Harrington x reader

Chapter two - ‘I wish that you would stay in my memories’

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Summary - after 7 years of being split apart from your childhood friend Steve you return to hawkins after your younger sisters tragic death, and parents messy divorce. But the Steve you came back to isn’t the same Steve you left behind.

My dad and I spent the entire weekend practically dancing around the topic of our fight Friday night. We didn't talk much; I slept in both days; he went to work early; he got home late, and I locked myself in my room. So, Monday morning is awkward. I'm in my room getting ready for school. I try my hardest to stall. Taking forever picking out my outfit (a pair of straight-legged jeans, a white tank top, an old flannel, and my black Converse), brushing my hair and teeth, and ensuring everything's in my bag. Unfortunately, I didn't take long enough because my dad was still sitting at our dining room table (which isn't much of a dining room table) reading a newspaper.

I knew he was waiting for me because he was fully dressed in his uniform, and it was evident that he hadn't just gotten up. I place my bag on the kitchen counter as I say, "You're going to be late," he mutters a quiet "Nope" as he lets the newspaper fall to the table. "Told Flo I was coming in late today" I take out two bowls as I choose what cereal I would like to start my day with. cocoa puffs, obviously. Dad won't eat breakfast unless I force him to. It's not a 'woman should make all meals for men' mentality, it's a 'breakfast is useless, and I won't eat it unless I'm getting it shoved down my throat' mentality. So normally every morning before I leave for school, I shove a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice or water in front of him in hopes that he'll at least take a few bites.

"Cocoa puffs good with you?" I ask as I pour my bowl, "yeah, that's fine" he replies as I go on to pour his as well. I place his bowl in front of him and he immediately begins to dig in while I walk back over to my bowl that is still sat on the counter. "You need a ride to school?" Dad asks, words muffled as he continues to shove spoonful after spoonful of cereal into his mouth even as he talks. "mhm," I reply with a nod as I swallow down a spoonful of cereal. 

-

We both Scarff down our cereal, before attempting to try to make it to my school before the first late bell. Dad parked in front of the front door of Hawkins High as we bid our goodbyes. "Do you need a ride home? Can take my break then if you need me to." I shrug, "Dunno, I'll call you if I need you to" he nods and mutters a quiet "alright, bye love you" I nod as I push open the passenger door and hop out. Just as I was about to sling my bag over my shoulder, two arms wrapped around my waist. I internally groan. I don't like doing the whole PDA thing in front of my dad. It's embarrassing, but because I don't want to upset Shawn, I go ahead with it, anyway. I turn around so I face Shawn. "Where have you been? Haven't heard from you all weekend."

"grounded" I mutter with an eye-roll. he fully ignores the fact that my father is sitting in the vehicle behind us as he presses his lips against mine, trying to initiate a full-on make-out session. I kiss him back; I just don't let it become anything more than an elongated peck. I push Shawn away before turning back around towards my father. Dad could tell I was uncomfortable with the whole exchange that had just happened. Dad's eyebrows raised almost as if he was saying, "him really?" I shrug as I say, "Bye Dad love you" and slam the passenger door shut so he can drive off.

Shawn's arm wraps around my waist as we walk into school. "Don't you ever do that again," I say as we walk through the front doors of Hawkins High. "What?!" he exclaims, almost as if he has no common sense. Maybe all of those football head injuries have permanently damaged his critical thinking skills. "don't ever try to kiss me like that in front of my dad, he's- he's not cool like your dad is" Shawn's dad is in many ways just like Shawn and still hasn't outgrown the 'high school jock' mentality even after having two kids, so he's what most teenagers would consider a 'cool dad'. Shawn's dad has packed up him, his wife, and their 6-year-old daughter so Shawn could try in his words 'to get his dick wet'. they left for an entire weekend so Shawn and I could have 'alone time' My dad would beat Shawn's ass if he ever found out I wasn't at Steph's that weekend.

"Fine, okay," Shawn mutters as we stop at my locker. Before I can even try to open my locker, I'm being pressed against the locker, and his lips are pressed against mine. I didn't care about this kind of PDA at school, because every other couple was doing the same exact thing, but Shawn trying to engage in this level of PDA in front of my father just felt wrong. My arms are immediately around his neck as he deepens the kiss. We're interrupted by the sound of a loud bang against the locker beside mine. We pull apart quickly, both our heads darting to see who had made the sound. Steph stood there with a disgusted look on her face as she rolled her eyes. "God, you guys are disgusting," she muttered as she unlocked her locker. 

Steph didn't really like men. We'll she liked Jamie Lockhart in eighth grade, but I'm sure that was a phase. Ever since the last day of eighth grade, she's never even shown an interest in men. She only cared about cheer, her grades, and this senior girl, Taylor Scott. She was tall, on the girls' basketball team, and had long ginger hair.

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter with an eye-roll as Steph takes her English notebook out of her locker. "You want to skip first period? Hang out in my car?" Shawn asks, Steph fake gags already knowing what Shawn means by 'hang out' My eyes wander to my left to see Steve. he's stood by the boy's bathrooms, arms crossed over his chest as he glared in our direction. Was he glaring at Shawn? he had that same jealous look on his face. He couldn't possibly be jealous? Could he? No, he couldn't, especially when I found out last night when Dad plugged my phone back up that he had been fooling around with Nancy Wheeler all weekend long.

"y/n?" I'm pulled from my thoughts. My eyes dart back toward Shawn before muttering, "Yeah, yeah sure." 

-

"We should go," I mutter, pulling away from Shawn's lips. His left hand rubs circles into the skin underneath my shirt. He whines "But-" I shake my head. "I need to at least go to my second period," he hums and quietly nods. "Fine, but can we come back out here after lunch" I roll my eyes. "Maybe"

When I get back into the building, I immediately begin to walk towards my second period, which is English. I walk into classroom 105 and take a seat right smack dab in the middle, close enough to see the board, but not too close to be the center of attention. Steve was sitting in the back with a few other junior friends who failed sophomore English last year like he did. I swear he's trying to fail it a second time, which wouldn't be the first time he's done that. The late bell rings and the teacher, Mrs. Sanchez, begins her lesson. I pay enough attention to grasp the concepts, but not too much attention to be labeled as a nerd.

"Alright for this project I want you to group up in pairs." the whole class celebrates with quiet 'yes's and 'hell ya's.' but the celebration is quickly disrupted by Mrs. Sanchez continuing her sentence. "Pairs that I will be picking, so when I call your name, stand up and find somewhere to sit with your partner" I zone out, as I anxiously await to hear my name. Finally, at about the halfway point, Mrs. Sanchez calls out my name and then pairs it with Steve Harrington. Of course. Obviously, I no longer completely disliked him after our conversation at Friday's football game, but that didn't mean I wanted to do an entire project with him. 

I let out a quiet groan, hoping he'd hear it, and decide to let me do all the work. I get up because he is sitting there, leaning back in his chair with a smirk on his face. I pull the now empty desk next to him, so it presses against his, before I sit down. "So, what's this supposed to be about?" Steve asks just as Mrs. Sanchez begins passing out a sheet of paper. She places a sheet right where our desks are conjoined. Both Steve and I race to pick up the sheet of paper, and I win, taking the obviously freshly copied piece of paper into my hands. In big bold letters, the words 'paired essay assignment' is printed at the top with 'graded' in a smaller font just below it. I place the paper down on my desk and write our names and the date at the top.

'Y/N Hopper and Steve Harrington 10/7/83'

"You will compare the books we've read so far this year, 'Fahrenheit 451' and 'To Kill a Mockingbird,' noting the similarities and differences between the two," I read out loud. I know Steve is barely listening to what I'm saying, but I want Mrs. Sanchez to at least see that I'm trying to work with him. I let out a sigh, rolling my eyes before reading out the next sentence. "You can either write an essay or create a poster board" I turn my head to Steve, noticing him staring at a girl seated up at the front, a freshman named Lacie Tompson who was somehow so smart she skipped up to sophomore English. "So, which one do you want to do?"

Steve turns his head, shrugging. "Which is the easiest?" I hum as I pondered. The essay would be easier for me to do all the work, but the poster would be easier for him if he somehow decided he wanted to do some of the work. "Poster, probably," I reply, leaning back into my seat. He nods and replies, "Poster," before beginning to talk to one of his basketball friends.

-

Once 8th period ended, I raced out to the payphones that sat alone on the side of the school. Ever since I stayed out a little too late and didn't tell my father where I was, he implemented a rule that I had to inform him of my whereabouts after school, even if I'd be back home before him. It was an absolute pain, but I'd rather take the two seconds to call the station than face his wrath later tonight. I push a few quarters into the coin slot before punching in the station's number.

It rings 3 times, bringggg, bringgg, bringggg.

Before Flo answers the phone, as usual. "Hello this is Hawkins police station; my name is Florence. How may I help you?" I let her get out the scripted sentence she's mandated to say before rushing through my own words. "Hey, Flo. Is my dad there? " Flo's silent for a second as if she's looking at the schedule before she replies "No ma'am" I groan. Where could he possibly be at 3:30 on a Monday? "Where is he?" she hums before saying, "Should still be at the middle school if you catch him in time. " I groan once again, rushing out a "thanks" before turning around to see Steve in his BMW pulling up.

"So, we're going to mine or not?" he asks as he rolls down his passenger side window. I groan, hanging the phone back up on the pay phone. I walk over to his car and get into the passenger side, "gotta go to the middle school and ask my dad" I say with an eye roll as I buckled up. He nods, muttering a quiet "okay" before driving off towards the exit. We drive over to the middle school, and Steve parks next to the front door. Letting me hop out and run inside.

I pull the heavy metal front doors open before walking into all so familiar hallways of Hawkins Middle School. There were still a few students roaming the halls, and some still stalled at their lockers as they talked to their friends. I take a left before reaching the large glass door that leads into the office. I could already see the secretary sitting at her desk, pretending to type away at her computer. I pull the door open and walk inside. The woman, who looked to be in her 50s looked up. "Yes?" Her words drew out, almost as if she found my very existence annoying. "Is my dad here? Jim hopper?" I ask. She nods her head toward the principal's office. "he's in Principal Coleman's office. " I nod and begin to walk down the long hallway toward the principal's office.

The principal's office is at the very end of the hallway. Once I get there, the door is wide open. My dad sits in the chair across from Coleman's. He's leaned back laughing away almost like they were old friends. "Dad," I say, both men look up at me. He hums in response like I was just such a distraction from his awesome conversation with Principal Coleman. "Can I go to Steves?" his eyebrows raise before he replies, "Steve Harrington?" I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest "Yes" he laughs, head turning towards Coleman, who then laughs as well. Probably reliving the mortifying moment when my father punched a 13-year-old. "you two friends again?" he asks in astonishment. I shake my head; I could hardly call us 'friends'. I just slightly tolerate him more than I did before. "We have an English project"

Dad shakes his head before saying "mm no, if you need to do this you can do it at home." My eyes widen and my mouth gapes open. I didn't want to do this at my house. It was embarrassing. Our house was embarrassing. I groan, arms crossing over my chest. I turn around, stomping out of the room, muttering curses under my breath. "If you aren't home when I get off, so help me god!" he shouts, which makes me roll my eyes.

When I get back outside, I see Steve still parked up front, with his head bobbing slightly to the music playing out of his radio. I get back into his car, slamming the door behind me. "He said we have to do it at my house," I mutter, arms still crossed over my chest. Steve smiles, nodding. "Yeah, that's okay. Same place?" he asks. I shake my head "No we moved just...y'know that street that goes in the woods?" he nods "Just go down that one. I'll tell you where to go from there. "

The normally paved roads turn to dirt within a few miles into the woods. "Turn down the next road. You'll see it," I say. I don't know why I always felt so embarrassed about the wooden cabin we lived in. It'd be a cool hang-out space if my dad wasn't such a buzzkill. There was barely anyone else around for miles except an elderly couple who lived a few more miles down the main road. Steve nods and turns down the dirt road. A few miles down, my house begins to come into view. "Cool," Steve mutters under his breath as he parks the car on the side of the gravel road. "How long have you guys lived out here?" Steve asks as he gets out of the car. I also get out, slamming the door behind me. "Few years..." I mutter, shoving my hands into my pockets as we walked up to the house. Once we get up to the front door, I take the key out of my pocket, shove it into the lock, and twist it before pushing the door open. 

I walk in, Steve following closely behind. I switch the living room lights on as Steve closes the front door. I cross my arms over my chest, watching as Steve's eyes flick around the room. There's not much to look at though. The only things that stood in the living room were a couch, lounge chair, TV set, and one singular picture of Sara that sat on the coffee table. "Um, I guess we can go to my room," I say. He nods and follows me into my room. I push the door open and turn the lights on.

He does the same thing he had done in the other room, exploring the room with his eyes. Suddenly everything about my room makes me feel immature. The baby pink sheets and the stuffed animals that decorated the end of my bed. The photos of Sara and I from when we were younger taped to my walls. I'm scared Steve will make fun of me for it all. But he doesn't pay any mind to the pink or stuffed animals or the childhood pictures I clung to because that's all I had left of my dead sister. He walks over to the collection of pictures and points to one, one that sits at the very edge of the collection. "Hey, I remember that," he says, his finger sitting on a younger, innocent version of him.

We're all sitting on Sara, and I's old porch eating popsicles. somehow, I can still remember every aspect of that day like it was yesterday. I can still remember how the sun blazed down against the pavement, the sugary cherry taste of the popsicle, and how Steve wrapped his chubby arm around my shoulder when my mom brought out the camera. I don't even know why that picture was up there. We had moved into this house months after our friendship had its downfall. Looking at it now makes my chest ache; it makes me feel stupid. I wanted him to look around my room and see I had nothing left of our friendship in it. But somehow, he was able to find the crumbs of our past that were still sprinkled around in my life. I just couldn't let us go, no matter how much of a jerk he was to me. 

I wrap my arms around my body muttering "Yeah, me too" under my breath before sitting on my bed. I clear my throat, and Steve turns around, brows furrowed together. "Um, we should get started...right?" he nods, muttering a quiet "yeah" that he paired with an eye-roll, before walking over to my bed and taking a seat next to me.

"I was thinking that um...we could get one of those big poster boards...and, like, put the differences on each side, and then put the similarities in the middle. Kind of like a neater bubble map, y'know?" he nods as he leans back against my headboard. "Yeah. Um, that's good. I can get that poster board tomorrow or something like that" I nod, humming a quiet "Mhm."

The silence got more awkward as the seconds ticked by. We just sit there. The room feels like it gets impossibly smaller. It's been so long since Steve and I had been in a room by ourselves together. We were totally different people, basically strangers. I hate it. "If you want to...you can go home," I whisper, arms crossed over my chest awkwardly. It's not that I wanted Steve to leave, I just wanted this version of Steve to leave. I wanted our old dynamic to come back. We used to never be able to sit in a room this quiet. How did all this happen? Why did all this happen? Why did God feel the need to rip another person I cherished so much away from me? 

"Yeah...um I can go. I'll see you tomorrow," he mutters before getting up, the bed squeaking underneath him. As he walks out of my room, the sound of his jingling keys resonates in the air. I strain to listen as his footsteps gradually fade until the front door slams shut and the faint hum of his car tells me he's finally left.

Dad gets home a few hours later. I'm sitting on the couch flipping through channels when I hear the front door creak open. "hey" Dad mutters as he toes off his shoes and puts his keys up. It's not long before Dad takes his usual spot next to me on the couch. "How was work?" I ask as I settle on a channel playing The Shining. He shrugs, grumbling under his breath before saying, "Byers kid went missing," he mutters.

I blink a few times, letting his words sink in. I wouldn't say I was close to the family, but I did babysit for them a handful of times. Will Byers was close with Mike Wheeler, a boy I babysat often, so I saw him almost every time I was at the Wheelers. Will was a shy, nerdy boy. he wasn't the type to run away, but not the type to be gullible enough to get kidnapped. "What?" I ask, brows furrowed as I turn my head towards my father.

"Will didn't come home last night after leaving the wheelers. We think he might have run away or his father took him."

Taglist

@sheisjoeschateau @nothankyou138 @gleefulleve @luluw-20 @skrzydlak @halflifejess @natalie-flo @castleallherown @palmtreesx3

[pluckyredhead]

So the Bill Willingham Steph post crossed my dash again and got me wondering... if you're a writer, what IS the best way to respond to fans (singular or group) that publicly call out your writing at a con? Obviously you shouldn't wish violence on them but since it's not like you can un-write the story, do you ignore them? Change the subject? Argue back?

I mean, I can't pretend to know the BEST way to handle a volatile question in a public space, when saying nothing is not an option.

But I also want to challenge the idea that fans were "calling out [Willingham's] writing," because that wasn't what they were doing. Sure, plenty of people said he was a hack online. But at cons, what they were asking was "Why doesn't Steph have a memorial case?"

I always hammer that point home because it's so astonishing to me now. We didn't want them to bring Steph back from the dead. We just wanted them to memorialize her fairly. We were asking for crumbs, and it infuriated Willingham and DC Editorial. To the point that when they did bring Steph back by revealing Leslie Thompson had faked Steph's death, Tim goes "So that's why she didn't have a memorial case!" They would rather have her alive than give a bunch of (mostly) female fans the tiny bit of fairness they had been asking for. It's just mind-boggling to me now how little we were willing to settle for and how angry it still made DC.

Anyway, the decision to kill Steph was editorially mandated, and the decision not to give her a case was also editorially mandated - neither of those were Willingham's decision to make. (The other objection fans had, the sexualized depiction of Black Mask torturing Steph, was also not Willingham's fault - that was artist Jon Proctor.) Now, obviously Willingham couldn't just say "Not my fault, ask DC" because throwing his employer under the bus would not have been good for his career. But DC also shouldn't have hung him out to dry.

I think ideally with any controversial storyline, the publisher should have a discussion with the creators about the best way to handle questions so that everyone is on the same page. But what happens instead is that creators (underpaid freelancers who are almost all in precarious financial circumstances) bear the full brunt of any anger, blame, or harassment, and the publishers (massive corporations*) get to ignore it.

Of course, in Willingham's case, he was not harassed, but asked a polite question ("Why doesn't Steph have a memorial case?") that he probably could have easily said was up to DC without getting in trouble. But instead he chose to publicly fantasize about committing violence against real women, because he was annoyed. So that's DEFINITELY not the answer.

So in conclusion: in general publishers should step up more, in specific Willingham is a fucking douche.

-

*When I say "massive corporations" I'm talking specifically about DC and Marvel, who are owned by Warner Bros and Disney respectively. Image is not a massive corporation. Also, DC Comics and Marvel Comics are in tricky positions because they are actually small, weirdly ramshackle legacy publishers who in a lot of ways still operate like they did when Marvel had two (2) actual employees, Stan Lee and his secretary Flo Steinberg. They operate on tiny margins, everyone who works there is criminally underpaid, their HR is a fucking joke... So like, none of this excuses editors for repeatedly not supporting their creators during times of controversy (THE FUCKING MOCKINGBIRD COVER, Chelsea Cain is a TERF but that shit was ridiculous), but I think it's also important to remember that when we're talking about the people editing these books on a monthly basis, we're not talking about Bog Iger or David Zaslav - we're talking about someone living in NYC or Burbank working 60 hour weeks on a $45K salary so that Disney has enough IP to make Guardians of the Galaxy 9 or whatever. It's complicated.

[youthereader]

Near Zero part 8.

PAIRING: cillian murphy as j. robert oppenheimer x fem!reader

SUMMARY: 1.4k words. Brought on as part of the Manhattan Project, your old physics professor sees you in a new light.

RATING: E; (no smut in this part), infidelity, age gap (10+ years), secret relationship, angst

A/N: Although based on real life characters, this is J. Robert Oppenheimer as played by Cillian Murphy, a fictional character, and does not intend to be accurate. This is merely for entertainment. We are well and truly out of fluffy territory, folks. It's going to get worse before it gets better, but I hope you stick with this one anyway. 🖤

masterlist.

Nichols asks for you again, which does not bode well, halfway through the week when tensions are high. Chain smoking as you wait for him outside his office, you cannot attempt nonchalance. His secretary gets a call and rises, pointing to the doorway like you’re a dog to be directed.

You let yourself in, still smoking. You don’t bother to sit this time, leaving the door ajar.

“Sir.”

“Was your visit to Santa Fe adequate?” Nichols asks, sitting at his desk, eyes down like last time.

You refuse the bait, exhaling through your nose. “We are quite busy, as you know.”

“But you have time to spare for other people.”

He must despise you. Which works well for you. Not needing to make a good impression means less energy spent so uselessly. Your cigarette smoulders as you inhale deeply.

“Can you close the door,” he adds. Manners are trite to him.

You oblige, remaining standing. “What is it about myself that warrants this attention, Colonel?”

Your eyes meet and he frowns ever so slightly.

“You work for the government.”

“I work for Bethe,” you reply. You cross your arms, taking another drag of your cigarette. “Or with. Whichever. It’s a team effort.”

You sarcastically give a single pump of your fist and then re-cross your arms. Nichols doesn’t react, eyes fixed on yours.

“You work for the United States and have access to top secret information other parties are interested in. Think very carefully about how you answer my questions. Your facetious behavior is noted-”

“I’m being facetious?” you retort. “You’re asking me how my little trip went, Colonel. I am but a lowly scientist in these United States.”

His eyes narrow and you smoke for half a minute in silence. You finally flick your ash in the tray on the edge of his desk. It occurs to you that you’re doing a near-perfect imitation of Kitty Oppenheimer, and not on purpose. You glance away.

“Yes, I am being facetious. Am I here to be warned that I’m being watched? I don’t see any point dancing around it. Sir.”

“We both know you’re not just a scientist. Not if you’re working for or with anyone else here,” he murmurs. “You deal with sensitive information while engaging in an affair with Dr. Oppenheimer.”

Naming it aloud makes you pull back a little, a short laugh escaping involuntarily. Your heart hammers and you don’t know where to look, feeling so strange. You pull on your cigarette.

“Mm. You mean my friendship with Robert,” you counter.

He gives a cold sort of smile. “Whatever you want to call it. It means that you work for the government, and you are close to the director of the Manhattan Project.”

“Well, okay,” you say, feigning seriousness, nodding.

You loathe being threatened when you’ve come this far already. You only ever expected this from Kitty, which was probably naïve on your part. You think of which role to play next, though you think Nichols could sniff out any disingenuousness a mile away. You don’t speak again, waiting to be dismissed.

“I wished to inform you that you will no longer be allowed to leave Los Alamos, until it is decided otherwise.”

No more running away with Robert. You smoke and nod.

“Is that it?” you ask, and he nods.

You don’t wait to be dismissed, opting to leave with cigarette once your cigarette lands in the ashtray, still lit. You exhale without looking back, marching out of the building as you seethe.

-

Robert brings flowers, quite unexpectedly. They are daisies, wrapped in paper, tied with yarn. You take them and usher him into your house under the cover of darkness.

“No-one saw me,” he murmurs, and you put a finger to your lips.

You push aside the curtain covering the tiny window at your front door, peeking out into the street. It’s after midnight but you feel watched nonetheless. There seems to be no sign of life from your neighbors. Still, you feel as if he can’t have slipped out from the watch of one of the many guards on each block.

Robert’s cockiness lessens whatever fears he has, if there ever have been any when it comes to people knowing about you. He agreed to come tonight in a short, whispered conversation by your desk, in between examining your papers.

You can see by his face that something bothers him, he often looks this way after a long day. He is burdened with responsibility, but he keeps looking at you instead of somewhere to the side; this is different. He doesn’t seem pensive.

It’s after midnight and he is wide awake, as are you. Sleep is harder to come by than ever. You sit beside one another on your bed, his hand still holding the bouquet of daisies.

“This will hurt,” he says, and you glance at him, his free hand taking yours, twining your fingers together.

He searches your face. You wait, a knot tightening somewhere deep in your chest. The dread you felt was warranted, then. His throat bobs.

“Kitty’s pregnant.”

“Ah,” you say, eyes smarting so suddenly, as if you’ve been struck across the face.

You focus on your hands together, breath shuddering. You’re jealous, of course. Not because you wanted that for yourself, a baby, and not because you even wanted his last name. You don’t want Kitty’s life, and yet if she didn’t exist, you would be happier. You’re jealous simply because he’s not yours alone.

You smile a little, miserable. You look back at him, and his eyes are sad, too.

“It’s a surprise, I take it,” you say.

“Yes and no. At least a lot of babies are being born in Los Alamos already.”

You nod, as if the conversation turning light has helped at all, but it’s useless. You take out a cigarette, physically separating yourself from him to light it and inhale.

A couple tears fall of their own accord and you swipe them away as you clear your throat, changing the subject completely.

“Nichols grounded me.”

Robert frowns, but not enough for your liking. “Me as well. He’s always strongly advised me not to leave town.”

“That’s hardly fair,” you snap. “You were just in Chicago. And you go as you please–”

“He still does wish to control me,” Robert retorts, gentler. “Luckily I’m able to persuade others.”

A few moments you spend in silence together, his eyes on you while you look away.

“I’ve had this conversation before, or a version of it, about Kitty,” he says.

You meet his piercing eyes and blink. “With whom?”

“Jean,” he says, leaning over to put an arm around you to draw you back in. “Jean Tatlock. It was a few years ago when Kitty and I were getting married.”

You knew Kitty was married when she met Robert, everyone knew that they had an unorthodox beginning. You hadn’t known this Jean, but by how Robert spoke her name, there was a weight to it greater than most. You knew him well enough.

Your chest still hurts, especially when he rubs your arm with his thumb, your head tucked under his chin.

“I am under no illusions, Robert,” you whisper. “Let’s be mature about this. What happened, happened. This is the perfect opportunity for this to be done with this.”

You don’t want to be responsible. You want to scream about how unfair this is, when really you had no choices to begin with. He is married, and not to you! You are a fool in love. You’re saying everything a better person would say, someone unlike you.

Robert hums in agreement, stroking your arm. You become yourself again, lingering in his touch just that bit longer, closing your eyes to focus on the sensation.

“Would it bother you if I slept with someone else?” you ask.

“Yes, terribly,” he says instantly.

You let out a short, wet laugh. “You’re impossible.”

Your chest heaves again and you crane your next to see his face again, and he’s looking back at you. He presses a slow kiss to your lips, cupping your cheek. You pull back before you can’t, sniffling.

“You’re impossible,” you say again, sighing.

When Robert leaves some time later, after sitting together becomes too unbearable, you watch him walk away. Cigarette smoke trails behind him and you see the rest of the street void of life, and yet it mocks you. Its lack of light taunts, you are still awake.

You turn away from the window, walking back to your bed, spying the flowers again. You pierce one of the petals with your thumbnail until it detaches, your eyes swimming with tears.

taglist: @indulgence-be-thy-name, @forgottenpeakywriter, @amiets2 (hmu if you'd like to be added)

[wexhappyxfew]

I hope I'm not too late, but you know I'm going to request something for Flo and Benny🖤 Maybe 12 from the "It's Spring!" writing prompt list? - @lostloveletters

ah hello battie ( @lostloveletters )!! not late at all! i was BEYOND excited to do some more with Flo and Benny - those two have captured my heart and i'm so so glad they seemed to do the same for you!! please enjoy my take on the prompt you've sent in - and let's just say, despite the happiness of the prompt, my recent emotions of episode 5 seemed to take over and here we are :)

prompt: rolling down the window of the car

featuring: Flo Godfrey and Benny DeMarco

The feeling would always remain cathartic in a way she couldn't entirely describe to anyone close to her.

Watching the B-17s take off in energetic fashion towards the sky, aligning in perfect formation to the morning haze of what the day was to bring, smelling sweet air, feeling the cool breeze, sitting there watching that 'bucket of bolts' as Wink liked to call them, take off into the sky, the small voice in her head saying they'd all come back. That they'd all be okay. Sometimes it was just a white lie to convince her to calm down.

But it was nearly sundown, 17 out of the 18 planes that had taken off had returned, the pilots and their boys were eating well and washing up and enjoying the feeling of standing on solid ground again. And Flo's stress levels had lessened slightly - well, slightly was a loose-leaf term for it. They'd dropped about a percent before Lemmons started yelling about one of the controls for the plane propeller on Brady's fort that had taken more blows than she had bargained for earlier.

"God, just... give it another go!"

Lemmons was yelling from somewhere down in the plane propeller to her left - closer to the first and second engines on the fort. Clearly, flak had done it's horrendous job more than either her or Lemmons cared to admit. Flo, sat in the pilots seat, flicked the metal probe on the switchboard and heard the gutteral and pathetic whir of the propeller trying to start up, but to no avail, stutter to a stop.

"Nothing!" Flo yelled, pulling open the window in the cockpit, "Look, Kenny, I think we gotta jerry-rig it!" Lemmons' faced appeared and her offered her a surprised brow raise.

"Jerry-rig? Who the hell-"

"My father showed me how to do it on a boat one time-"

"A boat?! Listen, Godfrey, that's a boat, this is a plane-"

"Yes! But it should work just the same-"

"Florence Godfrey is that you?" Flo froze about mid-speech, the same turning into samey, which was hardly even a word.

Slowly averting her eyes from the propeller and the sad excuse for engines, she looked down on the ground, past the wings of the fort and found Captain Benny DeMarco standing there, uniform on, tired eyes, a smile on his face, and a slightly bloodied bandage hanging around his neck.

Hanging out the window, looking like an eager, excited dog in front of a Captain was surely not the picture she wished to paint but the sheer surprise that took over her face was equally uncalled for and warranted. Flo could briefly see Lemmons looking up at her with a smirk on his face.

"I-"

"She'll be right down!" Lemmons yelled, the grin on his face widening as her eyes followed, "Go on, get going, I'll jerry-rig this-"

"You were about to argue with me that that was the last thing you wanted to do-"

"I'm jerry-rigging it." he said, then smirked, "Go." Flo smiled at Lemmons before turning her attention back on the Captain stood on the tarmac, that soft smile on his face.

"If this was a car, I'd tell you to get in; I'd roll down the window as kindly as I could, too." she called to him a grin on her face, "You'll have to meet me on the other side though, where I'll make a less-than-stellar exit." She watched Benny laugh at her words and shake his head.

"You could probably give me a run for my money!" he called up to her, before sending her a wink as he disappeared under the plane.

Flo quickly looked down at her clothes, the minute she took to reevaluate herself enough to notice the grease stains, the minor paint job cropping up on the ends of her OD top, and the tear in her shoulder from where her top had gotten caught on a piece of metal bent awkwardly from the plane. Spinning herself around, she moved through the center of the plane before making her, as expected, less-than-stellar exit onto the tarmac, and finding Benny there right in front of her - holding a hand against her head, gray beanie covering flying braids that needed redoing, the slight, night wind brushing her crimson cheeks.

"Didn't think I'd be seeing you tonight," Flo said as she approached him, her eyes darting to the bandage hap-hazardously wrapped around his neck, the red spot lingering lower on the wrap, her smile fading slightly, "are you okay?" He seemed to sense her worry and reached up to gingerly touch the bandage and shook it off, smiling at her as she came closer.

"Just took a bit of shrapnel from a blast up there, nothing to worry about," he said, but she could see the bit of pain that ran over his face as he stood there. She became slightly distracted by the scent of his cologne hitting her nose - the sudden realization that she probably smelled like a greasy, wet rag making her want to crawl into a hole. She looked up at Benny, deep brown eyes soft in the light of the sunset, focused solely on her. He could've gotten himself straight to a warm meal, but instead was stood outside with her - he'd just flown a plane over Germany and back, she'd spoon feed him dinner if it meant it brought him comfort.

"If I'm holding you from your meal, I'm sorry I just-"

"No, no," Benny said quickly, stepping forward, placing his hands on her shoulders, the presence comforting in a way she hadn't felt in months, "no, not at all……I, uh, just….wanted to thank you, for a few nights ago. The dance." A smile broke out on her face and she let out a small laugh and looked up into his eyes again.

"Sometimes with all that's going on around," he looked around at the airfield and then looked back at her again, "just, dancing with you, brought me away from the war for a bit. Never knew how much something like that could mean in the moment until you're standing there….especially with someone like yourself."

"Benny…." she whispered, but his smile softened, as he reached out and gently tucked some of her lose flyaway hairs behind her left ear, his hand warm, thumb lightly brushing against her cold cheek. Her heart stuttered - Benny DeMarco, that look in your eye…..

"I know, I know, it's war. Flying B-17s, you can't exactly go around saying stuff like that, knowing that well…." Benny trailed off his trembling words and looked back at her, a riddled air of confidence and calm filling his eyes in front of her, "life's too short not to say something like that, even with the Germans breathing down our necks. And I'd regret it everyday if I never said it to you. Knowing how much it meant…." to both of us, her mind whispered. She watched him.

Her emotions were suddenly in five different directions, all good directions, she reminded herself - for a moment, her heart pounded and her mind raced, and the reality of war ebbed in and out of her vision. But here was someone, looking at her like he'd lasso the moon for her, in the midst of war, showing up to the plane she was losing her mind over a propeller about, when he very well should be sitting down and eating up, thanking her. And really, she should be thanking him.

Flo stepped closer to him, his light breathing fanning across her face, his cologne still overwhelming her nose, but still oh-so-enjoyable, and his presence warm and inviting and there.

He was right there.

Inches.

And she hugged him, wrapping her arms, careful of the wrap, around his neck, and hugged him wholly. Where she was enveloped by him in every way possible, where for a moment it wasn't the two of them on a tarmac, one having just finished off a mission against the enemy while the other was fixing up the planes for the next, but where it was the two of them, in a different circumstance, a different way. Where war wasn't the backdrop to their emotions that lingered at the borderline. Softly, she shifted her lips to his ear and pressed a soft kiss there.

"Thank you for for everything," she whispered, "because for once, war has shown me that hiding anything I feel will only be regretful in the long-run." Flo slowly pulled back, staring up into Benny's tired eyes, and smiled softly.

"In another world, we're dancing at the Ritz, just you and I and Louis Armstrong above us," she whispered to him, his eyes hazy and soft, like he were imagining a world like that, too, "we're dancing and there's no war. And it's just us." Flo helped him to stand on two feet that day on the tarmac, on the ground. They lost men everyday they went and flew missions - men they trained with, grew with and flew with. Flo was sure of one thing - no matter what transpired above the clouds, she wouldn't lose Benny.

Benny wouldn't ever lose her.