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peepawispunk · 9 days ago

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Study Sessions

Pairing: Reed Richards x You

Summary: Your grades are slipping, but Reed thinks he knows the solution.

Warnings/tags: Coercion, student x teacher relationship, dubcon but you want it, creepy behaviour, power dynamics, Reed is a bit of a dick, manipulation, voyeurism, cock warming, deepthroating, throat bulge, penis size play ie Reed is a stretchy dude, deep fucking, belly bulge, oral sex, squirting, Reed typical superpowers, noncon elements, age gap

Word count: 3.3K

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My AO3

This isn't the first time Professor Richards has asked you to stay back after class.

It is the first time he's locked the door though.

He flicked the lock shut after the last student out was halfway down the hall, rolling his sleeves up as he crossed the room to his desk, sitting in his chair and gesturing for you to sit opposite. His hand came up to his chin, rubbing at the stubble there. He looked deep in thought, and your curiosity spiked.

“Professor Richards? Is something wrong?”

“I've noticed your grades have been slipping lately. What's going on? Is there a problem at home?”

He was right; your GPA had slipped this year. It had little to do with the course content and everything to do with the fact that last year, your teacher was an old unattractive man. This year was the first year you'd had Professor Richards as your teacher. He made it difficult to focus on the coursework.

You flushed, embarrassed that your crush on him had gone so out of control that he'd noticed your slipping grades. “No, Professor. Nothing is wrong at home.”

“Is it the course content, then? Is there something I can help you with?” He looked at you with concern, eyes kind and understanding.

You hesitated. Professor Richards stood, rounding the desk to lean against it, next to you.

“I'm here to help, and I want you to succeed. If there's anything I can do to help you, I want you to tell me. You're going into astrophysics, right?”

“You remembered that?” You asked, surprised. On the first day of class, Professor Richards had you all stand up and introduce yourself and talk a bit about your career goals. You hadn’t thought he'd been paying attention.

“Of course. Like I said, I want my students to succeed. I want you to succeed. I see something special in you, and I'd hate to see this opportunity slip through your fingers if I could help you.”

“Wow, I don't know what to say. I feel even worse now for letting my grades slip.” Your gaze settled on the floor, focusing on a knot in the wooden flooring.

“Hey,” he said softly, urging you to look at him. “Tell me what's going on.”

“I've just been a little distracted in class. I swear nothing is going on. I'm just having trouble staying focused during lectures.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, watching you with perceptive eyes as you felt skin heat at the scrutiny. “Perhaps what you need are some one on one intensive lessons.”

“You'd do that for me? I know you're a busy man. I don't want to create more work for you.”

“Hey, it's my job to give my students what they need. I'm sure we could work something out.” Professor Richards said, resting a hand on your knee and squeezing gently. “Would you like that?”

Your cunt clenched involuntarily, the heat of his hand resting on your knee sparking a fire in your belly. Was he insinuating…? Why else would he put his hand on your knee like this?

“Oh.” You were at a loss for words. “Um...”

He tilted his head to the side slowly, sliding his hand up your leg a little, his thumb rubbing circles on your inner thigh. “You're a smart girl, aren't you sweetheart? A good girl, who cares about her grades.”

Oh. Holy shit. You'd fantasised about this man for months on end, to the point your grades were slipping, and he wanted to help you with your grades in return for sex?

A no-brainer if you'd ever seen one.

“Yes, Professor.” You nodded demurely. He obviously got off on the power play of this scenario, so you'd play along. You were a smart girl, after all. You shifted your legs slightly, parting your thighs under your pencil skirt. “I care.”

“Knew you were a clever girl.” He smiled, sliding his hand higher, fingers skirting against the gusset of your panties. “Huh. You want this, don't you?” He pressed down with nimble fingertips, stroking your seam through the damp fabric. “Yeah, you want this.”

You nodded.

“I want you. Been so distracted by you, professor. But what about your wife?”

He chuckled darkly. “Believe me, my wife gets as much out of this as I do.” His gaze flicked across the room for a moment, before returning to your face, watching your reaction as he slipped a finger underneath the fabric of your panties, brushing against the slick wetness of your lips. “Oh she's weeping for it, isn't she?” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “How long since someone's taken care of this pretty little pussy?”

“Uh,” you tried to think, as his fingers gently stroked the shape of your lips, spreading the slick around inside your panties. “A-almost a year.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Well no wonder you're so distracted in class, huh sweetheart? Gotta take care of this pretty pussy. She's meant to be stuffed full. I bet if we take care of her, we can get you paying attention in class again. Think she's gonna need weekly appointments.”

“Weekly?” Your voice betrayed your interest.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Are you ready to commit to your education?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“While we're doing these tutoring sessions, you can call me Reed. Or Sir.” He said with a wink, withdrawing his hand from your panties and bringing it to his mouth. “Mmm, you taste so good, sweet girl. Are you ready for our first lesson?”

“Yes Sir.”

He smiled, loosening his tie. “Good girl. Go ahead and strip off for me. Don't go making a mess, though. I expect your clothes to be folded neatly and placed on your chair when our lessons begin. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir.” You said, fingers trembling a little with excitement as arousal flared through you, and you began to undress. His gaze never left your body, heating your skin as he watched you strip, folding your clothes and placing them on your chair. Then, you were standing bare in front of him, waiting for his next instruction.

“Get on your knees.” He said, reaching down to palm himself through his slacks.

Your head was spinning with arousal as you followed his order, kneeling in front of him. You were scant inches away from his crotch, you could practically smell the musky scent of his arousal through the fabric. The bulge was impressive, the bulk of his length sitting to the left side of the zipper, resting against his leg.

“What now?” You asked softly, and he braced his hands against the desk behind him, shifting his hips closer to you.

“You're a smart girl, aren't you? How about you take some initiative.”

Your unsteady hands came up to his waistband, flicking open the button of his slacks and lowering the zipper. To your surprise, he'd foregone underwear, and you could see the leaking tip of his cock drooling a wet spot onto the black fabric. Your hand was immediately drawn to it, swiping a finger through it and bringing it to your mouth. He groaned, and you looked up at him through your lashes, pulling his slacks down til they pooled at his ankles.

“Oh, you're a naughty fucking girl too, huh?” He looked down at you, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Look at you, on your knees for a married man.”

Hot shame and arousal washed over you, and you wanted nothing more than to shut him up; to change his scathing words into moans and whimpers. You looked him in the eye, licked your palm and took him in your hand.

He felt like velvet wrapped steel in your hand, his uncut dick flushed a pretty pink, his foreskin sliding with a slick noise as you jerked him a few times before bringing the tip to your mouth. You wrapped your lips around the head, swirling and slurping, tongueing the slit as you shifted yourself closer, resting your palm on his bare thigh. He was deceptively muscular, you noticed, feeling the bulk of him under your hand.

“Look at you, kissing on him like that.” He breathed, bringing his hand to grip your head, winding through your hair. “He’s feeling real cold. How about you warm him up for me, hmm?”

The thumb of his other hand rested on your lower lip, encouraging you to open your mouth wide as he fed you his cock. It felt like he kept going and going further into your throat, but your mouth hadn’t yet reached the base of him.

He must’ve noticed your confusion, and he hummed sympathetically. “Oh yeah, he’s a grower, baby. Let’s see how much you can handle. You gonna take what I give you?”

You hummed in assent, nodding as best as you could.

“Atta girl.” He grinned, thickening in your throat. “You tap my leg if you need to stop.” He told you, elongating one arm so he could feel you, thumb rolling your nipple as his fingers stretched down to toy with your cunt.

You moaned around him, reedy and desperate as he used his abilities to tease you. You’d seen him use his abilities occasionally, reaching to write on the far end of the blackboard, or stretching to reach something out of reach. You’d imagined how he might use them in the bedroom, and so far, the reality was surpassing your expectations.

“Sit still for me now. There you go.” He said gently, caressing your face. “You’re gonna keep him nice and warm while I read these papers. If you behave, I’ll fuck you after.”

He didn’t even wait for your response, picking up the essay on his desk and reading it, his other hand still teasing you. When he slipped a finger inside you, you moaned, shifting a little.

“Be still.” He reminded you disapprovingly, not even looking up from his reading. “You want this cock inside you, you have to earn it. I don’t go giving just anyone a ride, sweetheart.”

He was deliberately making it hard for you to stay still, and you both knew it. Still, you made an effort to be completely still. Your throat bulged with the size of him; he’d left just enough room for oxygen to pass through, so he could sit heavy inside the wet heat of your throat until he was ready to leave. You thanked the universe for your lack of a gag reflex; you needed that special skill now more than ever.

Time seemed to fade as you knelt in front of him silently, under the onslaught of his wandering fingers. You slipped into a relaxed state as best you could. It would have been almost meditative if you weren’t being teased by nimble fingers massaging your g spot, stretching and pushing in all the right spots to make you see stars.

Reed finally finished his reading, withdrawing his fingers from you. His arm shrunk back to normal, and he brought his fingers to his mouth. “Mmm, so fucking sweet. Looks like even naughty girls can be good with the right incentive.” He set the paper down on the desk, reaching down to give you a hand up as he shrunk himself back to normal, pulling out of your mouth. You noted that even back to normal, he was above average.

He winced sympathetically when he saw your knees, flattened and unhappy from kneeling for so long. “Aww, sweetheart. Hop up on the desk. Let me kiss them better.”

He helped you settle onto his desk, bending to kiss your left knee. His whiskery facial hair tickled you as he pressed a gentle kiss to the tender skin there, then the other, before focusing his eyes on your glistening cunt.

“Look at you. So fucking wet.” He inhaled deeply, trailing his nose up your thigh. “I need to have a proper taste.”

“Fuck, please, I need to come.” You begged, letting your legs fall open further.

“Oh, baby, no. I never said anything about making you come. You gotta earn that, too.”

“How? What do you want me to do?” You asked desperately, watching his slow journey to your pussy.

“You can start by playing with those pretty tits of yours while I have a taste.” He commanded, watching with darkened eyes as you did what he asked, cupping yourself and rolling your nipples, eliciting a gasp from your throat. He nodded once, approvingly, bringing his thumbs to your cunt lips to spread it nice and wide so he could get a proper look at you. His nose led the way, delving into your folds and smearing the slick around, dragging it up to your clit, nuzzling into the swollen peak of flesh there and making you moan.

“Not too loud, sweetheart. Don’t want everyone to know you’re fucking your professor, do we?”

You pant out an apology, but his focus is already elsewhere, his tongue licking a broad, flat stripe up your cunt. You moan again, softer, and he chuckles. “Can’t help it, can you? So responsive, and it’s been so long. You need something in that mouth?”

You nod, and quick as anything, he has two fingers pressing down on your tongue, ordering you to suck.

Satisfied with your noise level now, he starts eating your cunt in earnest, showing you the off-label uses of his abilities. His tongue, now buried in you elongated and focused an attack on your g spot, pressing and twisting and curling against you in a way that had you throwing your head back, arching your back and doing everything in your power not to bite his fingers.

He licked the nectar from your walls, chasing the flavour of you until your cunt was soaked with your slick and his saliva, bringing you to the edge of the desk with one strong hand.

You were impossibly close when he stopped, his tongue returning to normal. He pressed a final kiss to your clit, before leaning over you on the desk, guiding himself to your entrance.

“Ready?” He asked, sliding his tip through your slick, nudging your clit and making you gasp. You nodded, and he pushed inside you, fully seating himself, his balls hitting your ass. “Took me so well, baby. Are you ready for more?” He raised an eyebrow, and you nodded desperately. You weren’t sure how much you could take, but you’d give it your best shot. You wanted him to ruin you; wanted to feel him tomorrow.

“I’m ready.”

“Say when.” He said, smirking at his own joke, and you felt him swell inside you. “Do you prefer it real long, or real thick?”

You were too busy processing the sensations inside of you to respond in a timely manner, and he just nodded, like you’d answered anyway.

“Oh, that’s right. Naughty girl like you likes both, huh?”

He gained a look of focus on his face as you felt him swell inside you, pressing against nerves you didn’t know you had and making you shake and moan.

“Fuck, would you look at that.” His eyes settled on your belly, and you looked down to see a distinct bulge there, long and thick and twitching below your belly button. He pressed his palm down firmly, making you both moan.

“You’ve got to feel this.” He took your hand, pressed it down against your belly, and held it there. Then, he started to move.

You could feel him sliding around in your cunt, pushing your cervix high into your guts as he pounded into you, could feel the length of his dick retreating and returning under your hand. You were still playing with your tits with your free hand, your arousal building dizzyingly. You hoped he’d let you come, because no toy you owned was going to compare to this. Hell, you weren't sure anything could compare to this. He was ruining you for everything and everyone else, and he knew it.

He stilled for a second, changing the rhythm. His movements were slower now, rolling into you. His hands gripped your legs, slinging them over his shoulders as he leaned into you. You could've sworn you felt a brush of a fingertip across your ankle, followed by a warm breath, but when you looked, his hands were nowhere near your ankles. You were so overstimulated you didn’t know what was what anymore.

“Have I been good, Sir? Have I earned it? I want to come, please.” You babbled, walls tightening around his dick. He was gritting his teeth in pleasure now, brows knitting together.

“Fuck, so good. Right there.” He moaned, hand pressing down on your stomach again. “I’m close, baby.” He opened his eyes, gaze meeting yours. “You come on this dick or not at all. You wanna come, you do it now.”

His hands were gripping your hips now, and he levelled a sharp smack against your ass, making you clench around him.

A ghostly sensation trailed across your cunt, soft fingertips pinching at your clit even though his hands were occupied, and you wondered just how many powers he had that you didn’t know about.

Before you could question it any further, you were tumbling over the edge. Something felt different this time, and a feeling of panic spiked in your gut as the feeling spiralled out of control. It almost felt like you had to pee, and you tried to stop it but it was no use. The most intense orgasm of your life crashed over you, turbulent and wet, soaking Reed’s belly and his pubic hair, dripping down to his balls.

His jaw dropped, a moan slipping out unbound. “God, look at you. Did you know you could do that, sweetheart?”

You shook your head no, and he grinned.

“We’re gonna have some fun with that later.”

He thumbed at your clit, fucking into you faster, a focused determination pounding at your g-spot until you were practically howling with pleasure. Your whole body tingled, set alight as you had your second orgasm, cunt clenching and squeezing helplessly around his massive cock as you squirted all over him again.

The combined image and sensation had Reed grunting, turning to bite down on your calf to avoid making too much noise, filling you with hot bursts of cum, his hips stuttering and abdominal muscles clenching against the backs of your thighs as he filled you until it leaked onto the desk.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was tucking himself back into his slacks. He wiped the desk with his handkerchief, then sat back into his chair with a satisfied look on his face.

You got dressed, feeling his cum pooling in your panties as you straightened yourself up.

“Same time next week?” He asked, watching you lecherously as you buttoned your blouse back up.

“Yes, sir.” You answered, legs wobbly as you said goodbye and left the room, closing the door behind you.

The door locked shut behind you almost immediately. You heard the quiet snick and you assumed he’d used his long reach to do it.

What you didn't hear was his wife's voice on the other side of the door as she made herself visible again.

“So, what did you think?” Reed asked, pulling his wife into his arms and settling her on his lap.

“She was a good one.” Sue said, grinding down on her husband’s lap. “Hot little thing. Obedient.”

He was hard again already, rolling his hips up into her. “Mmm, she was.”

“Ready for more already?” She asked, pressing a kiss to his lips. He grinned, popping open his pants again, shoving them down just enough to free himself.

“For you? Always.” He said, guiding her down onto his cock, still covered with your combined spend.

That’s how she liked it.

#reed richards x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #reed richards x reader #reed richards smut #reed richards fanfiction #fantastic four first steps #fantastic four fanfiction

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itneverendshere · 4 months ago

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we say we’re different but we got the same eyes - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

you needed to stop taking other people shift’s.

it’s not like you wanted to, but at least they were paying you to do so, enough to let you actually chill this summer without stressing about rent or whatever else adulthood decided to throw at you.

all you had to do was show up and do the job. first at lila’s dinner, now at the bougie country club, as a cart girl.

you’d done this before, and sure, the old men were always a little too handsy with their beer guts hanging over their tacky polos, but at least they tipped well. you could tolerate them. smile, giggle at their half-assed jokes, and let them feel like they still had it.

fine. pay me for my pain, grandpa.

today however, instead of your usual sugar-daddy wannabes, you were babysitting frat boys. fresh out of their first year of college, probably still hungover from their last keg stand.

nineteen-year-old idiots in pastel shorts and backwards hats, making everything about themselves.

“bro, you remember that party at kappa? dude, swear i blacked out after like, five shots.”

wow, five whole shots? congrats, you absolute child. should i get you a sticker for that?

don’t even get started on their conversations about girls. one of them, chad or brad or whatever his stupid name was, just had to loudly detail how some poor innocent girl “totally wanted him last night but was playing hard to get.”

yeah, bro, she was probably just trying to get through the night without having to mace your entitled ass.

it was constant. the whole damn morning. all they talked about was frat parties, girls they didn’t deserve, and how they "couldn’t wait to get back to school."

you'd give anything to remind them how utterly irrelevant their frat status was in the real world, but you couldn’t. nope. you had to keep your game face on, pour their drinks, and pretend like they weren’t giving you a headache that rivaled your worst hangovers.

at least the elderly snobs tipped well. sure, they were pretentious and acted like you were beneath them, but they'd slip you a twenty or more with a smug little wink. that made it easier to tolerate their "i’ve been golfing here since before you were born" bullshit.

but these brats?

half the time they forgot to tip at all, and when they did remember, it was a crumpled five like they were doing you some grand favor. and of course, of course, they couldn’t just keep their obnoxious, beer-breath comments to themselves. no, they had to make it worse by hitting on you—hard.

painfully hard. it was like watching a car crash in slow motion, except instead of pulling over to help, you were stuck right in the middle, praying someone would just tow your ass out.

“yo, what’s your name again?” one of them asks. bryce, probably. his face just screams bryce.

he's leaning against the cart like he thinks it's going to make him look cool, but really, he’s just sloshing his drink all over the place. classy.

“it’s on my name tag,” you deadpan, pointing to the little badge pinned to your polo. you're not about to give him any more than that.

but he's not letting it go. “oh yeah? cute name for a cute girl. you single or what?”

jesus christ. here we go.

you resist the urge to roll your eyes so hard they’d get stuck in the back of your head.

“’m here to work,” you sigh, voice sweet enough to mask the absolute disdain you're feeling. you know what comes next.

they always think they can charm you if they just keep going, like you are some kind of challenge.

“c’mon, don’t be like that,” another one chimes in, this one wearing sunglasses even though it's barely 9 a.m.

who do you think you are, pitbull?

he gives you this sleazy grin like he thinks he's smoother than he actually is. “we could take you out after your shift. grab a drink. bet you’re fun, huh?”

fun? FUN?! if by fun he means fantasizing about driving this cart straight into the water hazard just to escape this conversation, then sure, you're a real blast.

you look around the course, hoping maybe one of the older golfers needs a refill or something—anything to get you away from this nightmare. no luck. it's just you and these clowns.

“i don’t date customers,” you say, a line you’d perfected at this point.

you plaster on your fakest smile, the kind that said please tip me and then leave me the hell alone. but bryce wasn’t giving up.

“you’re really gonna turn us down? i mean, we’re the best thing on this course right now.”

best thing?

the only thing they're the best at seems to be embarrassing themselves. this is the type of guy who probably thinks buying a girl a drink meant she owns him something.

you can't even be mad; it's almost... sad. almost.

“maybe you should focus on your game,” you suggest, glancing at his scorecard. “you’re, what, ten over par already?”

that shuts him up real quick, his face going from cocky to confused like he didn't expect you to know how golf worked.

his friend with the sunglasses? he's still trying.

“we can show you a good time, y’know. we’ve got a house down on the beach. you like boats?”

ah, yes. the boat move. the go-to for guys who think a half-assed yacht and a cooler full of cheap beer is the height of luxury.

you’d seen it a million times in this godforsaken town.

you're not impressed.

you shoot them another smile, “i like tips.”

they all blink confusedly, clearly not used to a girl calling them out so directly. the frat boys mumble something between themselves, looking awkward for the first time all day.

finally, one of them fishes a crumpled twenty out of his pocket and tosses it your way.

oh, wow, big spender.

you scoop it up, shoving it into your pocket and giving them a little nod. “thanks, boys. good luck with your game.”

you thought the twenty bucks might’ve bought you a few minutes of peace, but no. they're back at it, swinging at golf balls like they aren't trying to flirt in between their awful shots.

you roll the cart over to the next part of the course, half-listening to their constant chatter.

something about “last semester” this, and “pledge party” that. god, they just never stop. it's like someone hit the repeat button on the world’s most annoying playlist.

one of them calls you over again, like he can't wait five minutes for his next drink. you start prepping them, half tuning them out, just trying to get through it, when suddenly, miraculously, they shut the hell up.

for a second, you think maybe the universe is finally doing you a favor. you don't even question it, just start pouring drinks faster.

a quiet frat boy is a gift. but then you hear it:

“dude!” one of them practically tackles the other, all wide-eyed and hyped up like a little kid who just saw his favorite cartoon character. “is that rafe fucking cameron?!”

oh, for fuck’s sake.

your stomach drops. of course it has to be him. because clearly, your morning isn't being shitty enough. you don't even look at first.

one of the guys starts flipping out, hitting his buddy’s shoulder like it's the coolest thing to ever happen.

“bro, no way. no way. that’s rafe cameron? he used to be the president of our frat, man. two years ago! he’s a fucking legend!”

legend? you almost laugh.

the only legend rafe is to you it's a legendary asshole. a smug, infuriating, gorgeous asshole who you have been avoiding like the plague. the same one who has been blowing up your phone nonstop, trying to get back into your life.

the same one you swore down you’d never sleep with again after he pulled that stunt at the dinner—and then, of course, ended up in his bed two nights ago. you haven't spoken to him since. you’d been ignoring him again—well, trying to—but now here he is. in the flesh. and these idiots are drooling over him like he's some kind of frat god.

you turn your head, and he's striding across the green like he doesn't have a care in the world. of course he looks good. he always does.

wayfarer’s pushed up in his hair, that cocky-ass grin on his face, wearing a polo like he's the face of a country club catalog. you know he’d see you any second. hell, he probably already has.

yeah, you’d been avoiding him, and yeah, maybe you’d blocked his number twice, but that didn’t stop him from calling with a different one. or from somehow finding you the other night at the party when you were weak enough to let him back in, only to get burned again.

“holy shit, he’s coming this way,” one of the frat boys mutters, shaking with excitement.

you don't move, don't acknowledge him. but you can feel his eyes on you. it's like a sixth sense at this point. you'd crave it so much before, when it was all a silly game in your head, see how much you could push until he cracked and gave into you. now it's a curse.

the boys are watching him approach like he's some kind of celebrity.

“should we say something to him?” one whispers. “i heard he’s like, killing it in the business world now. family’s loaded.”

yeah, you think bitterly. killing it. if you count being a trust fund brat as an accomplishment.

rafe's closer now, and you know this moment is inevitable. the frat boys are giddy, already nudging each other, probably ready to beg him for networking advice or whatever the hell frat bros did.

you keep your eyes down, focusing on pouring the drinks, acting like you don't even notice him. like he doesn't phase you in the slightest.

“hey,” a familiar voice drawls. you don't have to lift your head to know it's him. naturally, he stops right by you. because why wouldn’t he?

“rafe fucking cameron!” one of the guys yells, unable to keep it together anymore. “you’re like a legend, man. kappa forever!”

you never cringed so hard in your life.

rafe smirks, that signature look spreading across his face. “yeah, somethin' like that.”

you clench your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral. no way in hell are you about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he still gets to you.

everyone else around you are tripping over their words just to get his attention. it's embarrassing to watch. the kids acting like he's some kind of messiah, not just some white rich guy with a trust fund and a bad attitude half the time.

“man, the outer banks is fucking sick,” one of them says, bouncing on his feet like an overexcited puppy. “we’ve been hitting the beaches, bars, y’know, living it up. and bro, the girls here? smoking hot.”

here we go.

you pretend to be very invested in the cooler, rearranging the ice just to keep your hands busy. they're about to start pointing at you any second now; you can sense it.

the way they keep looking over at you made it obvious they're gearing up for something.

and then, like clockwork, it happens.

“yeah, man,” one of them gestures way too enthusiastically in your direction. “that cart girl over there? we’ve been trying all morning.”

oh, fuck right off, you resist the urge to throw a bottle at him.

you’d rather die than hear what lame pickup line is coming next, but what you really don't want to hear is whatever rafe's about to say.

there was a pause, as if he's taking a second to let it sink in. and when he finally does speak, his voice is all smooth confidence, casual as anything.

“so,” he starts, still with smirk you hate and know so well, “you’ve met my girl?”

my girl? my fucking girl?

one of them, manages to stammer, “uh—wait, she’s… she’s your girl?”

you can feel the tension creeping up the back of your neck. this's exactly why you’ve been avoiding him.

no matter what happened between you, no matter how messy things got, he always acted like he owned you in private. never in front of his friends, like just because you ended up in his bed, you were his to claim whenever he felt like it.

still keeping your eyes glued to the drinks, you feel your blood boil. you aren't his fucking girl. you're barely on speaking terms, aside from that one weak moment.

he's only saying it to mess with you.

one of the frat boys lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “damn, man. didn’t know you were still pulling like that.” he shoots a glance at you again, not even bothering to hide the once-over.

rafe just chuckles, that low, infuriating laugh of his, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. “what can i say?” he drawls, as if the whole thing is just a game to him. “guess i’ve still got it.”

you're this close—this close—to snapping. you can feel your fists clenching at your sides. you're not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. not here. not in front of these frat boys who're still looking at you like some kind of trophy.

rafe’s voice is closer now. you don't have to look up to know he's standing right by the cart.

“you good over there?” he asks, that fake casual tone still lingering.

you don't answer. just kept doing your job, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it hurts. but he isn't going to let it go. he never did when he wanted to prove a point.

“hey, baby.” he greets you again, leaning in slightly. you can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face. “you gonna pretend you don’t know me now?”

you take a deep breath, finally turning to face him. he's standing way too close, sunglasses pushed up on his head, that stupid expression plastered across his face.

the frat boys are all watching, wide-eyed, like they just stumbled onto some kind of reality show drama.

“you’re funny, cameron.” the guys all exchange glances, clearly picking up on the tension but too dumb to understand it, “can you guys give us a minute?”

one of them pipes up with an awkward laugh, “wait, but we—”

you don't let him finish. “one. minute.”

they finally catch on that it isn't a request and before they can awkwardly protest or ask why, rafe tilts his head towards them, craning his neck just enough to raise a single brow. the change in his posture is subtle but enough to have them clamming up instantly.

like magic, their frat-boy bravado melts right off. it's wild how fast a bunch of college boys can shrink under the gaze of someone like him.

the power trip they’ve been riding for the last hour stop.

“uh, yeah, you know what?” one of them coughs out, backing up so fast he almost trips over his golf bag. “we should, uh… we’ll hit the bathroom. real quick.”

“yeah, yeah, we’ll be right back,” another one adds, practically stumbling over himself to follow.

they scatter like scared puppies, tails tucked between their legs, and you can't help the small, satisfied smirk that twitches at the corner of your mouth.

finally, a moment of peace.

except, it's not peace. not with rafe standing there.

as soon as the frat boys are out of earshot, you spin around, without thinking, you shove him in the chest with both hands, hard enough to catch him off guard. he stumbles back a step, his face twisting into a look of surprise.

"are you fucking crazy?" you snap, "do you not get the fucking hint, country club? i don’t want this. i don’t want you here, and i sure as hell don’t want your bullshit claims that ’m your girl in front of those idiots. leave. me. alone.”

he steadies himself, raising both hands as if trying to calm you down. “’m trying to be better, okay? ’m trying. i apologized the other night, didn’t i? ’m—”

“no, you didn’t!” you look at him like he's the dumbest man on earth, cutting him off, your hands balled into fists at your sides. “you didn’t apologize! you said i was overreacting, that i was being ‘dramatic.’ then, you fucked me and acted like that made it all better.”

his jaw tightens, and he takes a deep breath as he glances around the mostly empty golf course before his eyes move back to you, his voice low but firm. "that’s not how i meant it—"

“you always have an excuse,” you interrupt, stepping closer, not backing down. “every time, it’s the same thing. you think a half-assed apology or a night in bed makes up for the way you treat me in public? like ‘m just some thing you get to claim whenever you feel like it?"

he visibly recoils at the word you chose, like it hurts him, “i know,” he finally mutters “i know i was a dick at that dinner. but ’m trying, okay? i’ve been calling you, texting you—”

“i didn’t ask. am i that good in bed? go find someone else.”

rafe’s hand flies up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh escaping him. he draggs his tongue against his cheek. his voice coming out clipped, “i don’t want someone else,” he grunts out, sounding more exasperated than ever. “jesus fucking christ.”

you let out a laugh, stepping back, eyes rolling.

“oh, right. that’s it? ’m really that good in bed, huh? that’s why you’re here?” you cross your arms, your tone biting, daring him to say otherwise. “that’s all this has ever been, right? physical. you don’t call unless you want something. so what now? why are you trying so hard? what the hell are you trying for?”

he doesn't respond right away, his fingers are digging into the bridge of his nose like he's trying to hold himself together. the silence continues, and you can see him wrestling with his words. he's never been the type to say what he was feeling.

everything is buried under layers of cocky bravado, that impenetrable wall he put up to keep everyone at arm’s length. including you.

finally, he dropps his hand and takes a step closer, his voice coming out rough like he's forcing the words out. “’m here because i don’t want someone else. i want you, alright? can you just get that through your fucking head?”

you scoff, “because i know you and won’t get attached?”

he snaps, raising his voice, “no! fuck, it’s not that simple.”

"not that simple?" your hands are shaking, and you accidentally knock over one of the bottles you’d been holding before, sending it tumbling to the ground. you don't bother picking it up.

“it’s pretty fucking simple. we’re just fucking. so, tell me, what exactly is complicated about that? you call, i come over, we have sex, and that’s it. so why the fuck do you start ignoring me in public like ’m some kind of fucking disease?”

rafe opens his mouth, but you don't spare him the chance to speak, you're on a roll, months of pent-up frustration.

“i don’t give a fuck if you’re with someone else, rafe!” you can hear the bitterness dripping from every word. you're practically spitting them out, “what pisses me off is that you had the audacity—the fucking nerve—to ask me to stay that night. do you know how fucking stupid i felt? how the fuck do you think i felt when you acted like i didn’t exist the next day?”

you can feel your hands trembling again, the adrenaline making you shaky, cursing under your breath.

“for once, i was nice enough to care about you, to stay, and that’s the shit you pulled. treated me like a ghost. like i was nothing.”

he just stands there, staring at you, his jaw tight, but he doesn't say a word. his face is hard to read, but you don't care about his feelings. you're not done yet.

“i was fine with the sex. i was fine with leaving afterwards and then you had to go and fuck it all over.”

rafe’s blue eyes flash, and you can see the realization hit him, like he's connecting the dots too fast for your liking.

his brows furrow as he breathes out, “wait. you’re mad at me because i made you—” he hesitates, like the word is foreign in his mouth, “care for me?”

you let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “oh, for fuck's sake, country club. don't flatter yourself.”

“you always do that shit,” he points out, stepping closer “you never call me by my name when we’re having a serious conversation. it's almost like you’re running away.”

you arch an eyebrow, incredulous. “are you delusional? you’re the one acting like a child.”

“’m not being delusional. you only say my name in my room when it’s just the two of us.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if he's trying to keep this moment between you, his blue eyes lock onto yours making your stomach twist. “’m clearly not the only one who’s pretending here; you’re just as bad.”

you feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you walk back, trying to create space, but he closes the distance with easy confidence.

“pretending? please. ‘m not the one playing house in my bedroom while acting like i don’t know you outside of it.”

rafe lets out a low, frustrated groan, running his hand through his hair like he's close to losing it.

“god, you’re fucking infuriating,” he mutters, voice gruff, “you think i don’t fucking feel it too? you’re the only one pissed off, the only one confused?” his voice dipps lower in frustration. “i can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard i try. "

“oh, boo-fucking-hoo,” you mocked back, “must be so hard, huh? being obsessed with a girl you can’t even respect in public.”

his hand reaches out to grab your wrist. you gasp, not out of fear but because the heat of his touch awakes the resting butterflies in your stomach. you hate how much your skin reacts to him, how just the feel of his grip makes your brain go foggy and shut down.

“i do respect you,” he growls, as if you just insulted him, “i just—fuck.” his eyes dart between yours, as if searching for something. then, like clockwork, he points at your work uniform—the stupid polo and that absurdly short skirt that's practically a sin in itself.

“this,” he grits out, fingers gesturing to the tight polo that does absolutely nothing but make your boobs look way too inviting, “is not okay.”

you blink, pretending to be unaffected, but his words have a way of crawling under your skin.

“oh, right,” you nod sarcastically, even though your pulse has kicked up a notch. “blame my uniform, like that’s the reason you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

rafe groans like you're causing him actual physical pain, his hands gripping the edge of the golf cart now, knuckles turning white.

“shit, yeah, i’ll blame the uniform,” he says, eyes blazing as he corners you. “that tiny-ass skirt, walking around in front of me all day, making me lose my goddamn mind.”

just like that, his hand slide right under your mini skirt, his fingers gripping a handful of your ass with a confidence that makes your breath hitch.

the sudden contact sends a rush of heat through you, and a soft gasp escapes your glossy lips.

that’s when he takes his chance.

with another low groan, rafe seizes the moment, pressing his body against yours, leaning down as he kisses you, his tongue sliding into your mouth, the kiss deepening in an instant.

it's not sweet—you can tell that now because you know that hidden part of him, you can tell the difference when it comes out. today he's desperate like he’s been waiting to it for days and can't take it anymore.

he's a starved man on a mission. it's a feverish mess of spit and teeth, his grip on you impossibly tight.

his hand still kneads your ass, blunt fingernails digging into your skin trying to keep you from bolting away. at the same time, his other hand slides up to your neck, firm but not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you locked in place—he's daring you to pull away, knowing full well you won't.

logic doesn't stand a chance against the way his lips move against yours, he's sucking all the fight from you.

his tongue slides against yours, and your stomach jumps at the sensation, making you gasp. you try to pull back for a second, needing air, needing space, but his grip on your neck tightens, holding you in place as his lips move against yours like he'll die if you stop.

and maybe he would. maybe he's just as messed up about all of this as you are.

rafe’s teeth scrape against your bottom lip, and right then and there, you know your panties are already ruined. you can't stop the small whimper that escapes your throat, and he moans at the sound, his hips pressing harder against yours, making you feel just how much he wants you.

“fuck,” he almost whines against your lips, like he's barely keeping himself from fucking you out there in the open, not giving a shit if anyone's watching. his hand on your neck glides around to the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he tuggs slightly, tilting your head back so he can kiss you even harder, his lips moving against yours in a way that makes it impossible to think straight. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

the truth is, you do. you know exactly what you do to him because he's doing the same thing to you.

but there's no way in hell you’ll admit that. not when he already has you completely under his spell, melting into his touch, drowning in the way he kisses you like he owns you.

you attempt to hold onto that edge of disdain you always throw his way when things get too personal. his breath is hot and ragged as he hovers.

his hand, still tangled in your hair, loosens slightly but stays there. it's so fucking unfair—the way he just sneaks under your skin, the way your body betrays you every time he gets close. you hate it.

especially with the way his fingers are already sliding up your bare thigh under that ridiculously skirt, as if he owns every single inch of you, like he has a goddamn right to touch you like that.

and instead of pushing him away like you should, you find yourself leaning into him. and fuck, the look in his eyes—all black, wild, like he it's his last shred of self-control—is enough to make your pulse skyrocket.

“asshole,” it comes out weak, pathetic and almost breathless, and you hate yourself for it.

“yeah,” he whispers back, lips brushing yours, his hand still in your hair, still holding you close. “but you like it.”

god, maybe you did.

the frat boys finally return, their laughter breaking the bubble that had you on a leash.

within seconds, you're pushing rafe’s hands away, stepping back as of them claps him on the back.

“we miss anything?”

“nah, just catchin’ up,” rafe said, brushing off the whole thing as if it's no big deal.

you, on the other hand, pick up one of the empty glasses, avoiding eye contact with any of them.

one of the guys chuckles. “man, you two… y’all good?”

no. not when there's the slightest of the slightest possibility that you're starting to feel something for him. not the stupid crush you had before, or the simple curiosity of figuring out how he was in bed.

real, scary, big girl feelings.

no way. not after everything. not after he pulled that same crap, acting like you didn’t know you in front of his friends, then turning around and getting all possessive when it suited him.

“better than ever.”

eyes locked on rafe, you bite out the final blow.

“yeah, better than ever. just like every other fucking rich frat boy—using daddy’s money, pretending you’re a god. but deep down, you’re all the same. losers. why don’t you keep them company, huh? you’re all family after all.”

his blue eyes drop to the green field at the mention of his dad, but he keeps quiet despite realizing you’re doing this on purpose.

he’ll let you have this one because he knows it’s deserving. fuck he’d probably let you punch him in the face if you asked him to.

you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him behind, knowing you hit him exactly where it hurt.

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steddiealltheway · 1 month ago

Text

1984 is not Steve Harrington’s year.

Not only does he find out that his girlfriend doesn’t actually love him, but somehow the creepy monster thing that united his now ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend, came back in the form of some type of monster dog.

The highlight of his year might actually be befriending a nerdy middle schooler who introduced him to said monster dog - which he named Dart of all things... something to do with a candy bar.

He groans at the thought as the music from downstairs carries into his room. For some reason, Tommy Hagan decided to temporarily ignore the fact that he ditched Steve for the new keg king, Billy Hargrove, who managed to give Steve something else to worry about while literal Hell crawled its way into Hawkins, in favor of throwing a New Year's Eve party in the Harrington residence.

Typical for the year Steve's having. Why not end it horribly too?

He glances at the clock, relieved that it's already somewhat close to midnight. If it weren't for the noise, he would consider trying to sleep through this one. Instead, he lays back on his bed and hopes that no one tries to disturb him.

As if the universe can hear his thoughts, and then curse them, the door to his bedroom swings open.

Steve sits up with a huff and frowns at the person.

A guy with medium length curly hair and doe eyes stares back at him with a big smile that screams chaos.

"Sorry, dude," Steve says, "Bedroom is off limits. Go hookup, smoke, or whatever somewhere else."

Instead of leaving, the guy closes the door behind him and locks it.

Steve scoots back on the bed, hand reaching back to wrap around the nail bat he leaves behind his nightstand.

The dude raises his hands in mock surrender, silver rings glinting in the light streaming in from Steve's window - blinds open enough so he can make sure no one does anything weird in his pool. "Listen, man, I'm not here to hurt you or anything. Although you might hurt me when you hear why I'm here."

There's something about his voice that sounds familiar to Steve when it suddenly hits him - all the yelling and stomping around on tabletops. "You're Eddie Munson."

Eddie smiles and bows dramatically. "Guilty as charged."

Steve's frown deepens, and for a fleeting moment he thinks Dustin would really like the guy. "So, why would I hurt you if I hear you out?"

"Because, Steve," Eddie draws out his name as if it has a deeper meaning, "I was downstairs thinking about what a wonderful year I've had, and I decided that I might as well start the year with a little chaos."

Steve's grip tightens around the bat in case he's some sort of satanic serial killer or something, although his gut tells him that he shouldn't be scared of the man. "What do you mean by chaos?"

There's a strange glint in Eddie's eye when he shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks on the feet as if he wants to move closer to Steve but has decided to plant himself by his door. "I mean... I came to this party to sell my supply and after my whole lunchbox was cleaned out, I started thinking about who I should kiss at midnight. Or more precisely, who would be the worse option, or rather, the option that would bring the most-"

"Chaos. Yeah, I got that part," Steve cuts him off.

Eddie's smile changes to something genuine for a moment as he comments, "Wow, Steve Harrington is actually listening to me."

Steve rolls his eyes, grip loosening on the bat. "I'd rather you not stand on my desk to get my attention." To Steve's surprise, Eddie actually laughs in response and pulls a strand of hair in front of his face to hide his smile. And to Steve's much greater surprise, his heart starts beating a little faster and he finds it harder to not smile back at him. "So, chaos?" Steve prompts.

"Right," Eddie says, rocking on his feet again, "Chaos." He ducks his head for a moment as if hyping himself up for the next thing he's going to say, which is when Steve entirely releases his grip on the bat, realizing that Eddie is more scared of him. "So, I thought, to start the year off with the most chaos, I would choose someone to kiss that would bring the most chaos. And I thought, why not the host of this party?"

Steve frowns. "Tommy's downstairs."

Eddie mirrors his frown. "You're not hosting?"

"Why would I be in my room if I'm hosting?"

"Why would the party be in your house if you're not hosting?"

It suddenly hits Steve. "Wait, you want to kiss me?"

Eddie takes a step back, hovering even closer to the door than he was before. "Consensually, of course."

It takes a moment for Steve to fully process what is being asked. "You think I'm the worst option to kiss?"

"That's what you're asking?" Eddie asks, trailing off to mutter something like, "The fragile ego of athletes, I swear."

"I got dumped this year. Of course my ego is low."

Eddie smiles bashfully. "Sorry, my uncle always tells me I'm not as quiet as I think I am." And there's something about Eddie's cheeks that are slightly flushed, the strand of hair he starts tugging at again, and the way he can't stop bouncing as if he's buzzing with energy and nerves that makes him so...

"Yes," Steve blurts out suddenly. For a moment, he wonders if the mindf- mind fly? mind... whatever evil thing from a few weeks ago has possessed him.

"Yes what?" Eddie asks sounding genuinely confused. As Steve stands up to look out his blinds and shut them, Eddie rambles, "Yes, I'm not as quiet as I think I am? Or yes, you're about to punch me, and I'm going to finally figure out how it felt when you got your face bashed in a few weeks ago?"

Steve rolls his eyes before holding up both of his hands, mimicking Eddie's pose when he first came into the room. "Yes, I'll kiss you."

It's as if Eddie has forgotten he's asked the question the way his jaw drops, and he stares at Steve like he's said the most confusing thing he's ever heard. Which... to be fair... is highly likely.

"You want to kiss me?"

Steve takes a small step closer to Eddie. "I want to give you your chaos."' When Eddie doesn't look convinced, Steve takes a step closer to him, hand running through his hair as he continues, "Who knows, maybe it'll give me good luck or something for next year by cancelling out the chaos from this year."

Eddie nods. "Okay. You're giving me your chaos. Yeah. That makes sense."

"And you're taking my chaos away," Steve agrees, trying to tell himself that this is a rational decision. "This makes sense."

"You're not going to beat me up?" Eddie asks, risking a small step away from the door.

Steve shakes his head. "Seems like a bad way to start the year, don't you think?"

Eddie nods as Steve steps closer to him, slowly, as if not to startle him away. "You know, I thought just asking you would be chaotic enough as is and then I could run away and pretend you hallucinated or something when you tried to beat me up."

"Should've asked Hargrove then," Steve says, cocking his head to the side. "Does that mean you don't actually want to kiss me?"

Eddie swallows and shakes his head. "I didn't say that."

Just as Steve gets in front of Eddie, he hears people downstairs counting down from ten. "Good," Steve says, "Because there isn't enough time to find someone else."

Eddie scoffs, the countdown now at eight, "That's not true for you."

"Maybe, but I'm not really looking to find anyone else right now. Are you?" Five.

Eddie smiles and takes a step forward. "No." Three.

Steve reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind Eddie's ear. "Good." One.

Steve's not really sure who moves first or if they move together, but the yells of, "Happy New Year" are drowned out as Eddie's lips meet his in a kiss that feels more desperate than Steve expected. He's not sure why they're kissing as if the countdown was for the end of the world, but he really doesn't care.

It's only when Steve's gets a little carried away, Eddie's back slams against Steve's door with a thud that's loud enough to alert anyone that something's happening in Steve's room, that Steve breaks away with a gasp, seeking the air Eddie's stolen from him. He wonders if - hopes - it's the chaos he's taken.

"Happy New Year," Steve whispers, hands cupping Eddie's face while Eddie's are tangled in the mess he's made of Steve's hair. He's not sure when either of those things happened.

"Happy fucking New Year, Steve," Eddie mutters, hands slowly dropping from his hair.

Steve's hands hold onto Eddie's face a little tighter for a moment, and he sees the moment a bit of fear sparks in Eddie's eyes. Steve quickly shakes his head. "No, I'm not about to beat you up. It's just... I kind of slammed you against the door a little hard there, and if someone else is up here and they see you..."

"Chaos," Eddie fills in with a nod, "And not the good kind."

"Yeah," Steve sighs, "Not the good kind." He glances to his window where the blinds are firmly shut - thank you Jonathan for teaching him that lesson - and down at the locked doorknob before looking back at Eddie. He glances at his lips momentarily before blurting out, "Stay with me."

Eddie's jaw drops, mouth opening slightly in shock.

Steve steps back, hands reluctantly leaving Eddie's face. "Stay until everyone clears out at least. No ulterior motive."

Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets and moves back into Steve's space. "What if I want there to be an ulterior motive?" He tilts his head down and gives Steve a case of lethal puppy dog eyes. "Fully take your chaos away, remember?"

Steve is absolutely sure that this in no way will take away the chaos of his previous year and will likely only invite questions, confusion, and further chaos into 1985.

"Yeah, I remember," Steve says, pulling Eddie into another desperate kiss.

Maybe Eddie was onto something about starting the year with a little chaos. And maybe 1985 will be his year.

(i accidentally wrote a tiny epilogue later in the tags that i really like)

#a sort of epilogue later in the tags ;)#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie ficlet #steddie new years #happy belated new years #oh #they both agree to never mention it again in the morning #then lo and behold #later that year dustin is telling him about meeting the one and only eddie munson #and hey maybeeee when steve picks dustin up from hellfire club around new years going into 1986 #eddie is like “hey harrington. have any new years plans? ;)"#and they secretly make out about it again that new years eve #but steve still refuses to hang out with him as much as dustin heckles him #because he doesn't know what he'd do if he ended up liking the guy #turns out he ends up REALLY liking the guy #and while everyone thinks he's dead #steve hides eddie in his basement #and he gets to stay long enough that they get to celebrate the new year once again #then again every year after that #and they live happily ever after #the end :)

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 7 days ago

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⋆⭒˚.⋆ MY Johnny?! ⋆⭒˚.⋆

(cw: f!reader, TikTok trend, Jaehyun is dramatic and threatens murder, this took a suggestive turn so I'm going to err on the side of caution and say MDNI)

a/n: I made myself laugh while I wrote this, it is so dumb

Fratboy!Jaehyun was firmly in the point in this relationship where he got excited when you were excited. You aced a tests? He was cheering louder than you were. You bought a new dress? He was hyping you up for 10 minutes at least. You finished a project? There he was praising you like you had just solved world hunger.

So of course, when you came into his room wiggling your newly done nails in his direction with an excited smile, he was also feeling excited. He ran his thumb over the deep pink and sparkly polish on your nails. Pretty, smooth nails with little hearts. Your Valentine's Day set that you had been gushing about, but refused to let your boyfriend see.

"Wow, sweets, they're beautiful. They lived up to the hype," Jaehyun smiles at you sweetly. God, he loves that sweet, excited smile on your face right now.

"My nail girl popped off, I usually go pretty plain but this time they were free so I decided to spring for some extras like the gems and the design," you explain, holding your hand out to admire the new set on your fingers.

"Free? Was she experimenting on you or something? Your fingers won't fall off will they?" Jaehyun asks with a confused furrow in his brows.

You giggle as you lean in to press a sweet kiss against his lips, your hands gently cradling his face, "no baby, Johnny paid for this set."

Jaehyun groans internally pulling away from your kiss, but, "what?" escapes his lips.

"Johnny paid for my nails."

"Sweetheart, is this a joke?" Jaehyun asks, his voice serious and eyes searching your face for any sign of deceit.

"No, baby, I'm being serious. Johnny paid for my nails," you reply in a calm voice, all too nonchalant for the matter at hand.

Jaehyun stands, clearly heated and upset by what you just revealed to him, "MY Johnny?"

You let out a breathy laugh, "yes, baby. Johnny Suh, vice president of Nu Chi Theta, your best friend. What is the problem here?"

"Well, why the fuck is he paying for your nails?! Why? This specific set that will be wrapped around my dick on my birthday, huh?" He asks heatedly.

You have to bite your lip to suppress a laugh, keeping a look of confusion on your face, "he was just being nice. He said he got an idea on tiktok and wanted me to test it out. I even had money left over to get a coffee."

Jaehyun's eyes widen, his hand rubbing over his face until he freezes, breathing out, "idea on tiktok?" Is this some kind of sick joke? Could it have been that stupid ass video that they had both laughed over just two days ago? The trend where girls got their nails the same color as the tip of their boyfriend's dicks?

He reached for your hands, his grip tight and almost desperate, eyes locked on your newly done nails. His voice was shaky and weak, "baby, who picked the color?"

"Huh?" You played off with a bewildered pout, "Johnny picked the col-"

"Johnny motherfucking Suh! I am going to murder you, you dumb fuck!" Jaehyun roared as he threw the door open and began storming down the hallway.

You laughed as you chased him down the hallway, repeating "no" and "baby, stop" while you tried to hold him back, but he was stronger than you. He was basically dragging you down the hard wood floors of the frat house until he came to a stop at Johnny's door. He didn't even knock, just pushed the door open with his chest heaving in anger.

Johnny looked at the two of you confused with a raised brow. "Problem, bro?" Johnny asked calmly.

"Did you pay for sweets' nails, dude?" Jaehyun asked in a voice that was all too peaceful for the anger that was burning in his gaze.

Johnny was a smart guy, he knew when his best friend was on the verge of a breakdown and knew when to back down from a joke. Johnny shook his head, a soft smile on his face, "Nah, bro, I didn't. Sweets asked me to play along, but I'm sensing you're not finding it funny."

Jaehyun let out a long, deep exhale, feeling like the weight of the world was finally off his shoulders. He slumped forward, bracing himself on his knees, mumbling what sounded like a prayer under his breath, "thanks, dude."

He shut Johnny's door and turned to you with a playful gleam in his eye, "you are such a menace, had me worried sick, sweetheart. I could have killed Johnny."

He peppers your cheeks with a flurry of kisses, letting out a long sigh of relief as he tugs you into his embrace, “you paid for these nails, right?”

Based on his reaction to your joke, you decide to lie. Too bad your lie is all too obvious as you squeak out a high pitched, “mhm!”

He cups your face, angling it so you’re looking him in the eye, “who paid for your nails, sweetheart?”

You don’t answer, biting your bottom lip nervously while trying to avoid his gaze. He rests his forehead against your own, his breath coming out in a whisper, “sweetheart, don’t tell me…”

You can only nod shakily, eyes shut in order to prepare yourself for his reaction. “LEE DONGHYUCK! You’re dead you little shit, dead!”

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zhukzucraft · 7 months ago

Text

=====>

The outcome was never really in doubt. You emerge victorious.

Jimmy: Dude! You did it so clean!

Joe: Truly, valorous rescue worthy of a song.

Joe: Now if you'll excuse me - hup!

Joe: I need to gather the wheat. The food situation is dire.

Martyn: (Hear that?)

Jimmy: (What?)

Martyn: (He's up for a midnight snack and scared of a little Creeper damage? Now who does that remind you of?)

Jimmy: (You don't think... We could be...?)

Martyn: (I'd say there's a pretty good chance dude)

Jimmy: (!! I need to make a better impression!!)

Jimmy: Hey, hey, Joe! It's Joe, right?

Martyn: (wow doing great there Jimmy)

Martyn: Ahem! So I don't think we ever got properly introduced-

Jimmy: -I'm Jimmy! This is Martyn! Man it's so nice to have you here-

Martyn: -You're not mad about being called a noob, right? Of course you're not, you seem like a chill guy-

Jimmy: -Are you down to 4 hearts right now, by any chance?

Jimmy: If you are, let me just start by saying I'm very sorry, I swear this doesn't usually... happen. to me...

Jimmy: Hey, did I mention I really like your hat??

Joe: Whoa whoa whoa

Joe: I think there's been a mixup.

Joe: You're trying to ask if I'm your soulmate, right? Sorry, but I'm, uh, already spoken for.

Jimmy: I'll just. Go over there and cook the fish over the campfire now. Yeah.

Joe: Aw don't be like that! You guys did help out! Let me repay you somehow.

Joe: ...As long as it's not with food.

Martyn: Uhh, sure, why not. If you insist.

Martyn: Got any diamonds to spare?

Joe: Haha, going straight for the big one, eh?

Joe: Well, who knows, actually! The fellas might've unearthed some. Maybe they will even share them in the spirit of mutual aid!

Martyn: (If only)

Martyn: Jimmyyy, we're going underground, you coming?

Jimmy: Just a secooond! I'll come join when the fish is cooked!

Jimmy: (And when everyone has hopefully forgotten this interaction)

=====>

Start Over -- Go Back

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

btw brackets () indicate whispering

just

wanted to make sure it was made clear ;;;

k thanks for your patience!!

#quadruple life #life smp fan session #joe hills #martyn inthelittlewood #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #inthelittlewood #Pearl's POV should be returning soon i promise #mod zhuk

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tgcg · 1 year ago

Text

argument

its a big one

TG: alright this is probably a bust

TG: more i think about it how the fuck do you even make a marinara

TG: can i even alchemise cheese or do i gotta like alchemise the milk and curdle it myself

TG: how do you even curdle

====================

TG: make a goddamn

TG: curgler

TG: whatever

TG: internet archive gonna pull through

====================

CG: ALRIGHT DAVE

TG: shit

====================

CG: YOU BETTER BACK THE FUCK OFF. I DON'T KNOW WHERE IN BULGEMUNCHING VIRULENT FUCK YOU GET THE IDEA YOU HAVE ANY RIGHT TO TELL ME WHAT I SHOULD THINK ABOUT MY OWN GODDAMN PLANET. SORRY TO HAVE TO DEAL A BLOW TO YOUR IMPOSSIBLY INFLATED FUCKING EGO, BUT HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED THAT YOUR SIDE-EYE SLACKJAW HOPELESS DEADPAN BULLSHIT BEHAVIOUR IS ACTUALLY INCREDIBLY FUCKING CONTEMPTIBLE AND DOESN'T PUT YOU ABOVE OTHER PEOPLE? HAVE YOU CONSIDERED THAT?

CG: OR DID YOU JUST ASSUME FROM THE MOMENT YOU FOUND OUT I'M A REVOLTING FUCKING MUTANT LOWBLOOD FREAK THAT I'M SUDDENLY NOT ALLOWED TO LIKE THE IDEA OF MY LIFE MEANING SOMETHING AT SOME POINT?

TG: okay you are wildly misquoting me where the fuck did that come from

TG: also you scared the hell out of me

TG: im just trying to science some pizza here

====================

CG: OKAY THEN, DAVE! EXPLAIN TO ME AS WELL AS YOUR AMBLING ONE-NOTE SMOOTH EXCUSE FOR A 'THOUGHT'SPONGE CAN

CG: IN SOMEWHAT COHERENT TERMS, ALTHOUGH I KNOW THAT'S A TALL ORDER:

CG: HOW YOU SAYING MY ADOLESCENT DREAMS OF BECOMING A THRESHECUTIONER ARE "FUCKED UP AND IRONIC IN A NASTY ASS WAY" DOESN'T QUALIFY AS UNDERHANDEDLY KICKING ME IN THE MANDIBLE PRONGS!

CG: YOUR AUDIENCE AWAITS YOU WITH BATED BREATH! TAKE IT AWAY, M.C. BRAIN HEMORRHAGE.

====================

TG: okay i dont

TG: know how you got a hold of that phrasing because i said that shit in confidence

TG: get out of my business bro

CG: NEWSFLASH, ASSHOLE: THIS METEOR IS A PHYSICAL, LITERAL LOCATION WE'RE BOTH IN. IT'S NOT A FUCKING PRIVATE CHATROOM. THIS MIGHT BLOW YOUR PITIFUL MIND BUT PEOPLE CAN ACTUALLY HEAR OTHER PEOPLE TALK WHEN THEY HAVE TO SHARE A SPACE! BRO!

TG: ugh

====================

CG: AND IT'S VERY INTERESTING YOU ACCUSE ME OF MISQUOTING YOU, AND THEN SUDDENLY TURN AND SPOUT FROM THAT SHITTY DRONING GROANSHAFT OF YOURS THAT I'M INVADING YOUR PRIVACY WHEN I DIRECTLY QUOTE YOUR SMARMY LITTLE SHAMEGLOBES!

CG: WOW! TURNS OUT KARKAT IS ACTUALLY BEING GENUINELY FUCKING UPSET ABOUT SOMETHING — WHO KNEW, RIGHT? WHO WOULD'VE GUESSED THAT I ACTUALLY HAVE GENUINE COMPLAINTS TO LEVEL AGAINST THE PEOPLE WHO GO SPOUTING HOOFBEASTSHIT ABOUT ME BEHIND MY BACK TO THEIR ECTOSIBLINGS?

TG: no dude can you shut up a second

CG: I MOST CERTAINLY FUCKING WILL, THANKS FOR THE OFFER! I'M NEVER TELLING YOU A GODDAMN THING AGAIN, SO I HOPE YOU MANAGE TO GAIN SOME WRINKLES TO THAT VESTIGIAL FLAWLESS ORB FLOATING AROUND IN YOUR CAVERNOUS NUGBONE FROM ALL THIS. I HOPE IT WAS WORTH ALL THE EFFORT ON YOUR END.

TG: listen!!!!

====================

CG: MHM! MY AURICULAR CHAMBERS ARE WIDE OPEN!

TG: jegus

TG: okay

TG: i have no defense for my literal phrasing but how expeditiously did you shadowstep the fuck away after i said that

TG: because that is some shrek tier "princess and ugly dont go together" level misrepresentation of my sweet self

TG: like if this wasnt obviously a heated platonic argument we were having i would probably be digging what the reference even if it was a shitty trope

====================

TG: i just

TG: have been thinking about some things and none of those things have got an iota of a thing to do with you or your blood

TG: thing

TG: man

TG: i dont know why you think id be so pressed about your vein juice its like

TG: a normal ass color for a normal ass guy

TG: and obviously it was a major fucking deal from how you talk about it but it doesnt need to be anymore

====================

TG: the thing is i just dont like have the same attitude as you about fighting and stuff and thats not something i am getting into right now but i am gonna make it expressly clear

TG: that its just kind of fucked up for me to sit my ass down and listen to someone spew gold and medals and confetti colored shit going googoo all over tall and loathsome ass bloodletters he never knew

TG: and have him tell me he wants to be the best guy at combat since samurai fuckin jack

TG: and thats my capital B business believe me the emphasis is there

====================

CG: SO IS THIS ABOUT ME WANTING TO BE PART OF SOMETHING YOU DON'T AGREE WITH? BECAUSE THRESHECUTIONERS DON'T EVEN FUCKING EXIST ANYMORE. I LITERALLY COULD NOT DO THIS IF I TRIED AT THIS POINT, SO YOU CAN UNKNOT YOUR “KNIGHTY WHITIES” ABOUT IT.

TG: being anti-military is not my point but damn if it isnt a thing thats probably true anyways so good job sleuthing that out

CG: WHAT IS YOUR POINT, DAVE.

TG: bluh

TG: i just said i dont wanna talk about it man

====================

CG: OKAY,

====================

CG: OKAY.

CG: I MEAN. IT FEELS KIND OF IMPORTANT TO THE CONTEXT OF THIS WHOLE UNAMBIGUOUSLY PLATONIC ARGUMENT WE'VE BEEN HAVING

CG: WHICH I'M RELIEVED WE AGREE ON BY THE WAY

CG: BUT IF YOU DON'T WANT ME TO KNOW I'M NOT GOING TO WRING IT OUT OF YOU. IT'S FINE.

====================

CG: …IF YOU DECIDE AT SOME POINT THAT YOU WANT TO TELL ME THOUGH, MY RUMBLE VESSELS ARE STILL OPEN.

TG: i swear youre making those up on the spot at this point

CG: I'M KEEPING MY LANGUAGE'S ART ALIVE, DAVE. IT'S BASIC DECENCY TO THE PLANET THAT RAISED ME.

TG: heh

====================

TG: yknow we got these things called anatomical snuffboxes

TG: its got that right amount of vague nose wrinklage to it that i feel like youd be right at home saying that

TG: snug as a grub even

CG: WHAT PART IS THAT???

TG: its that little weird bone bit that sticks out on the back of your palm when you flex your thumb right

====================

TG: look

CG: HUH. LOOKING AT THAT IS KIND OF WIGGING ME OUT.

TG: yeah its kinda gross rose told me about it

TG: but anyways

====================

TG: are we cool

CG: I MEAN… I GUESS SO. YOU WEREN'T ACTUALLY INSULTING ME, RIGHT?

TG: hell no dude never

CG: OKAY. I COMPLETELY RESCIND THE MYRIAD OF WAYS I JUST INSULTED YOU. AND I'M SORRY.

TG: nah i know its just fluff at this point

====================

CG: I STILL DON'T APPRECIATE YOU TELLING ROSE THINGS I SAY TO YOU IN CONFIDENCE. THAT WAS BETWEEN YOU, ME, AND MY NOW NON-EXISTENT HOME PLANET ROTTING AWAY TO A CRATERED GRAY HUSK IN ANOTHER DEAD UNIVERSE.

TG: i swear that was like the only thing its just that she gets it and i cant keep my mouth from going on about the gettable stuff

TG: they call me the babbling brook the way my flows so audible

TG: i wont do it again

CG: NO,

====================

CG: I GET IT HONESTLY.

CG: I'M BASICALLY THE NUMBER ONE PROPRIETOR OF AIRED GRIEVANCES IN ALL OF PARADOX SPACE AND THEN SOME, AND I'D ALSO BECOME ITS BIGGEST HYPOCRITE IF I HELD IT AGAINST YOU.

TG: thanks

TG: but i mean

TG: at the gigantic risk of sounding uh

====================

TG: ………..

CG: ?

====================

TG: well

TG: i kinda just think youre better at being a guy to chill out and watch movies with than a guy to tangle fists with

TG: and i dont think theres anything wrong with being that

TG: i think its cool

====================

CG: …THAT'S AN ALARMINGLY BRAZEN OBSERVATION TO MAKE OF SOMEONE YOU'VE KNOWN FOR ABOUT THE SPAN OF SEVEN SEASONAL EQUINOXES, DAVE.

TG: i dont know what that means but it sure is probably

CG: AM I ALLOWED TO ASK WHAT EVEN GIVES YOU THAT IMPRESSION????

TG: i just got that inkling about you man

====================

TG: and you can do whatever you want with that info

TG: throw it in the load gaper or whatever if you want i dont really care

TG: give it a swirly and slam it in a locker call it a nerd break its glasses whatever

TG: but beyond this whole lord english thing weve got going on i am pretty content to never aggress my fellow man slash alien slash monster again if i can help it

TG: i think thats pretty fair given what thats been like so far

====================

TG: and yknow its cool to have some company when im waxing emotional over the narrative depth of click starring adam sandler which we are watching next by the way

CG: UGH, FIIIIIIIIINE. JUST TO MAKE UP FOR CALLING YOUR THINKPAN SMOOTH AND SUPERFLUOUS.

====================

TG: score

TG: we should argue all the time

CG: SNRK

#davekat #dave strider #karkat vantas #homestuck #meteorstuck #comix #argument

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anakinsdove · 10 months ago

Note

Sub sam monroe x fem friends hot older sister ❔

𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 | 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐞

pairing: sam monroe x older!fem!reader

summary: it’s been like what? 6 years since you saw sammy, he’s still as weird as he used to be, only prettier. After seeing him again you notice there some tension that wasn’t there before.

c/w: nsfw, loser Sammy, blowjob

discord - twitter: anakinsdove. -PART 2-

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! ｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ﾟ。Love you

𝘄/𝗰 - 1,352

“What’s that for?” You ask your little rat of a brother why he’s suddenly carrying enough snacks to throw a party.

“Sam is coming over, he’s going to spend the night here” Your brother says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Who?” “Sam” he rolls his eyes “Oh! Sammy, blonde, walks weird?” “Yes…” he’s slightly confused at your description then he realizes you haven’t seen Sam in a while…. A long while?

“He dyed his hair” your brother ads “Seriously?” You say sarcastically clearly faking interest trying to find something worth watching on tv “And he walks normally” “I’m sure he does”

“Anyways aren’t you a little bit too old for sleepovers?” Your condescending tone is very annoying to your brother but that’s what sisters do. “Aren’t you too old for Halloween?” “Huh?” Your brother smirks pointing at your makeup, you respond by throwing the pillow on the couch with enough force it feels like a brick, he runs upstairs

“coward” you mutter to yourself and suddenly someone’s knocking on the door

Someone’s knocking extremely loud

You decide to ignore it as you keep painting your nails but the knocking is very persistent and it gets louder somehow accidentally painting your toe “fucking loser” you curse under your breathe and stand up walking furiously towards the door.

“What!?” Your tone is harsh and the boy takes a step back, Sam looks stupid as he makes sure he’s in the right house “I-is James here?”

“Sam?” You ask softly this time, your anger quickly dissipating from your features, eyeing him up and down… wow.

“Hi Y/N”

You open the door for him to come in as he awkwardly goes through the door, he tries to keep his hips as far he can from yours while walking in, you sigh at the awkward silence

“How have you been-“ “You look very different-“ both of you say at the same time “You look the same” he says “I looks twelve?” God you’re making fun of him

Hes about to answer when your brother comes down running from the stairs “Sorry dude I was taking a shit!” He greets him as you stand aside

“Don’t talk to her Sam” your brother says smirking “Shut up man” they run upstairs and you shrug trying to shake the awkwardness away

You keep trying to distract yourself with tv but it isn’t fucking working

Sam Monroe….

He looked so different from what you remembered, he’s taller, there’s a lot of piercings stuff on his face and you’re pretty sure he was wearing eyeshadow.. his hair now it’s black… funny because you remembered him being blonde and looking like a puppet, you giggle at the thought… Oh! and his clothes, he was wearing a Metallica t shirt, Vintage….

You moan and you realize you been rubbing your clit through your panties this whole time then gasping in embarrassment and closing your legs

What a slut… what if someone saw you rubbing your cloth on your living room, that would be a reason to kill yourself, what if Sam saw you like that?… that however doesn’t sound as bad

Control yourself Y/n

A few hours later the sun has set… you succeeded distracting yourself and as soon as Sam leaves you won’t have to see him again you’ll forget this awkward chapter in your life where you masturbated to the thought of your younger brother’s friend until… “Why me man!?” “Cause I’m about to win this level” “Youre shit at the game” “Shut up!” you hear the boys arguing upstairs “It’s just fucking popcorn Sam” your brother mocks him as Sam sighs coming down the stairs

You can’t help but look up at him “Hey” Sam stops midway “Hey” he tries to sound and look relaxed, but when did your boobs get so big?

“Pop corn?” You asks pointing at the box he’s holding in his hand “I’ll burn them” he says

“It’ll be my brothers fault” you laugh and Sam smiles “C’mon” you guide him to the kitchen and put the popcorn in the stove “You look very different too” he responds to your earlier conversation, you smirk at the opportunity of teasing “Really? I thought I looked twelve” “Fuck no” he suppresses a laugh and you nod playfully “Well, maybe a little” “Fuck off” you push him playfully and his back makes contact with the counter “You still have your dimples when you smile” your heart actually softens at his comment “You don’t look like a puppet anymore” he rolled his eyes “I meant that in some ways you look the same but in other- other ways you look very different” he stares at you collarbone

“Sam?” You take a step forward “It’s mean to look at girls boobs when they’re talking” he freezes “I was not-“ you grab his bicep “I always knew you liked me” Sam is really about to die or kill himself, whatever is option is quicker… instead he grabs your waits and pulls you to him then freezes again “You want to kiss me Sammy?” His gaze switches from your eyes to your lips, to your boobs that look so good in that thank top, then your lips again, his lips hesitantly meet you in a clumsy kiss… but then you find out he’s so hungry for this, teeth clatter and he hums into your mouth, his hands shaking as he holds your waist…. You pull away teasingly as he tries to chase your lips but you have other plans like kissing his neck

“Fuck” he moans, his little sound has you clenching your thighs, you need this boy asap…as you nibble and suck his neck then pulling away again “Sam” “What?” He says breathlessly

“Can I suck you off?” WHAT THE FUCK he nodds shakily and you get on your knees “J-James?” Sam’s says as he watches you unbuckle his belt “Don’t talk about my fucking brother when I’m going to give you a blowjob” “Sorry..” “He’s playing, he wont find out.” You try to reassure this poor boy as he nods shakily “I promise” you unzip his pants and take his boxers down urgently, it’s too much, you hear the popcorn popping, heavy breathe, the waves crashing distantly… his cock slapped against his stomach… Sam looks down at you in awe

You start stroking him, watching the angry red tip leaking already, “w-wait wait I’m gonna c-cum” Sam warns virgins you think to yourself and force yourself to stop stroking him, if he’s gonna fucking cum he’s cumming down your throath tonight “fine” you say angrily and take him down your throat “Fuck!” Sam moans as his shaky hand tangles in your hair pushing you down further “I can’t I can’t I’m sorry” his eyes roll back and his back arches, your wet lips wrapping around his thick cock…. Sucking him sloppy it’s just so much

He doesn’t know why god is on his side tonight but he’s not complaining, he beats himself mentally, he seeing stars, fireworks exploding behind his eyes and all that cringy shit he once heard, now he knows it’s real, he feels your tongue massaging the underside of his cock and you make something with your tongue where it licks at his balls slightly and-

“Fuck!” He yells as he cums…. Thick ropes of cum hit the back of your throath, he tastes salty…

Your doe eyes look up at him seductively as you keep licking his tip, his legs tremble as he spasms, he has to push you away so he doesn’t pass out

You finally release his cock from your mouth “breathe Sammy….” “Fuck sorry I-“ his breathe is heavy “Shhh….” You kiss his lips softly so he tastes his own cum…..

“You’re sleeping here right?” He nodds

“Come to my room at 2:00 AM” he nodds again and you know this boy is completely at your mercy

“Oh and Sammy….. your popcorn” you point to the stove and evident smoke “Shit!” Sam runs and trips over his pants, pulling them up quickly and trying to not burn your damn house.

dividers - @i92-93

(Im very sorry for the absence! I been pretty much busy and a little unmotivated to write but I’ll try to post another fic this week, this was a little bit rushed but I hope you like it)

@anakinsbbgirl

#sam monroe x reader #sam monroe x you #sam monroe smut #sam monroe imagine #sam monroe hayden christensen #sam monroe life as a house #hayden christensen smut #hayden christensen characters #hayden christensen fluff #hayden christensen

1K notes · View notes

screamlet · 1 month ago

Text

micelli's date nightmare (ver 2.5)

this is part meta, part fic, an alternate micelli's date from 8x6. word count: 2.7k

---

"that was kind of weird."

"no it wasn't. you're hot, so is she. it's okay to look."

"yeah, right, and i noticed you didn't."

"i'm a kinsey 6," tommy says, kind of incredulous.

"i'm not sure what that means?" buck asks, as the audience surrogate.

and that's a problem, because in-universe buck is no longer the whole audience's surrogate. now he's a man who discovered his queerness later in life; he's a man in a queer relationship with another man; he's someone who celebrates a six-month anniversary out in public with his male partner. there's people in the audience who can see and celebrate parts of that journey with buck, who have been there or see how they can get there in their own exploring, but that's a road that not a lot of people have gone down or ever will. he doesn't belong to the general audience anymore, but the show needed him to still be the surrogate because we as the audience know buck.

but it's been six months and the audience needs to catch up on What It Means To Be Queer. so we get... "i'm not sure what that means?"

buuuuuuuuuuuut what if.

---

buck takes the picture for that girl and her friends, gets all weird because he could be perceived to be flirting with a woman while on a date (his gay anniversary dinner with a gay man who is his gay boyfriend). despite his awkwardness, she doesn't quite get that the big dude waiting for him is his date, his boyfriend. she's hot, he's awkward and hot, whatever.

so maybe she follows buck back to his table because she doesn't read them as being on a date! maybe he's a guy who doesn't want to ditch his buddy and like, it's micelli's!!! everyone's having fun, one of her friends really likes big guys, this could totally be something tonight!!

"thanks again for taking the picture for us," photo lady says as she comes back to the table with buck. she pauses and addresses both buck and tommy:

"um, so we're actually celebrating our friend getting a promotion at work. it's just us girls right now, but would you guys want to join us?"

maybe buck starts blushing because aaaahhh a lady hitting on him AND tommy, whaaaaat does he saaaaay

but tommy's like, "we'd love to… some other time, but, haha, i'm gay, like kinsey 6 gay, and he's…"

it takes a second, but buck manages: "uh!! his date!!"

"his date to our anniversary dinner," tommy corrects (dryly)

"and i'm still working my way around my number!! kinsey number. it's just for fun."

"oh! omg, congratulations!! and, uh. what's… what scale is that?"

tommy says, cutely, "where you fall on a range of heterosexual and homosexual desire. it's just for fun."

"ooh i'm gonna look that up, it sounds fun! okay, have a good night, guys, and congrats again!!!"

she leaves, their date continues, but buck's uncomfortable. "wow, haha, you just. told her we were on a date."

"you told her we were on a date," tommy says. "i told her we were here for our anniversary. was that a problem?"

"no, just."

"because we're in a restaurant for our anniversary."

"right, but. we're not like, being loud about it."

big fake tommy pout. "you didn't call ahead and tell them? they're not gonna bring us a cake with a giant dick on it, with little sixes for each testicle, and sing something from the village people? it's been so long since i heard macho man in public."

and haha very funny and buck is smiling but he's more uncomfortable than he's smiling. "i just didn't think of it, that's all."

"... which part? the giant dick cake, or the part where i told a stranger that we were on a date?" pause. "did you not want me to tell her?"

"no, uh, it's not that. or maybe it is that. i don't know." buck thinks. "i haven't done it before, you know? like, no one's ever asked."

now tommy's a little guarded. "yeah. you've been passing. you're still butch little buck to the world."

"and you pass, too! like, you're really… you know."

tommy nods. (maybe he kinda wants to jab at buck because he can't say the word masculine or butch or even say he's on a date with a man, but he doesn't.)

"it's funny but i think i don't," tommy says. "maybe it's the paranoia, internalized homophobia, toxic masculinity in the army and the 118 but… i've always felt like i stick out like a sore thumb. i've always felt like people know."

"they really don't, i promise."

tommy tilts his head. "how do you know?"

"i mean… well, okay, i did… tell eddie you were gay."

"what, recently? he didn't notice the couple of dozen times i've called you my boyfriend in the last six months? or the other way around?"

"no, way at the beginning after our last first date. i said something like, you don't hide it but you don't advertise it. he didn't know."

"and you think eddie is everyone?" tommy lets out a big breath. "well, he's not. you're both very adorable and very dense, mr. i didn't know he was jealous until he sprained my ankle and mr. i didn't know i had a crush until i sprained his ankle. other people, they might notice."

buck motions over his shoulder. "they didn't notice. they didn't know until you told them."

"one of them didn't." pause. "is it a problem that i told them?"

"... no, no of course not."

tommy's eyebrows go up. "so now those five women in the los angeles area know you like to fuck men. now what?"

"a man. i like you."

"right. you like me and you like to fuck me."

takes buck a minute to say, "right… well, it's not always…"

tommy laughs. "i meant categorically. kinsey 1? you think i'm your one and done?"

"i don't care about the scale, i care about you."

"it's not about the scale, buddy."

suddenly, perfect timing, a giant plate of spumoni arrives at their table. "from the ladies," the waiter says. there's a piece of paper to go with it that the waiter hands to tommy.

(is this the hot waiter? maybe he hands the paper to tommy and they share a look that buck doesn't like. there's lingering eye contact and it feels weirdly knowing even though they're strangers. probably strangers. does tommy know him? maybe the waiter's gay, too, and maybe he and tommy have hooked up? but tommy would have said something, or will say something. now tommy's unfolding the paper and definitely looking at the waiter's ass as he walks away. it's all A Lot and buck's upset, even as he remembers "it's okay to look."

(but does that apply to tommy, who knows he's gay? because he thought tommy meant it like, it's okay for buck to keep looking at women or still sometimes look at women because he's new to this. but tommy still looks at men even when he's with buck? that's—well okay of course he does, tommy knows what he likes, buck isn't dumb, or so cocky that he thinks he's the only guy tommy ever wants to look at again. tommy likes men. he's gonna look at men, and buck is gonna see him look at men sometimes.

(does anyone else see it, when tommy checks out men?)

"the note's from them?" buck turns around and the girls wave at them. buck weakly gives a thumbs up and turns back to tommy, who's cracking up at the note. he hands it to buck:

sorry for hitting on you during your anniversary date!!! the spumoni here is SO GOOD! also: rachel b. (that's me!!): 2 (does my sister's bachelorette party count?) cindy: 4 (seven sisters school haha) patricia: 00000000 (boring! sorry! and you guys are so hot!!! please reconsider? jk!!!) rachel s.: 5 (i thought i was the token gay and here's CINDY) sarah (recently a divorcée): 1 but that number is going UP happy anniversary!!!!!

"oh, wow," buck says. "that's a lot of information."

tommy gets up and heads over to the women, crouches at their table. buck turns around and watches the way he makes them laugh, the way one of them touches his arm, the little glances they throw buck's way—it's different. it's different from the way tommy was acting with him here. he's louder and… gayer. hands way more… out there. lots of head tilts. one of the women from the other side of the table gets up and hugs tommy tight, and they all call out byeeeeeeeeeee tommyyyyyyy as he comes back. he's turning bright red as he sits with buck again. heads around the restaurant turn towards them and buck feels frozen on the spot.

tommy looks happy, then disappointed. "was that too much?"

"too much what?"

tommy raises his eyebrows.

"you keep doing that, like—"

"did i queen it up too much for you?"

"no i just… didn't know you were like that. or could be, sometimes."

tommy looks like he's about to say something bitchy, but then he puts it away. "that's what i mean. sometimes i'm obvious, even if you can't see it."

"i mean, that was obvious. you just put on a show for everyone."

tommy laughs, shocked surprise, and kind of angry. "and does that upset you?"

"no, of course not!" buck pauses. "did you know that waiter?"

"the waiter?"

"yeah, you were like, looking at him, and you checked him out."

"and? you checked rachel b. out when she was here and i didn't say anything. i said it was okay to look. which of these things is a problem?"

buck checks himself. he doesn't really know what he's mad about, or if he's even mad. he's just uncomfortable. everything feels uncomfortable and weird, and like everyone's looking at him. that waiter knows something about tommy, those girls like tommy more than they like him, and why wouldn't they? tommy was so cool and easy with them, and buck's all weird and awkward with everyone, and their anniversary dinner kind of sucks now.

"are you okay?" tommy asks. "are you gonna make me eat this whole plate of spumoni by myself?" he pauses. "are you jealous of that waiter?"

"i don't know." buck sits back and sulks. "i hate this place. i don't know why we keep coming here."

"well, the pizza's pretty good, this spumoni is great, and the last time we were here, you told eddie we were gonna pick up some hot chicks after we saw our movie." tommy's foot nudges buck's under the table; buck startles. "you move on from that at all? you still wanna go pick up hot chicks? there's five right over your shoulder. they're thinking of hitting up rachel s.'s favorite lesbian bar. they even asked if we wanted to come with them."

buck looks panicked. "did you say yes?" suddenly he remembers himself. "sorry, sorry, i mean—like, women i've dated talk about it all the time, you know, going to gay bars so they don't get hit on."

tommy nods, then leans in: "but they're going to a lesbian bar so they do get hit on." tommy leans back and says, "which is pretty funny."

"is it?"

"isn't it?"

"like…" buck doesn't even know what he wants to say. he doesn't really—he can't picture, exactly, what bothers him. "like what if they do meet someone, you know? some nice lady? and they make out or hook up and then one of them is like, actually sorry this was fun but—"

"so what?" tommy's eyebrows are climbing into his hair again. "you've never hooked up at a bar or club and done that? sorry, this was fun…"

"but they…"

"they need to take it more seriously?"

"yeah. yes. exactly. it's serious business!! it's not just walking into some bar and making out with a—being a woman and making out with a woman and maybe that's your whole thing now, or it's not your thing and—and what if she gets hurt, you know?"

"the hypothetical dyke that will instantly fall in love with one of the kinsey zeros through four and have her heart broken?"

"stop making fun of me, i'm serious."

"i can tell but i don't know what you're serious about." tommy adjusts his chair, sits up straight, but buck notices how he pulls his chair back a little, like he's making more space. space to leave? is he gonna get up and leave because buck is doing too much, or saying the wrong things, or being weird about women, or thinking about women, or not—

"it's really funny, actually," tommy says. "that hypothetical lesbian bar romance is the most i've seen you engage with like, anything gay besides getting your dick in my mouth."

"jesus, tommy, we're in public." buck doesn't even realize he's said something weird until he sees how tommy has gone so quiet and still. "i care about stuff. i engage."

"really? you didn't go to pride."

"i was working, so were you."

"i would have traded shifts if you wanted to go."

buck's uncomfortable again. "did i have to go?"

"of course not, but did you want to go? have you gone before?"

"of course i have," buck says, but he's not sure. he's usually working, and sometimes they get calls to handle something during pride but it's rarely anything weird: dehydration, party drugs gone wrong or too far. they're usually in and out before buck can get much pride done.

"i'm working, usually," buck admits. "but if you wanted to go…"

"it's not really my scene, either, but you didn't feel like… any kind of call? any kind of curiosity? what it would be like to take the day off, go to pride, be there with a boyfriend? like you'd be out there in your little shorts—"

"i don't own little shorts."

tommy smiles and he looks kind of mean, like he got a cheap shot at his expense except buck doesn't get it.

"what? i don't! they make my thighs look too big."

"alright, forget that. but the rest of it. you didn't want to be out with other gay people, showing off your boyfriend, getting shown off by your boyfriend? because i would have." tommy suddenly goes still again. "i would have shown you off."

a real gut punch. "tommy, i didn't know you wanted to go."

"i didn't know how much you didn't want to go."

"it just… it doesn't feel like it's for me! i didn't…"

tommy waits. buck waits.

"are you bisexual?" tommy asks. "pansexual? both? neither? queer? straight?"

defensively: "i'm not straight, i have a boyfriend."

"and that makes you…"

buck pauses. "i don't know." he looks at tommy, who looks worried.

"do you want to know?"

pause. "i guess i have to."

"you don't have to do anything, but it bugs me that you have a boyfriend and that's all you care about. it bothers me that it's been six months and you've never thought about all the times we've been clocked in public. being seen like that didn't bother you? or did you not notice?"

buck flinches. apparently the latter. "we have?"

"yes, evan. every coffee place or restaurant or bar with a little rainbow outside, and even the ones that don't. two guys head in together, standing close together, flirting with each other—"

"that doesn't mean…" buck hears himself.

"what? maybe it doesn't mean we're there to check out the glory hole in the back, but it means we're probably a couple. does that bother you? i mean, it clearly does, but did you even realize until now that it bothered you?"

"no! it didn't bother me because it wasn't a big deal. you're making it a big deal. why can't we just go out and have fun? now i have to go around and count how many people think we're gay, or if people even notice, or if i'm being weird and making it obvious i'm with you, or…"

"and, six months late, welcome to my life," tommy says. "seriously, do you want any of this spumoni or what?"

#911 meta #911 au #911 headcanons #bucktommy #bucktommy headcanons #queer stuff #my writing #thinking some thoughts #yes the ladies at micelli's are originally there to celebrate one of their divorces but this is an au

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mikibwrites · 5 days ago

Text

The Price is Right

inspired by @theweewooshow 's post about a kissing booth :) Happy Valentines Day everyone!

bucktommy | 1.4k | G | ao3

This is ridiculous. He’s officially lost his marbles.

Tommy’s been in this line for at least fifteen minutes, and every third minute of that has been spent telling himself he should leave. The other 2 minutes of each spiraling cycle have been spent eavesdropping his fellow hopefuls in line, listening to their tittering about how hot the firefighter working this shift of the booth is, surreptitiously cataloguing every person that he can see in front of and behind him and evaluating them on what–little, sadly–he knows about Evan’s preferences and whether or not their dreams of bagging a date with him will come true. Which then, in turn, sends him back into spiraling and berating himself for being among them, given his history with said firefighter.

He needs to leave.

There are roughly ten people in front of him, and Evan definitely hasn’t spotted him yet. He could totally duck out and no one would be the wiser. He contemplates pulling his phone out of his pocket with an air of importance, putting the completely silent device to his ear and pretending something dire has just happened that requires his immediate attention. No one would question him for getting out of line, no one would suspect that he’d lost his nerve. They’d think, wow, he must be important to be needed somewhere so urgently.

Tommy’s definitely, officially for real this time, lost his marbles.

Also, there are now only seven people left in front of him.

As he watches each person get their sweet little peck on the cheek, he tries to tell himself this is for a good cause. The money goes to charity. There’s nothing weird about giving to charity. Nothing at all. There’s also nothing stopping him from just dropping the money in the basket on a table near the door that’s designated for just plain donations. He doesn’t need to get anything out of it if that’s all he’s hoping to do.

He’s definitely hoping to get something out of it. He can at least admit that to himself, if nothing else.

Five people left.

“Oh my god, he’s so hot,” Tommy hears from behind him. “Look at those arms. Hold me down, daddy.” He almost chokes, the girl’s voice clearly pitched for just her friend next to her to hear, but he’s apparently blessed with supersonic hearing. The friend chimes in as well. “I wonder if he’s actually a good kisser or if he’s one of those dudes who relies on his rizz alone and then can’t deliver when it counts.”

Tommy has no idea what ‘rizz’ is, but he has to physically stop himself from turning around and describing for this girl in detail just how good of a kisser Evan is, how well he can deliver. He’s sure that wouldn’t go over well.

Two people left. Evan is being so gracious and attentive to each of his patrons that he still hasn’t noticed Tommy. He could still make a run for it.

He’s not going to.

There’s roughly enough time for one more cycle of spiraling before he makes it in front of Evan, but Tommy chooses to spend it going over what the hell he’s going to say. Surely, Evan may protest giving his ex a kiss, even if it’s for charity, given the way they ended. It’d be well within his right to do so. So Tommy needs to have some justifications ready just in case Evan gets the wrong idea here.

And what is the idea? Tommy failed to decide before he attempted this ridiculous stunt. Honestly, he’s been so, so god damned touch starved since he walked out Evan’s door that he thinks he’d do anything for just a brush of fingertips from Evan at this point. And that’s it, really…he only wants it from Evan. His coworkers have told him multiple times that he needs to just go out and get his ex out of his system–Donato offered to wingperson for him, even–but the very idea turns his stomach.

But did he actually think that throwing some money at charity at a kissing booth of all things was going to get them anywhere near a reconciliation? Jesus, he should have just texted. Not that he hasn’t tried that, many many many times, and all of them ended up deleted because regardless of what he likes to tell himself he does not have the courage to put himself out there without the reassurance–or despair–of seeing Evan’s actual expression when he says what he wants to say.

Which is…what? Exactly? He still hasn’t deci–

“Tommy?”

Shit. He’s missed the last person in front of him getting their dutiful peck on the cheek, and now he’s run out of time.

Evan’s voice as he says his name is full of awe, trepidation, and…dare he say it…hope? His expression is even more devastating: like he’s seeing the sunrise just beginning after a century spent underground. His narrowed eyes are earnest and a little guarded, but they are trained wholly on Tommy.

Shit….what was he going to say?

“Uh, yeah. Hi. I, um…well I. Uh.” Tommy runs his fingers over his hair roughly, feeling unbearably stupid and exposed. He should have run when he had the chance. “Look, Evan, I–”

Evan’s breath hitches audibly at the sound of his name. They’re staring at each other.

“Shit or get off the pot, dude, we’re all paying customers!” Some guy further back in line is shouting.

“Um. Did you want a kiss?” Evan says, his face turning pinker by the second. And this. This Tommy can definitely answer.

“Yes,” he says, with maybe a little too much conviction behind the word for their current circumstances. Evan seems to clock it immediately, his eyes flicking down to Tommy’s mouth before coming back up to his eyes, his expression morphing to hopeful disbelief. “But, I mean, you don’t have to, here, I know you probably weren’t expecting–”

Tommy’s words are cut off by Evan’s mouth sealing onto his.

God, god, he’s missed these lips. Each slide is like a revelation, and the thought is not lost on him that they’re in the middle of what is essentially a work function, they are both in uniform for christ's sake, having a whole existential crisis shared along with their breath and space and saliva. Because yes, Evan has now bullied his insanely talented tongue right behind Tommy’s teeth and is exploring like he’s going to be asked to draw a map later.

Evan kisses him long, hard, and thorough, endless seconds ticking by and Tommy definitely doesn’t listen to any of the complaining going on in the line behind him. Evan does, though, and he very reluctantly pulls his lips away from Tommy’s and blinks in the most adorably flustered way and Tommy’s so, so gone on this man. How did he ever walk away from this?

“Can we talk?” Evan asks breathlessly.

“Please. But maybe later. Your adoring public awaits,” he adds, gesturing with his thumb to the line behind him, still nearly thirty people strong. He can’t blame them, but he’s also feeling a tad possessive so he leans in one more time to press his lips to the apple of Evan’s cheek, causing the blush to intensify when he pulls away.

Tommy begins to turn to walk away, his smile already making his cheeks sore when Evan clears his throat. He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t pay, you know.” He’s smirking, the little shit.

Before Tommy can make a move, someone in line shouts, “Damn! How much does it cost to get that?”

“That is not for sale,” Evan states with finality, but he’s still looking at Tommy, lips pursing, trying to hold back a full blown grin. There are a few groans from the line.

Tommy reaches into his wallet, pulls out a $100, and slaps it on the table in front of Evan. “What time does your shift end?”

“In thirty minutes.”

“Meet me at the cafe two blocks down. Bring those lips. We’ll talk.” Tommy congratulates himself on being smooth as he smirks right back at the look on Evan’s face.

“Mmm, okay. I’ll bring these lips. But I hope you remember they’re good for more than just talking,” Evan adds as Tommy turns to walk away.

He retracts his self-congratulations as he trips over his own feet.

#bucktommy #911 on abc #911 fic #inspired by a post #thank you Janai for inspiring me! felt so good to write SOMETHING after all this time :)#also I am roughly Tommy's age and I'm hoping this has been a successful deployment of 'rizz' 😂

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gh0stsp1d3r · 3 months ago

Text

Maybanks sister

part 4, chapter 1- let’s do this shit!

summary: after el dorado, your lives are finally getting back to normal. However, someone’s still missing from your life. After a long week, a run in with that someone is the last thing you needed.

a/n: ahhh! Finally some rafe and reader moments lol. they’re a bit in a pining but not talking stage right now. They’re gonna get to talk soon, don’t worry.

SERIES MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

“-98.5%… gold.”

“And that translates to?”

“This is money. A whole lot of money.”

With a smile on his face and everyone else cheering, John B leaned over the table to shake the man’s hand.

You guys went straight to the gas station, with the nearest atm machine being inside.

“Moment of truth.” John B murmured, all of you crowding around the atm.

“Pin is 0-0-0-0… enter.” John B said, entering his pin into the machine.

“You’re kidding.” Sarah had to suppress a laugh.

“Tell me that’s a temporary pin.” You snorted, John B turning to look at you now.

“I thought nobody could guess-“

“You need to change that immediately, dude.” You told him with a loud laugh.

“I’m sorry-“ he turned his head back to the machine when it started to make noise, signaling it was ready.

“Here it comes.”

As soon as the paper came out, JJ reached for it before him and John B fought over it. “That’s me, that’s me,” he said, “let me read it!”

“It’s not even the money, it’s just the receipt!”

You rolled your eyes at the boys, John B winning in the end, opening and pulling it open.

“Okay, okay,” John B said, reading it. “Our joint account balance…”

“Mhm..”

He took a pause, before Cleo told him to get on with it, everyone impatient.

“Our joint account balance is… one point one million… seventy two thousand, five hundred and forty nine dollars.”

“You said mil?”

“Million?” You and pope asked at the same time.

“Um…” John B said, everyone processing just how much money that was.

“That’ll do it!”

He nodded in agreement, everyone cheering and celebrating, being unable to even comprehend just how much that was.

“Holy shit…” you spoke, you laughing to yourself, Sarah laughing with you.

“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever seen on a piece of paper.” Pope said, you smiling and talking to Cleo.

JJ went over to the cooler, taking a beer out and downing it. Kiara glanced over at him, noticing his distance from everyone.

She walked over to him, “You can smile, you know.” She told him, leaning against the cooler.

He sighed, staring at her.

“Look, this doesn’t mean we’re kooks. Just means we have a little money now.”

“Okay, okay, wait, wait, wait, wait… hear me out. Really truck with yellow LEDS to replace the Twinkie for now.”

“That is by far one of the dumbest ideas I’ve heard from you.” You told your brother, rolling your eyes at him.

“I’m not getting rid of the Twinkie.” John B shook his head.

“But with solar panels… maybe. If it’s in the budget.” Kiara suggested, tilting her head to the side.

“And a bigger boat.”

“Guys, hold on. Hold on. It’s… it’s not like we can all go off and buy houses or anything. I mean split between all of us, that’s about 167,507 dollars. Minus what we owe barracuda Mike.”

“Let him try and come take this. I’ll mess him up.”

“I’ll mess him up for my damn leg.” You agreed.

“I’m just gonna say it. I don’t wanna piss off the drug dealer.”

“Listen, if we divide this up, we’re all gonna blow it.” Pope said, everyone turning their heads to Jj the moment he said that.

“Wow, okay. Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“It’s kind of obvious.” You retorted.

“-But maybe if we pool our money together, we can create something with actual economies of scale.”

“Like what?” Kiara asked him.

“You remember the island.”

“Duh.”

“Of course.” Kiara shrugged.

“I mean, it was our own island, and we built everything from basically nothing, right?”

“It was perfect.” Kiara said.

“The best life.” Cleo nodded.

“That whole island just to ourselves. All of us together.”

“It was nice..” you nodded in agreement with them all.

“I think we can have that again. Right here. I mean, Y/n’s and JJ’s property is going up for auction, right? So let’s buy it back. I mean, look around. A lot of land. Deep water access…” he motioned to the water behind him. “unless any of you are planning on going back to school, we’re gonna need a place to work, a place to stay and live. I think we can have both of those things here.”

“Well, it’s a nice idea, but I mean, we’d have to get the land first.” You told pope, he nodded.

“Then we could build like, a.. surf shop. And then maybe we can make our own dock.”

“This place does need a dock.” You nodded, smiling at the image.

“Ooh, what about like a bait and tackle shop?” John B suggested.

“Yeah,”

“Exactly. And… and who knows these waters better than us?”

“Nobody.” You replied.

“JJ, y/n, you guys can get a new boat and run a fishing charter. We can all live and sleep in the house-“

“Just a small warning, if this works, I am not picking up after you little shits.” You told them all, specifically staring right at Jj.

“Hey! Why are you looking at me? I’m not the one who-“

You rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around him and ruffling his hair like you would do when you were kids.

“Because we all know how messy you are.”

“I’m not messy-“

“You most definitely are, yeah.” Sarah retorted, him huffing and shoving you off of him while the rest of you laughed.

Before the auction, you went up to Jj, pulling him to the side.

“What?” He asked you, glancing at his friends in front of you all.

“Hey, I know how you’re feeling about the house and shit, but please, don’t do some stupid shit?”

“Don’t worry, sis. We’ll get the house back easy.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, jay.”

“I’m not gonna… do some stupid shit, alright? Trust me. I got this.” He held his hand up.

You sighed, he did not have this.

“Here’s the plan. We go up in one-dollar increments, all right? It’s gonna take a while, but we’re gonna need to save every cent we have for construction.”

“Popes on point, JJ. Got it?”

JJ let a hum, although he hesitated.

“Don’t change the plan.” Pope stared at the pair of you and your brother, you looking offended.

“Hey, don’t look at me, look at this idiot.” You poked your finger into JJs head, him rolling his eyes at you.

Everyone turned to the auctioneer, him pointing to the picture of your dad’s property.

Honestly, you wouldn’t know what you would do with yourself if you didn’t get the house. You grew up in that house, and while you may have a lot of bad memories in those walls, you loved it the same. It was like you could still hear the laughter of you and JJ as kids echoing off the walls.

It was a part of you at this point.

And you knew Jj felt the same way, you could tell it in his eyes.

“-The foreclosure sale of 14 Roger’s point road. Now, this is the old Maybank place.”

“You know, uh, the cuts gonna be figure 8 in a few years. You walk away now, you won’t have to scurry off with your tail between your legs… and I’ll, uh, give you a little taste on the back end.” he spoke to you lowly, you staring at the man in disbelief.

“You’re gonna be dead before that happens.” You told the man, annoyed at what he had just said.

He stared at you with raised eyebrows through his glasses.

“Hey, Dale, was it?” JJ pushed you to the side, standing in front of the man now.

“That’s correct.”

“It’s not happening, hoss.” He cracked his knuckles. “Let’s play ball.”

You stared at Pope, already knowing what would go down.

“150 bid, bidder with 200, I’ve got 200…”

…

“I’ve got 775,000 bid,”

“This is way over our price range.” Pope told John B.

“Will you make him stop, please?” Sarah asked him:

“Get him out of here.”

John B went over to JJ, who you’ve already attempted to stop multiple times.

“Hey, please, it’s too much.”

“Just let me handle this. I’ve got it.. dude, I’ve got it!” He fought John b off of him, “775,010, right here, sir.” Jj shouted.

“775,010 to the gentleman in red.”

“Oh my god!” Pope groaned.

You sighed, half in relief and half in annoyance. Your brother was dumb to be paying that much, but you knew, deep down, you knew why he did. No one else would understand, but you would.

“That’s too rich for my blood, Rog.” Zeasy spoke, John B and Jj staring at each other.

“775,010 bidder, looking for 8…”

The auctioneer continued on, “going once, going twice, sold right here to the gentleman in red. Congratulations.”

Everyone in the group groaned, Jj turning back to Zeasy, holding his hand out.

“The most expensive property in the cut, and it’s not worth it.” He chuckled.

“Well, it is to us, sir. Now, if you can scurry off to your side of the island, and stay there, that’d be appreciated.” He waved his hand, wrapping his arms around John B.

“I get shit done. We got it. That’s all that matters. Whoo! All right.”

“What an idiot.” You murmured to yourself.

“33% above market value. Wildly overpaid. Thats like all the money.” Pope told John b, before walking past him.

You stared at JJ, him looking back at you.

“What?” He asked, you shaking your head at him.

“Well, would you like to do the honors or should I?” You asked your brother, both of you standing in front of the caution taped door.

He shrugged, his hands going to the ends and beginning to rip it off.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I christen thee Poguelandia 2.0.” He spoke, holding the ripped up caution tape in both hands before throwing it.

You stared at him, ripping off the remaining tape.

“Let’s turn this piece of shit into our home.” You told him with a small smile.

“Let’s do it.”

He smiled back, both of you doing your usual handshake, before he opened the door and saluted to the rest of the group.

“We’re home, y’all.”

Construction on the house was the hard part of it all, everything you guys had bought and used had been as cheap as possible, even using old wood from your dad’s old shed.

And finally, after months of construction, you all felt like you had finally perfected it. JJ had his own charter, everything had been feeling normal. Better than normal.

JJ put the sign down at the dock, a proud smile on his face as he stared at everything you all had accomplished.

“Think we’re about done.” You told John B, both of you nodding and smiling, doing a handshake of your own.

“Hey, guys!” JJ called from down the dock, his hat in his hands. “I think we did it.”

“Hell yeah we did!” You shouted back.

“We’re in business baby! Wow!” He shouted, you and John B laughing at his antics. “Oh my gosh, this feels good!” He pumped his fist in the air, and this was the happiest you think you’ve ever seen him.

Everyone watched with a smile on their faces, watching him cheer on and celebrate.

“That boys mad.” Cleo laughed, you nodding in agreement.

He got on the boat, “Captain Maybank at your service! Now that has a ring to it! Nothing can stop a pogue. Nothing!”

All of you laughed, watching him jump off and onto the dock.

“That’s what I’m talking ‘bout!”

“Yeah!” John B shouted.

“Is he okay?” Sarah laughed, Kiara watching him with a smile on her face.

“Yeah. Yeah. He just never really had a home. He’s happy.”

You listened to the girls conversation, finding yourself smiling at it.

He began to dance, talking wildly to himself.

“Slow down, you’re killing ‘em!”

“Twinkle toes, all right!”

Kiara laughed, walking down to the dock, “having fun?” She asked him.

“A little bit.”

“Yeah?”

“What?” He asked, her staring at him with a wide smile on her face.

“I love you.”

He got closer to her, both of their lips crashing into each others.

You whistled at them, John B howling while Sarah laughed.

“We did it.” JJ pressed his forehead against hers, her arms wrapped around his body.

“We did. Somehow.”

“But we did it. We did it!”

That day was one that you swore you’d never forget, seeing him happy like that, that was all you wanted in your life.

Yet, intertwined with the moments of joy, there was a bittersweet ache in your heart. Thoughts of him, of Rafe, drifted through your mind.

It’s been almost two years, and you were still in love with him.

You couldn't shake the memories, the way his laughter would echo in your ears, the warmth of his presence that seemed to haunt your every thought.

A sense of longing wrapped around you, refusing to let go, painting your happiness with unfulfilled desire.

It was as if you could still imagine him looking at you, a small but soft smile on his face.

You knew he wouldn’t want to talk to you, he probably wouldn’t want to even see you.

He probably hated you now, you thought. After you told him about his dad, maybe he didn’t want to see you at all.

Unfortunately, a large thunderstorm the night before had knocked out the power, causing the live bait to pass away, everything ruined.

“What’s the damage, pope?” JJ asked him, pope sighing.

“Fuse box is busted. Without the live bait, the fishermen won’t come, and there goes half of our business right there. We have enough profit to cover it, but barely, just barely. All right?”

Pope walked over to a jar, pulling it down from the cabinet it was in. “This is it.” He pulled out a smaller jar of gold. “The last of our AU.”

“Uh, what?”

“What?”

“English, please.” You snickered.

“Gold. It’s the periodic symbol for gold.” He told you all, as if it was obvious.

“Why not just say gold?” You asked him

“Because it doesn’t matter, all right? This is all of our savings, and it’s a no-go. This is for property taxes. So,” he set the jar of gold on the table, “we’re gonna have to tighten up…”

“Which means no more 600 dollars in gas chasing tarpon up the gulf.”

“Pope, that’s our job-“ JJ started.

“Yeah!” you agreed.

“We were chasing a bait board-“

“No more 200 dollars in heirloom tomato seeds.” Pope continued, pointing at Kiara.

Everyone began to talk over each other, arguing over it.

“What about my imported peppers?”

“Peppers gotta go too, baby.”

“We need to run the charters!

“It’s not the tomato’s fault!”

“No, hey, guys! If the business starts failing, the sharks start circling. All right?” Everyone stopped arguing.

“And we don’t even know if your dad is coming back.”

“He’s got balls if he shows his damn face around here.” You glared at Pope.

“And it’s not even his anymore.” JJ chimed in, hitting his hand against the table he was leaning on.

“It doesn’t matter. What’s he gonna think when he sees all this?”

“He’s not gonna see it.” You spat, Pope sighed, ignoring your comment before continuing.

“Listen, if we want to save this place, we skinny up until the business gets afloat again. Okay?” Pope said, leaving the shack.

JJ glanced at the gold that Pope had left on the table, an idea popping up in his mind.

The enduro. A dumbass bike race where people place their bets on, mostly kook kids who have nothing better to do with it. It was also where your brother went to try his luck each year.

“What a fantastic day we got for racing today. You guys ready to burn some gas?”

People cheered, raising their cups and watching as everyone started practicing, their bikes throwing sand on the viewers.

“The race is kicking off soon, so make sure you get your bets in. And then wave your flag, you know what I’m saying?”

JJ stood there, gas being pumped into his bike. He glanced over to the bike next to him, where Topper sat with a smug face, nodding at JJ. Jj shook his head, turning away from the boy.

John B walked over to JJ, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s go baby! How we feeling today, champ?”

“Like I got this whole shot.”

“Yeah? Yeah?”

“I’m gonna win it this year. I know I am.”

“Yeah, you are.”

JJ turned to look at Cleo, “Cleo, how we doing, girl?”

“Everything’s all good, man.”

“Great.”

“The girl, out.”

“All right.” He raised his hand up, both of their hands meeting as they did a handshake.

“Hey! Bring it home, little boy.” She smiled at him.

“You know I will.”

John B smiled at him, grabbing his face. “You got this. All right?”

“I know.”

“Yeah, good luck.” John B said, beginning to walk away before JJ called his name.

“Hey, hold on one sec. Hold on.”

John B turned around, Jj walking up to him again.

“Where’d you park your bike?”

“Right there. Why?” He pointed, jj staring at him, hesitating.

“Gotta tell you something before we start.”

“Oh boy, JJ, what’s going on?”

“No, it’s really not that bad.” JJ replied, although John B did not believe him.

“Go on, then. Tell me, what’s up?”

“Like, literally you’re gonna be thanking me after. Okay? So… you know, I… I bet on me. To win.”

John B turned his head, pursing his lips together.

“I know, I know, funds are tight right now, but I feel good this year. So, I put in a bet on myself. Dude, the odds are like, seven to one!” He smiled, “with me on this thing, that’s like three to one.”

“Hold on, okay.”

“It’s free money.”

“Where did you get some extra money?”

“That’s what I’ve got to tell you. Um…” jj cleared his throat, “so, I went into the kitty and bet the last nug…. Now, before you say anything, I just gotta tell you-“

John B scoffed, backing away from JJ.

“Dude, listen, I got this, man.”

John B held his finger out, “JJ, JJ, just stop.” He walked over to JJ again, looking at him in disbelief. “Jj, are you serious?”

“Yes I’m serious.”

“That was our last 20 grand. That was supposed to go to property taxes for poguelandia.”

“Bro, I know! Okay? I know. I know you’re about to hit me now. I can sense it.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Save it. Gotta commit at this point. I got it. You know I do. But it wouldn’t hurt to have a little backup on this one. You know what I’m saying?”

“You want me to ride?”

“Just cover me. All right? Just like old times in the backyard. You and me? We school these fools, and we save the farm. You know we can do this. Easy.”

Your heart dropped when your eyes spotted the familiar bike, along with those damn blue eyes. His eyes met yours for a moment, and it felt as if time stopped, as if everyone else was gone in that moment.

“Oh my fucking god.” You mumbled to yourself, Pope raising an eyebrow at you, following your gaze.

Rafe stood there, a faint frown creasing his brow when he caught sight of you. A tight knot formed in his throat. He longed to close the distance between you two, to feel the warmth of your embrace or press his lips against yours again—anything to bridge th silence that had stretched between them.

It had been a year and a half since everything, yet his heart remained tethered to you. The weight of his lingering affection tormented him, and hehted how helpless he was.

He could see the tears begin to well up in your eyes, even from afar.

Topper was the one to snap him out of his daze, and Pope was the one to snap him out of yours.

Topper hit his shoulder, Rafe finally taking a breath when his eyes left yours.

“Dude, I told you, forget about her.”

“What? I wasn’t looking at her, dude.” Rafe lied, looking over at you, only to find you looking away again.

“Was he not here last year?” Pope asked you, you finally taking your eyes off of him.

“Yeah, he- he was, but I mean-it doesn’t matter, I gotta go. I can’t be here for this shit.” You held your hands up, your heart beat picking up and your palms beginning to get clammy.

“Just ignore him.“ Pope shrugged, you sighing, holding the back of your hands to your eyes, pressing on them.

You then realized, that he used to do the same thing. You put your hands down, glancing at Pope before speaking and turning around

“I’ll- I’ll be back.” You murmured, stumbling away from the crowd, leaning against a shed, taking deep breaths while trying to think about anything else.

“Shit, I need a drink.” You told yourself, taking one last deep breath before standing up and walking over to the nearest cooler, stealing a drink and downing the entire can in one go, before grabbing another.

You sighed when you walked up to Pope and Cleo, your eyes avoiding Rafe and instead looking at your brother and John B.

“Let’s do this shit, Jay!”

Taglist

@cassie0sstuff @rafesgiirl @fals3-g0d @tiaamberxx @callsignwidow @saintnourah @calmoistorm @ethanthequeefqueen @theoraekenslover @just-levyy @hallecarey1

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron series #maybanks sister #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x sister reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x y/n #obx #outer banks series #rafe fic #rafe fanfiction #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x female reader

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wynnyfryd · 1 year ago

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Trailer Park Steve AU part 5

part 1 | part 4

“…Henderson? Oh, holy shit, Henderson!!”

Eddie sounds like a kid on Christmas morning as he comes bounding across the street, movements like a great dane tripping over gangly limbs. He barrels into Dustin and tackles him in a great big hug, swings him off the ground in a circle and puts him back down so they can do some elaborate handshake with slaps and switchbacks and an ending tap-tap of their ankle bones.

What the fuck?

Steve watches this whole thing go down with his hands on his hips and his face doing something horribly sour because seriously what the actual fuck? Stupid handshakes with Henderson are his thing.

“What are you doing here, man?” Munson asks Dustin with a jovial pat on the back. Dustin’s squeezing him around the middle, tucked into his side like a little kid hugging a giant teddy bear, face just lit the fuck up with excitement over this. Steve feels his nostrils flare in a brief flash of petty rage.

“Steve!” he shouts happily. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re neighbors with Eddie?”

Eddie’s face falls when he looks up and sees Steve. Feeling’s mutual, dickwad.

“You’re here to see Harrington?” He asks in a voice like flat soda, all the earlier enthusiasm sucked out into the void. He takes a tiny step away from Dustin — just the smallest bit of distance, a subtle lightening of his touch against his shoulder — but Steve doesn’t miss the flicker of hurt that passes between Dustin’s brows. As if he needed another reason to hate this guy.

“Uh, yeah?” Dustin asks, confusion coloring his tone. “He’s my brother.”

“He’s your what?”

Steve’s chest swells with pride. “He said I’m his brother.”

“Not my blood brother,” Dustin clarifies, and Eddie makes a little noise. “But yeah. He’s fucking awesome. And you’re fucking awesome—”

“Language?” Steve tries for Claudia’s sake, but Dustin’s on a roll now, getting louder and more exuberant as he starts talking with his hands.

“—And oh, holy shit, this is the best! Wait ‘til I tell Mike and Lucas about this. With you guys living so close, we can hang out all the time! And we won’t even have to make two bike rides!”

Dustin leans in to squeeze Eddie in another hug, so stoked he’s bouncing on his toes a little (so stoked he doesn’t even bother to ask Eddie if it’s cool if the whole party shows up at his door, but that’s Dusty for you). His face is turned into the front of Eddie’s shirt, and over the top of his baseball cap Eddie gives Steve this look that Steve’s pretty sure he returns. Serious. Somber. Resigned. A fucking gallows stare, because…

Because fuck. Fucking- goddammit.

They’re gonna have to pretend to tolerate each other now. For Dustin.

Steve’s left eye starts to twitch.

—

“Are you selling him drugs?”

“Excuse the fuck outta you??”

Okay. Yeah. Bad start. Backtrack. Steve knows this is not the right way to approach a conversation, especially not when it’s Saturday night and you just interrupted your neighbor’s house party to be an accusatory dick to him. The Munson trailer door is wide open behind Eddie, and Steve can see a couple guys he vaguely recognizes from school sitting in the living room — a chubby white dude, a nerdy black guy, and a baby-faced kid with a scowl to rival Mike’s. They’re eating pizza and smoking cigarettes and sipping some cheap-ass brand of beer, and Steve is clearly interrupting.

“Sorry,” he tries again.

“Wow,” Eddie smirks. “Didn’t know you knew that word.”

“Shut up, man- just— ugh.” He takes a deep breath, wills himself to stop rolling his eyes at the guy he needs to ask a favor. “I’m sorry, okay? Can I just talk to you for a second?”

Eddie considers him for a moment; chin tilted up, lips pursed; and then he steps onto the porch and shuts the door behind him. “I’m listening,” he murmurs around a fresh cigarette, hand cupped around the end to light it.

He holds the pack out to Steve. “You want one?”

“Do I- what?”

Eddie shakes the box for emphasis. “Do you want one?”

“No, I heard you, I just…” The weird ceasefire between them is tripping him the hell up. He doesn’t think it’ll go too well if he says that out loud, though. “…Yeah. Fuck it. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

They smoke in silence for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, looking out into the dark of the woods that kind of freak Steve out if he lets himself look too long. Something about the branches like long, spindly fingers in the dark; like jittering spider legs; like a Mindflayer made of—

“You wanted to ask me something?”

Steve rubs his brow with his thumb, lets the panic out on a slow breath. “Yeah, I just… Look, I’m not trying to— I mean, I shouldn’t accuse you of anything, man. I just spent the afternoon getting myself all worked up thinking about it after he left, and- and Claudia needs me to look out for the kid, so—”

“Who the hell is Claudia?”

Steve tilts his head at him. “Dustin’s mom?”

“Oh.”

“I thought you two were close.”

Eddie shakes his head, curls bouncing around his shoulders, “Nah, man, not yet really. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the little guy’s cool and all — smart as shit, too—”

“Isn’t he?”

“Fucking genius. He’s gonna cure cancer or some shit, I swear.”

Steve catches himself smiling; hides it behind another quick puff of smoke.

“Anyway,” Eddie says, “I don’t really, like, know the dude. We just met because I run Hellfire.”

Oh. “The DnD club?” No wonder Dusty’s obsessed.

Eddie shoots him a look, a quick blink of pleasant surprise. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Cool. He loves that game.” Steve pulls in more smoke, takes his time on the exhale; lets the nicotine buzz swim in his veins. He forgot how nice it feels. “So yeah, Claudia— his mom—asked me to look out for him, y’know? And I just, I know you used to supply the weed for my house parties and shit— and it was good quality shit and all but I don’t—”

“Hold on,” Eddie says, snorting a little in disbelief. “You think I’m gonna sell weed to Dustin?”

Huh. “You wouldn’t?”

“Hell no! One, he’s way too young; that shit’s, like, bad for young minds or something, allegedly.”

Steve frowns to himself, thinking back to him and Tommy smoking weed in Tommy’s basement in middle school; the brain damage they probably gave themselves doing it. Whoops.

“Secondly, can he even smoke? I thought he was sick or something.”

“What? Why would you think he’s sick?” Oh, shit, is he sick? Does Steve not know about it because he missed all those family dinners?

“Dude, take a breath.” Eddie waves a dismissive hand, wafting smoke in pretty tendrils under the trailer’s flood light. “I just meant, like, chronically. ‘Cause of his bones and shit?”

“Oh,” Steve breathes, relieved. “Oh, yeah, no, he’s fine, he’s just like missing collarbones and stuff; he can bend like Gumby.”

Eddie laughs at that, dimple popping out, and Steve can’t help but laugh a little, too, remembering the last time he told someone that. “Don’t tell him I said that, though, he’ll get pissed.”

“Scout’s honor,” Eddie salutes.

“You a boy scout, Munson?”

“Nah, Harrington. Just figured you were.” His eyes are bright and playful, sort of magnetic as he drops the last of his cigarette and stubs it out with the toe of his boot. “Anyway, I gotta get back to the boys. You wanna stick around for a beer, or are you satisfied with my answer, Nanny Steve?”

“Okay, do not fuckin’ call me that,” Steve laughs, sharp and short. Tries to season the words with a glare, but Eddie’s face is too impish and pleased to hold on to any real anger. “And I appreciate the offer, but I think your friends would try to kill me.”

“Mm, yeah,” Eddie agrees, wiggling his fingers as he waves a hand to gesture at the whole of Steve. “Gareth is not exactly a fan of your kind.”

Aaand he’s pissed again. Jesus Christ. “My kind?”

“Yeah. Jocks? Rich assholes?” His lips tip up in a crooked smirk, “Or, well—”

“Don’t.”

Steve’s just done with his stupid jokes suddenly, and Eddie must hear how much he means it because he raises his palms in surrender and steps back. Always stepping back and away, this guy. Fucking coward.

Steve doesn’t know why he reacts like this, but the shame is turning to fiery fury in his gut, curdling his blood like sour milk, pricking hot at his lash line. Damn it; he’s not about to let Eddie Munson of all people see him cry.

He scoffs at himself, shoves his hands into his pockets. “Whatever, man,” he sniffs as he turns his back on him, “Enjoy your party. Screw you.”

—

The most pathetic part, Steve thinks to himself as he writhes and twists in his tangled, sweaty sheets; 2am and he’s up again after a nightmare because of fucking course he is; is that somewhere between the insomnia and guilt over the way their conversation imploded earlier, his staring-blindly-at-the-ceiling-until-his-eyeballs-start-to-burn morphs into, like, daydreaming about how it could have gone.

He keeps repeating the scene in his mind, rewinding the tape to let it play out in richer detail.

It goes like this:

1. Eddie comes over.

2. Eddie comes over and apologizes.

3. Eddie comes over in the middle of the night to apologize because he’s so, so sorry that he just can’t wait until morning, even though it wasn’t really his fault; no, Steve’s the sorry one; no, Eddie is; no, they’ll both agree to do better, for the kids.

4. It’s two in the morning, after the cars are all gone and the party’s died down, and Eddie comes quietly across the yard; taps gently on Steve’s window so he doesn’t wake his mom.

Steve leans out and snaps, “What?” because he’s still a little pissed, and Eddie makes big, contrite eyes and plays with his own hands; fingers dancing in nervous circles; spinning rings.

“Listen, I, uh—” Eddie begins, “I might have… Shit, man, I might’ve been a bit of a massive dick earlier, and seeing as we have to play nice on account of the kiddos, I— do you- I mean— come have another smoke with me? Please.”

Please.

It’s a pleasant dream. Steve rewinds again, lets it play out in his head for a few more loops. Falls asleep just as he’s getting the dialogue right.

When he wakes up, Munson’s van is gone.

They don’t talk again for weeks.

—

part 6

tag list got absolutely outta hand lmao and i can’t tag some of y’all bc of your privacy settings, so sorry if i didn’t tag you but here ya go i did my best 🩷 follow the tag #trailer park steve au for future parts. @steves-strapcollection @discorporatedmess @questionablequeeries @nburkhardt @disrespectedgoatman @a-little-unsteddie @thedragonsaunt @ledleaf @perseus-notjackson @devondespresso @loop-deloo @annabanannabeth @thewyvernkore @callas-shitshow @sentry-nest @aliea82 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @steddie-as-they-go @insominaticthoughts @lofaewrites @crazyhatlady86 @gothwifehotchner @potent-idiocy @discount-izukumidoriya @hbyrde36 @goldensnitchbcs @mightbeasleep @lawrencebshoggoth @beckkthewreck @silversnaffles @dawners @hellion-child @stray-bi-kids @iswearitsjustme @ilovecupcakesandtea @slowandsteddie @gaysonthefloor @pennyplainknits

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #dustin henderson #corroded coffin #gareth stranger things #jeff stranger things #unnamed freak stranger things #my writing #my fic

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dollwhite · 1 month ago

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wow..?.

part two

Made by Dollwhite

I’m so glad I got this done 😣 it was kicking my ass all lest week ps I need friends 😭 pls be my friend, I like DC things, I kinda like K-pop?. Oh and I love food, ima go grab some food right now!! I also like transformers my favorite is bumblebee 😭 yes I know that’s basically everyone’s favorite. But idc 💗

Now..Wally was sitting with his friends in his apartment. Trying to explain why.. his ‘girlfriend’ they don’t believe he has one. They think he payed some hot chick to play his girlfriend.

”ok what I’m not understanding is that, YOU Wally west got a hot girlfriend before me?” Conner questioned. “ ya just agh, and I’m fine, sum not added up. You pay her?” He added on. It wasn’t a bad joke, no. He was seriously questioning him. Wally with a girlfriend that’s hot at that!? if ya told Conner this a week age, he would have never believed it. But with his super hearing….

HIS NOT A CREEP!!! sometimes the super hearing be hearing even when he doesn’t mean it. So well Wally and let’s call her hot girl were talking he… may or may have not been listening to their conversation..

”agh, what’s there not to understand dude. Yes, I have a girlfriend she’s hot! Big deal cuz after this I might not have a girlfriend!!. and did you just called me ugly?? Your ugly!!” Wally shouted. this is exactly why he didn’t tell them he had a girlfriend. He thought they would over react, and that’s exactly what they’re doing.!

“If she’s your girlfriend why did ya let her walk home dude, it’s Gotham. Dangerous place for a lady to be walking around all alone.” Artemis asked.

Because who just lets their girlfriend walk around at night IN Gotham? If that was her girlfriend that would not be the case. She’s not judging, she is but that’s beside the point.

“My- she’s not the type to want people to go after her. If she walks away she wants to be alone. If that wasn’t the case do you think i would just let her walk away?” Wally replied.

he would never let his girlfriend walk around Gotham, if he didn’t think you could take care of yourself.

“Uh even if she’s wants to be alone wouldn’t have made sense for to at lest text her, just to make sure she got home safely?” Dick stated

he hasn’t seen Wally pick up his phone at all. Dick can get wanting to give your girlfriend space but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to check up on her.

That’s just a basic boyfriend rule always check up on your girlfriend even if they are mad at you.

“It would end up with me being blocked.” Wally grumbled. “So how are we going to get her to forgive me?” Wally quickly added, on before any of them could comprehend what had been said moments earlier.

“The fuck you mean we?? I’m not the one that got her mad at you.” Conner argued.

“yeah dude I’m with Conner on this one, you never get involved with in a augment between a couple. Plus you kinda brought this on yourself.” Dick scolded, even if Wally was his best friend. He will never get between a arguing couples.

“I did not bring this on myself! She got mad because you all crashed our date.” He said, he knows he plays a part of you getting mad at him but he can’t take all the blame.

”hm I believe you did.” Artemis stated, grabbing a hand full of gummy bears off the little coffee table.

Now four people including Wally were standing outside of your condo….

you were grabbing a water out of your freezer, when all of sudden you saw you front door handle being unlocked.

Seeing your door unlocked well you were standing in your kitchen. Was something.. a big something. You know you boyfriend had a key to your place but he always texted you a heads up before coming over. As you approached the front door it swung open. Revealing, your boyfriend Wally and what you assumed are three of his close friends.

“Hi.?.” You said confusion written all across your face. Glancing you noticed favorite flowers and f/c sitting tightly in Wally’s arms. “What are you doing here.?” You asked steeping to the side so all of them could walk through your door.

“ we came here to apologize.” Wally muttered. “ No, you came to apologize we came here to meet the pretty lady!” Artemis quickly corrected. Her eyes consciously making their why over to you, “I love your boots where ya get them?”

“Oh, I got them for Christmas so i don’t really know.” Your eyes glanced down at your Demonia camel 311 boots. They were cute high boots your grandfather got you for Christmas, you don’t know we’re in heaven he found them.

Y’all can just imagine the apology part AGH I’m done if I spend any more time on this story I think ima be having dreams about it 😭 thank y’all so much for 45 followers!! Ps the reason this took so long was because my dumb ass actually deleted this the first time I wrote it so I had to redo it all over again 😕 Tumblr needs to get a box for all the deleted things cuz i promise the next time I delete something on accident ima quit.

Also I am half way done making a plot for BRAT 😆 and yes chapter 3 most likely will not be here until 7-11 because that’s when my package is coming, I Ordered it on the 25 last month but it’s still not here 😔. I might make a part three but I might not it just depends on how I feel.

Bye loves dollwhite signing out💗

#batfam x fem reader #damian wayne x reader #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #conner kent x reader #yandere young justice x reader #black reader #yandere tim drake x reader #batfam x batsis #batsis!reader #wally darling #wally west #wally west x reader #fem reader #feminine sissy #female reader #girl reader #made by Dollwhite #dollings work

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dumbpuppyfag · 4 months ago

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look dude we've been over this so many times, you need the restraints because you keep getting scared and pulling away when i try to give you your t shot. you made that stupid yelping noise and tried to slap it out of my hand last time, remember? cmonnn, don't you wanna be a good boy for me?

HAAAA! so that's how to get you to play nice, i shoulda guessed :3 okay so just lie down, breathe deep, aaaaand... done! see how easy it is when you just obey me instead of being a whiny little faggot about everythi- oh wow what was that? make that noise again dude, that was adorable. cmonnnnnnn, lemme hear it.... is it because i called you a whiny little faggot?? a silly, dumb, needy, drippy, grinding, cumbrained little mutt?!

ohhhhhh my god bro are you fucking drooling? you've got it baddddd, you'd probably give aaaaaanything to be able to move your twitchy lil paws right now, wouldn't you? you'd probably even bark for me if i wanted....

whoa that was pretty good! still though, i don't like the idea of letting you loose while you're this feral :/ you could get into all sorts of trouble without me to keep an eye on things, your judgement's gonna be so clouded with these hormones swirling into your brain... grinding yourself on anything and anyone that catches your eye, cumming yourself stupid over and over... and frankly i really don't like this potty mouth you've picked up either, calling me such horrible names after everything i've done for you. you clearly need some kinda supervision while you're like this.

honestly i think it's in your best interests to stay right here where i can see you. you're gonna lie there, bound up nice and tight, we're just gonna watch some stuff on your laptop, and if you end up needing aaanything at all from me then you can just go ahead and ask. don't worry, i'm just gonna pull videos from your search history. you're gonna LOVE em :3

#for my boys :3 #i love u boys

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greenorangevioletgrass · 5 months ago

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if this is a sin, a punishment (a.d.)

Pairing: art donaldson x popstar!reader

Summary: three years, three encounters. Moving on is a fickle thing, and why is it always worse the second time around? (part 1)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: smoking, drinking, language, greek mythology references, some german slander lol, almost cheating?, art doesn't give a fuck lol, so much pining, hella angst (i swear the next part will be happy i swear!)

Notes: im back! work has taken up my brain capacity, and while im very grateful to write for a living now, i was unable to write for fun lol. but we're back, and i hope we'll have a good time reading. Big up to @ysuftmikey and @tommysparker for being awesome and hearing out my incoherent rambles about this story. But anyway, please comment, reblog, talk to me and tell me what you think about it! Happy reading!

**i do not have a taglist. Follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass andd turn on the notifications to be alerted for new fics and updates!**

Paris, June 2012.

As the new face of Dior, your appearance on the front row of their runway show is paramount. You’re not just there because you have to, you’re there because you love it. It’s equally important that you are well-versed in the thoughts behind next season’s trends of the fashion house. The fashion show is as much a celebration of craftsmanship as it is a coveted social event, and you’re oh so happy to be a part of it.

Or so you said in your Vogue cover story.

In reality, you’re getting decked out and posing for pictures and scrutinizing the details of every look that comes out because it’s a job. Sitting next to some buff dude in a manbun that barely gives you enough space for yourself.

His broad shoulder bumps against yours, effectively snapping you out of your reverie. “Oh, sorry.”

You’re about to murmur a politely dismissive remark, but it all fades away when you see his face, profile-first. It’s been almost a full year since you last saw that silhouette. There’s no way of forgetting it, even underneath the dramatic lights of the runway, not even if you tried.

“It’s you,” you breathe out, all wide-eyed and slack-jawed like an idiot in front of him.

He hears you before he sees you, really sees you, and his heart nearly stops. Of course! You’re right under his nose, and he didn’t see you. And how he yearned to see you since that night in London. How he wanted to lay it all out on the line, pour his heart out, but instead what comes out is…

“It’s me.”

The whole world starts again, pretty people milling back around as you blink. Warmth returns to your face, as you finally regain some sense. “Art!”

He murmurs your name as he hugs you, and he never wants to let go. He wants you to fucking come home with him because home doesn’t make sense until you’re here.

“Wow…” he flashes that signature crooked smile as he marvels at you—not stare, marvel. “What are the odds, huh?”

“I know!” You fight the flight of the butterflies in your stomach, but it’s impossible. “You grew your hair out, huh?”

“Yeah, just… trying something new.” His hand reaches up to the back of his neck sheepishly.

The blond mop no longer frames his face like Apollo incarnate. You can actually see his face better now with his hair pulled back. The depth of his eyes, and the soft parenthesis of his smile. But at the same time, his facial features look… a little heavier now. A little older. More mysterious.

But of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with, “Well, you look great.”

Art lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He’s rocked this look for a while now, but he wants—no, needs— you to like it.

“I heard you won the French Open, by the way. Congratulations.” Your hand lands on his shoulder, much like the last time you saw him, but neither of you address it. Not outwardly, anyway.

(If his heart flutters, he hopes you won’t notice.)

“Ah well, it’s… yeah. Thanks!” He can’t help but light up. He wonders if Wimbledon has hooked you into tennis, or maybe, just maybe, you were keeping up with him…? “What have you been up to?”

“I’ve just been in the studio a lot. Recording, mixing, mastering the new album… boring shit.”

Art shakes his head. He doesn’t believe anything you do is boring. “When’s that coming out?”

“November. And if all goes well, we’re gonna tour it next summer.”

“Holy shit.”

“You know what they say. The devil works hard…”

But this unstoppable force of nature in front of him works harder. It has been almost a year since you last saw him. Eleven months and some 20-odd days since you shared that cigarette on that balcony. Since you broke his heart. And he still looks at you like a goddamn miracle. It disarms the fuck out of you.

“Hey, listen—”

“There you are!” a tall, leggy blonde cuts him off mid-sentence with a kiss to Art’s cheek, rambling in German as she takes the empty seat on his other side.

Fuck.

Art replies back to her in German, a little more hushed, but your head is already reeling. You don’t know what to make of this feeling in your gut—it squeezes you from the side, and twists you all the way to your throat. Like wringing the air out of you.

Art smiles almost apologetically at you, his hand falling on the woman’s knee. “Yeah, this is… Tatiana, my girlfriend.”

You exchange pleasantries and shake hands. Maybe. It’s all a blur and you’re fighting tooth and nail to stay present in this conversation.

You manage a smile, pushing through the ache of trying to sound courteous. Friendly. Normal. “I was just telling Art that I’m going on tour this summer. You guys should definitely come to a show.” Emphasis on ‘you guys’.

Art opens his mouth, but Tatiana goes ahead and answers for him. Her glossy lips pull up into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She doesn’t even bother hiding it. “Hm, we’ll see. Art is very busy with his own tour, you see.”

“Of course. For sure.” You nod at Tatiana, getting the message. Your gaze barely grazes Art, even though you want nothing more than to reacquaint yourself with his features.

Art watches you turn away, fixing your gaze towards the runway, and his heart aches. The way his hand rests on Tatiana feels cold—he might as well be resting his hand on a railing.

He keeps his gaze straight ahead at the models coming and going the entire show. And if he accidentally catches a glimpse of your profile, or your manicured hand when he looks down on his lap, he’ll take what he can get. God knows he doesn’t get to ask for anything for more.

*****

The Dior afterparty is held in some French chalet, and after making the rounds with Tatiana, Art feels himself disengaging from the group conversation altogether. He mutters out an excuse to get a breather and wanders up the winding staircase. There are still people along the hallway, chatting and drinking by old-ass paintings and bust statues and tall vases.

Art takes a gamble and opens a door, simply eager for some peace and quiet. The knob gives and the room is dark, save for a large bay window on the other side, the moon shining bright… and the girl sitting there.

“Hey, room’s taken!” You flick the ash off of your cigarette out the window, ready to fend for your occupation. But then you catch a glimpse of his face in the light, and you relax. “Oh. It’s you.”

Art feels his face flush. He really should back the fuck off and leave, but his feet only bring him closer and closer to you into the room. “Sorry, I was just trying to find someplace quiet. I didn’t realize…” he cuts himself off when he sees the cigarette between your fingers, and he chuckles.

“What? You know I smoke.”

“A woman of taste, huh?” His eyes flicker to the pack propped on the windowsill in amusement and he wonders if you smoked Marlboro Green because of him (You do.)

You grab the pack and slide a cigarette out for his easy access, but he doesn’t take it. Not right away. Shit, was this a bad idea? Does he not smoke anymore? “Come on, your secret’s safe with me.”

Art takes another look at the cigarette, then at the door. He raises his forefinger in wait, going over to shut the door closed and then rushing over to you with a mischievous smirk at the cigarette. He looks like a kid, giddily settling in for a forbidden vice.

This time, you’re the one leaning over to light his cigarette. His hair falls over the other side of his face, and you watch him tuck the loose strand behind his ear. His eyelashes resting on his skin as he takes that delightful first drag. He can feel the nicotine hitting him straight to his head, and that’s how he wants to consume you.

You settle back in your seat against the wall, the smoking hand hanging out the window, and Art does the same. He sees your legs folded over to the side, almost touching him, and he has half the mind to pull them over his lap.

“It’s been a minute, huh, Art?” You take another drag, trying to calm your nerves down a little.

“Yeah, it really has.” He throws away his smile up at the moon, amused at how familiar this is. “Why are you hiding out here?”

”My shoes are killing me.” You absently massage your ankle with your free hand, throwing a sideways glance at your pair of So Kate’s on the floor. “And my social battery’s shot down.”

”That’s not very Dionysian of you.”

It makes you smile. He still remembers (though, in his defense, the whole encounter last year was pretty hard to forget). “I beg to differ.” You lift up a bottle of Moët that you stole downstairs.

Art’s smile widens as he makes a grabby hand at the champagne. You happily hand it to him, fingers barely grazing against him. He takes a swig and thinks, let me just steal your kiss from the lip of the bottle. It tastes better than the five other glasses he had back at the party.

“So how have you been?”

An easy question for a loaded answer. Art shrugs. “Ah well, you know. Still training, still competing…”

“You still pushing that rock uphill, huh?” You can’t fight the knowing grin on your face.

Art groans with a haze of smoke in his wake, leaning back against the wall. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m all about that Sisyphean grind.”

“Shut the fuck up!” The words fly out of your mouth, and it makes him laugh. And you can’t help but laugh with him. “You just won the French Open. Isn’t that like a—what do you call it, a… Grand Slam right there?”

He raises his eyebrows at you, impressed at your improved tennis knowledge. Maybe Wimbledon did hook you in. “Yeah, well… I still need to win the US Open. It’s the only one that counts, right?”

It’s absolutely ridiculous, Art knows that, but until then… There's no rest for the wicked like him. And you see right through him. It’s almost like looking in the mirror sometimes.

You roll your eyes, and he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever. “What are you, pressed for time? Relax. You’ll get there.”

“Fair point.” Art nods, hiding his flush in another swig of champagne. “In that case, things are pretty good. Training is good, I’m winning matches, hoping to win more…” he pauses, tucking a loose strand of gold waves behind his ear, “Tatiana and I are doing… well.”

He sounds almost regretful when he says it. But then again, you’ve gotten pretty good at gaslighting yourself into thinking it’s all in your head.

“That’s good,” you settle with a neutrally encouraging response. “She seems nice.”

This time, Art gives you the look. And he always looks so smug when he does it too—the little head tilt, the crooked smirk he’s sporting like he’s excited to get the rare leg up from you. It’s adorable.

So you relent, taking the champagne and chasing it with a huff of smoke.

“I’m sorry about Tatiana this afternoon, by the way. Didn’t realize she would be so…” he grimaces as he struggles to find the right word. Domineering? Territorial? Just outright bitchy?

“Nah, it’s fine. I just chalked it up to her… German predisposition, that’s all,” you deadpan, tapping the ash of your cigarette out the window.

“You’re horrible.” Art grins. He loves it.

There’s that smile you’ve been missing. “Besides, I didn’t know you speak the language.”

“I can get by. My coach is German, my best friend speaks German… I’ve been picking up more from Tatiana, but it’s mostly just… angry.”

His words make you frown. That doesn’t sound like a very happy relationship, if your girlfriend keeps shouting angry shit at you in her native language. Art is perfectly aware that you’re catching on.

And again, it feels like the two of you are operating on two levels of communications. The first one is whatever is spouted out of your mouths, and the second through these wordless looks that say so much more. With every exchange, there’s always a choice; to stay on the surface, or dive in.

Maybe it’s the sparkling liquid courage, or the white haze you share in this little nook, but your next response is neither a safe bet nor a daring risk.

“Do you guys fuck in German? Because that can’t be sexy.”

He cracks up, caught completely off-guard by your question. Leave it to you to always keep him on his toes. “No! God no. Absolutely not. That would be terrible.”

“I can imagine! Like, what would you even say?” You sit up to put on your worst voice possible, but making it breathy and porny, “Ja… ja… ooh, scheisse… oh, ich komme!”

Art bursts out laughing. A true laugh that comes from the belly. The kind that makes his face open up. “What in the Hitler was that?!” He keels over in absolute stitches.

“I mean, I don’t know!”

The two of you laugh longer than it’s funny, like you’re both relieved from this charade of civil acquaintanceship and finally free to be who you truly are.

Which, in this case, means immature goddamn giggly children.

Art relishes in this warmth. He has missed this so much, that he nearly forgot he never had this with you in the first place. His face softens. “What about you?”

“Oh, I don’t talk dirty in German. It’s unpatriotic.”

“Fuck off.” He can’t fight the giggles that’s taking over him, not when you’re already laughing at your own joke. His mind nearly gets sidetracked with the thought of you in bed. Would you keep making these witty one-liners while talking dirty? Or would you be completely pliant if he kisses you all over ehile balls deep into you— focus up, Art! “I meant… How’s the boyfriend?”

You smile wryly. It was your fault to joke about Tatiana, and now you got what’s coming back at you. You take a swig at the champagne, trying to play it off casually. “Didn’t work out.”

Oh. It’s sad news, really. But why is his heart perking up, knowing there’s no more guy on the phone on her end this time? “That’s a shame. Are you alright?”

“Well, I’m real fresh out the slammer, so… not really. But…” you shrug easily. “I’ll live.”

Art’s face softens. Sometimes the moments of vulnerability seeps through the cracks of your dry humor, and he gets to see the real you. The storm that’s brewing between your ribs. Head against the windowpane, most of your lipstick either on your cigarette filter or champagne bottle. A picture perfect of secret melancholia.

“You wanna know the weird thing is?” You inhale the cigarette, and exhale the fumes through your nose, eyes still fixed on the darkness outside, the bitterness is just pouring out. “I can always see how it ends.”

“What do you mean?”

The sensations run through your veins faster than your brain can muster up words. The butterflies of initial attraction back then—the elation, anticipation… and that funny feeling, that ache in the gut that paints the picture. The fight or the cold war that ends it all. And how are you supposed to come back from that, knowing what you know?

“I can always predict the end… right at the beginning.” You put out your cigarette and tosses it out, the faux nonchalance rising again. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am Cassandra.”

Art’s heart aches at that. It doesn’t feel right to be good this time. He almost wants to take it back, renounce Cassandra and he’ll give up Sisyphus so the two of you can be something else. Something different.

Something together.

Art puts out his cigarette as he studies your face. The pensive frown, the look of surprise… he loves that about you and everything in between. “I missed you,” he quietly admits.

And there it is. The air is knocked out of you, and it’s just churning in your chest cavity. “I know,” you whisper back.

He leans in and touches your arm tentatively, and you don’t pull away. You can’t even if you tried. He traces the outline of your hair, his long fingers finding home on the side of your neck. His thumb traces your cheek, so carefully that he fears you would disappear into thin air. He needs you. Needs to know that he’s not hallucinating this.

This moment. This feeling.

You.

You take his wrist, but you’re not sure whether it’s to pull him away or keep him there. “But we shouldn’t.”

“I know,” he echoes, although the way he fully leans into you is a whole other story. “I wanna kiss you so bad.”

“We shouldn’t.” You want to say it’s just him, you want to say that you’re stronger. Better than that. But the truth is, you gravitate towards him as much as he does to you, and now you’re just sitting there, both inching closer to each other until your foreheads are pressed together. “We can’t.”

He can’t find it in himself to lie anymore. He can no longer bring himself to care about the girlfriend he had, or whatever reason you’re thinking of right now. Valid, he’s sure, but he doesn’t give a shit anymore. “I know we can’t. But we want to, don’t we?”

“I’m not a homewrecker, Art.”

Art lets out a quiet huff. His thumb is still tracing along your jawline as if trying to commit your features to memory. He shakes his head softly. “If anyone’s a homewrecker, it’s me. It’s definitely me.”

“Art…”

“Yes?” You can wreck his whole existence, and he would thank you wholeheartedly. What bliss to be ruined in the hands of you.

To his surprise, you pull him into a hug—and to be honest, you’re kind of beside yourself too. It makes him pause, but as soon as he realizes what’s happening, he surrenders.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, with one hand caressing his long hair. You won’t give in, not to your desire. Not tonight. But for a moment, you let yourself imagine what it’s like to be in his arms. What it’s like to be his.

Each breath he takes hurts because you steal every single one of it, but he swallows it down. His arms encircle your waist, and he braves through the pain because this is his only chance to pretend. Art burrows himself into your neck and makes a home there. You gladly let him in.

For the longest time, you just… stay there.

“I never want to leave…” there’s such pain in his tone. Such sorrow. Defeat.

“Me neither…” It chokes you from the inside out. But he won’t be the one to end it, so you’ll have to take one for the team. “But we have to.”

He knows that, but his heart shatters anyway. You kiss him on the forehead, lingering as if it would tell him what you wanted to say. All the what-ifs and could-have-beens. It’s all a tangled mess in your throat, impossible to get out.

You feel a droplet where your hand cups his face the same time Art feels a single tear slide from his forehead down his nose. It’s comforting and disconcerting at times. .

For a fleeting moment, Art nearly hopes this is the moment you change your mind. Say ‘fuck it’ and stay.

But you pull away, and all hope is lost. It leaves with your laughter that echoed in this room just moments ago.

You take a deep breath, and with a gentle swipe of his tears and tenderly fixing his tousled hair, you do the right thing. “I’ll see you around, Art.”

Art barely manages a nod, staring at the intersection between the wall and the windowpane, as you gather your shoes and your purse and pads out towards the door.

Thunk.

He turns and sees you leaning your head against the doorknob. Your shoulders are shaking in silent sobs, and he wants to chase after you so bad. But before he can move, you turn the doorknob and disappear out of sight. Leaving him worse off than he ever thought after holding you.

#HELLO WERE BACK #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fic #mike faist #challengers fic #challengers imagine #mike faist imagine #art donaldson x popstar!reader #ava writes

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