#east park dip

[yourmaidsp]

subculture couple

亚逼小情侣

(giving em cool outfits)

#south park #doodle #fanart #sp fanart #damien thorn #pip pirrup #sp dip #东方公园au #east park dip

[cocteautwinslyrics]

after nearly 200 years Farringdon is still the best placed spot for a london central station

#i can handle this i think. new pair of east-west tunnels from paddington to liverpool street directly under the elizabeth line which would #go to south wales #and then a lowest level concourse for a souped up like. twelve platforms #6 platforms euston and st. pancras through to waterloo and also southeastern line out of charing cross bypassing waterloo east #using also the up blackfriars southeastern tracks #2 east-west marylebone to fenchurch street #4 that are north-south from victoria to the northern city line that bypasses the route into moorgate 2 local 2 express #on that one thered be closure from essex road to moorgate and an intermediate stop between farringdon and high + i at angel #and 2 more east-west platforms for trains to king's cross to instead go southwest to cornwall on the great western mainline #theyd bypass king's cross with the last aboveground station being finsbury park and then dip into the northern city line south of the new #route i mentioned at essex road to orient the trains right for approaching east-west

[lixiesfreckless]

Into It | b. c.

➸ synopsis: the california sunset looks pretty damn good when you're on the hood of Chan's car.

➸ starring: bang chan x female reader

➸ word count: 3k

➸ general content: best friend!chan, car sex, drunk sex, chan is lowkey obsessed with you, mutual pining, dirty talk

➸ warnings: lots of swearing, sexual content, alcohol consumption, mentions of california(LMAO east coast on top)

➸ rating: 18+ MA

➸ author’s note: another oldie but goodie! also I don't even bias chan but I literally went insane writing this so what does that mean-

♫ into it- chase atlantic

Far away.

You feel like your mind is so far away.

The engine roars in your ears as you and Chan zip around the outskirts of downtown Los Angeles, convertible top down to let the wind whip through the vehicle. 

Your hand dangles outside the car door, lazily twirling a half empty bottle of beer in your fingertips as you fully sink into the car seat. Your thoughts are fuzzy, his music is loud, and the breeze is enough to keep you from getting too hot. 

This is as close as you can get to bliss.

Palm trees lining the road, orange and magenta in the sky, hell— if heaven didn’t look like this, did you even want to go?

The car slows down enough for Chan to make a right turn, angling the two of you to a desert close to where they host raves and concerts every summer. By the time the current song stops playing, Chan is pulling the convertible off the road, driving over hardened clay and rocks until he’s about 50 yards away from the asphalt.

“Pass me one of those,” he says, putting the car in park and slumping into the seat. You reach down to the six pack of beer near your feet and pass one to him, bringing your own bottle up to your lips as he takes it.

The guy sticks the cap between his teeth, cracking it open with a sharp twist of his arm, and flicks the cap into the cup holder.

“That’s one way to crack open a cold one,” you chuckle, taking another swig.

“Too bad I’m not with the boys…” he sighs, narrowly dodging a swat from your hand as he laughs.

“Hush, I’m better than the boys.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, letting the troubles of the week dissolve under the tangy taste of the alcohol and the bass from the speakers.

You can’t remember exactly when you started spending your Friday nights like this, driving to random places in the passenger seat of Chan’s car. Usually you’d prefer to spend your nights indoors, but with him, it was never overwhelming. He was your weekly dose of adventure, and you became addicted easily.

But how could you not when he was so…Chan?

He always knew what songs to play, what you felt like talking about, what kind of view would cheer you up— he became someone that knew you better than your best friend, even.

And there was something so disarming about his vintage band tees, beat up converse, blond curls and dimples— especially his dimples. They were a weapon and he used them.

And they reappear right as you notice you’re staring at him. Serves you right for zoning out in his general direction.

“Something on your mind?” He chuckles, and you pop the passenger door open, shaking your head.

“Nope. Just need to stretch.”

You walk around to the front of the car, and the shell dips slightly once you perch on the hood.

This beer is defective, you decide. Alcohol is supposed to blur your thoughts, not sharpen them.

And yet all you can think about is the man moving to lean against the front of the car, standing just a foot away from you.

Your mind pretends not to notice the way Chan’s gaze lingers on your lips, almost glazing over every time you take a swig from the bottle in your hand. Your body however, burns. Reacts like water on hot oil. It feels like every cell is dancing in the remnants of the sunset when he looks at you. 

It might just be the alcohol though.

You lean back and lie on the hood of the car, using your hands as a makeshift pillow behind your head as you watch the sky turn an even deeper shade of pink. Chan takes one glance at you and takes a long sip of beer as he quickly looks away, pushing the sight of your shirt riding up your torso far back into his mind. The…things he could do there-

“Shit, how many of those have we gone through,” you mumble, lazily shifting your eyes up to the sky.

“Uh, four?” Chan glances back at you, mentally cursing at the way your face matches the sky above, dusted with pink. He doesn’t know it’s from you staring at his arm veins. “We have water in the back if you want some-”

“No, no I’m good.” Your voice sounds like honey to him; maybe he should pass the bottle back to you, just so you’ll stay quiet. “Just feeling more than a little buzzed.” 

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles, and the huskiness in his voice practically pokes you in the side. “Now would be the best time to do something crazy then.”

“Something crazy?” You laugh out loud, then sit up slightly on the hood, leaning back on your elbows. “There’s nothing but desert for miles. What are we supposed to do-”

Your sentence stops dead in its tracks as your eyes meet with Chan’s, the heat rushing to your gut all at once as the wind blows his blond curls into his eyes. He doesn’t even hesitate this time; his eyes wander lower and lower on your face until they land on your bottom lip, trapped between your teeth. 

“God, why do you always do that…” he whispers, shifting his gaze back to the road.

…What? 

The wind whistles in your ears as you feel them growing hotter, unsure what to make of his sudden statement.

“Do…do what?” He looks back at you with tortured eyes, as if you’re the only water in the California desert.

“Bite your lip like that; it makes me think-” he stops and drains the rest of the bottle in his hand, then leaves it on the hood and shakes his head. “Never mind. I’m gonna turn the music up.”

Your eyes follow him as he trails along the side of the car, and you feel a certain window of opportunity beginning to close. Summoning most of your courage, you jump off the hood and walk up behind Chan, waiting for him to finish messing with the stereo before tapping him on the back.

“Yeah?” He turns around and barely has any time to think before you’re pressing on his shoulders, pulling him down slightly as you crash your lips onto his. He immediately catches your waist, letting out a surprised muffle that dissolves into a sigh as he pulls you against him.

You break apart after a moment, lips still tingly and buzzing with excitement, but you wonder if you’ve made the right decision as you look up at Chan, who still has his eyes closed.

“You’re drunk,” he whispers, finally looking down at you with a flushed face.

“Not drunk enough.” You twist the shoulder seams of his shirt between your fingers in consideration. “I’m sober enough to know that look. And if you don’t do something about it, then I-”

“You want me to do something about it?” He pulls your hips tight against his, and now that you’re leaning on him, you can feel the bass from the car reverberating through both of you. That combined with the buzz of the alcohol and his hands on your bare midriff nearly sends you over the edge, but you keep your composure.

And by that you mean you pounce on him— you love his voice, but you’re tired of talking about something you could be doing.

If you both were a little less tipsy, the kisses would probably be less frantic. But neither of you seem to care, hands grabbing at each other desperately as you search for better ways to pull each other closer.

“You have no idea,” he pants between kisses, “you have no fucking idea how badly I’ve wanted this.” You shudder into his lips, raking through his blond locks and tugging at the ends as Chan’s grip tightens on your hips. He takes a sharp inhale before picking you up, waiting for you to latch your legs around his torso before he slides his arms under your legs. As he walks around the car, you both never separate; you’re actually surprised when you feel the cool metal of the hood come into contact with the backs of your thighs.

He nestles himself between your legs, resting his hands on your thighs and tracing the distressed hem of your denim skirt as the bass of the song picks up. You’re lucky you’re on the hood and not the trunk; the subwoofers vibrating against you would have been too much for sure. 

He pulls away from your lips, dipping his head to catch his breath as he pants into the crook of your neck. To him, this is insane. He has you on the hood of his car. He has you on the hood of his car.

How is a man supposed to think straight in this situation? 

Meanwhile, his hot breath on your neck is driving you to the brink of insanity. Just a raise of your shoulder and he’d be kissing it. Shoot, he could make you crazy with his fingers just an inch higher too.

“Chan,” you whisper, not realizing how close your breathy voice was to his ear, and the last of his resolve practically evaporates off of him.

“Y/n…” his nose follows the curve of your neck as he makes his way up to your face, “tell me if I need to stop, I just…”

He hooks his hands around your knees and pulls, effectively pinning your hips together in a casual display of strength, and you gasp before he seizes your bottom lip between his, sucking and biting until a soft moan slips from your lips.

“Fuck, make that sound again,” he groans, hands sliding back up your thighs to the hem of your shirt. You relent, no longer keeping your sighs and sounds of pleasure to yourself as his hands slide under your crop top, around to your back.

He makes quick work of your bra, releasing the tension around your ribcage before sliding his thumbs along the underside of your breasts. Just thinking about all of the things he could do to you has both of you buzzing with anticipation, panting against each other’s mouths.

His thumb just barely grazes your nipple and you swear you see the world begin to tilt.

You don’t know what it is; normally a gesture that small wouldn’t elicit such a reaction out of you, but the alcohol in your veins and the bass under your thighs seem to bring every motion of his straight to your core. And usually you’d be embarrassed at how loud you are, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he continues just like that, both thumbs barely putting any pressure on the peaks under your shirt.

Your head lolls back slightly, and Chan wastes no time in licking a thin stripe up the column of your neck, stopping right at the shell of your ear.

“Ideally, I’d want to take my time with you, but right now…” his voice is thick with lust as he flicks both of your nipples, and you jolt forward. “I don’t think you’d want me to.”

“Chan, please,” you gasp out, wanting to press your thighs together, “get on with it already.”

He obliges you, hands sliding down to your skirt and then back up under it, looking for the edge of your panties. Once he has them, he pulls them down and over your Nike blazers, tossing them into the convertible onto the passenger seat.

He then reaches behind you, pushing two empty bottles off the car as he presses you flat against the hood. The sound of the bottles breaking against the rocky terrain is barely registered by you though, you’re more focused on Chan’s free hand snaking back up your skirt.

Curses slip out of his mouth once his thumb brushes across your clit; he’s more than shocked to feel just how soaked you are, but you shake your head vigorously, catching his attention.

“Skip it,” you say breathlessly, looking directly into his eyes. He understands instantly, coffee colored eyes practically turning coal black seeing your desperation.

The sky seems to swirl different shades of purple and pink as the wind feathers over your body, and just past the contrails in the sky, you can see the stars beginning to poke their faces into the rosy backdrop.

There is a very real possibility that you are dreaming all of this.

But the sound of his zipper being pulled down snaps your senses into focus, and the possibility of Chan fucking you under a sky like this seems more urgent.

The next minute flies by, and before you know it Chan is lining himself up at your entrance, checking that the condom is on properly before lifting your skirt to your hips.

His eyes flicker to yours momentarily, and you nod before relaxing fully, letting your head rest against the hood as he holds onto your hips tightly.

And then you instantly tense up once he starts pushing into you.

It’s almost embarrassing how easy it is for him to slide in without really touching you, but the hiss he draws between his teeth tells you he’s not really focusing on that.

You’re focusing on how you didn’t catch a glimpse of him before he put it in, and now your entire lower abdomen is tingling in excitement over just how much of him there is. Silly how you were trying to sober up for this moment, only for you to feel high all over again with him fully inside you.

“I- shit, okay wow,” he hisses, dragging himself out and back in slowly. “You’re so warm, god-”

You can’t even respond, you’re so occupied by the feeling of his ridges along your walls that your fingers are already looking for something to grab onto.

Somehow in the haze of it all, you still want to urge him deeper, so you wrap your legs around his waist and watch as he tilts his head back, eyes fluttering closed mid-thrust.

“Oh fuck,” he moans, picking up the pace and holding your hips tighter as you whine, feeling him finally start to brush one of your sensitive spots.

Chan cannot process the scene playing out in front of him. You’re draped over the hood of his car, taking what he’s giving you so easily, face flushed and hair falling over your face from the wind. Your shirt is halfway up your torso, but your skirt is up six inches too high, high enough to see where he's sheathing himself inside of you. He couldn’t make this up if he tried.

The pressure building inside of you jumps to the next level once his hand slides up your shirt again, gently rubbing circles over your nipple as opposed to the faster thrusts down below. Your back arches into his hand as you gasp, squeezing your thighs around him tighter as you do so.

“Chan,” you whine, scratching your nails against the car, and a few more curses tumble out of his mouth as he stares down at you. 

“You’re so good y/n,” he pants, snapping his hips against you now, “better than I- ah, I imagined.”

“You’ve thought about this before?” You’re cut off by another moan; it’s a miracle how you can even speak.

Chan doesn’t reply; instead, he hooks his hands under your knees and drops them on his shoulders, then scoops his hands back under your hips and pulls them to his with a quick snap.

“I’ve thought about this before,” he says with a wicked grin, hitting you at just the right angle to pull a sharp gasp out from your lips.

“Oh my god, there-” you moan breathlessly, pressing your hands flat onto the hood of the car as he pounds into you relentlessly.

The sky is spinning. Your heart is pounding. You wish you could focus on something, anything other than the spongy part of you that Chan is hitting to the beat of the song under you, just so you could last a little bit longer. 

But the sight of him with your legs around his neck, eyes closed with strands of gold wisping across his face, the look of pure ecstasy painted across his cheeks, ensures that you have close to three seconds before the knot in your stomach unravels.

“Shit, don’t stop,” you say as you feel yourself coming undone, back arching into your release which only makes Chan pound deeper, heightening the intensity tenfold.

He cries out once you clamp down around him, spitting out random strings of curses until he’s emptying his restraint into the condom, slowing down his thrusts as he finally opens his eyes again, locking gazes with you.

He looks nothing short of ethereal with the now purple backdrop of the sky, framing his blond locks with lilac clouds as he slowly pulls out of you, doing his best not to overstimulate you. You almost tell him not to; being that full was nice, something you’d probably never admit unless you were actually drunk.

“Wow,” you breathe out, watching him lower your legs down to the hood. “That was…”

“Crazy, I know,” he laughs, still trying to calm his breathing as he looks at you. “But you were amazing, holy shit-”

“…better than the boys?” You tease, smirking up at him. 

He gives you a knowing look, picking up on the funny way you worded the question. But instead of getting flustered, he leans over the hood, caging you against it with his arms.

“Hmm…I don’t know. I think I’d have to try this a couple of times before I can give you a definite answer.”

#stray kids #stray kids fanfiction #skz #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #stray kids fic #skz fic #skz smut #stray kids fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids smut #bang chan #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #bang chan smut #bang chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #bang chan fanfic #chan x reader #chan smut #chan stray kids #chan skz

[rey-129-fan]

Well, it's been a while since I've posted any fanfic... Let's change that.

Good news! I'm not dead! My brain did try to get me to do things that could unalive myself for a bit, and then I lost nearly an entire side of my family over the span of 3 years, but I'm still here and still kicking! And I have two new puppies who are adorable and so loving.

Now for this story, this is inspired by a few posts I saw on @theglamorousferal, mostly the one about Amity Parkers going to college in Gotham and buying a hotel (I'm making it a co-op student house, but I've never lived in one, so if something's unacceptably wrong, tell me, if not, artistic license), but also the one where our main Trio buy a building to set up shop there, and wind up adopted my Jason (I swear, I saw that post after I wrote the first chapter, but it just fit so well).

***

Honestly, Amity Park was weird long before the Fentons moved there- the original settlers named the nearby lake Eerie, and it wasn’t after the Great Lake.  It’s just that before the Fentons’ machine punched a hole through reality and created a permanent doorway to the land of spirits and ghosts, the weirdness was not as blatant.

Prior to that, Amity Parkers were some of the few that could move to Gotham without suffering a breakdown that was common for new arrivals.  Now there was a slight dip in newcomers for about a decade or two after the Bat made his debut and then the crazies that followed him, but then Amity Parkers got used to the spirits of the dead wandering around following the aforementioned punching through reality.

All this to say that Gotham Universities were a rather common destination for young Amity Park adults seeking higher education.

Now because of this, there were always apartments advertising themselves for people from the small town.  They, after all, tended to not have a breakdown after their fifth rogue attack and just pack up and leave halfway through their lease.  But it got very annoying having to sift through all the advertisements when looking for a place to stay- something Danny Fenton saw his older sister go through when she got in to Gotham City University.  The boy then shared what he was witnessing with his two best friends- Tucker Foley and Sam Manson.  Tucker offered to help filter out the spam, which Danny’s sister Jazz thanked him for but turned down.  Sam… Sam instead got thinking.

Sam had been to Gotham a few times in her life.  She had an idea of the areas closest to the schools and how much those should cost.  And looking at the letters Jazz was getting, the offers were a little too high for a regular college student to afford.  Sam was also familiar with how many hotels were not being used in Gotham- people building them in hopes tourists would come to stay while visiting the East Coast, tourists that could not be convinced to visit due to the high crime rate and the lack of activities or places of interest in the city itself.

She quickly went to work, looking in to these empty hotels.  She was rather upset by their numbers and put together a spreadsheet of them, with details like number of rooms, any amenities they may have, and nearby landmarks.  She then grabbed her two dorks and marched to Casper High’s Community Outreach director.

Now Sam’s presentation raised a few eyebrows, mostly because it was in a completely different state, but Sam shot back that because of the efforts to incorporate the town’s new ghostly residents and provide them with helpful ways to feed their obsessions- efforts led by the Fenton family- Amity Park had very few homeless, and those that were had a huge community safety net to help them get back on their feet.  Additionally, with how many people moved between the city and the town, helping the city could be argued to also be helping the town.

The Outreach Director just sighed and gave Same the green light to at least draft and send out a proposal to the powers that be in Gotham, saying that there wasn’t much that could be done before they got backing and approval.  Sam thanked them before leaving, Danny and Tucker trailing behind.

She was back the next day with a draft of her proposal and a list of who to send it to.

***

Since returning from the dead in the eyes of the public, Jason Todd was often contacted by groups trying to use the Wayne fortune to fund their own personal projects.  They thought Jason would be the easiest to con- sorry, persuade- since he was a former street kid unlike the rest of his family.  Thus surely he would know just how much this new building with low income housing would help the people of Gotham- it even came with a pool and gym!

Yeah, he did know how much the people of Gotham needed housing, but $2K a month was not affordable when you’re barely making $30K a year!  Oh and the pool and gym were only available for those who could shell out an additional $2K a month.  Jason knows, he read the whole document carefully.

God, sometimes it was hard to tell who was worse, the psychos in Blackgate or real estate investors.  And sadly, he couldn’t just pop a bullet in their heads and be done with it because 1) it would raise too many questions and 2) it would make Bruce get all sad and mopey- again.  Jason just did not have the mental energy to put up with that on top of the rest of his life as a crimelord/vigilante/long-lost adoptive second son of a billionaire.

All this to say, he was not impressed when he first glanced over a proposal to convert the unused hotels around the city into housing units- especially since it was from someone that did not live in Gotham.

Manson?  Wasn’t there a family with that name that would attend some of Brucie’s galas?  Oh yeah, their family made its fortune off patenting the machine that wrapped toothpicks in plastic, as well as a couple others.  And they had a daughter around Repla- Tim’s age.  Hopefully this wasn’t her trying to be a kiss-ass like her parents.

Jason finished reading and sat back.  The proposal wasn’t too bad.  Converting hotels into apartment buildings would be easier than office buildings, and the suggestion to use ex-convicts that wanted to turn over a new leaf as building managers certainly wasn’t the worst.  Also creating a fund for those that couldn’t afford rent, as well as community kitchens and gardens were certain plusses, though would need to have the right people in charge to make sure they actually worked as planned, and to keep the Court of Owls from messing with it.

Overall, it was something Jason would consider, after some research and maybe talking with the rest of the Bats and Birds.  And if this was from the Manson kid, maybe get Dickie or one of the others to talk to her next time there was a gala in town.  Or talk to her himself, if the Pit wasn’t too loud.

…Dick was probably the better option to talk with her if it came down to it.

***

There's the first chapter. I'm going to go write the next one. When I have a good log of them, I'll then go and edit them and put them on AO3.

This has no title yet because I suck at naming. Feel free to comment with suggestions for a name, both for the fic/au and for the eventual hotel/co op. As well as any shinanegans and majors/colleges/universities for our liminal young adults.

Part 1/? Next >

#dp x dc crossover #dc x dp #danny phantom #dc comics #i've admittedly never read dc comics #jason todd #sam manson #amity park/gotham co op #comments and constructive reviews are welcome #I was originally going to throw in a reference to another spoopy franchise #but i figured i could save it for later #the rest of the bat fam will show up eventually #I don't need majors for sam danny tuck or jazz #I do need for paulina dash kwan wes val and any other kids #star i'm think of being a physics or sports science #gotham is based around where jersey city is #amity park is actually going to be in NY #specifically around jamestown in the southern tier #no it's not illinois because it takes the fentons two days of driving to get to vlad's at least #that means over 8 hours in the car which illinois is not #part 1 #of idk how many parts there'll be

[sunlightmurdock]

Power and Control | Prologue, Part 1 | Jake Seresin x Reader (18+)

masterlist | prologue pt 2

chapter moodboard | recommended listening

As an unwanted birthday and an important launch approaches, Jake meets his match.

warnings: infidelity. age gap (20s/40s). sugar daddy relationship. scandal. one-sided pining. drama drama drama. SMUT. This content is intended for those 18+ and over, minors dni

…

New York City, the beginning of January. Four days after the New Year, to be exact. Jake steps outside into the increasingly familiar arctic chill of the city air, his breath clouding in front of him as he pulls his phone from the black trench coat hugging his body. His free hand dips into the pocket on the other side, curling around the keys of his rental.

Nadine: *image attatched*

Nadine: Troublemakers talked me into letting them snuggle while daddy’s away.

Jake’s lips quirk upwards. He examines the image on his phone, knowing damn well that those kids insist on sleeping in that bed even when he is there. The picture is taken from the foot of his bed. His children are curled up amongst the pillows, sprawled out impressively far along the length of the custom XL king bed.

Jake’s oldest, his son Cade is laying flat on his front with his face mashed into the pillow. He’s five now, and looking more and more like Jake every day. Tanned skin, green eyes, blonde hair and his wife’s impressively long, dark lashes.

His daughter is about as far as she could get from her brother. Adeline — Addie-Bear — she’s laying the wrong way, lengthways along the bed with her foot pressed into Cade’s stomach, her thumb in her mouth and her pink rabbit tucked up under her arm. She’s turning three next week. She’s Jake’s shadow when he’s home. It’s normally his stomach that her foot’s pressed into.

He taps away at the little keyboard on the screen, that smile lingering on his lips. It’s only 6am back there — she’s up early, and Jake knows why. The same thing she’s been up all hours of the night since November.

Jake: Missing one?

His phone vibrates with another text. Another picture. This time, it’s his wife — Nadine. Dean. She’s wearing a thin-strapped camisole, looking at him through her dark lashes with those big blue eyes, her hair tied back in a neat bun. Cradled against her chest and latched onto one nipple is their youngest. Elliott. Their oops baby, a product of the celebration of Jake’s skyrocket entry into the Forbes’ 300, born on November 12th.

He looks like her. His hair’s dark like hers and his cheeks are pink like hers. Jake’s got two just like him already, he hopes that this one’s all hers. He’s been hoping for more and more of her from the second he met her.

Jake exhales softly, the chill nipping at his cheeks and his ears. He lifts his gaze to the electric skyline, thinking of his family back there outside of Austin, a clear sky of stars.

Jake: Be back before you know it. Hope to find every single one of you in bed and ready to snuggle.

He slips his phone back into his pocket and turns his attention back to the sky. He just stepped out of his hotel, ready to begin the day. Today is the biggest day of his career so far. Well, it’s not — but it feels like it is. People keep telling him it is. Truthfully, ever since he blinked his eyes open this morning and took a look out over the Central Park view, his chest has been feeling tighter and tighter.

In two days, his Brooklyn office is opening. The East Coast launch of his company. Investors, parties, rooftop bars, he’s going to have a busy couple of days. Which is why he has opted to take these few extra moments for himself.

In seventeen hours, Jake turns forty-two. This date has been creeping up on him for a while now, he figured he would get used to the idea at some stage. So far, all he feels about the nearing birthday is dread. Chest-tightening, dark feeling, dread.

Luckily, he doesn’t have a lot of time to wallow in that.

The Rolls Royce in the parking garage is rented, but Jake’s got one the same sitting in the garage back home. The leather feels familiar but the smell is off. His kid hasn’t accidentally punctured an entire can of febreeze in this car, and honestly, he kind of misses the overwhelming scent of Forest Pine every time he opens the door.

He misses everything about home. He misses Nadine’s cooking, and her laugh, and her blow jobs. There haven’t been many of those recently. Even before Elliott. It’s not her either, Nadine hasn’t ever been the problem. She wants him just as much as he wants her.

Jake’s the problem. It’s just that with two kids who come crawling into their bed at all hours of the night, he finds it a little hard to trust that one of them isn’t just going to burst into the room at any minute.

And he travels so much. He’s away so often that by the time he gets home, he usually passes out in the guest room just so that he can actually get some sleep for once. He hasn’t ever been able to sleep on flights. Truthfully, he had thought that his company would allow him to have more time at home. And it does, kind of.

He’s not deployed for months at a time like if he was still in the Navy. He’s just not there that often either.

The drive to the new office is fine. Driving in New York is dull and Jake spends the entire drive with his foot hovering the brake in case some delivery driver steps out in front of the hood. It’s not a delivery driver that does.

It’s a girl in a big coat. She’s got the puffer jacket pulled up around her ears to shield them from the cold and a pair of headphones covering them to make all of that effort redundant.

More importantly, she’s not watching where she’s going. She’s looking down at her phone. Jake won’t know this until much later, but she’s googling him.

She steps out on Jake as he’s halfway around the corner. Luckily for her and his insurance policy, his fighter pilot reflexes haven’t ever failed him yet. The car screeches to a halt. It’s unclear whether she saw it in her peripheral vision or heard it stop, but she whips around anyway.

Pretty face, even when it’s all screwed up and angry. Her hair’s windswept but he can see the effort that went into styling it. Her make-up’s cute. Somebody’s assistant, probably, running late. His eyes flicker down to her legs, then swiftly back up.

Jake stares at her calmly. Then, he lifts his hand from the wheel and gestures for her to keep crossing. The girl narrows her eyes, lifts her hand and flashes her middle finger at him. Jake’s hair is longer now than it is in his Wikipedia picture, she doesn’t have a clue.

Watching her rush off on her way, Jake scoffs and shakes his head. More parents should teach their kids how to cross the road properly.

The office is in Dumbo. He’s told that that’s a good location, but really he doesn’t care. The office isn’t where the important stuff goes down — that’s why he’s always away on these business trips. He should care, he would have cared in the past.

This company means everything to him. Jake can see himself hurtling towards burnout, something’s got to give. There just isn’t room. He doesn’t have time to think about it.

There isn’t a whole lot of parking there, but there are ten spots reserved for his company. One reserved just for him. He’s told that this is also a lot for the area.

Everyone has been talking about him. ‘What do you mean the driver said he wasn’t there?’. Jake’s calm as he pushes open the glass door and strolls into the building. Everyone quickly quietens. The mystery of their missing CEO is suddenly solved.

He remembers wanting this. Wanting the kind of power that made people shut up when he walked into a room.

“Mr. Seresin!” Jake has met the woman speaking a handful of times now. She’s his East Coast liaison. She organized this whole launch while Jake got to enjoy some time at home with his new baby. She’s in her late thirties. He knows she’s got kids too. Two boys, maybe. He doesn’t really remember. Her blonde ponytail swishes as she rushes over to him. “We sent a car for you!”

“I know,” Jake offers her a quick smile as he shrugs his coat off of his shoulders and hands it to a readily available assistant. “I’m sorry, Rosie. I just wanted some quiet time before I’m talking all day.”

People want Jake to be an asshole. He’s handsome, in a classic kind of way too. He’s beyond successful. Graduated from the most elite Naval training programme to exist and enjoyed a twenty year career there. Built a Forbes 300 company from the ground up. Beautiful, smart wife. Perfect kids. And he’s still young, only forty-one now.

But, that’s simply not the case. Jake remembers the name of the East Coast Liaison he has only met once, briefly, over a zoom call three months ago. He remembers that she’s got two boys. He has stepped strategically into the office so far, so as to not disturb the freshly mopped floors.

He knows that his daughter’s rabbit is named Zade — and absolutely not Cade, because she hates her brother for at least 22 hours of the day. He knows that his son plays centre-back on his soccer team, but really would rather be playing goalie. He knows that his wife hates going to the gas station late at night but loves late night gas station snacks.

Rosie’s lips quirk up into a soft smile. Not just at being remembered by such a handsome or impressive man, but because that’s such a human request. Ten minutes of peace this morning before he spends the next two days smiling for every camera in a hundred foot vicinity.

“That makes sense. It really isn’t a problem. You could tell us, you know — we aren’t here to dictate your day,” She explains to him, a team of eager office staff standing nearby ready to meet their new boss. “You’re the boss, Mr. Seresin.”

She watches him visibly relax, his face softening a little.

“Jake.” He corrects calmly, tapping her elbow platonically and stepping around her. “Alright, who am I working with here?”

He’s beyond charming. Everyone loves him. Receptionists, admins, accountants and fee-earners. This launch is going to be easy. It starts off here, at the office, with a press day.

Meaning that Rosie gets to walk a bunch of eager journalists around the office and explain to them exactly what Vulcan is, and stands for. While Jake sits in his office all morning providing interviews, takes a brief break for a networking lunch, and continues with the interviews in the afternoon.

His office is pretty bare, it’s his first time seeing it this morning. High ceilings, black industrial style windows. A designer took the lead with the whole building — Jake remembers getting a lot of phone calls from him. He’s happy with the direction that he took.

Red brick flows through the building, dark floors. Grey and slate colours throughout. Masculine, modern. He likes it.

Almost instinctively, Jake walks to sit behind his desk. A ten foot length of oak, stained to look darker than the wood naturally is. Thick, leather office chair behind it. A computer sits in front of him and blocks his view of the door — he’ll have that moved by the end of the day.

He rarely works off of anything other than his laptop, making this stupidly big monitor redundant. They can make use of it somewhere else, he’s sure.

Spinning about ninety degrees in either direction on the chair, he taps his fingertips against the wood and surveys the room once more.

He wonders briefly if he’ll ever even touch one of the books on the length of bookshelf that spans the ten feet of wall space behind the ten feet of his desk. Almost definitely not.

To the right of the bookshelf, there’s a tall cabinet. Some kind of filing system most likely. To the right, there’s a bar system. All top shelf labels.

He hasn’t ever brought his kids to work with him yet, but he would have to do some serious baby proofing in here if he ever wanted to.

He leans back in the chair and turns his chin towards the window. He’s got a pretty great view of the East river from here, and past that, the lower East Side.

“Hey, Jake?” Three knocks at the door and his new assistant twists the handle and opens the right side of the double doors that lead into the office. Matthew. Recently graduated from a private catholic college in the city, will probably only be here until he finds something more permanent. Nice kid. “They’re ready when you are.”

He makes the decision that hiding behind a desk isn’t the best first impression. People already make assumptions about his business and his character just because of the industry he’s in. He tries to prove them wrong when he can.

Sitting in the brown leather arm chair, his suit jacket hung neatly on the hanger in his closet and the sleeves of his grey shirt rolled up to his forearms, he’s nothing if not approachable. Polite, well-informed and passionate about the work he’s doing. He makes a good first impression for the first six interviews.

It’s been three hours and he hasn’t faltered yet, until he looks up at the sound of Matthew introducing him to his next interviewer, and finds someone familiar before him.

You swallow softly, watching him tilt his head as he tries to place where he knows you from. You aren’t having the same problem. You recognise him instantly. The guy in the Rolls who almost ran you over this morning.

His lips quirk slowly up in realization. There it is: he knows.

You’re fucked. You’re so fucked. Jerry’s going to skin you alive when he hears about this.

Amusement drips from his features as your heels tap meekly across the concrete office floor, your hand trembling as you hold it out towards him. He pushes himself up from the armchair and slips his palm into yours. You’re faintly aware of Jake’s assistant closing the door behind him as Jake squeezes your hand and shakes.

Your eyes dart briefly downwards, watching the way his fingers extend past your palm, stretching up onto your wrist. The way your hand disappears under the cover of his. Looking back up, you inhale. He’s taller than his Wikipedia page would suggest — and his hair is shorter. You hadn’t recognised him.

“Jake Seresin.” He introduces himself calmly, his palm still in yours. His eyes are an unreasonable shade of green and he smells like the Tom Ford section of Macy’s. He looks down at you, seeming to enjoy the burning embarrassment on your features.

It’s unclear if he’s trying to embarrass you or smooth things over, but either way, you’re waiting for the ground to swallow you whole. You meekly reply with your own name. He smiles, nods, and drops your hand. “You want a drink?”

Christ, he’s trying to fuck you. You messed up and he’s trying to get you drunk so that he can fuck you. You silently scramble for an answer that won’t tank this opportunity harder than you already have.

“Can’t. Sorry,” You answer him quickly, your voice finally loud enough for him to get an idea of what you sound like. He continues away from you without looking back, his broad shoulders filling out that slate coloured shirt perfectly. “I’m nineteen.”

His reaction to this question is important. If he doesn’t mind, then he’s a dirtbag. If he does, he might still spoil this interview on account of your behavior anyway.

Jake turns, and gives you a brief look over his shoulder.

“Sprite? — Sparkling water? Regular water?”

You should honestly probably just leave. Assuming that he was trying to get you drunk at 11am. Flipping him off before that. It’s not like you’re even particularly prepared for this interview. You were googling him on the way here.

“Still. Please.” You breathe out, taking a step back and a seat on the couch.

“I didn’t say you could sit.” Jake deadpans as he turns towards you with two bottles of water in his hand. Your eyes blow wide open and you launch yourself back onto your feet swiftly.

Slowly, his face twists into a devious grin. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Dimples at the sides of his cheeks, a neat dusting of blonde stubble covering his jaw, his eyes creasing at the edges. “I’m fucking with you. Joking. Sorry, forgot that I had little ears around — I’m joking with you.”

Poking fun at your ‘age’, seeming to forgive your previous indiscretions and setting the water on the coffee table in front of you with an annoyingly cool attitude. He’s running rings around you already.

“Funny.” You tell him quietly, trying to smile. Jake just chuckles as he settles down into the armchair and twists the top off of the glass bottle, bringing it to his mouth.

He takes a gulp and swallows, then brings the bottle down to rest against his thigh. “Little young for a reporter, anyway, aren’t you?”

“I’m not a writer. My boss couldn’t make it, and it was going to be a valuable experience, so, uh… he offered it to us. I’m one of his interns.” Jake crosses one knee over the other and watches as you reach down to pull your notebook from your purse. Black mini skirt, white blouse, cheap heels. He believes it. You look like somebody’s intern.

“Who’s your boss?” He rests his forearms on either side of the chair, his gaze never once wavering from you. He’s not a man that is easily distracted.

You set the notebook on your lap and fiddle with the pen.

“Jerry Jones, with the Observer.”

Jake presses his tongue into his cheek. Being snubbed by Jerry Jones, that’s fucking rich. Jake knows what it means when someone is too busy for a press day — they didn’t want to come.

His reaction tells you quickly that he isn’t a fan of your boss. That’s probably a good thing, since you’re not a fan of that pig either, but it’s not a good thing in terms of the interview.

“You like it there?” He asks. You wish he would look away from you for just a second. Those green eyes feel like they’ve got the power to mesmerize you and really, you can’t afford any more embarrassment.

No. You hate it. Jerry’s a pervert and you aren’t interested in working for him at all. You’re just here because your professor pulled some strings. You hate your job, and everyone you work with.

Jake’s lips quirk once again. He flashes you a quick smile. “You’re young. There’s always time to move on.”

Fuck. If this gets back to Jerry, any of it, you’re in big trouble. Apparently reading you is just another skill to add to Jake’s already impressive resume. He leans forwards and sets the bottle of water down on the coffee table, then relaxes back into his seat with parted knees.

“Sorry. I’ll stop. What did you need to ask me, honey?”

There’s a brief pause where your eyes linger on his face before you exhale. Jake knows that look. He is more than used to receiving it. But, coming from you, he can’t pretend not to enjoy it.

Looking hasn’t ever been a crime, flirting hasn’t ever been a crime. Nadine knew that was who he was when she met him. Hell, she looks at guys sometimes. Jake looks.

Jake Seresin is a former Naval Aviator turned entrepreneur. That’s the opening line of his Wikipedia. Four and a half years ago, he founded a company called Vulcan.

“We specialize our activity in military contracts service,” Jake’s knees are parted wide and he’s beyond confident in holding your gaze. You scrawl notes down onto the page, hoping that he’ll drop something interesting soon. “Personal protection, convoy security, tactical operations.”

Swallowing, you look up at him and set the pen down on the page.

“Over eighty-five percent of your workforce are former United States Armed forces, and you’re known for working closely with several notable veteran’s charities,” Jake listens to you list off the front-page facts about him, his hand resting calmly against his thigh. “How would you say that your background in the Navy affected your business-plan?”

You’re nervous about being here, that much is clear, but there’s a boldness in the way that you look at him. He likes it, he would hire you on the spot. A little guidance and you could be great. Jake has always liked confident girls.

Between questions, when you’re looking down at your notebook with your lips pursed in concentration, he looks. He looks at the way your legs curve, how those heels make them look. The way your neck disappears under the collar of your white buttoned blouse.

You’re professional enough. Young, sure — but he doesn’t buy for a second that you’re nineteen. The way that you talk, the way that you sit, the way that you look at him. He knows you’ve been with men. More importantly, he knows you’re used to getting what you want.

His answers are eloquent, you can tell he cares. He can tell that you think this entire industry is a farce. But, you’re too polite to admit all that.

You finish up, you shake his hand and pretend like feeling him grip your palm in his doesn’t affect you in the way that it does. And then, you take the train back to your office.

Jake works through the afternoon and heads straight to drinks in Soho from there. These aren’t casual drinks though. No, he starts off with dinner with his investors. Then, they move to a rooftop bar with views over the city.

He’s bored. The longer that this goes on, the more he feels it eating at him. Forty-two has him in a vice-grip, and it feels like he’s being crushed by it. Tapping his fingers against the chilled glass, he turns his attention towards the lights and finds himself zoning out completely. Suddenly the little Wall Street jack-off that he was speaking to is far more quiet, and Jake’s mind is a lot more busy.

He’s bored. He isn’t happy. In the San Diego office, on business trips, here. At home. Something is missing. It’s ridiculous, he has everything and he wants more.

A hand on his arm snaps him out of it. He looks down at the 5’6 broker that has smacked a palm into his bicep and stares. The hand lingers there, the person on the end of it has no idea how much they’re pissing him off.

“So anyway, Jake, then I told ‘em-“

“Will you excuse me for just one second?” Jake pushes his glass forwards and the poor son of a bitch in front of him has a split second to decide if he’s going to catch it or wear it. He chooses correctly and his suit is saved, fingers curling around the glass.

Jake steps around him without any kind of idea what they were even talking about before he had rudely interrupted. In one more hour, Jake will be forty-two. It’s not an age that he has been looking forward to. Nothing about getting older has seemed particularly exciting, ever, but this — this is much worse than ever before.

He exits out onto the terrace, leaving his own event behind him. It’s too cold for most people to want to be out here. There’s snow on the forecast for this week.

Running a hand over his face, Jake thinks of his father. He looks like him. Apparently, he acts like him. Jake was eight years old on his father’s forty-second birthday. He remembers the smiling, the music, the cigars. More importantly, he remembers attending his father’s funeral eight weeks later.

Swallowing thickly, Jake pulls his phone from his pocket. He already knows how this will end. It’s 10pm back home — she’s going to be asleep in bed with her book still open, dropped onto the pillow next to her. He calls anyway, resting his forearms on the glass railing, breathing deeply.

“C’mon, honey, pick up the phone.” He whispers into the air, his breath materializing in front of him. His foot taps impatiently against the stone tiles. If he had ever smoked, he’d probably be itching for a cigarette by now. “Just pick up.”

It rings eight times, and then her voicemail starts to play. Upon hanging up, Jake is met with his lockscreen. 11:03. Fifty-seven minutes to go. His throat feels dry. He closes his eyes for a second and thinks of his family. Asleep, cuddled up together.

He’s suddenly reminded of exactly how many nights they have spent like that, without him. His kids are always excited to see him, but they probably barely notice that he’s gone on nights like this.

His body makes the decision to head for the bar before his mind does. Jake needs another drink, something strong. If he wakes up hungover, maybe he’ll feel thirty again. Being the boss has its perks. Asking for three shots of whiskey and then a scotch on the rocks with a twist would get anyone else here fired. For Jake, it gets him service with a smile.

He rests his hands on the bar and exhales deeply. Pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek, he starts to wonder how cheap tequila used to get him so drunk when now top shelf whiskey doesn’t seem to do the trick.

Jake checks his peripheral, then deems the movement to his left interesting enough to justify turning his head to look. Like Rosie had said, he’s the boss. Who’s going to lecture him for being nosey?

He almost smiles at the sight of Jerry Jones standing right next to him. Too busy to drag his lazy ass out to Brooklyn this morning, too cheap to miss out on an open bar in the city. Then, his attention turns to the girl that Jerry has wedged between him and the bar. Jake recognises those legs instantly.

“I get it, I screwed up.” You whisper. Jake’s close enough to hear the anger trembling through your voice. He watches as Jerry’s short, stubby fingers reach out and curl around your forearms.

“Damn right you fucking did, what are you going to do to fix it?” Your boss sneers. Jake can smell the beer reeking off of him, and the disgusted, pinched look on your face tells him that you do too. Surely this isn’t about your interview earlier. It went well. Jake could have been a lot more dull, if he hadn’t been rooting for you.

Turning his attention briefly back to the bar, Jake remembers his Navy days. Kicking drunk assholes out of Penny’s bar. Knocking the worst of them on their asses just for sport. It’s been a while. Getting into a bar fight wouldn’t be good press, but Jake’s just itching to do it. To do something.

Unfortunately, in his moment of deliberation, Jake misses the opportunity. He’s caught somewhat in the splash zone, which makes his head whip around just in time to catch the aftermath. The empty champagne glass in your hand, Jerry’s soaked shirt and wet face, the fury in your eyes.

“You are done. You know that?” Jerry’s fingers press harshly into your forearm as he leers closer again, growling threats in your direction. Jake stands up, enough is enough, but once again, you’re faster. He watches as you lift your chin, then swiftly your knee to follow, slamming it right into your boss’ groin. Jerry recoils enough to release his grip.

Jake just watches as you spin away from the situation. He doesn’t even notice the smile on his face until he turns his head and stares Jerry in the eye. He makes no effort to hide it.

“Jones, you touch a woman like that again,” Jake adjusts his sleeves under his suit jacket as he straightens up and prepares to believe. His gaze is strikingly cold as he meets your boss’ gaze once again. “I’ll take everything you’ve ever worked for from you, I promise you that.”

This isn’t the first time that they have crossed paths. That’s one of the nicer of their exchanges. Amused enough, Jake heads for the exit with every intention of making the most of the stocked bar in his hotel room and the opportunity to jerk off without needing to lock three separate doors first.

He grabs his coat on the way out, huffing out a deep exhale as he steps out onto the street. He should probably take a cab. He can get someone to pick up the rental first thing tomorrow.

Slowing as the heavy glass door to the bar closes behind him, Jake examines the girl in the short dress standing by the curb, shivering. He shrugs his coat off of his shoulders as he walks forwards, clearing his throat to alert you of his presence.

You must have been in the city for a while with the expert way that you round on him without visible fear. He’s silent for a moment, studying the dark mascara smudged under your eyes. City lights behind you, your lips a deeper colour from how you’ve been gnawing anxiously at them, your skin prickled with goosebumps.

“Jesus Christ, did you fucking follow me out here?”

Jake’s mouth twitches. His brows raise slowly, creases starting to appear on his forehead. It’s been a long time since someone spoke to him like that. Much less an intern.

“I don’t have to be nice to you anymore, I know you saw him fire me.” You point out, hands gripping onto your own biceps in an attempt to keep in some of your body heat. You’re an idiot for forgetting to grab your coat, but there’s not a chance that you’re walking back into that building.

Jake holds his coat in one hand, cold nipping at his hands. He’s cool, confirming your accusations. “I did.”

Whether that’s that he followed you or that he saw you get fired, he doesn’t specify. He lifts his hand and offers his coat. You look between him and the heavy black material, statuesque. Both of you are staring at the coat when the first snowflake falls. White spots disappearing into the dark, wool-cashmere blend.

Jake lifts his gaze. You clench your jaw to keep from shivering. He lifts the coat slightly, reminding you that his offer is still there. Hesitantly, you uncross one arm and reach out with a trembling hand. He’s dead quiet, watching you wrap yourself in his coat, shrugging it close to your body.

“You wanna go for a drink?” Jake breathes out, his breath clouding in front of him, the tip of his nose pink. You stare back at him. He saw you with that champagne glass in your hand upstairs. Realistically, if you fuck him, it’s not like you can get fired twice — and fuck, he’s handsome.

Plus, you kind of don’t want to give his coat back yet.

Ten minutes later, you’re sitting across from the richest man you’ve ever met in a dimly lit cocktail bar in Soho.

“So, you’re not nineteen.” Jake muses, parting his knees excessively wide as he sits back in his chair. You study him.

“Twenty-four.” You answer quietly. His lips quirk up into a smile, and he nods finally. There’s a quick reprieve as a waitress sets your drinks between the two of you. A scotch, and a margarita. “Look, I would have told you the truth, but—“

Jake shakes his head calmly. “No need. I get it.”

You frown slightly, resting your elbow on the table and propping your chin on top of it. Jerry had sworn to you that this guy was an asshole, and so far, you’re just not seeing it.

Until Jake gets you to laugh for the first time. A passing comment about life in the city that’s accurate enough to warrant a small giggle. Then, you watch him reach out and pick up his glass, and your eyes land on the gold wedding ring on his finger.

Here you are letting him buy you drinks when he has a wife waiting for him at home.

Toying with the straw in your glass, you rest your cheek against your hand. “So, Vulcan,” You start with a shrug, letting him know that you’re disinterested in his work. Jake smiles coolly back at you.

“Why leave the Navy and still work with military contracts?” You push the straw around the glass, letting the ice clink to break up some of the silence.

In the years since he started this, Jake has heard that question almost every day. His answer is polished and perfected.

“Getting out of the military isn’t like quitting any other job. For a lot of people, assimilating into another career path just isn’t feasible after the experiences they’ve been through,” Jake’s exceptionally still, beyond okay with the silence. He watches you fiddle with your drink. “And there was nowhere for them to go before Vulcan.”

Nowhere for him to go, he means. He doesn’t say it, he knows it himself, and when you lift your gaze to look at him through your lashes, he knows that you know it too.

“You really believe in what you’re doing. You know, some people think that there’s something concerning about private companies carrying out military duties.”

“Well, you did your research,” He’s taunting you now, you both know that you didn’t. “You know how strenuous of a process it was for my company to build the impeccable reputation that it has now.” Jake takes no time to consider. He’s firm, decisive. He watches you take one more look down at the wedding ring on his finger.

“A lot of people think that you’re just in it for the money.” By that, you mean Jerry Jones. You don’t have to say it, you know it. And by the way Jake looks at you, you know he knows it too. Unspoken words, your eyes drawn in on each other, your heartbeat in your ears. His wife is a lucky woman.

“I didn’t know that I’d even earn any money when I started. I had a one year old at the time, I needed it to work.” He admits.

“You’ve got kids.” You breathe out. Jake can hear the disappointment in your tone. So, the wedding ring wouldn’t have stopped you. Kids is where you draw the line. Anyway, he decides to test you further.

“Three. Two boys and a girl.”

Blinking across at him, you should be running for the hills by now. Instead, you refuse to let your silence ruin this for you. “How old?”

He should probably be ashamed of himself for sitting in Soho with a girl half his age, telling her about his kids — but he isn’t. He just isn’t. “Five, almost three, and uh… My youngest was born in November.”

Your glossed lips press softly together, almost in consideration. He watches as you cross one knee over the other and flick your gaze back up to him.

“So, what are we doing here, Jake?”

He likes the way his name sounds coming from your mouth. Too much. He likes the way your legs look in the dress that you’ve changed into. He loves the way that your eyes remain on him as your tongue slowly dips from your mouth to a portion of the salt from the rim of your glass.

There’s only about a foot of distance between the two of you and it’s beyond evident that sooner or later, there will be much less.

“Can’t friends get a drink together?” He’s playing coy, and truthfully he wants you to be the one to put an end to this because he has three minutes left until his birthday and he wants nothing more than to pin those pretty fucking legs behind your ears.

“We’re going to be friends?” You huff amusedly at the idea. You’ve been wanting to see what’s under that expensive suit all day.

No, Jake doesn’t want to be your friend. He lifts the glass to his mouth and takes a drink.

“I hear you’re staying at the Plaza.” No job to go back to tomorrow. An ex-boyfriend who will inevitably get a phone call if this doesn’t work out. A masters’ degree that you still haven’t finished, two years in. In lieu of spitting in Jerry Jones’ face, there’s a more wild and infinitely more exciting opportunity right in front of you.

There it is. Jake’s been waiting for that confidence to break through.

“Have you stayed before?” He knows that you haven’t. This cat and mouse game is winding down and Jake’s about to make a decision he won’t be able to take back. You give a slow shake of your head, sitting back in your seat. Jake’s eyes flicker down to his watch. He looks back up to you. “You want to?”

Less than an hour into his birthday, Jake lingers just inside the doorway of his hotel room as you walk ahead of him towards the ten feet tall windows facing the park.

“No fucking way.” You breathe out, eyes wide, heels tapping gently across the floors. Jake’s lips quirk upwards into an amused smirk. He takes a second to look you over, eyes trailing your silhouette in front of the skyline.

Then, he turns and pours himself one last drink. For you, he takes a moment to examine the bar.

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you’re having.” You call back as you turn, craning your neck to try to see up the stairs. There’s so much to look at, but it’s clear that you’re here to fuck him, not tour his hotel room.

Jake chuckles to himself, already figuring that you probably won’t like it, but pouring you a measure anyway.

When he turns, he finds you resting you palms against the window frame, one ankle crossed over the other, smiling softly at him. The expectation is that he’ll finally touch you, but no. Jake sits down in the armchair and sets your drink on the coffee table in front of him.

“Go, explore. I know you want to.” He permits, settling down comfortably as he takes a sip of the amber coloured liquid. Your lips quirk up, almost smiling at him. That’s a smile that he could get used to seeing.

He watches as you walk back through the way that you came. Closet and a washroom by the door, an impressive study just past that. Upstairs, there’s an even more impressive bedroom. A huge bathroom with a bathtub bigger than you’ve ever seen that leads out onto a private terrace.

You’re in a Penthouse. It starts to finally sink in that you’re here with one of the most powerful men in the city right now, and you’re still wearing his coat.

Shrugging off the expensive wool blend, you hang it in the bedroom closet and then turn to look at yourself in the floor length mirror.

The dress is nice. Your sister had helped pick it out. It’s classy enough for a work event but it fits your body in a way that has always earned you special attention.

Slowly, you touch at the bottom hem of the dress with your fingertips, guiding it up just slightly to expose the tops of your stockings. It’s beyond presumptuous, but you see the way that he looks at you.

Reaching back to catch hold of the zipper of the dress, you think of how humiliating this could be. It doesn’t stop you, though.

…

Tags: @alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox @desert-fern @fuckyeahhangman @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @someinsanefangirl @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter @shawnsblue @itsmytimetoodream

#jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman seresin #Glen powell #jake Seresin fic #jake Seresin smut #jake seresin #top gun smut #sugar daddy jake #power and control

[emilybeemartin]

Inktober Days 10-12

Day 10: "Fortune"

On the farthest-flung spit of the Florida Keys are a handful of islands bearing the second-oldest surviving European name in the US, recorded by Ponce de León for the abundance of sea turtles and the lack of fresh water (Florida’s name is considered the oldest). Shallow straits create a ship trap that has claimed hundreds of vessels from the age of sail, including loaded Spanish treasure galleons. Old lighthouses stand as memories to the effort to guide ships through lucrative but risky channels. Rising from Garden Key is a hexagonal fortress—Fort Jefferson, the largest all-brick fort in the US, which housed Union prisoners during the Civil War. Under the turquoise water are some of the most intact coral reefs in the continental US. The water teems with sea life, and in addition to several year-round seabird species, the islands serve as stopovers for migrating birds. It’s a treasure trove lousy with natural and historical abundance. A vast fortune of biodiversity and human history.

This message is not brought to you by Visit Dry Tortugas LLC—it’s brought to you by a too-romantic ranger who’s a sucker for lonely maritime outposts and would desperately like to visit this unusual little member of the National Park Service.

Day 11: "Wander"

Some parks more than others seem to invite visitors to wander. It’s the twists of a path, dipping in and out of the rises in a landscape. It’s the light filtering through dark forests, promising something new beyond the branches. It’s the shoulders of a massive mountain standing like a beacon, or its invisible summit covered in clouds. Mount Rainier, like so many other protected places, seems to beckon—come. Explore. Take it in.

But stay on the path—alpine habitats are fragile.

Day 12: "Spicy"

Olympic was the first park I fell in love with, and it was a twenty-year long-distance relationship. A National Geographic article I read in high school painted a picture of verdant rainforests dripping with moss, wild windy coastlines, and high snowy peaks. I desperately wanted to see these places myself, stand under the towering cedars and breathe in their spicy scent. My desire to visit was so strong that the summers I worked in Glacier and Yellowstone, I would constantly plot the drive west, hoping the travel time would somehow get shorter. It was eleven hours. I could do that in a long weekend, couldn’t I? Take one of my precious few days off and just blitz to the coast?

The plans never worked out, which is probably for the best. Instead, after two years of Covid-cancelled plans, my husband and I decided to make the trip together from the east coast. It was infinitely better than a snatched day and a half all alone. For a week, we explored the glaciated mountains, rocky beaches, and primordial rainforests. After two-thirds of my life spent pining after this park, it was everything I’d dreamed it would be and more.

#31 days of national parks #inktober #dry tortugas #mount rainier #olympic #inktober 2023

[sparkypantaloons]

Call Waiting

That was the affect he had. Superman. He made you think that everything would be fine. Right up until the moment he was gone.

Jason struggles with expectation and reality; what Superman had been for Dick, what he could have been for Jason, and the nothing that he ultimately was.

~~

Jason had seen him once, flying over Gotham. The red cape and boots and a suit bluer than sky; the golden skin and broad shoulders, smile warmer than any sun.

Jason had been seven, chin jutting forward and jaw set. Small hands clenched in angry fists. He was arguing with the old Park Row chemist, Mr. Bevan, who dealt in out-of-date meds for those who couldn’t afford the real thing. The old man had promised Jason 100 grams of lofexidine; had delivered less than fifty but still taken the full payment. Refused Jason’s every plea and curse and cry of unfairness.

All Jason had wanted was to get his mom off of the oxy; to get her all the way through the withdrawal this time and get her better. Get her back; to who she had been… Hunger clawed at his insides, he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in weeks, had saved up every penny he could find to try and help her and—

Superman had appeared in the sky. Impossibly huge and brilliantly bright, warmth radiating off him. He landed not two feet from where Jason was stood.

For one wild moment Jason felt like he’d won the lottery. Superman was here, Superman was here and surely it was for Jason. That’s what he did, wasn’t it? He saved people, people who really needed it. Surely he must have heard, surely he would have known; how desperate Jason and his mom were. How badly they needed help, needed the money and the medicine and somewhere warm and safe and—

The Kryptonian didn’t even see him. Didn’t just look over Jason’s head, but beyond it. Searching the layers of existence for whatever it was he saw in the walls, the very cells of Gotham’s crumbling Park Row district.

“Excuse me.” He’d said politely to old man Bevan, his voice warm with Metropolis sunshine. He’d dipped his head, as though doffing a hat, and then smashed right through the wall of the east end’s Gotham Bank and down into the old vaults.

It took Jason a moment to remember to breathe. He’d seen plenty of crazy things living on Gotham’s poverty line, but he’d never seen a man walk through a wall like it was rain. Superman appeared moments later, with Dick Grayson - that billionaire’s kid - clinging onto his shoulders, and distantly Jason had remembered something about the twelve year old having been kidnapped.

Dick’s arms were wrapped around Superman’s neck, fingers linking under the alien’s chin. There was a grin on his face a mile wide.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe.” Superman had said, rising into the sky as he spoke.

Jason watched them go, the world around him growing cooler by the moment, now that Superman wasn’t there to shine on them. It wasn’t until he got back to the apartment, dank and crumbling, that he realised the cold feeling in his gut wasn’t hunger, but devastation.

~~

Robin met him in the Cave first. He was just as big as Jason remembered, just as overwhelming; his cape a deep, rich red.

“And as for you, Jason—” Superman’s hand had found Jason’s head, had ruffled his hair; his voice warm and booming. “Congratulations on getting that costume, I hear you’re wearing the suit well.”

Jason had only grinned, dizzy with wonder in Superman’s presence. At hearing his name come from the man himself.

“Wow—” He’d breathed, watching the Kryptonian fly from the Cave. Adrenaline had flooded his veins as the red cape slipped out of sight, “I can’t believe that was Superman!” He’d spun round to face Bruce, hopping from foot to foot with excitement. “He spoke to me! Double wow!”

Bruce had pulled down his cowl by now, slung an arm around Jason’s shoulders. “I’m wounded, Robin.” He feigned hurt, held a hand to his heart. “Batman speaks to you everyday.”

Jason had rolled his eyes, dug a playful elbow into Bruce’s ribs. “Batman can’t even fly, B. Come back to me when you’re faster than a speeding bullet.” Then he’d slipped from under Bruce’s arm, sprinting to the showers with a laugh as Bruce gave chase.

Jason had heard stories about Dick’s time with the world’s finest. The adventures the three of them had been on, how close Dick and Clark had become. Hell, Dick had even named himself after a Kryptonian legend, had been given Big Blue’s blessing to do so.

For the first time in Jason’s short life, things were going right. So for the first time he dared to imagine, to think that maybe that would be him too. He’d finally have the big family he always dreamed of, a dad and a brother and Superman. Who knows, maybe he’d even grow up and be Flamebird with Dick.

That was the affect he had. Superman. He made you think that everything would be fine. Right up until the moment he was gone.

He’d been polite, obviously, kind… but ultimately disinterested. There were no adventures together, no team, no family… And when Jason had called for him, cried his name under the relentless swing of metal against bone, it was a burning cold that filled his heart. Sorrowful and dark.

~~

“I called for you, you know.” Red Hood stands above him. It’s hard to tell the cape from the blood now, where it lies in the snow. “When I was fifteen, and the Joker was— I called. I called right up until he cracked through my skull and I suddenly couldn’t remember how to speak anymore.”

Superman lifts his head weakly, eyes drifting from the shard of kryptonite lodged in his gut to where Jason is stood, the eponymous hood under his arm. “Jason— please…” The words tumble from of his mouth, limp and cold.

“Yeah, it was along those lines.” Jason says, dispassionately, breath rising in front of him. “I called for you before that too. When I was a kid and my mom was sick and…” He trails off. “You never came.”

Blood is pooling in Superman’s mouth now. It dribbles down his cheek, onto the dirt floor. Clark’s eyes roll in his head. “Was— off— world—” He chokes the words out. Blood flecks his skin, silver instead of gold now, as the life seeps out of him.

“Bruce said.” Jason replies, “Not when Joker needed saving though.” He adds. A pause. “Saving.” There’s no malice in it, he’s just stating facts.

“m’sorry.” Clark mumbles. His lips are turning blue now, beneath the blood.

Jason shrugs. “Is what it is.”

“Help me. Please.” Superman’s words slur together. “Hav’a, hav’a— son.”

Jason scowls at that, a jolt of hot rage in his cold bones. He had been someone’s son once, twice. It hadn’t made a difference then. Why should it now?

“J’son, hel—”

“You’ve never helped me.” Jason replies, he’s feeling petulant now. About all he can feel in these temperatures.

“S’rry.” Superman grimaces again. “Would h’ve. Would’ve come. If y’ called.”

In the distance a green glow is growing larger on the horizon. Lanterns, Jason expects. He puts his helmet back on, stares down at Superman, expressionless.

“I did,” he says. “Once.”

#batfam #jason todd #spbfic #batfam fic #batfic #batfamily #red hood #superman #clark kent

[marrowfrog00]

You Stir My Natural Emotions

A/N: Hi, this is a post I made a while back on my Ao3 and since I'm dragging ass on writing anything new...I thought I'd rest on my barely-there, crusty, dusty ass laurels until inspiration strikes or I put my back into actualizing my idea-rs.

CW: MDNI, Smut (characters are 18+), Mentions of Trauma, Broken Bones, Misunderstandings, Idiots in Love, Quarreling, Canon Typical Violence, Flashbacks, Descriptions of female anatomy, Oral (f receiving), P in V, Protected Sex, Adaptive Sex, Mentions of deceased grandmother, Not formatted b/c fuck that r.n., lmk if I missed anything

wc: 13.9k

Steve’s polo was pasted to his back with the sweat of high Midwestern summer. He glanced back at his Bimmer, parked behind Nancy’s station wagon, more than a little uneasy at the prospect of leaving it on the narrow shoulder of the county road. 

His destination, an unauthorized swimming hole with a somewhat rickety, decommissioned dock, didn’t have a proper parking space. Not like the well kept county-owned lakeside park on the other side of the water. That spot had designated parking but would no doubt be littered with desperate, unadventurous families trying to beat the heat. 

People unlike his friends, who frequented the busted but perfectly functional East shore of the lake. 

He bushwhacked through noxious weeds and nettles, feet seeking out the half-worn path that would take him to the meeting spot. He reached the little bluff, where he had to cut little switchbacks to make it down the hill without breaking his ankle. When he reached the last tree stand he heard the rowdy voices of his friends carry across the shallows of the lake. 

And just in time, too - the polyester and mesh of his swim trunks were chafing him under his Jordache jeans. 

He could see the backs of Robin’s and Eddie’s heads in low seat beach chairs. They were clandestinely passing a flask between them while Nancy and Jon sat on a blanket beside them, Nancy rubbing sunblock on her boyfriend’s shoulders, pausing to push her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. 

She noticed Steve’s approach, head shooting up with a bright smile. “Hey! You made it!”

Eddie, Robin and Jon’s heads shot up in reaction, each of them shooting him a half-enthused greeting.

“What took you so long, dingus?” Robin crowed, clearly half-tipsy.

Steve scoffed, pulling his polo over his head and tossing it by the cooler. 

“Well, someone called out today and I had to stay on an extra hour and a half at the store waiting for coverage,” he sniped back with no heat. Robin blew a raspberry at him.

“Strip down, Big Boy, you’re wasting daylight,” Eddie shot lazily. He stretched out on his beach chair, limbs quaking at full extension like those of a freshly-awakened cat. His chest was on full display, the white cast of badly-applied sunblock streaked across his tummy.

Steve rolled his eyes - there was nothing if not daylight to waste, the sun smiling at them all meanly from high in the sky.

 He shuffled his jeans down his legs before kicking them in Eddie’s face, who expertly dodged the attack with a guffaw.

Over on the dock, Max and El lay shoulder-to-shoulder on their stomachs, giggling over a glossy magazine while Mike and Lucas hollered off the edge, filling their super soakers from the dock’s edge. Will was buried in a sketch pad, toes dipped in the water.

Steve’s hands were planted on his hips as he did a quick headcount. A force of habit these days. He narrowed his eyes in search of the missing two. 

“Where are Dustin and Teenie?” he asked, noting suspicion in his own voice. The very two people he always had eyes on (if he could help it) were missing from this idyllic tableau. Nancy craned her neck to look toward the lake. 

“They’re in the water,” she said as if it were obvious. “They’ve been in there forever.” 

Steve felt his stomach clench uneasily but tried to school his expression into something nonplussed as he started toward the dock. 

“Why is she in the water?” he muttered to no one in particular, noting the worried pitch in his own voice. 

He saw the four heads of his nearly-adult friends turn toward him in unison as he walked past them. 

Robin chimed in then, through a hiccup “Psh, she’s fine Steven. We reinforced her.”

 Steve ignored her.

Max and El glanced up at him, muttering uninterested twin-greetings to him as he stepped gingerly between them. Will let him scooch past.

“Hey!” came your voice. “Do not shoot water in each other's mouths, this water is stagnant,” you barked. “That’s guaranteed dysentery.” 

“Sorry,” Lucas and Mike responded in unison.

Finally, yours and Dustin’s forms bobbing in the water came into view. Dustin was sputtering and rubbing his face with the hand not holding his own super soaker, clearly having been on the receiving end of Lucas and Mike’s attack. 

You were a few feet away from him, straddling a neon orange pool noodle. 

You were wearing that infernal bikini…the spring green one with ditsy white flowers and an underwire that smooshed your bust into a juicy-looking sculpture shaped by the hands of an unfair, horny god.

 Your hair was damp around your face. Even behind your red cat eye sunglasses, you appeared unimpressed until you caught sight of Steve and beamed at him. 

“Stevie!” you squealed. 

He didn’t waste another moment taking in the sight of you before he shoved off the dock and waded the short distance over to you and Dustin. 

“Hey, Steve!” he heard Dustin greet sweetly. Steve ignored it, leveling his gaze at you. 

“Teenie, what the hell are you doing in the lake?”

Your pretty smile fell at his words. You hesitated a moment before you fixed your face into a sardonic expression. 

“You’re looking at it, Stevie.”

“Your arm, Teenie! Your cast!” 

Steve didn’t notice how every head had turned toward the two of you at his little outburst. At that, you pulled your left arm out of the water, where it had been obscured. It looked like Swamp Thing, dark and soggy, water running off of it in rivulets. Steve saw that it was covered in a black rubbish bag, secured with silver duct tape (plus a derelict shoe lace) at your elbow. 

“It’s sorted, Stevie.” Steve heard conciliation in your voice. “The plaster’s bone dry underneath, ya happy?” 

No, he wasn’t happy.

Frankly, Steve didn’t care who had rigged the dry bag around the cast securing your fractured ulna. If he had, his money would have been on the braintrust that was Eddie and Robin, but who knew with this ragtag group? It wasn't as though the lot of them hadn’t crafted a bevy of improvised weapons and structures and clothing in the past.

Steve’s blood was boiling. He shouldn’t have had to tell you to stay out of the water, you should have just known.

 Yeah, lake day had been your idea, but he’d had a very different design for this day in his head when you’d proposed it.

 He thought the kids would splash around in the shallows while you and him (plus the other four sort-of grown ups) lounged at the water’s edge. 

The two of you would lather each other in sunblock (you with your good arm) and share a beer or two, and he would stare discreetly and shamelessly at your half-naked, prone body behind the safety of his Ray-Bans while some sappy love song played over the boombox and he pretended you were his and he wasn’t tap dancing around his feelings that he'd only sort of started realizing were feelings and-

“Steve,” you uttered sharply, snapping him out of his daydream.

Right. He had been busy giving you the business about reckless swimming. 

“You’re a terrible swimmer on a good day,” he scolded. “You really think you can hold your own with one arm?” he reasoned, gesturing at your form.

You pushed your sunglasses to the top of your head and glared at him, unimpressed. 

Dustin chose then to speak up, mildly. Steve almost forgot he was there. 

“We’re touching the bottom, Steve. We’re being safe, we’re touching the bottom,” he tried with a chord of desperation.

Steve looked between the two of you. A nasty little smirk on your face threatened to emerge. 

“Yeah, we’re touching the bottom.” You demonstrated your point by bouncing up and down on your toes a few times. Steve had to ignore how your boobs bounced with the motion. “And I have this, for buoyancy,” you added, smacking the end of your pool noodle into the water and sending a spray of water into Steve’s face.

Dustin cackled suddenly at Steve’s sputtering. Lucas, Mike, El and Max joined the hysterics shortly thereafter. Will hid a snicker behind his sketch pad.

 It should have broken the tension. It should have been the hard reset on the fun that Steve had almost ruined with his poop-pantsery.

“What about Dustin?” Steve tried then. He was feeling outnumbered here. And a little stupid, frankly. But righteous. Like, how the hell was he supposed to feel when he leaves the lot of you alone for one afternoon and the two (arguably) most vulnerable people are just hanging out with no one to stop you drowning?

Dustin’s blue eyes grew big and confused at the mention of his name. You looked at the young curly-haired boy reflexively.

“What about ‘im?” you shot back.

“He doesn’t have collar bones!” Steve barked, gesturing at the boy. 

Dustin looked a little hurt by the observation, true though it may be. Steve winced a little at his own insensitivity and immediately wished he could walk it back. “Sorry, bud,” he offered. 

Dustin seemed immediately appeased at his correction and shrugged as if to say “no problem.”

You weren’t ready to let it go, however. A mean guffaw escaped from the back of your throat before you replied “Dustin is fine. He’s a very capable swimmer,” you spat. Unlike me, Steve heard you mutter snarkily under your breath.

 You flicked Dustin’s nose lightly and winked at him, and he preened under your attention. All the kids did. You had that way about you, is all. 

Sensing the tension on the water, Eddie, Rob, Nance and Jon were stood up on the shore, looking on with mild concern. 

Steve noticed you noticing them and then you shook your head and declared “Know what? I packed sandwiches and nobody has touched them, so…andiamo.” 

With that, you abandoned your pool noodle and lifted yourself out of the water and onto the dock by your good arm. 

I would have helped her, Steve thought to himself bitterly, watching you drop hard on your knees before getting to your feet. 

He sated his need to help by pushing Dustin onto the dock by his butt, much to Dustin’s annoyance.

A bit later, everyone was seated on the shore, the last of the sandwiches having been polished off. 

The tension had waned for everyone else and the ambient murmur of jovial conversation had returned. 

Eddie was seated at Steve’s side, yammering in his ear about a road trip he wanted to take with you all sometime next Spring.

 But Steve’s gaze was trained on you, across the circle, engaged in quiet conversation with Nancy and Robin. 

You had pulled your shorts on, leaving them unbuttoned over your bikini bottoms. Your oxford shirt with the sleeves cut off was unbuttoned, billowing open down to your navel. The trash bag had been removed from your arm carefully with the help of the tiny scissors on Dustin’s swiss army knife. 

You smiled wryly at some joke that Robin had made. Your face was free of makeup, eyes a little tired, but sanguine. 

“Ya listening to me, Stevie boy?” Eddie asked, cutting through Steve’s haze. 

“Sorry dude,” Steve shot back mindlessly, willing himself to pry his gaze away.

Eddie merely sniggered at his friend’s lack of manners. “That was quite a spectacle the two of you put on earlier.”

Steve scowled at him, knowing damn well what he was talking about, but choosing to feign ignorance.

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

Eddie was unbothered by Steve’s pretend-game, continuing, “Like, you two guys pitch each other a lot of shit and it's usually good natured, but lately it's been…” Eddie sucked on his teeth as he pondered the right adjective. “Sticky.”

“Ed, man, shut up.”

“Nah,” Eddie said on a deep inhale. “Figure your shit out, Harrington. It’s embarrassing.” Eddie sunk back down into his chair. 

“Teenie Ween’s always been a sweetheart as long as I've known her but lately, you've been bringing out the worst in each other and it's exhausting.”

Steve’s face scrunched up in confusion, pondering Eddie’s cryptic words.

 “I’m sorry,” Steve said absently, though he didn’t know what he was sorry for.

 Eddie just smiled back at him from behind a pair of aviators.

Soon, the sun started to dip and everyone was a little sun drunk and over the day. Belongings were packed and the troupe of you made it up the bluff and through the thicket of overgrown weeds, back to the road. 

(⁠๑⁠♡⁠⌓⁠♡⁠๑⁠)

It was the transportation arrangement that really clinched the awkwardness of the outing. 

Nancy had hauled everyone to the beach earlier that day, sans you. You had been dropped off by a boy called Allen Miles and the mention of his name grated on Steve’s very spine.

Before you and Steve could devolve into another bitching match, Nancy pursed her lips and made a sound declaration that Steve would drive you, Dustin and Robin home.

 Nevermind that her station wagon would still be stuffed to the gills clown-style. And you wouldn’t even have the buffer of El at the ready since she was staying at Max’s house. You fought her on it, too.

“Does dad know you’re staying over with Max?” you asked her, almost pleading with her to give you a reason to pull elder sibling rank on you.

“Yes,” she hissed back at you haughtily. You deflated, knowing that you would be dropped off last. 

Maybe you could pretend to fall asleep during the ride so you didn’t have to deal with Steve alone. 

Looks were exchanged and car doors were slammed before you all set off into the twilight. Robin, who typically called shotty, practically shoved you into the front seat of Steve’s car. You didn’t want to make a scene in light of the day’s events, so you went without quarrel. 

Dustin and Robin droned on in the backseat about…something. You couldn’t have recounted even a smidgen of their conversation with a gun to your head. 

You were focused on Steve next to you, seething. You could feel it coming off of him. 

Your jaw clenched as Robin fixed you and Steve with an exasperated look that you could see in the side view mirror before leaving you with a cheeky adios! 

Dustin took up the mantle of filling the silence but soon enough, you were parked in front of the Henderson residence. 

The boy parried a moment before seemingly deciding he couldn't say or do anything to pop yours and Steve's acidic little bubble. The pair of you watched his mom greet him at the door before pulling away.

The thing was, today hadn’t happened in a vacuum. You and Steve had always gotten along pretty famously as far as your friends and built family were concerned. Certainly enough to make it through a world of unconscionable shit alongside the rest of them. 

But when reality as you all knew it was falling to pieces, nobody had the presence of mind to tune into the frequency that the two of you were on. They didn’t notice the intricacies of the geological formation of your relationship. 

You had materialized - yes! materialized - out of nowhere back in the fall of ‘83. You’d been sucked into the Upside Down from another time and place entirely. The unwitting and unlikely victim of a quantum hiccup twenty years in the future near your home on Nellis Airforce Base in North Las Vegas. 

Your slime-covered, barely animate fifteen-year-old body was discovered and carried out of the Upside Down by Hop. He, in a hazmat suit, you in your ripped, bloodied Catholic school uniform while Joyce stumbled alongside him with Will in her clutches. 

For weeks, you’d been near-catatonic, held in the custody of Dr. Owens while a cadre of shady G-men (plus Hop and Joyce) had tried to piece together your journey.

 You barely registered that you had leapt back in time and ended up somewhere you didn’t know a soul, half a decade before you were even born. 

For you were traumatized and plagued with guilt over the death of another teenage girl. A girl that had desperately wanted to get back to where you found yourself by accident. 

You'd tried pulling Barb off that sticky wall, even though part of you knew she was already dead. Soon, you surrendered to your exhaustion and found yourself glued to the same wall, a grotty vine prodding at your lips, trying to make a home in your esophagus right as Hop and Joyce happened upon you.

Eventually, your body healed and you came out of your stupor. You went to live with Hop. You didn’t have anywhere else to go, and besides which way, the best conclusion that the scientists from the DoE could come up with was that if you were going to go back “home”, it would be the way you came. So you had to stay close by.

 They paid a stipend to keep you fed and kept - you were an investment, afterall. Moreover, you were a liability and a paradox, and this was the best arrangement Owens could come up with. 

Hop got used to having you around, never trying to force the matter of you returning home. In the weeks when you’d lost track of El, you would sometimes stand timidly in front of the towering man until he promised you that you would find her. 

Neither of you could stand the guilt of her being out there on her own. Eventually El showed up and he decided that you would all carry on as though you had both been there the whole time. 

Nobody wanted you to go back home. How would you get there? How would you survive a second time?

You started school in January of ‘84, sticking close to the walls. 

Nancy and Jon felt responsible for you and kept you close. By default, that meant Steve, too. But Steve was suspicious of you. 

You were freaky to him and despite what he’d seen in the Byers house, he couldn’t really comprehend your being there. 

Sometimes, when you were all hanging out, a brand new song would come on the radio - like the DJ would make a big production of stressing the just released single - and then you’d absentmindedly mouth all the words perfectly. 

Other times, you’d say non-sequitur things that would turn out to be quotes from movies that hadn’t been released when you’d uttered them. 

The most unnerving was when Nancy’s father was hemming and hawing at the breakfast table one morning you were all over at the Wheeler house. 

He was pouring over a newspaper article about some sick murderer on the loose, reciting the most sordid details while Karen Wheeler stood at the stove flipping pancakes, scolding her husband for discussing it in front of the kids. 

Suddenly, you paused with your glass of orange juice poised at your lips and muttered the name Alton Coleman with a vacant look in your eyes. Days later, Alton Coleman was apprehended. 

Karen and Ted Wheeler had missed it, luckily. But when Nancy had pressed you on the issue, wondering if you were tapped into some latent psychic ability that you and her could use to fight crime, you'd disappointed the girl by informing her that one of the last things you'd seen on TV before you “leapt” was a documentary about Alton Coleman. And it had only stuck with you because you'd gone over your actions in your last days at Nellis with Owens until you were blue in the face.

Then there was the style stuff. You seemed totally confused about what you referred to as “big, crispy hair,” not to mention your general aversion to spandex and high-waisted jeans. 

You wore your hair with minimal volume, kept your clothes and makeup neutral, toned down, boring. 

Nancy thought it was because you’d been to Catholic school and you were “demure” as she put it.

But Steve had quickly clocked that you thought everything around you was cheesy and dated but you didn’t want to stand out or accidentally make a statement by dressing from your own time. So you dressed like a bland schoolmistress and let Jonathan make you mixtapes because a constant rotation of Top 40 artists eventually set your teeth on edge. 

You stopped telling Steve who the one-hit-wonders were because he was really rooting for Dexy’s Midnight Runners and he got all salty when you told him. 

Nobody tried to meet you where you were at culturally, because all of you were a little worried that if you divulged secrets from the future, it would create some kind of extra rip in the universe. So you kept your trap shut except to say that you didn’t really like your time either and that, really, the ‘80s weren’t so bad in some ways. 

Plus, you practically drooled at the sight of Eddie Van Halen and Mickey Rourke whenever you got the opportunity. They were so hot, you'd lament in a pained wail at the TV, as if you weren't living in the very time in which they were dropping your panties. 

Steve rolled his eyes every time you did this. Little Miss Catholic School swooning over rock stars and greasers. How original. Your crush on Spock from Star Trek…Well that broke up the cliché a little.

Steve slowly started to feel more at ease around you, distracting himself with his romance with Nancy. 

And you started to branch out, making friends outside of the people that knew too much for their own good.

You started wearing acid-washed denim over bolder colors, teasing your hair a bit, adopting high-waisted jeans (which made your ass look delectable, Steve grudgingly noticed - as did Allen Miles, apparently). 

You were still on the shy, mild side, but you weren't such a wallflower. People knew you by face and name now. 

Steve thought being from the future made you naturally more magnetic or something. Like you were always two moves ahead of everyone. That made him kind of nervous, though, so he still watched you in his periphery.

He told himself it was to make sure you didn’t slip up and involve anyone else in your freakish situation. He’d watch you in the cafeteria, the courtyard, laughing with your small circle of casual pals, looking for any indication that you were spilling your guts and making yourself look like a headcase in the process. 

Best case scenario, you’d wind up in an asylum or something. Worst case, you’d end up in a gulag with electrodes inserted in every square inch of visible flesh. Months of his low-key recon suddenly became moot the night of the Halloween party in ‘84. 

Steve had just had his heart crushed by Nancy in a spectacular fashion, when he pulled over on his way home.

He was trying to stave off waves of fresh pain in his chest, sat at the wheel of his car, gulping air, willing the sting of rejection to sink to the depths of his loafers. Toto’s Africa provided the soundtrack to his misery.

He startled at a gentle rapping at his window. He looked up to see you, haloed in the streetlight, wearing a copper lamé dress with a high split in the leg and a dip at the shoulder. Your eyes were smoked out, making your confused glare even more intense. 

Possessed Dana Barrett, you’d explained, offering him a bite of your candy apple. He refused it, so you chucked it out the window into a storm drain, licking your sticky fingers. 

You'd taken Nancy's little brother and his friends trick-or-treating and they'd cajoled you into being Possessed Dana Barrett to round out the Ghostbusters cast. You wanted to be Slimer but you didn't know how to pull it off on such short notice, and Joyce Byers had loaned you this gown from the days of disco, and why was he so long in the face, anyway?

Steve was just desperate enough to ask you to hang out at his, which turned into a request for you to stay over at his. He'd never had his heart broken by someone he’d chosen, and part of him wanted to hide. 

But he knew going home to his empty house and the silence would taunt him. You went along with it easily. You almost didn't even seem confused as to why he was asking you. 

You washed your face and used a spare toothbrush he had. The sleeves of the pajama top he'd long since outgrown still reached past your fingertips. He'd stared at you as you rolled them up your forearms, one leg crossed over the other, hanging off the edge of his bed.

It felt strange but comforting and he allowed himself to wonder if he'd ever get to see a lover or even his wife do those same dainty motions in a bigger bed. In a shared bed, one day. He wondered if he'd remember the sight of you, right now.

You and him were laying in his bed, top and tail - platonic 69’ing, you'd joked, immediately clearing your throat when Steve didn't laugh -, when you broke the silence telling him, “Talk to her. In a couple days. She was drunk, Steve, she didn't know what she was saying.” 

He had to remind himself that you were talking about him and Nance.

“She was hurtfully clear about it,” he retorted. A beat passed before you offered an anecdote about your first time getting drunk at a Christmas party on base. 

You'd snuck a bunch of drinks with some other Air Force brats throughout the night before loudly declaring to a room full of military families that you were going to invent the hoverboard from Back to the Future. 

Steve didn't know what Back to the Future was and you quickly corrected course, telling him to get some sleep. 

That was the night the two of you became something like friends. 

The next day he woke up with the red painted toe nails of one of your feet lodged in the crook of his arm. He didn’t hate it. 

Mere days later, after you'd blocked Lucas Sinclair’s body with your own and gotten Billy Hargrove’s backhand for your trouble, after he'd watched you clutch the Mother Mary medallion around your neck and recite whispered, rushed prayers to a god you scarcely believed in in the back of an abandoned school bus before fighting otherworldly monsters alongside him, and going back into that hell mouth because you'd been down there before and couldn't let the rest go in without knowing what they were up against…

Steve felt ready to let Nancy go. 

He still cared for her, he still didn't like how it ended, but his world felt bigger and less stifling now. And he didn't need to hold onto the last dregs of something that would stay just that…dregs. There were possibilities all around him. He didn't want to cling to someone that didn't want him back.

Yours and Steve's friendship was quietly strengthened over two more reality-rocking apocalypses. One of those included his initiation to the Back to the Future franchise. “Ooooh,” he'd loudly declared in the theater, finally understanding your reference while off his face on Russian truth serum. You’d looked over at him with bleary eyes, shooting him finger guns, grateful for the vindication.

In between, and after the mall fire, there were lots of jokes, cookouts, Midwest adventures and plenty of heretofore platonic 69ing in his bed. Top and tail sleepovers followed by rote, cozy breakfasts at the county’s diners. 

You would mewl a miserable sleep song on those mornings until he reminded you of the very existence of French toast.

 Sometimes it was just the two of you, sometimes your friends joined. But it was almost agonizing in its closeness and familiarity. And it grew out of the impossible.

A shrink could have told Steve that the bitching between the two of you that occasionally oozed to the surface like liquid rock was a trauma response. The shrink would have gone on to explain that Steve was projecting his fears onto you because you were an easy target. You'd experienced it together and he had access to you. And Steve would need to find another shrink because he'd know they were only half-right. 

Yes, you'd become fixtures in each other's lives and had shared experiences out of the ordinary. But the same could be said of Robin or Dustin or Eddie, etc. and yes, he mother-henned them all, but when it came to you, he couldn't be talked out of it. Because as important as Robin or Dustin or Eddie, etc. were to him, it was your ass that he couldn't seem to crawl out of, and it annoyed you as much as anyone else.

You'd been very sweet and mellow about it up to this point, but things were getting confusing between you two. Hence the pool noodle incident and passive aggressive defiance.

You started buttoning your shirt up just for something to do with your good hand and after a prolonged and uncomfortable silence, Steve spoke. “Allen Miles,” he said simply.

You stopped at the top button of your blouse. “Allen Miles,” you parroted back.

You saw the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. “Allen…Miles,” he tried again, testing the name on his tongue.

You picked at your cast, tracing the well-wishes in Robin's loopy chicken scratch with your thumb. “Is a person that exists,” you said flaty, as if to staunch whatever shit was about to come out of his mouth next.

“Allen Miles is a douche-dick,” he sing-songed quietly enough that you could have pretended not to hear.

Unbelievable. You sniffed at the insult. “What'd Allen Miles ever do to you?”

“Why'd he give you a ride today?” he asked, dodging the question. “You could have piled in with everyone else.” Ugh. He sounded like Hop.

The simplicity and faux-calmness of the statement took you aback. Was he for real right now? “He works at the rec center on Saturday mornings and I had physio-therapy there today. He offered,” you countered, trying not to sound as defensive as you felt - though the words came out in a rapid stream almost as if they’d been rehearsed (they weren’t). You bit the inside of your cheek. An argument was a-brewin.’

Steve turned off the narrow highway onto the skinny, heavily-wooded trail to the cabin. He was seething and neither of you knew why. “So he waited for you to get done with PT?” 

“No,” you shot back, not fully understanding the anger under his line of questioning. “His shift ended a half hour after I was done. I waited for him.”

A scoff. “He made you wait for him?” He posed the question as if it was the most distasteful thing he could imagine.

“He didn’t make me do anything! He didn't have to drive me in the first place!”

“Well then why didn’t you come to the store! If you were waiting for a ride, you could have waited for me!”

“That would have taken hours! What is your problem?”

“Just-” Steve took a deep breath, flicking his gaze to you briefly as the Bimmer trundled down the beaten path to the cabin. “I just wonder about Miles, ya know? He’s a little sleazy around you, what if he just wants to get in your pants? What if he’d-”

Steve was the Larry Bird of cutting himself off, apparently.

“What if he’d made a move?” you offered.

“Exactly,” Steve said, pointing at you.

“What if he had?” you questioned honestly.

The cabin came into view, mercifully, only a moment later. Your head was swimming. Steve had been acting so short with you the last few weeks. It had ramped up when you’d broken the arm.

It was a stupid accident, really. Max had begged you to take a run on the skateboard, something you’d never done. She’d egged you on and you’d done it and you’d gone flying over a stop skid in the church parking lot. 

She had to run into the church and have the secretary call you an ambulance. In hindsight, you were lucky you hadn’t broken your face open. You knew when to take a W, so you didn’t dwell on the possibilities too much.

Steve had heard you were in the hospital and had a conniption. Granted, he hadn’t stayed on the phone with Max long enough to hear It’s just her arm, she’s fine. 

You’d been hopped up on morphine and called him a fruit loop for getting his panties in such a twist. 

And ever since then, you two had been walking a razor’s edge. Where it had once been easy to diffuse your little tiffs, you seemed to be perpetually living under one another’s skin. 

Steve threw the car in park and whipped over to face you. “What do you mean what if he had?” You did not appreciate the falsetto that his voice had taken on to impersonate you. 

“I mean what I said, Steve! What is your deal?”

“He could be a total dirt bag, Teenie!”

You sighed to yourself and pinched the bridge of your nose. You were suddenly so tired. “He didn’t make a pass at me, Steve. He was very sweet and cordial and I got there in one piece and I really need you to back off right now, please.”

This was it. This was your limit. You wanted to crawl out of your skin. You huffed quietly to yourself before telling Steve “I need you to not talk to me for a while, okay?” And at that, you grabbed your bag from between your feet and got out of the car.

You heard Steve government-name you before you closed the door and skulked toward the cabin. The tears came fast and you were grateful that Steve didn’t follow you. Instead he gripped his steering wheel and internally scolded himself for everything that had just transpired. 

Steve knew he wasn’t always the brightest, but how? How did he always end up shooting himself in the foot? He chanced a look at the cabin and lingered for a moment after he saw the light in the mudroom off the side that served as your sleeping quarters had turned on. 

He gave more than a passing thought to going in after you, but he wasn’t going to fuck it further by pushing you when you’d explicitly asked for space. Plus, he was chastised, but he was still fussy, and he didn’t fully trust himself to not keep digging this hole deeper. 

After a moment, he gathered himself and left the property, turning up the radio and letting Talk to Me by Stevie Nicks rub the salt in as he made his way back to his empty house. 

Inside the cabin, you watched Steve’s headlights disappear as you wrestled your Detroit Red Wings jersey over your cast. It was the only sleep shirt that you could get over your cast at the moment. 

Your tears had subsided, slurped back up into your tear ducts for the sheer fact that you didn’t want to waste anymore tears on Steve Harrington. 

He probably didn’t know it, the beautiful dolt, but over the years that you’d known him, he’d kept pushing on the same bruise, and it had gotten even more difficult for you to cope. 

He'd gone for the throat harping on Allen Miles, whom you were not interested in like that. Steve's over-the-top paternalistic revulsion at the thought of you getting some hurt your feelings and made you feel like he'd only ever see you as a fragile little sister figure that he needed to coddle. Like your having sex was some kind of aberration. 

Having him treat you that way with the way you felt about him twisted your heart.

You were tired of having a big and important part of you ignored. A part that you’d never talked with anyone, especially Steve, in great detail. The sexual part. The (gag) sensual part. You were eighteen going on forty-eight, already whinging internally about how you were a woman™ dammit and you had needs™. 

You weren’t seasoned, by any means. You’d had a handful of secret fumbles with secret partners and you’d made discoveries about yourself. 

A of all- and this one you’d suspected since puberty hit - you got turned on easily. Like sloppy, soppy, pushing down on your vulva like you were hiding a boner turned on. And for no reason.

Sometimes it happened when you saw Eddie Van Halen on MTV or Mickey Rourke in Rumble Fish or LeVar Burton on the cover of TV Guide. 

Sometimes it happened when you had to go to a stupid school spirit assembly and had to look at boys in their stupid, short basketball shorts and/or girls in their cheerleading regalia. 

Sometimes it happened when you watched Eddie’s band practice in Gareth’s garage and saw the young Munson trash around all sweaty, handling his guitar expertly.

Once, it had happened when you saw Robin throw a balled up Dixie Cup into a bin at a considerable distance and she’d celebrated excessively and it was cute. 

You knew you didn't want to fuck Eddie or Robin -it would be weird beyond weird. It's just that you could appreciate them.

The same way you appreciated the nasty smacking noises Nancy and Jon made when they were making out in what they thought was a private moment and you knew they were gonna bang later. 

Your friends did sexy things, and sometimes it turned you on.

Mostly, though, it happened with Steve. At least once a day (usually more), he did something that accidentally got you going. A hand on his hip, and hand through his hair, a smirk, a wink, a smile, a whisper in your ear, a casual touch on the small of your back. 

This was to say nothing of how he made you feel emotionally. How unguarded and at peace you felt when he was around. How physical closeness felt as natural as breathing, and you were not hugged enough as a child, so that was saying something. 

Sometimes you'd give each other long lingering hugs and it made you wish you could fuse your flesh to his. You wanted to be his Kuato, always melded to his tummy. And you knew it was weird but so what? Nobody needed to know.

B of all - you liked being touched. And snogged. And railed. And held tight. Which you discovered on your own and in secret, no thanks to Steve. Because Steve usually had a squeeze waiting in the wings somewhere. 

And even when he didn’t, he was preoccupied either with healing from his first great heartbreak or pondering how to rebound from said great heartbreak. Despite your raging hormones, you knew you wanted nothing to do with either of those. So you outsourced your sexual energy.

As soon as you'd gotten over your hangups about the cheesy, neon, teased to high-hell vomit pile that was the 1980s in America, and you'd leaned into it just a little bit, you started getting noticed. And you discovered, thanks to Francis and David and Chelsea (separately), that you did not just enjoy sex in theory, but also in practice. 

The kicker, though, was that while you physically enjoyed the sex that you’d had, you realized when you were coming down from the high that something might be missing. You could have an orgasm that you felt in your very boots, but you wouldn’t ever ask the person that had just rocked your world to drive you to the airport or buy you French toast, much less trust them with your heart. 

Your stupid, stupid heart. It beat for a boy that seemed to think you had the sex life of a castrato.

You flopped down on your bed and stared at your ceiling. You felt kind of bad brushing Steve off like that, even demanding that he not talk to you. 

You hadn't chanced a look back at his face when you'd left his car, but you knew you would have seen that hardened, confused look that he got when he was hurt. That look that always crushed you and made you want to kiss his face and whisper sweet words until he broke out into that cocky grin of his.

You rolled over and closed your eyes, wishing he was next to you, that you could feel his weight and body heat, that you were holding him by the crook of his elbow and pressing your face into his bicep. That you could somehow transmit your thoughts without speaking them out loud and that he would at least be gentler with you and not infer that you were sexless anymore. Even if he didn’t want you like that.

You settled into that lukewarm fantasy, of the memory of him, and let yourself drift to sleep.

(⁠๑⁠♡⁠⌓⁠♡⁠๑⁠)

Steve was sitting on his floor leaned against his bed, holding one of his most prized worldly possessions. It was a candid Polaroid of the two of you.

It was taken at the fair last year. It was a little overexposed with the lights from the rides surrounding you, but the figures of you two were clear as day.

In the photo, Steve was holding your wrist to his chest with a crooked grin, mouth poised near your ear. It looked like he'd just whispered something to you. Your head was crooked to the side and down, like you were trying to worm away from his grasp, your eyes closed with the intensity of your laugh. Your face was glowing with the fair lights and there was a streak of white on your cheek. You both looked sublimely happy.

Steve smiled at the memory. You'd made a game of forcing bits of funnel cake into his mouth when he wasn't paying attention when finally, he'd caught you before your next “attack” and smeared powdered sugar from the pastry onto your cheek as revenge.

His first thought when Jonathan had presented him with the memento at the end of that night was that he was looking at you like a boy in love and he wondered how many times he'd been caught looking at you like that, without photographic evidence.

The bitter memory of you telling him I need you to not talk to me for a while roared back into his consciousness and slapped him in the face. You'd sounded hurt, on top of being pissed. 

Did you really want to date Allen Miles? You said he hadn't made a pass at you. Did it hurt your feelings because he didn't make a pass at you and Steve had just dug the knife in more? He'd throttle Miles if he'd hurt your feelings. Fuck that guy.

Or were you worried about Steve's opinion of your choice in boyfriends? Was Allen your type? What was your type? He knew Eddie Van Halen and Mickey Rourke and LeVar Burton were your type but that weird trinity did not clarify things for him.

Steve tried to recall what, besides his shortness with you, could have triggered you to react the way that you did. By now, he knew that whatever it was, it was his fault. He would love to pawn the blame off on you but you were usually blameless, especially to him. You were sweet and gentle and always seemed to anticipate and prioritize other people’s needs at your own peril. 

He'd given you space like you asked but it had been a couple days now. He was starting to feel like he was jonesing. 

He was hoping you would have come to visit him at the video store by now, jumping on his back and hugging him like a koala, whispering in his ear that all was forgiven and things could go back to normal, like how they were before you'd broken your arm.

But when Steve thought about things going back the way they were, it made his brain itch. He felt like something was totally different and the two of you couldn't go back if you wanted to. Moreover, he didn't know if he did want to. He wanted…

Steve's thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing. He slid the Polaroid of you two back into his bedside drawer and hastily picked up the receiver. Please be her, please be her, please be her. 

“Hello?”

“Steve?” 

Nance. “Nance?” Fuck it all. Steve bit back his disappointment. “What's up?”

“Is Teenie over at yours? I tried to call her but El said she's not home but she's not working today, either. I know Robin was scheduled at the store today. I thought she might be with you.”

Steve's jaw clenched involuntarily. Were you with Allen Miles? 

“Um,” Steve said with a little choke. “No, no. She's not here. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything's good. It's just that I was emptying the cooler and I found that Mother Mary medallion she always wears? It must have slipped off her neck. It was her grandmother's and I thought she might be bugging out thinking it was lost forever and-”

“I'll come get it,” Steve interrupted. He was already pulling his sneakers on. “You gonna be home for a minute?”

“Oh.” A pause. “It's no big deal, Steve, I'm running Mike to the cabin tomorrow, I can just drop it off then.”

Steve was pacing now, thinking he might be losing his line back to you. You did love that necklace even though you'd abandoned the Church forever ago. Your grandmother was the only person from back “home” that you were sentimental about - and she'd died not long before you'd ended up here. 

That necklace was the only tangible piece of your former life that you really cared about. Maybe you'd be more inclined to listen or even share oxygen with him if he brought it back to you.

“Uh, it's cool. She actually left her uh,” Steve began, looking around the room then down at his feet, “uh, her shoes, yeah. She left them in my car when I dropped her off the other night.” Lie.

He heard Nancy laugh, a little disbelievingly. “She left her shoes in your car.” It came out as a statement.

“Psh, yeah. They were all sandy from the beach and she hates the feeling of leftover sand in between her toes.” Half lie. You had told him that, once. “Anyway, I'll be by in like ten.” 

“Ste-”

Steve dropped the receiver back in the cradle and made a mad dash for Nancy’s. Nancy was waiting for him on the front step when he arrived. When she dropped the necklace in his waiting palm, he held it gingerly and stared at it like a holy relic.

Nancy cleared her throat. Steve met her eyes and he could see something like suspicion dancing behind them, along with a little smirk. “You better go find Teenie. Poor girl’s walking around without shoes, afterall.”

Nancy was always too smart for her own good - or anyone else’s for that matter. He thanked her as if she’d given him the world and went on his merry way. 

(⁠๑⁠♡⁠⌓⁠♡⁠๑⁠)

Steve decided to make a pitstop back at his house instead of going right over to yours. He’d been planning on going to the cabin and waiting for you if you hadn’t gotten home yet. 

But after he left Nancy’s, he thought that this might not be the move. You were really mad at him and he wanted to show you that he could listen and respect your wishes.

He spent a good twenty minutes pacing around his living room trying to come up with a gameplan on how to return your necklace without ruffling your feathers further. 

Maybe he should buy you an obnoxiously large teddy bear? 

No, if you hated it, he would be stuck with an over-large, cutesy reminder of his failure. 

Or maybe he could hire one of those dorky barbershop quartets to show up at work and sing you a song about how he knew he was a dipshit, but you meant so much to him, please take him back?

 No, no. You would die of embarrassment and probably haunt him for the rest of his days. 

He was still holding your necklace, gripping his hair by the roots when he heard the doorbell. 

Maybe it was Dustin or Eddie. Maybe he could bounce some ideas off them, he thought as he jogged toward the door. 

He opened it and felt the air leave his lungs when he saw you standing there. You were staring up at him, eyes wide, swaying your shoulders a little bit the way you did when you were nervous. 

You were wearing his favorite dress of yours. This beige thing with tie straps and red flowers on it. The first time he’d seen you wear it, you’d been all dolled up in a way that was almost salacious. Now you wore your hair down with barely a stitch of makeup on and Steve thought you looked…

“Hi,” you said shyly. 

“Hi,” he said back, his voice sounding small in his ears. He cleared his throat, hoping that if he found his voice again, he wouldn’t sound so broken. “Come in?”

You didn’t hesitate, thankfully. You walked past him, minding your cast and stopped in the foyer before you turned to him. You shrugged one shoulder bashfully. 

“Nancy said you had my necklace.” Your face scrunched up in confusion. “Also, something about shoes?”

Steve pushed the door shut and walked over to you. 

“Uh, yeah, I might have lied to her and said you left your shoes in my car so I’d have an excuse to take custody of your necklace.” 

The confusion on your face deepened. 

Steve held your necklace out to you and you let him drop it into your good hand.

You both stood there for an awkward moment. “I missed you,” you said.

Steve felt his heart soar and opened his mouth to respond but you cut him off. 

“Will you help me?” you asked, holding up the necklace and then your cast to make your point. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said, rushing to your back. You handed him the necklace and bunched your hair up in a fist, holding it out of the way. 

Steve took a moment to appreciate the back of your neck, the downy hairs at your hairline, the little birthmark at the junction of your shoulder. He looped the necklace around you and clasped it, checking that the spring in the clasp was still sound.

“All set,” he said. 

You spun around to meet him and he saw you touch the pendant at your decolletage with a little smile. “Thank you.”

“I missed you too,” Steve rushed out, hands shoved in his back pockets.

The look you gave him back was soft and dazed and he felt his heart kick in his chest. You cocked your head at him. “Why were you so upset about Allen, Stevie?”

Steve didn’t detect even a hint of anger in your question. You just kept staring at him softly. Steve walked over to the couch and perched himself against the backrest. His thumbs rubbed dual patterns on the suede upholstery while he thought up a response. The best he could come up with was “Do you like him? Allen, I mean? Like…romantic-wise?”

He glanced up at you bashfully, dreading the answer he was sure would come.

Your eyes narrowed, but not meanly. You walked over to him and planted your hip against the couch next to him. 

“No,” you said, simply.

Steve released a relieved exhale from deep in his chest. You weren’t done, though. “But Stevie, why…I mean why did you get so mad at the thought of Allen and I together?”

Steve felt his eyes bug out but tried to school his expression into something less obvious. He shrugged when he finally met your eyes again. “Teenie, I just.” He wet his bottom lip. You wore the same soft, contemplative expression but he thought he could see your breathing kick up as you waited for him to finish. 

Steve was right. You were trying to stop yourself from hyperventilating. You hadn’t come over here to confront Steve, not really. You really just wanted to see him again and figure out what he was playing at, purloining your necklace from Nancy in an obvious attempt to get back in your good graces. It would have been a cute gesture if you weren’t so worried about what was coming next. 

But two days of feeling like your brain was leaking for its singular fixation on your Stevie and how much you missed him had finally gotten the best of you. You came round the moment you could. You knew it was time to face the music, come what may. 

“I just want…whoever you hang out with or end up being with…I just want them to treat you with respect. And I want you to have fun and feel safe and…”

God, he was beautiful. Didn’t he know? How could he not know?

Steve seemed to be at a loss for words now, so you offered some.

 “I could have those things with you,” you breathed out almost dreamily.

Steve's eyes went wide again and you felt like your heart was going to break because that look could have meant…so many things. Not all of them good.

You backed away from his side slowly, ready to make a break for it, but Steve caught you gently by the upper arms and stood at his full height. He stared at you like you were a brand new lifeform.

“Teenie?” he said in a too-tiny voice.

You were looking right into the void, free-falling into the hinterworld of your own heart.

“Stevie, do you think of me like a little sister?”

Steve's eyebrows shot up with something like horror before he cleared his throat and shook away some thought known only to him. 

“Ew, no, Teen.”

You bit your lip and stamped your foot just a little bit, feeling a little unmoored. You worried suddenly that you wouldn't get the answers you wanted. 

Steve had loosened his grip on you just a smidge. He was absently stroking your arms with his thumbs.

“One of the kids then. Dustin or Max or-”

“No,” he answered immediately, shaking his head decisively. “No.” 

And you knew. You knew he meant it.

You backed away, feeling singed by his sincerity. You paced the length of the runner behind the couch and slid a nail along your cast making little zipzipzip noises to fill the quiet. You turned to him after a moment.

“So what's happening with us. Why are we being so weird with each other?” 

Steve put his hands on his hips. “You broke your ass, Teenie,” he said sternly. “It could have been your head!”

“It wasn't though, it wasn't my head!” Your voice had a desperate edge. “Way crazier stuff has happened to me, to both of us! All our friends…”

He looked at you like you were speaking a different language. He shut his eyes tight like he was willing the memories away. He gathered himself quickly.

“Right, and if things had gone differently, we don't know what could have happened!”

Both of you were breathing hard, tears stinging your eyeballs. It's like you had awoken a sleeping beast by merely mentioning its existence.

Steve gestured into the air and stared into the distance as he continued. He was so fuckin’ pretty, you thought then. Even when he had big fuckin’ feelings that his pretty fuckin’ self couldn't contain in his pretty fuckin' meat prison.

“Every time something happens to you, it's like I can't stop thinking about it.” Steve's tented his fingers at his temples to demonstrate his point, eyes wide and unblinking like there was a movie playing behind his eyes that he couldn't look away from.

You started taking slow, tiny steps toward him, like he was a wounded rabbit and you didn't want to frighten him off. You wanted to hold him. 

“I spin out and I can't stop thinking about you dying.” 

Two more tiny, furtive steps toward him.

“Or being born.”

“Oh, Stevie-” Wait. “Wait, being born? What?”

Steve had pulled at his hair and it was messy in that perfect way. 

“Your birthday, Teenie.” He said it both frantically and like you were dumb for not following. “It's 1986, your birthday is less than two years away and we don't know.” He practically whimpered your name, willing you to understand.

It hit you then. You'd forgotten yourself for a minute, how absurd your life was. The very thing that was whispered among your friends and found family - spoken in a hushed manner for fear of speaking it into reality (or causing you an existential crisis.) You always heard them, though. 

You had almost…almost found it funny how nobody seemed to think that the thought didn't cross your mind at three in the morning most nights.

The question of what would happen when the day of your birth - the one on your original, undoctored birth certificate that you'd left in a banker box back on Nellis AFB - finally rolled around. The day you would find out to what extent you were an actual paradox. If having been evicted from your mother's womb on that day would cause you to be slurped back into the Upside Down…Or if you would blink out of existence.

But the question hadn't woken you up since Spring Break. Because the positive to having a psionic demon vampire picking apart your psyche is that sometimes you got good intel.

You felt so warm all of a sudden, watching Steve watch you with his eyes wide and desperate and his scrumptious lips pushed into a sad pout, looking so young. You'd never been so touched in all your life.

You strode over to him and pulled his collar to encourage him down, closer to your height.

His arms looped around your middle. It was automatic. The half-crazed look on his face dropped away, replaced by an expression that told you he was taken aback but that he didn't hate this.

“I love you,” you declared, firm and resolute, yet quaky with emotion. You hoped he knew that this wasn't like the other times you said it. And that you could table the birthday discussion until after…

You squeezed his face and pushed your mouth into his as you looped your broken arm around his neck.

Steve gathered your hair away from your face and returned the kiss without a moment’s hesitation.

His mouth was warm and soft and a little tacky from how he'd been licking his lips nervously moments before. Your lip balm provided just the right amount of slide for your lips to tangle together perfectly.

Steve stumbled with you in his arms against the nearest wall. You took great care not to accidentally dicknail him in the side of the head with your cast as he hoisted you up, cradling your thighs in his hands.

Through his panting, he managed, “Do you mean it?”

Both of you knew what he meant. Did you mean I love you? Did you mean the kiss? The answer to both was a resounding fucking yes.

“Yes, Stevie. I want this. I want you so bad-”

Steve dive-bombed your mouth with his own, caressing your tongue with his. You opened your mouth wider to let him riff on it. 

You shuddered when you felt his crotch press into yours. The feeling of his hardening cock pressed into the space that was rapidly becoming drenched with your horniness and love for this boy combined with the slipperiness of your tongues moving together was beyond your wildest dreams.

Steve couldn't believe this was happening. He couldn't believe that the only thing standing between you two and your mutual desire to jam yourselves together like you were trying to fuse into a superbeing was that you thought he didn't think you were sexy or mature or whatever the fuck. 

If his blood supply wasn't rushing to his crotchal region right now, he might have done some psychological forensics to figure out how you'd arrived at that conclusion.

And fuck him if you didn't know what you were doing. This clearly wasn't your first heavy make out. Normally, that thought would make him jealous as all hell. But he could feel it. The rightness of this and he knew it didn't matter.

He pulled back from your mouth and let himself stare at you shamelessly. Your mouth was kiss-bitten and -oh - you already had this sexy, flushed glow painted from your cleavage to your cheeks. 

You wore a beautifully profane expression, half-helpless and half-threatening as in I'm going to eat you if you don't eat me first. Your irises looked almost feline.

He stole one more kiss from you before he hoisted you over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He expected you to protest but you just grunted slightly at the impact and braced yourself as much as you could for what turned out to be a short commute to Steve's room. You were too turned on to question his method.

Steve deposited you on the bed and you scrambled up to your knees to pull him forcefully into another kiss where he stood. You started nipping and biting sucking at his earlobes, his jaw, his neck, his chest.

Steve felt almost overwhelmed. This the hottest thing that had ever happened to him. You two were feral for each other and probably would have looked completely insane if you’d had an audience. Unlike his previous encounters, nothing about this felt stilted or transactional or lopsided.

In spite of how erotic it was, though, it also felt tender. Like this thread between you had been pulling taut for god knew how long before it had almost snapped. And as soon as you'd stopped resisting it, it pulled you into one another. He needed to be sure that you felt the same, though. He wouldn't risk another communication breakdown.

He pulled your face away from his neck by your hair and you looked startled but not displeased. Your lips curled into a dozy smile at the show of force. Steve was all business, though.

“How far do you want this to go?” You both chose to ignore the way his voice gave a little.

You swallowed as you stroked his chest. “Um, well, I really want you to make love to me but, like…I'll take whatever you give me.”

Steve closed his eyes in quiet supplication to whatever force was allowing this.

He smiled at you with his tongue poking at the back of his teeth. You returned it with a goofy giggle. God, you two were idiots.

“Game on then, baby,” Steve said.

Steve insisted on going down on you. You didn't strictly need it. You were so turned on that you could already feel that ache inside where you'd opened up to receive him.

You were almost worried that you might end up accidentally waterboarding him with your cunt for how wet you were already, but you needn’t have worried.

After he'd fluffed the pillows behind your shoulders and pulled your soaked panties off of you, he didn't waste a minute exploring down there with little kisses and bites to your thighs before he finally dove in and got to work. 

Within minutes he had you shivering and moaning, letting nonsense fuck language spill from your lips as you scratched his scalp in little circles. 

Steve was painfully hard in his shorts but he would have stayed down here for millenia if you'd let him.

Soon, you were gripping his wrist and writhing. Your legs were bent and rigid like a Barbie doll's but quaking with the intensity of your orgasm.

You let a sharp cry escape from your chest. It was high-pitched and wild and unguarded and it was the most beautiful sound Steve had ever heard.

He looked up at you. Your head was resting at an angle like it was too heavy for you to hold up. He let himself enjoy the sight. 

With your eyes still closed, as though you were in a deep trance, you started groping with your good hand, uncoordinated at your shoulders until you found the tie straps on your dress and undid them.

Without communicating it out loud, Steve pinched the fabric of your dress's bodice while you lifted up on your elbows so he could pull it down.

God, you were beautiful. Not just your tits. Yes, your tits were insane, but it was just you. Every inch of you, every plane on your body and, outside of your physical form, your gravity and orbit. He would never escape them and he didn't want to.

Steve crawled up your body, leaving smooches up your tummy and along your breasts and neck until he got to your mouth. You pulled him into you, kissing him stupid.

“Off,” you said bossily, breaking the kiss. Tugging at his collar. “These, too,” you insisted, pinching the cuff of his jeans between your toes.

Steve chuckled and pulled the shirt over his head. He got to work on his belt, kissing the tip of your nose.

“You want it like this?” he asked, indicating the missionary position you were in.

He got his belt free and shimmied his jeans away and down the bed, not wanting to leave you.

You bit your lip, eyes cast down lustfully, and Steve noticed you were checking out the tent in his boxers. 

He snickered. “My eyes are up here.”

You giggled at him, flicking his nose.

You two settled into a cozy silence and just stared at each other. You cleared your throat. “My favorite is being on top, usually,” you began. “But it might be hard with this.” You lifted your casted arm.

Steve deliberated for a moment. You could have told him you liked it upside down on a hammock and he would have found a way to make it so. But the thought of you riding him was making his dick weep. He would make that so, no problem.

“Teenie-on-top it is.” He gave your naked thigh a couple of light slaps. “Up,” he instructed.

You pushed up onto your knees as he leaned over to his nightstand, extracting a loose condom packet. He stood up and pulled his boxers down. 

When he looked at you, you were sitting on your haunches, knees splayed wide. Your arms were limp at your sides, hair a fucked out mess. You stared at his cock with what looked to him like reverence, mouth agape. 

“Oh, Marone,” you whispered to yourself with a gulp, fisting your hair at the scalp.

Steve snorted. You were so cute it made his chest hurt. He explained his plan as he ripped the condom foil open and rolled it over his cock.

“I'm going to hold you up so you don't put weight on the arm. I've got you, just trust me, ‘kay?”

He didn't know if you'd been paying attention to what he said. You sprung up on your knees and collapsed into him and gave him a searing kiss on the mouth. “‘Kay.”

Steve slid into bed and guided you by your hips to straddle him. You held your casted arm off to the side, balancing like you were getting into a rowboat as you braced your good hand on his forearm.

“Good?” he asked.

You hummed as you began moving yourself over his cock. Steve's breath hitched, but he kept his grip on your hips firm as you acquainted your bits with his. 

Your slickness and his spit had cooled a little but soon he could feel a pool of warmth. He was at your entrance. Your skirt was ruched around your waist, the straps of it hanging limply. His favorite dress.

You locked eyes with him as you reached between you and guided him inside. You sheathed him in inside you completely, pretty much immediately. No adjustment period needed. Your body had waited long enough. 

Both of you had done so much waiting.

You rocked your pelvis against him, getting used to the sensations. It felt like coming home, it felt so right.

Steve’s cock was like a pleasure-seeking missile. It found enclaves in your body that you'd never have discovered on your own. 

Your cunt hugged him, letting you and him both know how rich the landscape of your body was. You could feel everything and everything felt so good. 

Steve was still holding onto your hips but he was squeezing his eyes shut and writhing and moaning. You really fucking knew what you were doing. Or maybe this was just a long time coming. Maybe it was destined.

The sounds of his moans were like a cool drink of water on the hottest day of the year. You wanted the sound bottled. You wanted to bathe in it.

You braced your good hand on his chest and gripped his elbow with the other as you changed up the angle and pace. He was caressing your g-spot now and when you moaned loudly at the sensation, he gripped you tighter, encouraging you to devour that feeling. Your clit found his mons and pretty soon, playtime was over.

You were both panting and moaning and before you knew it, you were right there. Your pussy was fluttering. Steve's stomach was taut, his upper body having gone rigid. His face was red and the veins in his forehead were prominent with his exertion. He was trying to delay his own orgasm until you were ready.

You folded over then, collapsing forward and cradling his head between your upper arms. Electric bubbles of happiness fizzed in every part of your cunt, sending effervescent kisses up your spine and down to your toes. You thought your broken arm might have healed, even.

“FuckStevieBaby,” you whined, pressing your forehead into the dip of his shoulder.

Steve was a goner. He moaned your name pathetically as he pistoned his hips up into you, helped by the wetness of your cum. Heat lightning overtook his body as he felt himself spill inside the condom and he saw sparkles.

Your skin was pasted to his with sweat.

You shakily made yourself up to a seated position and looked down at him like you were getting to see the Northern Lights for the first time. 

He returned the gaze. Except to him, you were the Northern Lights and the Milky Way and a lofty angel with wings of purple fire. Jesus, when did he get so poetic?

He sat up and wrapped you in his arms, kissing you and pulling you into a hug. It wasn't unlike the ones you'd shared before, nudity notwithstanding. 

It was a hug that said hi, I'm here, I've got you, always. 

You let your heart rates ramp down before he lifted you off his softening member, but keeping you in his lap. He drew circles on your sweaty back.

“I love you,” he said into your collarbone.

Your heart did a little dance in your naked chest.

“I love you, too. More than anything.”

Steve pulled you both down and situated it so you were both laying on your sides, facing the other. He clasped your hand in his.

“No, I mean I love you.” It was emphatic despite the sleepiness in his voice. “I'm in love with you and I want to keep you. I want us to do this. I want people to know we belong to each other.” 

If anyone else on planet earth had said those words to you after you'd just fucked, it would have sounded like cro magnon-freshly-emptied-balls possessiveness.

But not with him. It's like you could see tomorrow in his beautiful brown eyes. You two were finally, blessedly on the same page.

“I've belonged to you since…” you rolled your eyes upward like you were thinking, when really you actually knew… “Halloween ‘84.”

Steve smiled at your confirmation. But also in bemusement.

“The night me and Nancy-”

“It was when I was on your bed,” you interrupted. “Right here in this spot. I was rolling up the sleeves of that stripey old man PJ shirt you loaned me.”

“I remember,” he whispered, swallowing the emotions bubbling up.

“I saw you looking at me and for just a second, I let myself think…”

You had let yourself think, this feels so easy. I'm about to spend the night in a boy's bed for the first time and it feels so easy. What if he wasn't heartbroken? What if he didn't think you were a freak? What if you'd done this a before in a thousand and one lifetimes? That's how easy it felt.

“I never stopped being yours, Stevie.”

He scooched closer, ran his index finger down the bridge of your nose, kissing you one more time.

“I hope you never do.”

“I never will.”

Steve got a faraway look in his eye as he looked past your shoulder. 

He didn't want to burst this bubble, but if he felt this way now, what would it be like less than two years from now. Less than two years away.

You clocked it immediately, you little mind-reader. 

You couldn't let him stew in his fear anymore. You hadn't meant to drop the subject before, but you had the pressing matter of showing him how much you loved him to attend to.

“I'm not going back, you know.” 

His eyes shot to you, suddenly way more alert.

“How-”

“Creel.”

Steve propped himself up on his elbow and studied you. You never brought this up. In fact, if any of your family's little misadventures ever came up in conversation, even briefly, you would excuse yourself from the room. Everyone learned to keep that talk to a minimum around you.

Besides that, Steve didn't like talking about when you'd been Vecna’d. It had been in the same manner as Nancy had been. Not meant to destroy you but to show you things. When the group had asked you what you saw, you simply told them “me.”

At the time, you had made the executive decision that what you had been shown wasn't valuable to any fact-finding that would help you defeat your foe. And when you were pressed for more, when Dustin had accused you of a party infraction by withholding, you'd leveled him with a deadly glare and stated “Not this, Dustin. Not now.” You had been so uncharacteristically severe that everyone silently agreed to leave it.

You turned over on your back and stared at the ceiling. 

“Before Spring Break, I was having a really hard time.”

Steve remembered. The recesses of his memory held images of you looking off into the distance, refrains of sorry, what? whenever you got caught out. 

You'd buried yourself in schoolwork, picking up extra shifts at the bowling alley, packing your calendar with babysitting gigs. Like you were trying to erase every moment of idle time, pulling away from everyone.

Steve had worried but when he talked about it with Robin, she'd dismissed it as paranoia. Think about it, Steve, what's she's been through. It catches up. 

He figured Robin might know something he didn't, hurtful though it was. He'd dropped it.

“You were dating around and Nancy was missing Jon. El was gone, Hop was gone. Max was totally checked out. And I started wondering, like..”

Your eyes were wet, now, voice a little choked. Steve brushed your cheek and that seemed to give you the resolve to keep going.

“I started to worry that I would never find someone that could really know me. That I couldn't ever really move on and grow up because the people that did know me were all…” 

You gestured vaguely into the air.

“I felt so out of place all of a sudden. And for the first time since I got here I just wanted to go back. I wanted to go back to where I made sense. Even though I didn't like my life before…”

Steve's heart broke at the thought that you'd felt so abandoned. He could kick himself for being so flip about it back then.

Your story took you over then. It was so cemented in your mind, it might have been inscribed on tablets.

You'd blinked. One minute you were at the mouth of the gate. The next minute you were in some sort of cathedral. But it was in ruins. The exposed sky was red. The air was stale..lightning flashed a deeper crimson across the sky.

There were pews made of shaley stone. What would have once served as a wall was crumbled around the arrangement.

He stood at the pulpit, a stone monument, cracked with angry looking clefts glowing with smoldering fire. He clutched each side of it, staring you down.  

He breathed your name in a dulcet huff. 

“You don't belong. You belong nowhere. You're a reprobate. Abominable. An orphan in time.”

He was hideous. And massive. You hadn't seen him until now. You'd only heard conjecture on what his visage might look like.

He was slimy and twisted and hairless. The sinews of his skin were a swampy gray, eyes ringed with red. For his florid yet cruel indictment of you, he was foul. You could taste him just by looking at him.

You were paralyzed with revulsion and fear. You were worried that you might actually pee your pants.

“You have nowhere to return to. You absconded from your problems, as you've always done. But I have nothing but good news for you.” 

You glanced around, not daring to move your head. You only saw more waste, more nothingness, more anger and despair scratched into the landscape that surrounded you. You wanted to go home.

Suddenly you knew where home was. It had never been so clear. It was with the people that had held and kept you since you'd been sucked through a leak in space-time.

“You can make a home here. You can join my menagerie. You'll never suf-”

“Don't listen to him, Ladybug,” came a sharp, familiar voice behind you, coated in the accent of her mother country.

You spun to meet her eyes...Your grandmother was sitting on one of the rock pews. She looked as elegant and warm as ever. She was wearing the satin wrap dress she wore to Easter mass the last year she was alive.

You stumbled over to her. She stood and opened her arms as you fell into her.

Suddenly you forgot that you were in a red-tinged hell scape with a slimy vampire at your back. Wherever this was, wherever she was, was a sort of paradise.

You held her tight. You could smell her familiar shalimar perfume over the fetid ozone stink of this place. The wings of her upper arms were soft in the crooks of your elbows. She shushed your crying and stroked your hair.

It was her. You knew, beyond what it was to know, that it was her.

You heard Creel growl behind you, startling you out of your grandmother's arms. She held fast to you and tilted your chin to look at her. You heard the air around you twist like warped steel, Creel’s voice laced through it, muddled and distorted to something imperceptible.

“He is a liar. He will lie to deceive you.” Her accent made it sound like “day-seef.” 

You missed her. You missed the way she talked. You missed how severe she was when she wanted to make a point.

She'd found you. Outside of time and space and a living vessel, she'd found you in this hopeless place.

Her eyes burned into yours. “Your father is fine. He knows you are fine. He doesn't know how he knows, but I've seen to it.”

You could hear that desperate argumentative groaning trying to pierce through. Your head was hurting. You had pressure in your ears.

“Your place is with your friends. Never stop thinking of them and you will never lose.”

The world around you started to crumble and fall away. You saw those big spires of rock around you crash into the ground.

You gripped her hands that held your face. “I love you,” you sobbed.

She smiled at you as everything caved in. You closed your eyes and felt her kiss your forehead. 

When you opened them again, you saw Steve. He was cradling you and hyperventilating. He seemed to register that you were back. Relief washed over his face and his breathing returned to normal.

“Did I pee my pants?” 

Steve had the courtesy to glance down to your upper-thigh region.

“If you did, it must not have been a lot.”

You broke into a sob and let him hug you while your friends rallied to get you away from the gate.

From then on out, you heeded your grandmother’s advice. You never stopped thinking of your friends and you didn't fail…You got Hop and El back. 

You had your friends.

You had Steve.

You had shut your eyes while telling Steve the story but you opened them now. You turned your head to face him.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you,” you told him through tears. “I didn't know how.”

Steve didn't know what to say. He stared at you with gentle eyes. He didn't want you to cry anymore. 

He kissed you lightly and stroked your side. “It's okay. I get it.”

He did get it. He understood all at once why you couldn't tell them back then. You didn't want to make it about you. 

Max was still in danger. The world was still in danger. You'd been gifted a secret weapon that you had to wield and you didn't want anyone to hear what you'd seen and tell you that you'd been bamboozled by Creel and blunt your weapon with doubt. 

You'd known in your heart that it was real. Steve knew now because you knew. 

You were tired then. Well and truly sleepy. Steve accepted you into his arms.

You two fell into silence, breathing in tandem, stroking each other.

You felt Steve's chin wag on the top of your head when he asked “What do you think will happen on your 20th birthday?”

You smiled into his chest. You loved that Steve-flavored curiosity whenever it showed itself.

“I dunno, Stevie. Maybe nothing. But if anything does, you'll be there to find out with me, right?”

He scratched lines up your back as he answered.

“Can’t wait.”

(⁠/⁠^⁠-⁠^⁠(⁠^⁠ ⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠/

#steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington friends to lovers #ao3 fanfic #adopted hopper reader

[bungalowbear]

ten.

ranger!nanami kento x psychic gym leader!reader, pokemon au, wc: 970

thanks to @strawberrystepmom for inspiring this series!

“Welcome back,” Yu greets warmly as Nanami and Yuji step into the station.

Yuji waves at the Ranger behind the counter. “Hey, Haibara.”

“How was your journey?”

“It was awesome.” Yuji’s expression brightens, gripping the edge of the counter and leaning forward. “We met a psychic.”

“Oh?”

Nanami meets Yu’s eyes, and the latter raises his brows in surprise. Nanami says your name.

“Wait.” Yuji looks between the two men. “Haibara knows her, too? She didn’t mention that.”

“I’m sure she would have if it came up,” Nanami reasons. He lets out a tired sigh as he adjusts his glasses, which now have a thin crack on the right lens. “But right now let’s focus on completing our reports so we can go home.”

“Right.” Yuji’s head dips sheepishly before he steps around the counter, Growlithe hot on his heels, and toward the office in the back, hand raised above his head. “Good seeing you, Haibara.”

Yu, Nanami, and Breloom remain in the lobby. Nanami can feel the air getting heavier with questions Yu is holding back. When his lips part, he doesn’t gets the chance to ask because Nanami already lets loose his own inquiry.

“Were you actually sick?” Nanami walks up to the counter, unzipping the front of his utility vest. “Or was this another one of your schemes?”

“I wouldn’t call them schemes.” Yu rubs the back of his neck, a slightly guilty look crossing his features. “I’m just looking out for you.”

Nanami arches a brow.

“I really was sick though,” Yu adds. “I’ve been following the activity of those poachers for a couple weeks, so I was bummed I couldn’t go and catch them myself. But I never imagined you’d actually run into her. Lucky, right?”

“Right.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“Not much,” Nanami admits.

Yu pouts. “No grand reconciliation, then?”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Now that you know where she is…” Yu treads carefully, eyeing his friend before continuing. “Maybe you can go visit her again.”

Nanami shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? I still try to see her when I’m in the area.”

Nanami had realized fairly quickly that Yu knew you were in Johto. With him having gone on so many missions in the east, Yu was bound to come upon you. Nanami would be bothered if he’d been the only one left in the dark about you three living in the same region again. However, you’d been just as surprised to find out as he’d been. Normally, two long lost friends would jump at the chance to reconnect, but this situation is anything but normal.

Breloom leans into Nanami’s leg, looking up at the man with knowing eyes.

“It just isn’t,” Nanami says.

Yu doesn’t push any further. After a few moments of silence, Nanami makes his way to the back to write up his own report.

After completing their reports, Nanami and Yuji set off for home in a jeep they borrowed from the station. Olivine City is just as they left it. The main street is bustling with traffic from the port and people are making their way in and out of shops and the Olivine Café.

Nanami’s eyes glance in the rear view mirror and see Yuji, Growlithe, and Breloom fast asleep in the backseat. The trek from your gym took a few days. The provisions you packed for them were sufficient for the journey, but not much could be done about the fatigue after a long journey. Thankfully, their home was a short drive from the station, just on the outskirts of the city.

It’s golden hour when they arrive. Nanami leads the jeep up the familiar dirt path that doubles as the driveway leading to the house. The quaint little home, painted blue with white trimming, is a beacon of warm comfort as it stands waiting in the orange hues of the setting sun. The barn Nanami and Yu built themselves to house his Pokémon looms tall behind it.

Once parked, Nanami takes a moment to himself. The sounds of insects chirping and little creatures stirring along the tree line remind him he’s home. He’s not buried under rubble. He’s not cooped up in your gym’s infirmary. No, he’s mere feet away from the familiar comfort of his home.

Yuji begins to stir, and so do Growlithe and Breloom. Nanami gets out of the car and leaves the door open for them to hop out while he gathers their bags.

They barely makes it onto the porch when a small crowd of Pokémon come barreling around the corner of the house. Pawmot leads the pack and launches herself at Yuji, who opens his arms with lightning quick reflexes to catch her before landing on his back with a thud. The porch is packed as the entire welcome party gathers.

Poliwrath and Lucario welcome Growlithe and Breloom while Hitmonchan stands beside Nanami. He places a hand on the Pokémon’s shoulder and receives a good-natured bump of his friend’s gloved hand against his side as a greeting.

The chaos suddenly halts when Nanami unlocks the front door and says it’s time to fix dinner, but then it’s quickly replaced by a new frenzy. Yuji leaps to his feet with a cheer, Pawmot still in his arms, and rushes inside with a trail of Pokémon following after him.

Nanami lets out a short chuckle. They’ve been gone a while, so he understands the excitement. He’ll have to thank Yu later for looking after his Pokémon. Maybe he’ll stop by the bakery before going into work tomorrow.

Nanami takes one last look across the yard, toward the mountains in the east, and tries not to think about how far away from here you also must be settling down for the night. You and your Pokémon in your peaceful gym.

series masterlist

i do not have a taglist. please follow @bungalowbear-archive and turn on notifications.

#catalog #jess’s pokemon au #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #pokemon au #nanami kento

[yourmaidsp]

(Also some extremely rough doodles of East Park's plot for ep200-201)

_(:зゝ∠)_Yay dip-

(I did it while unconscious so no translations yet( would do that when finished)

#doodle #东方公园au #east park dip #east park au

[thebdsmsofurlife]

[M/F, D/s, CNC, Knifeplay, Rough, Risky Sex, Oral, Aftercare]

You wore pink eyeshadow, as instructed.

You were sitting–legs crossed, revealing just a hint of thigh beneath your short, pleated skirt–at a table alone, stirring your latte? tea? fucking frappe? something. I watched you carefully from across the cafe, flipping absent-mindedly through East of Eden. We’ll be east of…well, east of somewhere soon enough. So of course I couldn’t focus on Steinbeck right now. But I caught you looking. The flicker of recognition as you saw me pull the novel to my nose.

You got up to leave, sashaying in a flirtatious manner as you set your oversized mug on the counter. Your skirt swayed lightly, yet still managed to grip each individual curve of your ass cheeks. I could imagine my hand slipping beneath your hemline and groping your plump flesh, goosebumps bubbling up as teeth grazed along your neck…

The sun was barely peeking above the horizon as I followed you out the cafe and down Thrush Street. It was bustling–a crowded downtown strip on a Thursday night–but it’d be quiet where we were going:: a parking garage next to the courthouse. It was tucked far enough away from the bars on West Third that it was deserted after 5 PM. Such a silly place to park if you’re going to Cafe Mocha.

But that’s part of the fun, isn’t it? The long walk past the clamor of the pubs and restaurants, away from the smell of smoke and roasted coffee beans. You walked block after block, glancing over your shoulder occasionally to see if I was still following. But I was taunting you, sometimes crossing the street or dipping into an alleyway only to reappear a few seconds later. I saw you looking around, searching for me within the thinning crowd.

After an almost agonizingly long walk, you finally reached the yawning maw of the parking garage. I closed the distance quickly. Underground. Four stories. You were on the lowest level. Your heels–pink like your eyeshadow–clicked against the concrete as you entered the stairwell.

Good girl. Why would you take the elevator when you could take those dark, lonely stairs?

I waited a few beats, peeking through the stairwell's small, square window until you crossed the first landing. Then I opened the door and let it slam behind me. It echoed and I knew you could hear it. My feet fell heavily as I followed you down.

We hadn’t discussed the specifics of when I’d snatch you, so I was enjoying the pursuit, knowing that your pulse must be pounding, your mind racing, wondering when you were going to feel a hand wrap around your neck.

I waited until you had your keys out and were a few steps from your car–until maybe you were starting to feel disappointed, perhaps thinking I chickened out or couldn’t find a clear opening to engage. But in a flash I had one hand reaching around to grasp your stomach and the other covering your mouth.

“Don’t say a fucking word or I’ll choke you out.” My voice gruff and serious.

I pushed you forward, bending you over the hood of your Camry so that my waist pushed against your ass. Your skirt was so tight it was riding up, exposing the pale, U-shaped curves of your lower asscheeks.

My hand fell from your stomach, two fingers shoved between your thighs. “A thong. Fitting for a whore.”

I withdrew my hand, slipped it into my pocket, and produced a small switchblade–as discussed. I pushed the cold metal base against your upper thigh. “Feel that? Know what it is?” I pushed harder, digging the handle into your soft flesh.

I flipped the knife open and dragged the dull edge beneath your skirt. Sliding under the band of your thong, I flicked my wrist carefully outwards, cutting it. Moving quickly, I began to run two fingers along your slit. I could feel that you were already soaked. And your moaning confirmed just how turned on you were. Slowly, I slid my index finger inside you.

“Tight fucking bitch,” I growled. “Wouldn’t have guessed it.”

You clenched around me, squeezing my second knuckles as I slid further inside you. I spread my fingers apart, turning their “L” shape into a “V.” While I fingered you I leaned in close, pushing my erection against your ass cheek and biting at your earlobe.

“This is going to be fun.”

I was caught in the thrill of the moment–ready to go fast and rough. No point dragging it out. Keep it concise. Never dull.

The clanking of metal. Belt unclasped. Cock out, precum-wet tip slapping against your ass. A little speck of that sticky stuff breaking off against your smattering of freckles. Thumb across the base of my shaft, pushing it down, dragging the sensitive head until it was propped under the curl of your ass. A shift of my hips. Now it’s between your thighs, bouncing up with each pump of blood. My breathing heavy on your neck. Cock up. Push. Push. Push. Spread those tight fucking lips. So fucking wet.

Hand at your neck, wrapping through your hair. Pressing your face against the cool metal of the hood. Shoving you hard as the rim of my head clears your entrance. Inch after inch. Digging deep.

“I hope you don’t mind–I forgot to bring a condom.”

My hand was around your throat bending you back from the hood of the car while my dick plunged towards your cervix. “Should I fill your womb with my cum?”

“N-no-! Mm!”

I shoved you back down.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Silence except for heavy breathing. Small whines and moans. Balls against your wet lips. Hand digging bruises into your ass. Car shaking gently beneath you. You gave in. Let me have my way.

“Fine, fine. You wanna play it safe, huh? I can do safe sex.” I snatched you up by the hair, spun you around, pushed you to your knees.

“Open that fucking mouth.”

You did so demurely. Half-heartedly.

A slap across your pretty cheek that echoed in the empty cement garage.

“Don’t be cute,” my voice lowering into a growl, “I know you’ve sucked dick before. Is that how you do it? Looking like you’re half-asleep? Does it look like this will fit in your mouth if you only open that wide?”

My cock swayed back and forth–thick and red and wet from your cunt. I dug my thumb and forefinger into your cheeks, forcing your tongue out. Then I firmly pushed my hips forward, dipping my thick-rimmed cockhead between your lips while pushing you back against the wheel well.

“How’s your pussy taste?” I sneered while thrusting my rod past your uvula. “Let me get deep and this’ll be over soon. You think I can cum from something gentle blowjob? I need to go fucking hard to finish.” I squeezed your nostrils shut with one hand and cupped your chin with the other, holding you in place while I increased my speed.

Rougher and rougher. One palm spread wide across your skull. The other pressing on your cheeks, feeling them puff out to make room for my cock. You started to gag, spit bubbling up around my shaft. I was going to cum.

A jerk back, cock breaking free from your throat with a long whip of saliva. An immediate burst of white on your eyebrow. Another on your nose. Then your cheek. Then your forehead. Dick back into your mouth for you to suck clean.

“Better this way anyway. Only an unabashed cocksucker would take a load on the face.” I pulled myself from your lips, tapped a final bit of semen against your forehead, and zipped my pants.

I leaned forward, grabbed your chin, “Have a good night, slut. I know I did.”

I gave it a few minutes. Ducked into the stairwell, caught my breath. My pulse pounding. My cock sore, but satisfied. I looked through the door’s window and saw you leaning on your car, looking light-headed. I returned–this time gently, calmly. I kneeled down and lifted your chin, “You did good. So good. Are you okay?”

A nod. Still dazed.

“Should we get some ice cream?”

Your eyes brightened up and you smiled. “Mhm!”

I grabbed your hand, helping you up, and kissed your forehead. Then I walked you to the passenger door and helped you inside. My cum was still drying on your face, I could see the slight sparkle beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. I handed you a wet wipe, “You might want to clean that off. Someone might think you’re a slut.”

#bd/sm daddy #daddy k!nk #daddy’s babygirl #bd/sm kink #rough daddy #r@pe kink #cnc free use #cnc k!nk #cvmdump #rough cnc

[blainesebastian]

time away (ccg universe)

words: 1,791 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request) “they take a family trip to *Disney World and Luci gets lost while austin and ccg argue about a new role he accepted without talking to her about it” warnings: none notes: doing my best out here ya’ll idk lol enjoy xxx tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylespresleyhearted

It’s supposed to be a family vacation, one of the first you’ve taken to a place that’s a bit more hectic than the beach. You’re not complaining, you love Disney World, have loved it since you were a kid—so sharing all of this with Luci is one of your top ‘to-do’s.

Luci’s been handling the long park hours well, got her face painted with cheetah print at Animal Kingdom, found all the hidden Remy statues in Epcot, insisted on far too many Mickey Ice Cream bars in Hollywood Studios. She loves Magic Kingdom the best, especially when she’s dressed as a princess and you find that putting her in a dress that matches Cinderella or Belle makes you want to cry.

There’s something that reaches deep into your chest and squeezes at being here with Austin, at sharing this with him, at watching Luci hand him a Mickey balloon or putting Mickey ears on his head. At having him hold her sleeping body as you all walk out of the park or take the bus back to the resort. Makes you fall a little bit more in love with him—as if that were at all possible.

It’s been wonderful so far, more than you could have ever asked for.

And then Austin mentions he’s interested in a film that will take him across the country—he’s already said yes. To a movie he’s never spoken about before.

You kinda stare at him, your hand halfway into a popcorn bucket shaped like a Cinderella’s castle as you take a small break from walking around Magic Kingdom.

“Mama popcorn,” Luci pouts from standing between you and Austin, tugging on your shirt.

You’re trying not to distract yourself from what he’s telling you, glancing down at Luci and lowering the popcorn bucket that’s attached to your shoulder by a strap. You just feel—there are so many overwhelming and conflicting emotions. You’re undeniably happy for him, have always been incredibly supportive of his endeavors and have rarely questioned him about logistics. You get how crazy it can get; you’ve dipped your toes into the industry yourself.

But you’re also…confused and frustrated because it’s very unlike Austin to accept something without talking to you first.

“What do you mean you ‘agreed to it’ already—last time I checked, we lived in New York, not LA.” And alright, there’s really no need to be petty about geography but, you’re really having a hard time with processing this ‘across the country’ thing.

It’s not like Austin hasn’t done longer trips before to distant places, it’s the ‘untold’ part sitting uncomfortably in your chest, pushing your ribcage apart.

He takes in a short breath, his jaw working a moment as he chews on words, selecting them carefully, “I know. This was a last-minute swap—filming was supposed to be on the East Coast but then,” Austin trails off, shaking his head, looking out towards the crowd of people in the park. You can tell as he takes a moment that it’s convoluted, nothing is as it seems. “Got pushed to LA to fit some setting requirements?”

His voice is a little less sure as he talks, almost like he might regret it? But it doesn’t change the fact that he has agreed—that he’s doing this, with or without your support. You know it’s not always that simple, painting situations black and white is dangerous, it lives in a world of gray. Austin didn’t make this decision flippantly, regardless of how much it stings to hear it.

But you don’t understand how this is going to work—you can’t go with him, you can’t uproot Luci like that, but the alternative is what? Months at a time where he’s gone? You know this is all part of it, as an actor, but you’re also much more used to planning something out together. Not jumping in after him.

You know your reaction is based on fear alone, you don’t like the feeling of things slipping through your fingers.

“I might be involved with a project at the end of the month,” You tell your husband, his eyes slightly widening in two-fold because—for one, he’s happy for you, but on the other hand, it’s a factor that he hadn’t considered. Both of you being busy.

“I didn’t know.”

And you let out a snap of a laugh because, “Yeah, that sucks, doesn’t it?”

The muscle in Austin’s jaw works, “Y/N.”

“I was finalizing things with my agent; I was going to tell you when we got back from our trip.” Which…you hate that it feels slightly ruined, you’re gonna have to stop being dramatic. You get can it back to that perfect place, right?

You shake your head, hating that you feel flares of annoyance lick at your nerve endings when none of these conversations should be happening now, on vacation. You take a deep breath, pushing down emotions, focusing on having a good day with Luci—

Glancing down, you go to run a hand through her hair, and freeze. A hiccup of fear instantly settling in your throat because—Luci is gone. She's...not standing between you and your husband anymore. You look up, this frantic feeling building in your chest as you do a quick sweep around you but she's not here, she's not anywhere.

Your hand instantly comes down on Austin's wrist, squeezing hard, "Austin."

It takes a second for Austin to spring into action, gently taking your hand and squeezing as he moves, eyes alert as he takes in the crowd. He starts calling for her, his voice calm and collected and…honestly, he’s stronger than you are, because you don’t think you can open up your mouth without emotion choking your windpipe.

You’re not gonna cry, because that’s not going to help anything, but you definitely feel tears well in your eyes because how could you be so selfish in what you were arguing with Austin about that you didn’t even take the time to hold account of your daughter?

Deep down you’re aware you can’t blame yourself, that neither of you were paying attention, that Luci felt safe standing between your bodies.

There are so many people everywhere and your heart jumps into your throat and Austin’s voice sounds too far away when he says ‘don’t worry, we’ll find her’ because every worst possible scenario is dancing through your head right now.

And ten minutes feel like hours and Austin is tugging you towards a Help Desk to talk to someone when—

“Mommeee.”

You turn sharply at the voice because you know it like the back of your hand and a large gasp of air tumbles into your lungs as you take four steps forward and take Luci out of a cast member’s arms. You don’t really realize how hard you’re crying, in relief but also mixed with too many other emotions, until Austin comes up beside you and turns you both into his chest. He wraps an arm around you, keeping you close,

“Thank you.” Austin tells the woman, running a hand along your back.

“Oh of course, saw her wander into the shop and after a few questions, figured she was lost. Super polite though, even though the tears.”

She gives you both a small smile before walking through the shop doors and you only pull back when you feel Austin gently cup both sides of your head. He presses a kiss to your forehead, looking down at Luci. You sniffle, getting a better look at her—you can tell she’s been crying too, pink cheeks and wet eyelashes, and the cast member must have bought her a stuffed Mickey because she’s clutching it against her chest.

You shake your head, too overwhelmed to talk. Austin draws in a breath, brushing Luci’s hair out of her face—he’s not angry, but his voice is firm,

“Luci, what have we talked about before? We do not wander off like that, not without mommy or daddy.”

Luci kind of babbles as she talks, clearly the experience wasn’t too great for her either, she’s shaken regardless of being found by a nice woman and bought a Mickey stuffed animal. She seems to know that she messed up and upset her parents, along with giving herself a fright.

You let out a shuddering breath, trying to calm yourself down, running your hands over Luci’s hair and kissing her cheeks, “Please don’t scare us like that again, okay baby?”

“Okay mommeee.” Luci mumbles, “No thank you.”

You can’t help but let out a laugh, running a hand over your face. “Right.” Austin smiles, cupping your cheek to run his thumb along the bone there before drawing you both close.

--

It’s quiet on the Disney transportation bus ride back to the resort. Dark out, the bus packed, Austin seated against the window with a sleeping Luci on his chest and an arm wrapped around you, your head resting on his shoulder. You know that both of you could arrange a personalized SUV, take you from place to place as you do at home but…there’s something so normal about all this that you crave.

Austin shifts against his seat, a soft sigh leaving your nose as you tuck your face against his neck. He tilts his head down, brushing his lips along the spot near your ear,

“You alright?” He asks, pressing a kiss there.

You swallow, nodding, quiet for a few moments more. There’s still leftover adrenaline leaving your body, making you feel slightly shaky. You reach out and touch Luci’s leg, running your thumb over her calf in a calming motion for yourself, assuring that you found her, that she’s okay.

“M’sorry about before,” Austin says after a moment—and God, none of that even feels like it matters right now, but you appreciate that he’s trying. “Everythin’ happened so fast but…you’re right, I should have talked to you about it first.”

You close your eyes, breathing him in, “We’ll figure it out,” You pull back just a little, tilt your face up so you can take a look at his face. It’s dark in the bus but there’s the flicker of orange streetlamps, the light of the moon outside.

And you know that’s so much of a larger issue, so many things at play in terms of Austin’s obligations and your own commitments, but it’s the point of the matter, isn’t it? That you’ll both slow down and have that conversation? Come to a conclusion together. Might not specifically work out this time, you know that, but…

You give him a soft smile, comforted by the closeness of your family—regardless, this is how you know deep down, that whatever happens, it’ll be okay.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things #ccg

[mariacallous]

Shortly before noon on Aug. 19, 2023, a Russian cruise missile sliced past the golden onion domes and squat apartment blocks of the Chernihiv skyline in northern Ukraine. The Iskander-K missile slammed into its target: the city’s drama theater, which was hosting a meeting of drone manufacturers at the time of the attack. More than 140 people were injured and seven killed. The youngest, 6-year-old Sofia Golynska, had been playing in a nearby park.

Fragments of the missile recovered by the Ukrainian armed forces and analyzed by Ukrainian researchers found numerous components made by U.S. manufacturers in the missile’s onboard navigation system, which enabled it to reach its target with devastating precision. In December, Ukraine’s state anti-corruption agency released an online database of the thousands of foreign-made components recovered from Russian weapons so far.

Russia’s struggle to produce the advanced semiconductors, electrical components, and machine tools needed to fuel its defense industrial base predates the current war and has left it reliant on imports even amid its estrangement from the West. So when Moscow launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, major manufacturing countries from North America, Europe, and East Asia swiftly imposed export controls on a broad swath of items deemed critical for the Russian arms industry.

Russia quickly became the world’s most sanctioned country: Some 16,000 people and companies were subject to a patchwork of international sanctions and export control orders imposed by a coalition of 39 countries. Export restrictions were painted with such a broad brush that sunglasses, contact lenses, and false teeth were also swept up in the prohibitions. Even items manufactured overseas by foreign companies are prohibited from being sold to Russia if they are made with U.S. tools or software, under a regulation known as the foreign direct product rule.

But as the war reaches its two-year anniversary, export controls have failed to stem the flow of advanced electronics and machinery making their way into Russia as new and convoluted supply chains have been forged through third countries such as Kazakhstan, Turkey, and the United Arab Emirates, which are not party to the export control efforts. An investigation by Nikkei Asia found a tenfold increase in the export of semiconductors from China and Hong Kong to Russia in the immediate aftermath of the war—the majority of them from U.S. manufacturers.

“Life finds a way,” said a senior U.S. intelligence official, quoting the movie Jurassic Park. The official spoke on background to discuss Russia’s evasion of export controls.

Some of the weapons and components analyzed by investigators were likely stockpiled before the war. But widely available Russian trade data reveals a brisk business in imports. More than $1 billion worth of advanced semiconductors from U.S. and European manufacturers made their way into the country last year, according to classified Russian customs service data obtained by Bloomberg. A recent report by the Kyiv School of Economics found that imports of components considered critical for the battlefield had dipped by just 10 percent during the first 10 months of 2023, compared with prewar levels.

This has created a Kafkaesque scenario, the report notes, in which the Ukrainian army is doing battle with Western weapons against a Russian arsenal that also runs on Western components.

It is an obvious problem, well documented by numerous think tank and media reports, but one without an easy solution. Tracking illicit trade in items such as semiconductors is an exponentially greater challenge than monitoring shipments of conventional weapons. Around 1 trillion chips are produced every year. Found in credit cards, toasters, tanks, missile systems, and much, much more, they power the global economy as well as the Russian military. Cutting Russia out of the global supply chain for semiconductors is easier said than done.

“Both Russia and China, and basically all militaries, are using a large number of consumer electronic components in their systems,” said Chris Miller, the author of Chip War: The Fight for the World’s Most Critical Technology. “All of the world’s militaries rely on the same supply chain, which is the supply chain that primarily services consumer electronics.”

Export controls were once neatly tailored to keep specific items, such as nuclear technology, out of the hands of rogue states and terrorist groups. But as Washington vies for technological supremacy with Beijing while also seeking to contain Russia and Iran, it has increasingly used these trade restrictions to advance broader U.S. strategic objectives. For instance, the Biden administration has placed wide-ranging prohibitions on the export of advanced chips to China.

“At no point in history have export controls been more central to our collective security than right now,” Matthew Axelrod, the assistant secretary for export enforcement at the U.S. Commerce Department, said in a speech last September. U.S. National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan has described export controls as “a new strategic asset in the U.S. and allied toolkit.”

Russia’s ability to defy these restrictions doesn’t just have implications for the war in Ukraine. It also raises significant questions about the challenge ahead vis-à-vis China.

“The technological question becomes a key part of this story and whether or not we can restrict it from our adversaries,” said James Byrne, the director of open-source intelligence and analysis at the Royal United Services Institute, a British think tank.

In the Russian city of Izhevsk, home to the factory that manufactures Kalashnikov rifles, shopping malls are being converted into drone factories amid a surge in defense spending that has helped the country’s economy weather its Western estrangement. Arms manufacturers have been urged to work around the clock to feed the Russian war machine, while defense is set to account for one-third of the state budget this year.

“We have developed a concept to convert shopping centers—which, before the start of the SMO [special military operation], sold mainly the products of Western brands—to factories for assembly lines of types of domestic drones,” Alexander Zakharov, the chief designer of the Zala Aero drone company, said at a closed event in August 2022, according to the Russian business newspaper Vedomosti. “Special military operation” is what the Russian government calls its war on Ukraine. Zala Aero is a subsidiary of the Kalashnikov Concern that, along with Zakharov, was sanctioned by the United States last November.

Defense companies have bought at least three shopping malls in Izhevsk to be repurposed for the manufacture of drones, according to local media, including Lancet attack drones, which the British defense ministry described as one of the most effective new weapons that Russia introduced to the battlefield last year. Lancets, which cost about $35,000 to produce, wreaked havoc during Ukraine’s offensive last year and have been captured on video striking valuable Ukrainian tanks and parked MiG fighter jets.

Like a lot of Russia’s weapons systems, Lancets are filled with Western components. An analysis of images of the drones published in December by the Washington-based Institute for Science and International Security found that they contained several parts from U.S., Swiss, and Czech manufacturers, including image processing and analytical components that play a pivotal role in enabling the drones to reach their targets on the battlefield.

“The recurring appearance of these Western products in Russian drone systems shows a keen dependence on them for key capabilities in the drone systems,” the report notes. Lancets are not the only drones found to contain Western components. Almost all of the electronic components in the Iranian Shahed-136 drones, which Russia is now manufacturing with Iranian help to use in Ukraine, are of Western origin, a separate analysis published in November concluded.

Early in the war, the Royal United Services Institute analyzed 27 Russian military systems, including cruise missiles, electronic warfare complexes, and communications systems, and found that they contained at least 450 foreign-made components, revealing Russia’s dependence on imports.

One of the principal ways that Russia has evaded Western export controls has been through transshipment via third countries such as Turkey, the UAE, and neighboring states once part of the Soviet Union. Bloomberg reported last November that amid mounting Western pressure, the UAE had agreed to restrict the export of sensitive goods to Russia and that Turkey was considering a similar move. Kazakh officials announced a ban on the export of certain battlefield goods to Russia in October.

Suspected transshipment is often revealed by striking changes in trade patterns before and after the invasion. The Maldives, an island chain in the Indian Ocean that has no domestic semiconductor industry, shipped almost $54 million worth of U.S.-made semiconductors to Russia in the year after the invasion of Ukraine, Nikkei Asia reported last July.

Semiconductor supply chains often span several countries, with chips designed in one country and manufactured in another before being sold to a series of downstream distributors around the world. That makes it difficult for companies to know the ultimate end user of their products. This may seem odd—until you realize that this is the case for many everyday products that are sold around the world. “When Coca-Cola sells Coca-Cola, it doesn’t know where every bottle goes, and they don’t have systems to track where every bottle goes,” said Kevin Wolf, a former assistant secretary for export administration at the U.S. Commerce Department.

While a coalition of 39 countries, including the world’s major manufacturers of advanced electronics, imposed export restrictions on Russia, much of the rest of the world continues to trade freely with Moscow. Components manufactured in coalition countries will often begin their journey to Moscow’s weapons factories through a series of entirely legal transactions before ending up with a final distributor that takes them across the border into Russia. “It starts off as licit trade and ends up as illicit trade,” said a second senior U.S. intelligence official, who spoke on condition of anonymity.

The further items move down the supply chain, the less insight governments and companies have into their ultimate destination, although sudden changes in behavior of importers can offer a red flag. In his speech last September, Axelrod, the assistant secretary, used the example of a beauty salon that suddenly starts to import electronic components.

But the Grand Canyon of loopholes is China, which has stood by Moscow since the invasion. In the first days of the war, U.S. Commerce Secretary Gina Raimondo warned that Washington could shut down Chinese companies that ignored semiconductor export controls placed on Russia. Last October, 42 Chinese companies were added to export control lists—severely undercutting their ability to do business with U.S. companies—for supplying Russian defense manufacturers with U.S. chips.

But as the Biden administration carefully calibrates its China policy in a bid to keep a lid on escalating tensions, it has held off from taking Beijing to task. “I think the biggest issue is that we—the West—have been unwilling to put pressure on China that would get China to start enforcing some of these rules itself,” said Miller, the author of Chip Wars.

A spokesperson for the U.S. Commerce Department’s Bureau of Industry and Security (BIS) said: “Due to the restrictions imposed by the United States and key allies and partners, Russia has been left with no choice but to spend more, lower its ambitions for high-tech weaponry, build alliances with other international pariah states, and develop nefarious trade networks to covertly obtain the technologies it needs.

“We are deeply concerned regarding [Chinese] support for Russia’s defense industrial base. BIS has acted to add over 100 [China]-based entities to the Entity List for supporting Russia’s military industrial base and related activities.”

Export controls have typically focused on keeping specific U.S.-made goods out of the hands of adversaries, while economic and financial sanctions have served broader foreign-policy objectives of isolating rogue states and cauterizing the financing of terrorist groups and drug cartels. The use of sanctions as a national security tool grew in wake of the 9/11 attacks; in the intervening decades, companies, government agencies, and financial institutions have built up a wealth of experience in sanctions compliance. By contrast, the use of export controls for strategic ends is relatively novel, and compliance expertise is still in its infancy.

“It used to be that people like me could keep export controls and sanctions in one person’s head. The level of complexity for each area of law is so intense. I don’t know anyone who is truly an export control and sanctions expert,” Wolf said.

Export controls, experts say, are at best speed bumps designed to make it harder for Russia’s defense industrial base to procure Western components. They create “extra friction and pressure on the Russian economy,” said Daniel Fried, who as the State Department coordinator for sanctions policy helped craft U.S. sanctions on Russia after its annexation of Crimea in 2014. Russia is now paying 80 percent more to import semiconductors than it did before the war, according to forthcoming research by Miller, and the components it is able to acquire are often of dubious quality.

But although it may be more cumbersome and expensive, it’s a cost that Moscow has been willing to bear in its war on Ukraine.

Western components—and lots of them—will continue to be found in the weapons Russia uses on Ukraine’s battlefields for the duration of the war. “This problem is as old as export controls are,” said Jasper Helder, an expert on export controls and sanctions with the law firm Akin Gump. But there are ways to further plug the gaps.

Steeper penalties could incentivize U.S. companies to take a more proactive role in ensuring their products don’t wind up in the hands of the Russian military, said Elina Ribakova, a nonresident senior fellow at the Peterson Institute for International Economics. “At the moment, they’re not truly motivated,” she said.

Companies that run afoul of sanctions and the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act, a U.S. federal law that prohibits the payment of bribes, have been fined billions of dollars. Settlements of export control violations are often an order of magnitude smaller, according to recently published research.

In a speech last month, Axelrod said the United States would begin issuing steeper penalties for export control violations. “Build one case against one of the companies extremely well, put out a multibillion-dollar fine negotiation, and watch everybody else fall in line,” Ribakova said.

And then there’s the question of resources. BIS has an annual budget of just $200 million. “That’s like the cost of a few fighter jets. Come on,” said Raimondo, speaking at the Reagan National Defense Forum last December.

The agency’s core budget for export control has, adjusted for inflation, remained flat since 2010, while its workload has surged. Between 2014 and 2022, the volume of U.S. exports subject to licensing scrutiny increased by 126 percent, according to an agency spokesperson. A 2022 study of export control enforcement by the Center for Strategic and International Studies recommended a budget increase of $45 million annually, describing it as “one of the best opportunities available anywhere in U.S. national security.”

When it comes to enforcement, the bureau has about 150 officers across the country who work with law enforcement and conduct outreach to companies. The Commerce Department has also established a task force with the Justice Department to keep advanced technologies out of the hands of Russia, China, and Iran. “The U.S. has the most robust export enforcement on the planet,” Wolf said.

But compared with other law enforcement and national security agencies, the bureau’s budgets have not kept pace with its expanding mission. The Department of Homeland Security has more investigators in the city of Tampa, Florida, than BIS does across the entire country, Axelrod noted in his January speech.

On the other side, you have Russia, which is extremely motivated to acquire the critical technologies it needs to continue to prosecute its war. The Kremlin has tasked its intelligence agencies with finding ways around sanctions and export controls, U.S. Treasury Undersecretary Brian Nelson said in a speech last year. “We are not talking about a profit-seeking firm looking for efficiencies,” the second senior U.S. intelligence official said. “There will be supply if there is sufficient demand.”

[justforbooks]

The Seven Sisters are a series of chalk sea cliffs on the English Channel coast, and are a stretch of the sea-eroded section of the South Downs range of hills, in the county of East Sussex, in south-east England. The Seven Sisters cliffs run between the mouth of the River Cuckmere near Seaford, and the chalk headland of Beachy Head outside of Eastbourne. The dips or swales that separate each of the seven crests from the next are the remnants of dry valleys in the chalk South Downs which are being gradually eroded by the sea.

Some of the cliffs and adjacent countryside make up the Seven Sisters Country Park, which is bounded on its inland side by the A259 road, and is itself a part of the larger South Downs National Park.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books

[brick-a-doodle-do]

Oo, oh, I've got one! This is a sentence I thought of a while back for like a g/t scenario, but I've never used it. Go nuts, dude.

"I don't eat people. It's bad for the digestion."

(you pick the characters, ig? I don't have any in mind, other than the giant being Dream)

-Bat

hi bat :D thank you for the prompt, sorry it took so long eueue

(THIS IS NOT FATAL VORE ITS JUST MY LAZY TITLE)

digestion

wc: 678

cw: mention of vore, mention of harassment, slight panic

—–—

George, the first time he took to cleaning the East wing of the prison, had felt a true infliction of fear. There had been a constant of eyes on him from the towering felon's who's predatory features had seemed most prominent in the moonlight, which had filtered through the little amount of natural light in their cells, illuminating their giant bodies and sharp fangs and claws. It was hard not to shudder at the constant string of loud, echoing curses, begs, and catcalls.

The longer he did it, the easier he found it to tune out the voices, sometimes simply looking the other way and refusing to respond, while other times he'd bring headphones and play music as loud as it went. Over time, the giants chimed down too, still sitting up at George's arrival, but they stopped calling his name, (Not that they knew it, they mainly called him 'little guy' or 'human'), and they, for the most part, just wanted to partake in conversation with him.

He promptly ignored it.

Then, a new prisoner was presented to the East wing, placed in the cell at the far end of the hallway, locked away with one of the more persistent giants. He kept lingering his gaze down the hallway as he mopped at the floors, and by the time he reached it, there was something of relief in him, though shadowing behind it was uncertainty.

He picked up his work, parking the cart with water in it and squishing down the mop onto the floor. The movement strains his arms, especially after a three hour's work of the same constant back-and-forth pattern.

The strain didn't bother him, not as he was more interested in the cell than anything. This one wasn't cut off at the bottom with a stone wall, it was just blocked with ceiling-to-floor bars. George usually stayed away from getting close to the door for fear of the giant grabbing him. But now, it offered a plentiful good view of the entirety of the small room. There were two beds as opposed to the previous one, a toilet, and two organizers at the end of each bed. In the left bed, the original giant was asleep, leg falling off one end of the bed and long black hair an absolute mess.

Though, as he searches the other bed, he finds it empty. It wasn't until he heard a loud, scratchy voice that he realized the new guy was sitting right by the cell door.

"Do you think I could, like, have that water when you're done?"

George shrieks, jumping, nearly losing grip on the mop as he spins around to meet the too-close-for-comfort giant.

He can hear as the giant struggles down a lose laugh at George's fear. "Sorry—what do you want?"

"Your water," the giant reiterates, pointing vaguely in the vicinity of the parked cart of soapy, dirty water. George grimaces.

"Why?"

The giant shrugs, the action barely visible in the low light. "My hands are sticky from dinner, they're gross."

"Why didn't you just wash your hands?" George asks, dipping the mop back into the water and pulling it out again to start on a new patch of flooring.

The giant doesn't respond, something of an amused huff leaving their lips instead. George shudders uncomfortably.

"Look-can I have the water or not?"

The mop squeaks on the tile while George decides on his response. "I mean, if I bring it to you, how do I know you won't, like, try to eat me?"

The giant makes a weird noise at that. "I don't eat people, it's bad for the digestion."

George returns the weird noise. "Uhm—" he cuts himself off, looking at the water. He sighs, shrugs, then reaches over to roll it closer to the cell. It skids against the wet floor, but George manages to get it to the bars, then carefully pushes it through the bars to avoid being easily accessible to the giants' hands. "There, I guess," he says, holding the mop awkwardly in both of his hands.

#brickquiries #bat brickling #mw #brickfic #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #dsmp g/t #dsmp gt #dream smp g/t #t!george #g!dream #unmentioned g!sapnap #short prompt series

[idsb]

holly my family is going to glacier national park this summer!! what do you recommend doing while we're there? i love to hike but i have a 9 year old sibling so we probably want to do a mix of easier and harder-but-really-cool ones, as well as some non hiking activities. i know you love it there and you were the first person i thought of when i found out!

Oh my gosh!!! I’m SO excited for you you’re gonna love it!!! First of all very important thing to know is that all areas of the park are on a reservation system this year. That means for each different section of the park you’ll need a ticket for timed entry which you can get on recreation.gov - if you don’t already have them I believe they have short notice ones that go on sale 48 hours in advance, so be ready right at the 48 hour mark because they will go fast! Unfortunately it’s like Taylor tickets all over again, lol. Anyways here are my recs assuming that’s all sorted out. Can’t put a cut on mobile so very deeply sorry about this novel lol

EASY STUFF:

Polebridge Area - the northernmost part of the park on the west side, this is one of the lesser trafficked but the road to get there is unpaved. Worth it imo! There’s a general store up there called Polebridge Mercantile and a whole big farm. They make incredible pastries (the huckleberry bear claw is what they’re known for and for good reason! This area is right by Kintla Lake, which you can walk partially around (it’s 14 miles which you wouldn’t want to do, but it’s an idyllic walk with viewpoints and you can turn around whenever!). It’s just a really beautiful area and a wonderful place to spend a day or half a day!

Belly River Valley - this is my favorite favorite FAVORITE part of the park. If you do one thing off this list do this one. It’s the northernmost part on the east side (you literally park at border patrol, lol). It’s an almost completely flat 3 mile hike to do the valley (it spawns off into other bigger hikes, but you can just do this and then stop)! It’s completely idyllic, VERY sparsely trafficked, and depending on when you go there will be wild berries to eat along the whole trail. There’s a big and very shallow lake you can stop at, go for a dip and then turn around! This is about 2.5-3 hours total if you take your time. If you want to extend it, my favorite branch-off hike is Ptarmigan Tunnel, a mountain pass blown out of the mountain due to mining in the 1800’s. It leads to the Many Glacier Hotel and totals about 14 miles one way (hotel employees will likely be happy to give you a ride back; we did it all the time for tourists when I was there. Otherwise go to the tunnel & turn around)!

Many Glacier - this is the wonderful wonderful area where I lived and worked. Even if you’re not staying in the hotel that the area is named for, it’s worth a stop in as it’s a world heritage site and it’s really fascinating to see and learn about. The hotel opens out to a lake and incredibly dramatic mountains, and there’s tons to see and do in this area: you can walk around the lake, there’s a boat company that does educational boat tours of the lakes in the area, you can rent kayaks and canoes, and behind the hotel there’s horses and they do guided trail rides! The boat company and the horse company are the only two locally owned / mom & pop businesses left within the entire park, so it’s really great to support them. This area will likely be the hardest to get reservations for so plan ahead!

Going-To-The-Sun Road - this is the “main” part of the park, taking you through the Rockies and connecting the east and west sides of the park. It is the most beautiful drive you will ever do in your life. There’s tons of viewpoints and spots to take pictures, and on the west end of the park it follows a river which you can pull over anywhere, climb down and splash around in; lots of locals do it and you’ll see them! A lot of hikes in the park leave from here. Sun Point Nature trail is a lovely one mile walk towards the end with beautiful sunset views.

HARDER / LONGER STUFF:

The Highline - off of Going To The Sun Road, The Highline is one of the most famous hikes in the park, and one of the only ones that doesn’t lead to a lake. You’ll be walking on a mountain ridge (not great if you have a fear of heights, fair warning) over Sun Road and seeing the incredible landscape of the park on foot. It’s a 14 mile out-and-back, but the good news is it’s flat and most people don’t do all 14 miles as there’s no end “viewpoint”; the whole trail is the viewpoint. You can do 1 mile or the whole 14 and still have an incredibly satisfying experience.

Grinnell Glacier - bad news about Glacier is that all the photos of beautiful alpine lakes are 10 mile out-and-back hikes at minimum. Grinnell Glacier Trail, which leaves from the Many Glacier area is the one with the best views the entire hike, and also the shortest of all of them. It’s going to be very highly trafficked for this reason, so a) go earlier or later in the day, and b) if you go to the Hotel and get a parking spot there, there technically is another parking lot a half mile away. Don’t leave your parking spot, just walk over. The walk is pretty and mostly circles the big lake I mentioned! It’s not worth it to try and get a parking spot over there, it’s complete hell unless you’re there VERY early in the morning. Grinnell Lake is a shorter hike and departs from this trail after 2ish miles if your younger sibling can’t make the whole thing - but I’ve seen lots of children do this! It’s an easy 10 miles because the views are so beautiful. I’ve done it in 4 hours but it would probably take the average person with a kid in tow about 5-6.

Apikuni Falls - this one is short, but like a stairmaster 3000. It’s on the way to the Many Glacier area so if you want a quick little stop on the way and don’t have many other big hikes planned, this one is a great little workout. Leads to a gorgeous waterfall and there’s TONS of wildflowers the whole way and lots of moose live along this route so you might see some!

Jackson Glacier (via Gunsight Pass) - this one is WAY less trafficked compared to others in the area; not a lot of tourists know about this one. It’s off of Sun Road and leads to the biggest glacier in the park! There’s again TONS of huckleberries and thimbleberries (tastiest berries in the whole world) along this trail to snack on, I didn’t even need the snacks I brought with me lol. It goes across a lot of beautiful valleys and rivers, and there are some VERY steep stretches (the Jackson Glacier Part specifically; you can bail after the Gunsight Pass portion and still have had a great hike) but then it’s flat for most of it!

Dawson Pitamocken - this hike is a bit different than the others as you’re walking on top of the mountains above the treeline; it feels a bit like you’re on the edge of the world. But the views are UNREAL. You get an almost Birds Eye view of a lot of the lakes in the park. t’s quite long but it’s not horribly difficult; a fair amount of uphill but nothing insane where you’ll be keeled over trying to catch your breath. This is the hardest on the list in terms of length and uphill combined, though, and I’d only recommend it if your sibling takes everything else like a champ! This will be an all day thing, but there’s lots of lovely spots for breaks and photos on the way etc. It’s in Two Medicine which will be the easiest to get a reservation for; it’s the least trafficked part of the park. Two Med is also a GREAT spot to sit by the river and take in the views and have a picnic, too.

Avalanche Lake & Trail Of The Cedars (they’re connected as one hike) is the main trail that people with kids do. It’s 5.5 flat miles (one of the easier ones) and a fair sampling of the park on the west side of Sun Road, but imo it’s nothing crazy compared to what else the park has to offer. If your siblings capacity / attention span for hikes is low this is a good compromise and what park rangers will probably recommend.

OUTSIDE THE PARK & WHERE TO EAT

Glacier Raft Co is incredibly fun!!!! It’s whitewater rafting down the main river that formed the area. Incredibly safe even for kids; they monitor the conditions and choose your route really well (and especially later in the summer; it’s the wildest in May / June when the snow is still melting). Just a great experience and if you’ve never been whitewater rafting it’s a great and scenic intro. It’s in Kalispell before you enter the park.

Sable Coffee is one of my favorite coffee spots in the whole US. It’s located in Kalispell, and the huckleberry roles are imo the best huckleberry treat in the area.

Backslope Brewing is a PHENOMENAL restaurant. Don’t let the name fool you because while it is technically a brewery, I’ve never had a sip of beer there. it’s one of the best restaurants I’ve ever been to - they serve Korean-American fusion food and it’s soooooo good.

Jalisco Cantina is an upscale Mexican restaurant in Whitefish, the nicer Ski resort town next to Kalispell. A bit pricier if you have dinner as opposed to lunch, but if you guys go out for a nicer meal it should 100000% be here. They have stuff for kids as well (some of the best baked Mac & cheese I’ve ever had. they put chorizo and Mexican spices in it etc so the kids meals aren’t too kid-ish either)

There’s a pop-up trailer on the way from the east exit of Sun Road to the Many Glacier area called Full Quiver. It’s just parked on the side of the road. The sweetest woman in the world bakes pastries and lunch items and sells them every morning. She makes the best cinnamon roll you’ll ever eat in your life.

I hope this all helps bestie and if you have any specific questions please feel free to let me know!!!