#lesbian bar au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bonewreath · 1 month

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞! ** 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: modern au; ellie moves to a big city to escape the past. she goes to her first lesbian bar, where she meets you.

cw: porn with…a whisper of plot; alcohol use, fingering (e!receiving), strap-on sex, bottom!ellie, slightly sub!ellie, she’s whiny here

Ellie’s never been to a lesbian bar.

It’s surreal - banners of colorful pride flags are strung across the room, some of which she can’t even identify. Distressed and faded posters are plastered on the stone walls, advertising drag shows and queer punk bands with names like The Cranky Dykes and T-Girl Social. Nearly every patron is tatted or pierced, and there’s more platform boots and fishnet clothing than Ellie’s ever seen in one place before. Before she’d moved to the city, Ellie had lit up with excitement at the thought of visiting a lesbian bar. But now, in her worn Harley Davidson tee and a pair of jeans with unintentional rips at the knees, she feels very much out of her depth.

Steeling her nerves, she internally reminds herself that this is exactly why she’d moved in the first place - she needed new experiences. She needed unfamiliarity. What she’d left back in Texas was her normal, and she planned to build a new normal here. One that was the antithesis of everything she’d known before.

The bar isn’t completely packed, but she does need to push past dancing, sweaty bodies, girls sucking on each other’s faces, and chatting cliques to get to the edge of the bar, where more clusters of people are calling out drink orders and thrusting wads of cash tips at the bartenders. By some miracle, an empty barstool presents itself after a drunken patron with a mohawk stumbles out of it, and Ellie swoops in to snatch it before someone else does. She sits there for a good few minutes, trying to capture a bartender’s attention, until someone shuffles up beside her and sticks a hand out to wave one over. And, of course, they notice immediately, heading over with a towel slung over their shoulder. Ellie sinks lower into her seat, cheeks burning.

“I’ll have a spicy marg,” the woman beside Ellie says, voice projecting loud enough to hear over the clamor of music and chatter. The bartender nods, then goes to step away, but the woman next to Ellie stops her, speaking with that attention-commanding voice.

“What are you having?”

The bartender’s gaze shifts to Ellie, still hunched over and beet-red in the face. She flushes impossibly redder when she looks up at the woman who’d just ordered, realizing that the question had been directed at her.

“Oh,” she blurts, posture straightening. She glances at the woman, anxiety flaring, then back at the bartender. “Um, an old fashioned. Please. Thanks.”

Just as quickly as they’d come, the bartender disappears again, off to pour precisely-measured shots and mix cocktails in shiny silver shakers. Ellie’s hands are in her lap, fiddling restlessly, when she finally forces herself to look up at the woman who’d practically had to order for her.

You smile at her when she meets your gaze. Though she’s trying to be subtle about it, you can feel the way Ellie drinks in your every feature, eyes flickering over your face, then your body. It’s obvious that she likes what she sees, because she has a hard time looking you in the eye again.

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ve been trying to order for a while.”

“So I saw,” you respond, but not unkindly. You take a moment to look her over, although you’d already done plenty of that before you’d even approached her - you had seen her from across the bar, looking forlorn, her leg bouncing beneath the edge of the bar as she tried (and failed) to order herself a drink. Her lack of confidence is what piqued your interest; it was hard to believe that someone that gorgeous wasn’t oozing arrogance and self-importance. She’s all lean muscles and shaggy hair, her forearm decorated with a sprawling fern tattoo. You could already imagine yourself running your hands through that hair, kissing the length of her sharp jawline, pulling those narrow hips up against your own.

At a lesbian bar, a hot girl who couldn’t carry herself with confidence usually meant one of two things: she’s fresh out of a breakup, or she’d never been somewhere like this. You’re determined to find out which of the two applies to her.

“What’s your name? I haven’t seen you here before.” You angle your body to face Ellie, popping your hip out as subtly as you can.

Ellie, determined to keep her eyes on your face and not the curve of your hip or the delicious sliver of cleavage peeking out of your square-neck top, peers up at you from behind her bangs. “Uh, yeah, I’ve never been. I just moved here. I’m Ellie - what’s your name?”

You tell her your name and she repeats it slowly, like she’s tasting every syllable. “Pretty.”

Your drinks arrive before you can fumble for a response.

“Spicy marg, old fashioned,” the bartender lists as they slide your drinks over the smooth wood of the bar. Ellie murmurs her thanks and you nod at the bartender before they disappear, your hand curling around the glass.

“Cheers?” You tip your drink towards Ellie. She clinks her own glass against yours and the two of you take your first sips, the bitterness of the alcohol burning its way down your throat. You feel it settle in your stomach, warm and satisfying.

“So,” you begin, licking jalapeño and lime-tinged tequila from your lips. Ellie’s eyes follow the movement for a moment before she catches herself and looks away. “Where’d you move from?”

Ellie smiles shyly. You watch her index finger trace the rim of her glass. “Texas.”

“Oh?” One of your brows lifts. “And what made you want to move here, Texas?”

“For one, I’m gay.”

“Thank you for stating the obvious.”

She lets out a little laugh, and the sound makes you want to grin - you take a sip of your margarita instead.

“I just… Couldn’t be there anymore,” she elaborates. “It wasn’t right for me. I needed to start fresh.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, letting Ellie’s words sink in. Clearly, something severe enough had happened to make her want to shed her life in Texas like an old skin. And this lesbian bar, filled with every unique kind of queer this city had to offer, was part of this new version of Ellie - the version she’d chosen to build from the ground up. You’re struck by how brave Ellie must be for that. And yeah, maybe she’d struggled to order a drink for herself, but that didn’t take away from her bravery - not when she’d willfully chosen to uproot her life, a decision most people could never follow through with.

“I’m impressed,” you say honestly. “And I hope the city gives you what you’re looking for.”

The corners of Ellie’s lips twitch, and that pretty blush fights its way onto her cheeks again. You’re about to say something when you hear the first notes of one of your favorite songs thumping through the speakers, a few other bargoers cheering to express their own excitement.

“Dance with me,” you say to Ellie, reaching forward with your free hand to grab her forearm. She looks up at you like a deer in headlights.

“I can’t dance.”

“Doesn’t matter, just follow my lead. C’mon.”

“I don’t know if—”

“Didn’t you come here to try new things?” You curl your fingers around Ellie’s wrist, and she lets you pull her to her feet. You’ve made a good point, and she doesn’t argue again - just follows you to the dancefloor, where dozens of others are already moving to the beat of the music, hips rolling, heads nodding. The lights pulsate in the vibrant colors of the rainbow, the crowd painted shades of sunset orange, hot pink, deep indigo. You sip your drink and start to dance, turning to face Ellie; she’s gaping at you, unmoving.

“Come here,” you say, having to shout over the music. Ellie steps closer to you as you move to the rhythm, hips swishing. You’re wearing a pair of flared pants that makes your ass look incredible, and after Ellie finally starts to dance along with you, you turn around to bring your backside closer to her. As if by instinct, Ellie’s arm loops around your waist - she presses her palm into the front of your pelvis, rolls her hips against your ass. You grin, wide and self-satisfied, as you lift your drink to your lips again - only to realize it’s almost gone. You make a mental note to head back to the bar after this song, but for now, you enjoy the last few drops of your margarita, revelling in the feeling of Ellie’s hand, strong on your hip, as she presses ever-closer into you from behind.

Ellie’s in awe of you.

The way you’d strolled up beside her at the bar, posture proud, buying Ellie a drink and flirting with her like it was easy, natural. The way you’d let your eyes wander over her figure, not shy at all about the lust in your gaze. The way you’d dragged her to the dancefloor and ground your ass back against her, smelling like lime and tequila and something headier, something distinctly you.

Now, after two strong drinks and several songs-worth of dancing with you, Ellie’s so turned on she feels like a live wire, sparks erupting from her every nerve.

On the dancefloor, Ellie had looped her arm around your hips, leaning in so close she could smell the liquor on your breath. You’d needed to fight down every urge to kiss her first - you weren’t even sure if she’d ever kissed another woman before, and you’d already done enough to pull her out of her shell for the night. But Ellie had leaned her forehead against yours, noses brushing, eyes fluttering shut… And your mouths had crashed together in the sort of kiss you’re going to have a very hard time forgetting.

After making out in the crowd like that for god knows how long, you’d invited Ellie back to your apartment. Which brings you to your current predicament: Ellie’s backed up against the front door, your hand under her shirt, fingers dancing over every inch of her deliciously solid abdomen. If Ellie’s inexperienced, she’s doing a fabulous job of pretending she isn’t. But you’re not sure just how innocent she is now, as she moans unabashedly into your mouth, your hand squeezing her tits over her sports bra.

“Hey,” you breathe, pulling back from the heated kiss you’d been sharing.

“Mm?” Ellie blinks at you, dazed. You want to ruin her.

“Is this okay?” You peck at her lips, then her cheek. “We don’t have to… Do anything. Not if you don’t want to.”

Ellie’s bangs are gorgeously tousled, and she looks at you like a kicked puppy - all round eyes and furrowed brows, worried you’re taking something from her. “But I… I want to.”

“You sure?”

Ellie nods.

“Have you ever been with another woman before?” Your stomach twists at the directness of your own question, but you really want to know. Need to know. A bar hookup might not be the best way for her to pop her cherry - or, at least, her gay cherry.

Then again, it’s not exactly unheard of in the community.

“Yeah. I have,” Ellie says, her hand reaching out to grab your hip.

You find yourself wanting to pry, dig deeper for more information, but there’s no real reason for it. She’s not entirely new to this. She wants you. That’s all that really matters, right?

So you take her to your bedroom, let her undress you with shaky, calloused hands, kiss her slow and sweet while she unbuttons her jeans and kicks them aside. You help each other undress until you’re both naked, and then you’re stumbling into bed, your legs straddling Ellie’s hips as you kiss down her neck, stopping to suck pretty purple bruises into the sensitive skin. Ellie makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper, sending another white-hot jolt of arousal through you. Your cunt is spread over her pelvis, and you grind down against her like that, letting out a pleased sound of your own.

“God, you’re so hot,” Ellie mutters, watching you roll your hips as you kiss down to her chest. She reaches for your tits, squeezes them in her palms.

“Yeah?” You smile, sharp and wolfish, down at Ellie. She looks at you like she can’t believe this is happening - like she can’t believe you’re real. “Gonna let me fuck you, Ellie?”

She moans at the obscenity of the question, nodding quickly. “Yes, god, please fuck me.”

“Mm,” you hum, “need to get you ready first, baby.”

Ellie’s breathing is ragged, her hips lifting, seeking friction. You climb down her body until you’re settled between her legs, pulling her knees apart to give yourself access to her center. She’s fucking soaked - you bite your lip at the sight of her, clit swollen and puffy, labia shining with arousal.

You start with one finger, dipping into the wetness pooled at her entrance and spreading it up to her clit, drawing sharp breaths and staggering moans from Ellie’s kiss-bitten lips. Every sound she makes has you yearning to hear more, more. You slide your middle finger into her clenching hole and groan when you feel her walls open up smoothly around the digit. She pulses around you, hot and slick. When you begin pumping your finger in and out of that tight heat, Ellie’s noises become even more drawn-out, even more frantic - you look up at her and find her eyes already on you, dark with lust, a desperate, pleading expression etched onto her face.

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby,” you coo at her, revelling in the way her pussy tightens at your words.

“I–nngh, fuck–I need…” She trails off, jaw clenching.

You fake-pout at her, puff out your lower lip in faux sympathy. “What is it? What do you need?”

“Need more,” Ellie pants out.

“I can give you more, sweetheart,” you reassure her, “all you had to do was ask.”

So, you give her more. You slip another finger inside of her, press the heel of your hand against the sensitive nub of her clit; your fingers curl upwards in the warmth of her cunt, finding that spongy, sensitive spot that’ll make her see stars. She whines - actually fucking whines, high-pitched and desperate, as if to say yes, right there.

“Shit, oh my god…” Ellie’s hands are clutching the sheets, knuckles blanched. “‘M so close.”

You don’t let up, and it only takes a few more moments of your careful ministrations before Ellie’s falling apart, a mess of jolting hips, strangled gasps, and a rush of wetness. You watch her come undone, wishing you could committ the sight to memory. After, you lick your fingers clean.

While Ellie’s spent and recovering from the height of her orgasm, you shuffle to the side of the bed to reach for your nightstand. You roll open the drawer, rummage around, and return to Ellie’s side with a tiny bottle of lube and your strap, the harness made of powder pink fabric. The brunette sighs contentedly when you lean over to kiss her, swiping her sweat-damp bangs away from her forehead.

“You taste so good, did you know that?” You press another kiss to the corner of Ellie’s lips, feeling the way they twitch into a smile.

“I really doubt it,” Ellie says.

You scoff. “Don’t doubt my taste.”

“Mm, okay. Fine. I believe you.”

Fighting your own smile, you move back to sit on your heels, cheeks heating when you notice Ellie’s eyes roaming over your naked body.

“Need something?”

Ellie nods, then sits up and pulls you in for another kiss, her hand on the back of your neck. “I want you to really fuck me now.”

“Oh yeah?” You grin at her, your hands making their way to her tits and smoothing over her pebbled nipples. “Think you should learn some manners, Ellie. How about please?”

Her expression goes soft - eyes rounding, mouth pursing.

“Please,” she says, and her voice is so sweet, it might rot your teeth. “Please fuck me.”

And who are you to deny her what she needs?

As it turns out, Ellie’s pussy was made to take strap. She’s leaned over, face down in one of your pillows, her ass propped up perfectly to give you access to her cunt. Still soaked from her last orgasm, she hardly needs any lube, the strap pushing into her all the way to the hilt without any resistance; she keens when you’re fully seated inside of her, a sound that makes your own pussy throb with need. Every noise she makes is pure heaven - you wish you could record them all, listen to them when you’re in bed at night with your hand between your thighs.

“Fuuuuck,” Ellie cries out when you hit that sweet spot with the tip of the strap, her head shifting to lean on one side, allowing you to see the look on her face - the roll of her eyes, the way her lips part to let out each of her gasps and moans.

“How’s that feel, princess?” You ask as you pound into her from behind; you admire the way her back arches deeper, like she’s encouraging you to fuck into her further and further.

“S-so good,” Ellie stutters weakly.

“Yeah? Doing so good for me, baby,” you pant. Every slam of your hips against Ellie’s ass makes her grunt, a pleased little sound, short and needy.

That tiny grunt turns into an impatient whine when you pull out of her entirely, a lewd, wet noise accompanying the motion.

“Why’d you stop?” Ellie asks, voice small. She cranes her neck to look back at you and the expression on her face is absolutely pathetic.

You give her ass a playful smack, admiring the way it recoils from the contact of your palm. “Want you to flip over. I need to see you come again, you looked so pretty the first time.”

She does as instructed - she’s already so good at following directions, you’ve learned. When Ellie’s on her back, her face, neck, and chest tinged red with equal parts arousal and exertion, you lean in and whisper praises to her, lining the strap up to her entrance and pushing into her again.

“Hold your legs up, sweetheart,” you instruct, pushing her thighs up until they’re folded against her body. She nods, panting, and lifts her hands up to hold her legs in place. You slip deeper into her like this; Ellie goes cross-eyed, lips pursed into a pretty “o” shape as you fuck her senseless. It doesn’t take much longer for her to get close again, and when her legs begin to shake with the effort of holding them up for you, you tell her to relax.

“Play with your clit, hm? I want you to come.”

Ellie nods. “Y-yeah, I can do that. For you.”

“Just for me?” You grin.

“Mm, just for you.”

Her hand shakes as she brings it between her legs, drawing sloppy circles over her clit with her fingers. You keep fucking her, hips snapping restlessly, every lewd squelch of her cunt making you gush wetter and wetter. But as desperate as you are to come, you’re more focused on Ellie - the way she bites her lip, her entire body tense with her impending orgasm. She warns you before she finally tips over the edge: an endless chant of right there, I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come, oh my god…

You’re not sure how long you lie there on top of Ellie, still buried inside her, before her breathing finally rights itself again. You spend that time kissing all over her face and running your hands through her auburn hair, untangling a few knotted locks in the process. You’re both covered in a thin layer of sweat, bodies glistening, but neither of you seems to mind. Content to lie there together, you rest until Ellie pulls you in for a kiss - one that turns needy and sloppy not long after.

“Can I taste you?” Ellie asks between kisses, her lips shiny with saliva. She says it with such hope, like she’s not sure what you’ll say. But you’re still drenched between your legs, inner thighs sticky with it.

“There’s nothing I want more right now,” you confess.

So Ellie finds a place between your legs, mouth latching to your clit like it’s muscle memory. You curl a fist into her hair and guide her every move, murmuring instructions, which she follows like the good girl she is. The night continues that way - all whispered pleas and tremoring orgasms, tangled limbs and slick-coated fingers, until the two of you finally doze off, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

And Ellie thinks she’s made a good decision, moving here. Trying something new.

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elliesbelle · 5 months

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nobody compares to you

chapter 12

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, dealer!ellie, mentions of alcohol, descriptions of anxiety and anxiety attacks, allusions to toxic parents, description of murder (in a joking fashion), flashback scene, some descriptions from ellie's POV, descriptions of marijuana and marijuana usage, allusions to toxic ex-friends, slightly sexual behaviour, minors do not interact

word count: 9.2k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-if if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

“Oh, I don’t know, Abs…”

“Hey, like I said, no pressure at all.”

You’re sprawled out on your bed with your homework spread out on your sheets which you’ve completely abandoned as you’d spent the last half hour chatting on the phone with Abby.

It’s been exactly four days since your night out with her and her friends at the lesbian bar, Bow and Arrow. Exactly four days since unexpectedly you ran into your ex-fling from freshman year, Adriana. Exactly four days since you drunkenly rejected Abby’s sudden and attempted kiss. Exactly four days since you visited the same alleyway where you had your first kiss with Ellie Williams.

Being the perfect gentlemanwoman that she always was, Abby had insisted on taking you home herself that night. You’d reassured her that you could easily order a rideshare service to take you home if needed, but she argued that it was her fault that you had tequila in your system in the first place and that she’d feel much more at ease if she definitively saw you enter the front door of your apartment with her own two eyes. Her thoughtfulness and persistence won out in the end, and at around 2 A.M., she respectfully greeted you good night as you tipsily crossed the threshold of your apartment.

As you waved her goodbye, a sinking sense of shame settled at the seat of your stomach. Despite your brush-off to her advances, Abby remained completely sweet and amicable for the rest of the night. Her demeanour didn’t seem to change, though there were no more attempts to steal another kiss from you again. The feeling of remorse soberly persisted into the following day, and you’d remorsefully texted Abby the morning after to offer lengthy sorries for your rejection. Ever a well-mannered woman of honour, she easily accepted your many apologies and, in turn, apologized for attempting to kiss you while neither of you was completely sober. Your “friendship” with Abby remained untainted, much to your relief.

But now, exactly four days later, you’ve been once again placed in yet another uncomfortable predicament. Abby had just invited you out to dinner with her that following Friday night at a restaurant called Orchards. Though never having actually set foot in the place, you’d seen just in passing how extravagant and fancy the establishment was. It was never a restaurant you considered ever patronizing, and as Abby attempts to persuade you to accompany her for dinner, you feel your entire body begin to react in complete hysteria. You try to convince yourself that your rapidly beating heart and extreme nausea were merely nervous reactions to being suddenly asked out on an obvious date, not at all from the fact that Orchards is a mere block and corner away from the apartment that Jesse and Ellie shared.

“It’s not that I don’t want to!” You insist. “It’s just that… I mean, are you sure?”

“Sure about what?”

“I don’t know… that you wanna be asking me out on a date.”

“Doesn’t have to be an official date if you don’t want it to be,” She says. “It can just be two friends going out on a Friday night for a nice dinner together and having a fun time.”

“At a super fancy restaurant?”

“Hey, I’m a really good friend.”

You can’t help but giggle at Abby’s cheekiness.

From experience alone, you have a gut feeling somehow that if you were to decline Abby’s invitation, she wouldn’t hold it against you. You could choose to once again remain within the sanctuary of your platonic comfort zone, a sanctuary that you’d grown far too comfortable in for the past couple of years. But Abby was genuinely sweet and so thoughtful and incredibly handsome, and she’d been so very good to you so far. Suddenly, wise words from both Dina and Jesse come back to you and echo within your mind.

“Don’t let her stop you from enjoying your life.”

“I also think that you deserve to be happy. And unfortunately, that means putting yourself out there.”

Trying to hold back from letting out an audible sigh, you finally give Abby a reply.

“Alright.”

“Oh?”

“Alright.” You repeat, smiling slightly.

“Is that a yes?” Abby asks.

“It’s a yes,” You giggle. “Now whether it’s a friend date or a real date…”

“Hey, I’ll take whatever I can get,” Abby laughs. “You don’t have to decide now. Hell, you can even decide during dessert while we’re actually at the restaurant.”

“You’re cute.” You chuckle.

“Oh, I know.” You swear you can hear Abby’s cocky smirk through the phone.

“So, Friday at 7?” You confirm.

“If that works for you. Do you want me to come pick you up from your place?”

You seriously consider her generous offer. A small part of you knows that there is every chance that you would end up bailing in total anxiety if you weren’t essentially escorted to the date. Part of you also begins to worry that you’d immediately look out of place if you walked in alone without Abby and her usual charm & swagger by your side. But you then remember that Abby’s apartment is only five minutes away from the restaurant and yours was fifteen and in the complete opposite direction; your unrelenting unwillingness to inconvenience her ultimately makes the decision for you.

“Oh, it’s okay! I can just meet you there.” You exclaim.

“You sure? I totally don’t mind coming to get you.”

“Abby.” You say in a playfully stern manner.

“I know, I know,” Abby chuckles. “You’re a big girl.”

“Yes, ma’am, I am.”

Suppressing from loudly exhaling in both relief and tension, you finally remember and notice all of the unfinished homework still laid out right in front of you.

“Anyway, just text me all the details later. I’ve got a shit ton of homework that I’ve been procrastinating on, and you’ve kind of been sidetracking me from completing any of it.”

“My apologies, it was not my intention to be so distracting.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Okay, maybe a little.”

You both laugh.

“Alright, alright,” Abby complies. “I’ll let you get to it. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Don’t you have class at like, 8?”

“I can skip it so I can walk you to your 9 A.M.”

“Abigail, go to your classes.”

“Fine,” She chuckles. “I’ll be a good student, I guess. Always so eager to be rid of me.”

“Abby Anderson, I swear to god—“

“Kidding, kidding!”

“I’ll text you later, then.” You say.

“Sounds good. Good luck with your homework.”

“Thanks. Good night, Abs.”

“Good night, pretty girl.”

You tap the red button at the bottom of your screen, subsequently ending the call.

Sighing, you flop onto your back and stare at your prickly white ceiling. Your eyes zoom in and out of focus as your mind recaps the conversation you just had with the blonde, blue-eyed woman.

Did I just agree to go out with Abby?

Do I really want to do this?

This is gonna be so, so different from the other night. We were with her friends. She’s inviting me out to be with her and only her.

It’s going to be a date, no matter what she says.

I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing anymore.

Am I doing this because I want to do it? Or is it because I feel like I should?

She doesn’t even know what she’s taking on, trying to date me. She doesn’t know what she’s getting into. She’s way too nice, too sweet for me.

Can I really do this?

As your internal monologue quickly fatigues both your mind and your emotions, you nearly pass out before the panic of not finishing your schoolwork jolts you awake once again.

“What about this one?”

“No, it hugs my thighs really weird…”

“First of all, it does not. Second, why do you even have it in the first place, then?!”

“Sentimental value, D!”

You had invited Dina over that Wednesday evening to help you settle on an outfit to wear for your date-not-a-date in two days. You’d finally relented to telling Dina about your situation with Abby and how on the fence you’ve been in regards to starting anything romantic and real with her. To your surprise, Dina was a lot less judgier than you had been anticipating and much more understanding. She was just as supportive as she was the day she came over with the cup of coffee and advice regarding your messy situation with Ellie. She even enthusiastically invited herself over, accurately predicting that you were already far too hesitant and anxious to properly plan for Friday night.

You snatch the white dress Dina had been holding out for you from her hands and throw it onto your bed.

“If we can’t find actually anything suitable for me to wear, maybe it’s a sign from the universe that I should cancel on Abby.”

“The hell it is!” Dina scolds. “You are going on this date, even if I have to go out right now and buy you a whole new outfit myself!”

“I just don’t think I actually have anything good enough for Orchards! I’m gonna go there and look like a freaking shabby peasant, and Abby will take one look at me and immediately collapse on the spot over how disgustingly and horrifically ugly I look.” You flop onto your bed next to the pile of rejects you’d adamantly denied earlier in the evening.

“Did you really just say ‘peasant’? What are you, eighty?” Dina rolls her eyes at your dramatics. “And if Abby Anderson passes out on the spot for any reason, it’ll only be because you will be so stunning and gorgeous and ravishing and elegant that she just couldn’t consciously handle your natural beauty.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, D!” You laugh, picking up the white dress Dina was holding previously and lobbing it at her face.

Dina laughs as she effortlessly catches it before placing it back on top of the reject pile. She then saunters back into your walk-in closet to continue examining its contents.

“Maybe if we build your date outfit from—”

“Not a date.”

“—your date outfit from an accessory or a pair of shoes or something. Do you have a pair of heels that you were thinking of wearing?”

You give her an apprehensive look.

“What do you think, D?”

“Of course. Be helpful for two seconds, babe.”

“Ugh!”

You lift your head slightly to watch her venture further into your closet from the comfort of your bed.

“I have a whole bunch of other shoes on the top shelf over there,” You say, pointing in the direction of a wall-mounted shelf above your clothes arranged on hangers. “Some of them are still in their shoe boxes, though, so you better put them back properly after and line them up exactly the way I had them.”

“Anal.” Dina scoffs, smiling. “Why are they still in their boxes?”

“Some of them were stupid, impulse purchases that I immediately regretted but was too lazy to return,” You explain, dropping your head back onto your bed. “Others are a bunch of ugly and uncomfortable shoes that my mother bought me and that I have to lie about wearing regularly and that I’m definitely not allowed to get rid of, lest she murders me in cold blood with her own two hands.”

“So when are we going to finally end the miserable existence of that horrible woman again, exactly?”

“When I figure out exactly how to get away with murder.”

Dina smirks as she grabs a small step stool hidden in a corner of your closet.

“Hey, if Barbie Bear had actually come to life when I asked her to all those years ago, you would have been free from that witch’s clutches by now.” Dina huffs as she begins to peek into the shoe boxes neatly arranged on the top shelf of your closet.

“Speaking of Barbie Bear,” You suddenly segue, still staring up at the ceiling of your apartment. “I still want her back, by the way.”

“I told you fifty million times already that I don’t have her!”

“Bullshit,” You counter. “I know I left her at your house summer after freshman year I came home with you guys.”

“Babe, it’s been like, well over a year now. I promise that I don’t have her, and I seriously haven’t seen her anywhere in my house back home.”

“I’m planning on pressing charges against you for kidnapping my child and for causing such catastrophic emotional distress as a result of the trauma of many years of motherly separation from my daughter.”

“Such a fucking drama queen.” Dina chuckles as she continues her footwear search.

“Dinaaaa,” You whine. “You know that Raf gave her to me—”

“Uhhh…” Dina abruptly interrupts. “What the hell is this?”

“What?”

“What is this box?” Dina asks, climbing down the step stool with something in one hand.

“Hmm?” You finally rise from your position and prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at what she was referring to.

Dina slowly emerges from your closet holding something heavy in her hands. It looks like a shoe box at first glance; but upon further inspection, it looks quite different from the other containers that it was previously organized with. Dina reveals a dark blue memory box adorned with intricately drawn vines and flowers. On one side was a tiny strip of paper with the word “El” written in small golden ink.

Your fingers go cold, your jaw goes slack, and your eyes widen. The absolute panicked expression on your face complements Dina’s expression of complete astonishment.

“Oh, shit.” You mutter involuntarily.

“Sooo…” Dina begins. “You’ve got… an Ellie box.”

Knowing Dina very well, you figure that, at the very least, she already snuck a quick peek at its contents. You sigh, aware that lying to her face would be pointless.

“Y-yeah. I’ve got an Ellie box.”

Dina’s mouth drops open even further, and you groan in total embarrassment at her elated squeals of your name laced with amusement and intrigue.

“An Ellie box!!! Oh my god! Scandalous! Outrageous! Somebody call the Vatican!” Dina exclaims happily, a shit-eating grin wide all over her face.

“Dinaaaa…” You gripe. “Put it back right now!”

“Absolutely not, you slut!” She excitedly cries as she plops herself down next to you on the bed, carelessly pushing your pile of discarded clothes further to the side. “This is the best day of my whole life.”

“Dina!” You smack her arm but make no real attempts to pull the box away from her, knowing you wouldn’t win that very brief fight.

“You’re the one who still has it!” She points out smugly. “And after you swore to me the other week that you are definitely not in love with Ellie anymore.”

“I’m not!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah” She simply waves you off as she removes the lid. “Keep telling yourself that, babe.”

You fall back onto your sheets, shrouding your face behind your hands in shame as Dina giggles giddily to herself.

You try in vain to convince yourself that you’d completely forgotten you even had the memory box in the first place, that it was something you’d meant to get rid of ages ago but merely never gotten around to. It was shoved, after all, in between all the pairs of shoes you never touch, always closed and completely neglected. But the brutally honest part of your conscience knows that its continued existence in your closet is a representation of something you desperately try to keep buried deep within the corners of your mind.

Unable to help yourself, you cautiously peek behind your hands to observe Dina’s extensive inspection of your secret Ellie box. You watch as she picks up several pieces of paper: a faded ticket stub from a show Ellie once took you to of a local band whose music she wanted to introduce you to, a receipt from the time that you and Ellie attended a limited portrait exhibition at a nearby art museum, an unfinished charcoal picture Ellie had drawn of a small field of blooming daisies you’d spotted when you’d gone with her to the woods to freely smoke in secret.

You try to block out the images the box’s contents were involuntarily eliciting from memories you’d hidden long ago as Dina places the papers back in lieu of a stack of envelopes wrapped together with a thin piece of twine. A gentle smile appears on Dina’s face as she tenderly turns the handwritten letters back and forth between her hands.

“You know,” She says quietly. “Ellie used to really love whenever you wrote her these letters to her. Jesse and I used to catch her rereading them all the time, even super old ones you’d written her months before.”

You quickly feel your entire body burn hot with a sweltering sensation that you hadn’t let yourself fully feel in years.

Fall of Freshman Year

The university that you’d chosen to reside in for the next four years was chosen partially for its distance away from your hometown, from your parents in particular. Longing to be liberated from their tyrannical control, you applied exclusively to schools that were no less than a hundred miles away. Not a week into your freshman year, however, the guilt of choosing to be so far away from your favourite cousin ate at you every second you were apart. To give Rafael something tangible to consistently remind him of you, you’d send handwritten letters to him through the mail at least twice a month while you attended college. Though you’d chat with him regardless through texts and video on a regular basis, you enjoyed showering him with sisterly love in your own sweet and corny way.

Ellie was sprawled out on your bed one night while you sat at your rickety, battered student desk. She was busying herself by rolling a few joints, all packed with lavender buds you’d previously provided, and placing them in her metal tin. As she placed the last one next to the others and put another in between her lips, she hopped off your bed and came to hover nosily behind you.

“Are you really doing homework this late?”

“Shut up and go finish rolling so we can smoke already.”

“What are you doing?”

“Not my homework.”

“Then what?”

Ellie curiously leaned over your shoulder and watched the way your hand smoothly and speedily glided over your favourite piece of floral stationary, writing legibly your own blend of print and cursive. To the right of your paper was a small white envelope with both your name and Rafael’s written on the front accompanied by your respective addresses. To the left was a golden stamp seal of a sunflower and a tiny mason jar full of multicoloured wax beads.

“Are you writing a letter? With your hands?”

“I mean, how else are you supposed to write a letter, El?”

“What kind of nerdy ass nonsense—”

“Go roll our shit, Ellie Williams!” You interrupted, taking a pencil within your reach and flicking it at her.

She chuckled, blocking it in time before it hit her directly in the face. She placed it back on your desk before picking up the sunflower seal and examining it closely.

“You’re writing an actual letter, for real?” She asked, her lips still tight with the joint in between her lips.

“Mhmm.” You hummed.

“To your cousin?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel like it.”

“That’s some shit that only senile, lonely grandmas do on their grandkid’s birthday when they’re sending them fifty bucks in cash.” Ellie teased as she placed the sunflower stamp back on your desk.

“So, what?”

“So, you’re even more of a nerd than I thought.”

“Shut up!”

“Hey, not my fault that you’re an old lady.”

“Can you go finish rolling our joints so we can smoke already?”

“I’m already done, grandma!”

“Then go away and hush!”

Ellie chuckled as she leaned against your desk and took out a lighter from a front pocket of her jeans. She moved to ignite the tip of the joint, but you smacked her arm and pointed towards your bed.

“Sploof, sploof, sploof!!!” You demanded.

“What? Tara won’t care about the smell. She smells like weed half the time herself.”

“My RA will notice, though! I don’t wanna get kicked out in my first year of college just ‘cause you’re lazy!”

“Thought that the whole point of your lavender shit was to mask the weed smell.”

You didn’t reply and settled for looking at her with a stern glare. She laughed and mockingly held up both her hands in defeat.

“Alright, alright! Stick-in-the-mud.”

She walked over to your bed, plopping back down and reaching for the paper towel roll that she’d wrapped securely with duct tape and stuffed with several dryer sheets. After lighting the joint and taking a deep hit, she exhaled deeply into the cylindrical piece of cardboard. Her ocean green eyes remained fixated on you, fixated on concluding your letter.

“So why are you sending Rafael snail mail? Don’t you guys talk like, almost every day?”

“We do. But it’s just something I really love doing. Makes me feel connected with him in more than one way, you know?”

Ellie merely hummed in acknowledgement as you continued your explanation.

“I used to do it a lot back in high school for the friends I had at the time. Or at least I did until my parents made me stop when they complained about me using up all their stamps.”

“Dicks.” Ellie chuckled. “Did any of your friends ever write you back?”

“No,” You said simply. “I totally get it though. We saw each other every single day at school. It makes sense for them not to send some handwritten reply through the mail.”

Your expression looked completely and genuinely unbothered, but Ellie frowned.

“That was pretty rude of them.” She pointed out.

“Oh, it’s okay. I never thought it was. I didn’t do it to get anything back from them or anything. Just did it ‘cause I really cared about my friends and wanted to show that in my way. It was sort of like my own kind of love language.”

Ellie continued to watch you in total awe as you folded up the stationary and stuffed it into the envelope. You thoughtfully picked out a couple of wax beads from the mason jar, two violet and one silver, and placed them on a tiny spoon that you placed on top of a mahogany wax warmer. You turned around to face her, one hand held out in her direction.

“Can I borrow your lighter, El?” You asked.

Ellie, still mesmerized by your routine, blinked in disorientation.

“Wh-what?”

“Your lighter, dummy. Can I use it for a sec?”��

“O-oh, y-yeah.”

She’d completely forgotten about the lit joint still placed between her lips. After quickly inhaling from the cigarette and exhaling into the sploof, she shoved a hand into her jean pocket once again and handed you her lighter. She ignored the subtle electricity that sparked between you when her fingertips brushed against yours.

She observed the way you carefully lit the white tealight candle inside the wax warmer and stared at the way the beads slowly melted inside the small spoon. Clearing her throat and finally handing you the joint, she leaned back onto your pillows and tried to lighten the mood.

“So, you’re allowed to a candle in your dorm room, but I can’t even smoke?”

“Asshole, I’m literally smoking with you right now.” You pointed out before bringing the joint to your lips and relighting the tip.

“I’m just saying, double standard.” Ellie shrugged.

“Wh—double standard? Does anything you say ever make any sense?” You asked with tight lips, hysterically flapping a hand in the direction of the sploof next to her on the bed.

She laughed and quickly handed it to you, once again ignoring that flicker of electricity at your touch.

“I love being an enigma to all human beings.”

“Fucking weirdo.” You replied after exhaling into the wrapped paper towel roll.

Ellie gave you a cocky wink, and you ignored the feverish burning of your cheeks.

“So,” She began as you suck from the joint once more. “Am I ever going to receive one of these fancy ass letters of yours?”

“What? What for?”

“I don’t know; just wanna see all the fuss is about.”

“I see you every day, El. We literally live on the same campus.”

“So, what? I still want one.”

“You just said it was an old lady activity.”

“It is.”

“You’re not helping your case by being mean to me, you know.”

You handed the joint and sploof back to Ellie and turned your uncomfortable desk chair around to lean back into it and face her directly.

“You wouldn’t want one, anyway. It’s almost always all corny and sentimental.”

“I mean, I expected as much. Have you met you?” Ellie gestured to you with the joint between her fingers.

You playfully stick your tongue at her.

“You are a rude and blunt asshole, El. Corny and sentimental aren’t really your thing.”

“Fine!” Ellie jokingly conceded after taking a huge hit of the joint. “I didn’t really want one, anyway!”

You rolled your eyes at her petulant and whiny expression. Ellie finished off the rest of the joint as you delicately poured the melted wax onto the envelope and sealed it with the sunflower stamp.

Despite having just made lighthearted fun of you for it, the small smile on Ellie’s lips contradicted her prior teasing. She adored watching you perform such a personal ritual, and she felt special to be given your natural, instinctive trust by comfortably allowing her to witness such an intimate act.

Out of sheer stubbornness and defiance on your part, you gave Ellie her very own handwritten letter the following day. You found some time during your day to slip it underneath her door in between your classes, and you quickly scampered off before either she or Jesse came home. You were still a bit huffy over her playful teasing the previous night, and you wanted to tease her back in your own way.

To your slight surprise, Ellie was completely amused and ecstatic by your act of indignation. She eagerly opened the small, white envelope with her name written in golden cursive on the front, carefully avoiding ripping the fancy seal you’d closed the letter with: a forest green wax seal with hints of gold, embellished with a pair of ferns that notably matched that of her forearm tattoo.

Inside the envelope was a simple, small piece of paper with only seven words written on it: “you are so, so mean to me,” followed by a tiny sad face.

You would have never guessed that her silly jabs at your sentimentality would establish a special ritual between you and Ellie. You were entertained by how truly thrilled Ellie had found her first letter that, on a frequent basis, you would sneakily slip formally sealed envelopes under her door or drop them inside her designated mail slot or hide them underneath her pillow with a short handwritten letter inside written in jest. But somewhere along the way, the little inside jokes eventually turned into genuine letters of you enthusiastically talking about innermost thoughts you’d be having at the time or words of loving encouragement when you knew she was having a particularly bad day. Your little confidences only for her eyes that were hidden by different wax seals, whether it be a bumblebee or a daisy or her token ferns, brought her a sense of comfort she could never quite comprehend.

During that summer after your freshman year, you’d continued to regularly write her letters. But as she began to pull away from you, they never reached her as you became reluctant to actually present them. She sequentially stayed ignorant of their existence after you’d broken it all off with her.

But despite how horribly heart-wrenching the end of the whole affair was, you kept the letters anyway. You’d even composed several letters in the months following as a sorry means to ease your grief, confessing all the sentiments and feelings you wished you could have fully expressed to her but never got the chance to.

Some were furious and indignant over how she had been treating you that summer; others were wistful and nostalgic over the connection you’d believed you had with her but lost completely; each just as miserable as the next. Just as you were so unhealthily attached to the letters previously written to her, you couldn’t bear to throw out these melancholy ones. You settled instead on hiding them away, never meant to be seen by anyone else.

You watch as Dina delicately runs her fingers over the different wax seals you’d used to close the envelopes, a kind but thoughtful look on her face. She sighs before speaking.

“I really wished things worked out between the two of you, you know. Still do.”

“I know, D.”

She turns back to look at you, a sad smile still etched on her lips.

“Still won’t tell me anything about what happened at the end of that summer? You still never told me and Jess. Hasn’t enough time passed?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, babe.” You sigh, shaking your head.

“I guess not,” Dina says, turning back around to place the letters in the box. “Just wish you’d talk to me about it, even just a little bit.”

Even now, you feel immense guilt over your unrelenting reluctance to reveal to Dina and Jesse what really transpired when Ellie dropped you off at home after your summer in Jackson. It had been consistently painful over the years not to confide in your closest friends, especially when you know just how badly they’ve always wanted to give you the comfort you so desired. But tarnishing the couple’s view of their childhood best friend after all this time feels pointless and immature, and you know you would never be able to forgive yourself if this subsequently caused a rift between the trio.

“I don’t want to have to bring it up again…” Dina asks quietly. “But I just feel like I need to ask you this once more.”

“What is it, babe?” You reply, already aware of the question that looms obviously and ominously.

“Do you really believe that you’re not still in love with Ellie?” She inquires.

“I only have that box in my closet because I didn’t want to keep it at home for my parents to find and make a big fuss over. They barely know of Ellie’s existence in my life.” You respond quickly, making a deliberate attempt to avoid giving her an actual answer.

“But why do you still even have it in the first place?”

“Just forgot I even had it in there, you know.” You shrug, getting up from the bed to approach your walk-in closet. “Like I said, it’s stuffed in with all this other shit I never touch anyway. Literally forgot it still even existed until you brought it out just now.”

Dina watches as you evade her probing gaze by getting up from your position on the bed to rifle through your hung clothes in the closet. She always had an uncanny way of reading people’s emotions, no matter how deeply others attempted to conceal them. Unwilling to let her delve deeper into whatever feelings you had in regards to Ellie, especially right before a date-not-a-date with Abby, you select several random articles of clothing from your closet and hold them up in front of Dina’s face to view.

“Okay, I feel like these are good contenders for tonight. Which one do you think is classy and fancy enough for Orchards?”

You take a nervous step through the cherry wood entrance that leads into Orchards, wearing a light purple dress with strappy, silver heels to match. You cling tightly to the tiny handbag between your hands like your life depends on it. Exhaling deeply with your old therapy breathing techniques, you approach the wooden podium stationed several feet from the doorway.

“Hi, umm,” You utter nervously. “I-I’m still waiting for the rest of my party, but the reservation should be under ‘Anderson’ for 7 o’clock?”

The host scans the booklet before finding Abby’s name on the list.

“I-I can definitely wait until she gets here, though! I can hang out in the vestibule. I totally don’t mind at all—” You stammer before the host interrupts.

“Oh, reservation for Miss Abigail Anderson? I see it right here. Your companion has actually already arrived just a few minutes ago..”

“O-oh, okay!” You say surprised. “I-I had no idea.”

“Not a problem, ma’am. She came not too long ago. I can show you to your table if you would like to follow me.” The host replies graciously, grabbing a menu from underneath the podium before escorting you further into the restaurant.

You tail after him, trying desperately to keep the sound of your heels clicking to a minimum but nearly tripping in the process.

The interior of the restaurant surpasses the quick glances you’d stolen in passing from the adjoining street. If you had been born and raised to be an upper-class socialite who frequented such fine dining establishments, you’re sure you’d have felt quite at home upon stepping into the place. The tables are all neatly set with white tablecloths and golden napkins folded precisely and neatly at the top of the plates. The maroon Fleur-de-Lis seating is all dimly lit by the modern beaded chandeliers hanging over the patrons. Servers skillfully weave throughout the place, all coordinated in their white button-down shirts and black slacks. Your tiny handbag nearly slips out of your icy grip from how slippery your fingers had gotten with sweat.

The restless intimidation that the establishment so easily oozed is slightly soothed when you catch sight of a familiar smiling blonde woman standing next to a table by the windows. The anxiety you have been feeling since entering Orchards is then replaced with a different type of tension as your eyes meet Abby’s piercing sky blue ones.

She’s wearing a muted green shirt with a pair of grey slacks. Her dirty blonde hair is in its usual braid, but it appears looser than it usually is. You try not to stare at the way her muscular arms bulge from her shirt, trying to avert your eyes elsewhere.

When you reach the table and whisper a “thank you” to the host as he places your menu next to your plate before he walks away, you return Abby’s winning smile with a flustered one of your own. She holds an arm out for you to give her a small, one-armed hug in greeting.

“Hey, Abs,” You say as you briefly embrace her. “Have you been waiting long? I thought you said we were supposed to be meeting at 7.”

“Well, I technically made the reservation for 6:45.” Abby replies, grinning at you unapologetically.

“What the hell, Abby!” You scold, playfully smacking her left bicep before reaching for your seat.

“I just like being prepared and being earlier than other people.” Abby shrugs, holding her hand out to help you into your chair as she pulls it out for you.

“Jesus,” You chuckle as you roll your eyes. “Has anyone ever told you how that’s kind of lunatic behaviour, Abigail?”

Abby merely smirks as she pushes your chair in for you, you murmuring a thanks in response.

“So, what do you think of the place?” Abby asks as she walks around the table to take a seat in her own chair.

“For a date-or-not-a-date, this is very extravagant.” You point out.

“Like I told you before, I’m a really good friend.” Abby shrugs again. “Am I not allowed to treat a friend to a nice, well-deserved dinner?”

“Abby.” You chide. “There’s no way that I’m letting you pay the whole bill by yourself. I know that this is a pretty pricey place.”

“Yeah, and I have the money for it. Get whatever you want, pretty girl. What’s the point of having money if you’re not going to spend it on other people?”

You don’t say anything, settling for merely pursing your lips as you take the neatly folded golden napkin off your plate and place it on top of your lap.

Orchards being a “four dollar sign” type of restaurant is a partial reason why you remained silent. Not coming from money as Abby does, you’d firmly decided prior to the dinner that you were going to order the cheapest appetizer on the menu as an entrée and that you’d drink nothing else but water. But knowing Abby, she’d order every single dish for you until you actually eat a proper meal, especially after her casual yet firm declaration.

But as you open up your menu and nervously bite the inside of your cheek, Abby’s last words begin to ring inside your ears.

“What’s the point of having money if you’re not going to spend it on other people?”

This was a sentence and philosophy that those around Ellie knew her quite well for. Every food delivery, every coffee order, every glass of vodka cranberry was paid for with Ellie’s hefty dealer income. You didn’t bother arguing with her when it came to it, not towards the end, because it was a pointless fight she would win every time. Despite every eye roll you’d throw her way, your heart would flutter every time you’d get a glimpse of the small, secret smile Ellie donned each time she’d spend her money on someone else. As long as those she cared about were happy, Ellie was happy.

To see the same kind of propriety in someone else disoriented you, especially someone who has been making her romantic intentions with you quite clear. It’s a trait you so admire in Abby, but a reminder of the auburn-haired woman on a date-not-a-date with another person still pierces something deep within your guts.

Adamant on keeping your mind off of Ellie for the rest of the night, you busy yourself going through Orchards’ lavish menu.

“Have you been here before?” You ask Abby as you scan the list of soups and salads.

“Once,” She replies as she goes through her own menu. “My aunt and uncle brought me here last year for my birthday, and I haven’t stopped thinking about their truffle parmesan tots since.”

“Yeah? They that good?”

“Oh, most definitely. I was ready to make love to it right there and then on the table.”

“Eww! Abby!!” You giggle, squinting your eyes and scrunching up your nose in simultaneous disgust and laughter.

You and Abby spend the next few minutes on small talk as you finish deciding on your order. Abby is in the middle of telling you about how she nearly elbowed a teammate right in the jaw during her last rugby practice earlier in the week when your phone begins to vibrate from inside your tiny handbag.

You keep your eyes focused mostly on your companion, intent on being present in the conversation, while your fingers silently fish your phone out of your purse. Your gaze briefly diverts to the lit screen, and your eyebrows furrow when you see that it’s Jesse who’s calling you.

Quickly pushing down your power button to reject the call for now while you make a mental note to call him back later, you shove your phone back into your handbag. You lean forward further and place your hands underneath your chin to make a show of being attentive, but only a few seconds pass before your phone starts to pulsate within your purse again.

Suppressing an obvious groan of simultaneous annoyance and concern, you attempt to ignore Jesse’s second call and instead try to listen to the rest of Abby’s story. But when her sky blue eyes distractingly fall onto your purse, you sigh dejectedly and reluctantly pull your phone out once again.

“Sorry, sorry,” You desperately utter as you reject the call again. “It’s Jesse. Not sure why he’s calling me right now.”

“You sure you don’t wanna pick up? Might be something important.” Abby asks, eyes full of honest concern.

“Oh, it’s okay. I’ll just call him back after—” You begin to say as your phone vibrates for a third time, violently begging for immediate recognition in your hand.

“Don’t worry,” Abby chuckles. “Go ahead and answer it. He’s your friend and I know he’s important to you.”

“I’m so, so sorry, Abby,” You say, awkwardly scrambling out of your seat with your phone in your hand. “He never, ever calls me like this, so I swear that I’m just gonna see what’s up, and then I’ll come right—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Abby interrupts, smiling. “I don’t mind at all, I promise. I’ll be right here. Take your time.”

“You really are the best, Abs,” You sigh. “If the server comes around before I get back, could you get me the Caesar salad with Italian dressing?”

Abby gives you another kind smile and nods. You give her a gracious look before dashing towards the direction of the restroom, purposely leaving your purse behind as an unspoken promise of your eventual return.

You let out a heavy sigh after having swiftly glided through the restaurant and shut yourself in a unisex stall. Getting more nervous by the second, you immediately call the raven-haired man back. His delayed response begins to worry you further while you listen to seven agonizingly elongated rings before he eventually picks up.

“Oh, hey, my dude! What’s up?” Jesse greets nonchalantly, slightly out of breath.

“Wh-what—” You stutter, completely befuddled by his casual, unbothered tone. “Is everything all good? Are you okay? Why’d you call me?”

“What? I didn’t call you.”

“Jess, you called me like, fifty times just now.”

“Wait, really? Hang on…” He mutters. “Oh, shit. Huh. I guess I did.”

“Jesse!”

“Sorry, dude! My fault for leaving my phone in my pocket while doing squats.”

“Oh my g—I thought you were dying or something!” You gripe, sighing both in relief and annoyance.

“Me? Die? Man, I’m indestructible,” Jesse proclaims. “No man can kill Jesse Chang.”

“Jesus…”

“Hey, I thought you were on a date, by the way?”

“I am.” You point out, irritated. “Well, it’s not a date, but… whatever! I’m on it now!”

“Then what are you doing calling me?”

“You called me!”

“Oh, yeah.” Jesse chuckles.

“Dude!” You huff, clicking your tongue in indignation.

“Hey, you’re listed as one of my favourite contacts. My phone was somehow compelled to communicate with you tonight for some mystical reason.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass.”

You suppress a chuckle at hearing Jesse’s genuine howls of laughter from his end of the line.

“Alright, alright,” Jesse eventually says. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re doing alright, though?” Jesse suddenly asks, his lighthearted tone shifting to a more sincere one. “You feeling nervous?”

“Always.” You admit.

“You got this, man.”

“I-I don’t know, Jess…”

“Hey, you showed up, which means you’re halfway there already anyway.”

“I know, I know. I just… I just can’t believe I’m on an actual date. I can’t believe that I’m actually doing this.”

“I can. You are one foxy, amazing lady who deserves to be properly wined and dined.”

“Okay, grandpa.”

“There she is.”

You allow yourself to chuckle this time, suddenly feeling grateful for Jesse’s accidental buttdials tonight.

“Thanks, Jess. Needed that a bit, honestly.”

“I know, bud. Call me or D afterwards? If Anderson isn’t too busy ploughing into you or whatever it is that you lesbians do in the LGBT community.”

“Shut up!”

Jesse cackles.

“Yeah, I’ll call you guys right after.” You promise him.

“Good. Now get back to your quote-unquote date and enjoy yourself.”

“I’ll try.”

“Do or do not. There is no—”

“Don’t you fucking quote Star Wars to me, you nerd.”

“Hey, but you recognized it. You’re the nerd.”

“Whatever! I’ll call you after, grandpa!”

“You better, young lady!”

You and Jesse share a laugh.

“Thanks, Jess. Have fun at movie night with D. Love you lots.”

“Will do. Love you too, dude.”

You murmur a farewell before ending the phone call.

Leaning against the door of the stall and sliding down slightly, the comfort of hearing Jesse’s reassurances slowly dissipates as you think about Abby patiently awaiting your return at your table. You’d been so preoccupied with the anxiety of how the date-not-a-date itself would go that you hadn’t even spared a thought about the aftermath: how is the night going to end exactly?

You gulp, suddenly aware of the way your silver heels are digging into your ankles. You feel guilty for even entertaining the thought of ending the night and running home to the embarrassing comfort of your bed.

Why can’t I just fucking give in? Why am I stopping myself? Why am I so scared about how this night is going to end?

The sound of someone else entering the restroom snaps you out of your thoughts and back into reality: the reality where you are on, what you need to admit to yourself, a date with an extremely handsome, charming woman who is willing to give you what you might just need from a romantic partner.

A couple more minutes pass where you heavily abuse your breathing techniques before you finally find the courage to pry yourself off the door. You emerge from the stall just as your nameless powder room companion exits.

You dare look at yourself in the mirror. Surprised to see a little bit of eyeliner smudged underneath your eyes, you quickly grab a paper towel to dab at it.

Did I really just cry while I was on that phone call with Jesse? Christ, what the hell is wrong with me?

You nearly poke yourself in the eye from frustration and stare at your tired reflection. The only thing that wills you to leave your restroom refuge is replaying Jesse’s supportive words of encouragement.

He believes in me. Dina believes in me.

With that and a heavy exhale, you finally depart the restroom.

As you finish off the last few crunchy croutons on your plate, you watch as Abby does the same with the French dish she’d ordered that you’d never heard of and had some weird-sounding name that you can’t pronounce.

“You sure you don’t want dessert?” She asks you, setting down her spoon.

“Abby,” You say sternly. “You already wore me down into getting an actual entrée and a glass of Moscato. You are not getting me dessert too.”

“Dinner is just not complete without it!”

“That is some rich people behaviour that I will not indulge in.”

Abby laughs as you give her a half smile. In the back of your mind, you’re relieved that Abby’s evening wasn’t spoiled by your impromptu phone call and your slight shift in attitude that followed. She thankfully hadn’t noticed your fingers fiddling with your dress in your lap or your quiet but involuntary tapping of your right foot underneath the table. The more the evening progressed, the more anxious you became about the possibility of her eventually noticing your fidgeting.

After the dessert flan she’d ordered is placed in front of her, Abby takes a small bite and lets out a moan of satisfaction.

“I love me a good flan.”

“That good, huh?”

“Fucking amazing. Here, try some.”

“Oh, no. You already tried to feed me your weird ass French dish from earlier. Besides, I’m way too stuffed already.”

“All you ate was a Caesar salad!”

“It was huge! It was Olive Garden-sized!”

“Just have a bit of the flan!”

“You ordered it! I don’t wanna eat something that you ordered for yourself!”

“Come on, pretty girl. Just a bite!”

You groan at her insistence.

“You are absolutely ridiculous, Miss Anderson.”

“Completely. Now open up.”

You lean across the table as Abby meets you halfway with a piece of flan on a fork. She delicately places it on your tongue, her sky blue eyes meeting yours.

Your throat swells up with nervousness and you feel short of breath as your chest tightens. You move to sit down from how dizzy you’re getting, but your eyes widen as Abby’s thumb suddenly brushes against your jaw.

“Hang on. Some of it is dripping down.”

Abby’s tongue involuntarily sticks out as she wipes away the syrupy caramel from your chin. Your eyes widen as your lips turn a shade paler than usual.

Oh, god. Oh god oh god oh god.

“U-uhh, um, th-thanks, Abs.” You stutter as you clumsily take your seat.

“No problem,” Abby says, a corner of her lip cocking up in a half-smile. “Don’t need you all sticky.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you feel a tingle travel from the crown of your head all the way down to your heel-strapped ankles. Abby smirks slightly as she sips from her Old Fashioned, smugly leaning back into her chair.

Oh, god.

Being the natural gentlemanwoman that she is, Abby holds the door open for you as you step out of Orchards and onto the street.

“Ladies first.” She says playfully.

“Oh, stop.” You chuckle.

Abby grins as she gives the host by the podium a parting, thankful wave.

Teetering back and forth on your feet and playing with the sound of clicking your heels were making, you nervously stare up at the night sky. When you had been making your way to Orchards earlier in the evening, the sun was still descending in the west and casting a beautiful, pink hue through clusters of cumulonimbus. Now, the sky is clear of any clouds, and the moon in its waning phase along with the constellations dimly light the quiet downtown area of this college town.

Suddenly spotting a few celestial patterns that looked all too familiar from a face you’d been trying to put out of your mind all night, you tear your eyes away from the stars to meet Abby’s sky blue eyes.

“H-hey,” You hesitatingly start. “Th-thank you for tonight. This honestly was really nice.”

“Oh, yeah? I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“I really did, Abs,” You smile. “I haven’t had a nice, ritzy night like this in a while. Actually, I don’t know if I’ve ever had a really fancy night like this before.”

“That so? Might have to take you out on dates like this more often, if that’s the case.” She pauses for a second, the usual confident expression on her face fading to be replaced with one of uncertainty. “Or… well, not a date exactly—”

“Abby.” You giggle. “This was clearly a date.”

“Yeah? So you finally decided?” Abby asks, her usual swagger back.

“We got all dressed up and went to a very nice, swanky restaurant. You insisted on paying the entire bill and everything.”

“Hey, that’s what friends do.”

“Are we?” You ask, turning to completely face her.

“What?”

“Friends? Just friends?”

“Hmm…” Abby hums.

She takes you by surprise as she pulls you closer towards her by the hips. You stumble on your heels, catching yourself by your hands on her sturdy chest. You look up, meeting her bright, blue eyes that contradict that of the starry, shadowy sky. Fingers involuntarily clutching at her shirt, you gulp an anxious whimper down your tight throat.

“What do you want, pretty girl?” Abby whispers.

Your fingertips grow cold against her chest.

“I-I-I’m— I don’t—”

“Oh, hang on. Hold still.” Abby suddenly says.

Her hand comes up to your face and her long fingers gingerly brush against your nose. She pulls her hand back, clutching something in between her fingers.

“Got a loose eyelash.” She says, holding up for you to see. “Make a wish.”

You entertain her and firmly close your eyes. You try racking your brain for a wish worth making to immediately come to you, but no desire materializes.

So instead, you ask the universe for a vague, ubiquitous wish: for it to divinely and kindly lead you down the right path.

You open your eyes and softly blow the eyelash out of Abby’s fingers. You lose sight of it instantly as Abby parts her pointer and thumb to release it into the open air.

Abby brings her hand up once more, this time to caress her fingers across your cheek. Every inch of your body suddenly goes up in flames, and you’re almost surprised that Abby hasn’t retracted her hand from the pure heat of it.

“Thank you for coming out with me tonight.” She says seriously.

“O-of course, Abs.” You whisper.

“I know you’ve been hesitant about things, and I won’t pry on why—”

“It’s really gonna nothing to do with you, Abs, I promise—“

“No, no, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything to me if you don’t want to. I don’t want to push you on it.”

You swallow.

“But I just want you to know,” Abby continues. “I do like you, you know. A lot. I think you’re seriously so smart and silly and so, so stunning .”

“Abs, be serious—”

“I am.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Yeah. So if you ever wanna give me a chance, I’m right here. I’m ready for anything you want.”

You gulp.

“I-I’m not sure… not sure if you’re ready for all this. All of me and my baggage.”

She takes your face between both her hands.

“I’m ready for anything, pretty girl.”

Before you know it, Abby’s mouth is suddenly on yours, enveloping you in a kiss. It’s soft and gentle, like she’s deliberately being mindful of how she touches you.

You’d expected this the second her skin made contact with yours, but your body still reacts in complete surprise. You don’t kiss her back just yet, everything in you completely stuck in place. Your hands have an impulse to push her away, but a voice inside you begins to cry out.

Kiss her! Kiss her the fuck back! Kiss her now!

Fingers finally moving from their frozen state and grasping at her chest, you begin to kiss her back with hesitant fervour.

The second your lips begin to move with hers, her delicateness turns into zeal. Her hands fall back down to your hips, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you even closer. You can feel her heartbeat pounding next to yours, drums sounding together unsynchronized but thundering. You let out a sudden and soft moan, and Abby deepens the kiss.

She parts her mouth slowly and you feel her tongue against your teeth. You whimper when she starts to suck on your bottom lip as a hand comes up to clutch your hair. As you wrap your arms around her neck, you open your mouth slightly to invite her in further.

After what feels like hours of you two intimately intertwined, you break the kiss to catch a much-needed breath.

You open your eyes to meet Abby’s sky blue ones, even brighter than they were before. Her smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it, emanating a radiant glow.

“Th-that was…” She began.

“Y-y…” You try to say, but you can’t seem to find your voice.

Her hand brushes against your cheek once more as you feel your throat begin to close up once more.

W-wait. My throat. It’s actually—

Before you can muster any words, you feel your breathing stop completely and the entire world suddenly goes black.

author’s notes:

BELLE FINALLY POSTING AFTER MONTHS OF NO NCTY?! A MIRACLE

thank you for bearing with me during these past couple of months. i know many of y'all have been waiting very patiently, and i hope this chapter was worth the wait!

in true belle fashion, orchards is named after a restaurant that already exists in the games

reader's ellie box is totally not inspired exactly by the box i used to have for my ex-girlfriend, described exactly the same way and contained a whole bunch of stuff like the tickets from when we went to moma and the playbill when we went to see waitress on broadway....

mentions of daisies is because they symbolize innocence (also one of my fave students is named daisy)

ahhh sploofs. such flashbacks to when i lived with live-in ex at her dormitory in college. those were so annoying to make.

reader's love for writing handwritten letter is inspired by my own love for it. i write my friends letters all the time and seal them with cute wax seals. i have like, at least 15 different wax seals and i love them all. yes i do have a fern wax seal too. also reader has a sunflower seal bc it is my fave flower

reader's dress is purple for symbolism cause purple sometimes represents anxiety which... mood

the truffle tots are just a fun little reference to these truffle tots that my live-in ex and i get every time we go to this one gay bar, that shit is so fucking good

more of reader and ellie's relationship bc i love jesse but also i think a show of a healthy, platonic relationship between a lesbian and a straight man is important

jesse's line about never dying is a little heehee reference to the game obvi but also him saying that no man can kill him is like that lord of the rings line where eowyn says "i am no man" cause abby is obviously a woman lol

abby is eating flan bc i love flan (leche flan to be exact)

heehee leave some theories in the notes or in y'all's tags on what happened to reader at the end

love y'all so so much. chapter 13 is mostly written so stay tuned for an upcoming update very soon...

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @ valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @ softbunlvr, @cherriesxinthespring, @amitycat, @thefishymissy, @yevheniiaaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam, @ elliesnumber1gf, @digit4lslut,

@ tayyyystan, @emothurman, @ livvy-2000, @ abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky, @qtefolleunpez, @libr4sonsa, @robinismywifee, @ villainousbear, @ scarlettadore, @vianna99, @g0n3girls, @totheblood, @embermdk, @awyunh, @kenz-ee, @marvelwomen-simp, @eleactric, @simpforellie, @jade-posts-sometimes,

@ anxiouso, @nyrastar, @lillysbigwilly, @hopeless-y, @elliesbabygirl, @alexpritch, @thestarsanctuary, @aethelwyneleigh27, @ cass00x, @mulan-but-gay, @carmellie, @destielcore, @ tfuuka, @ellielover69, @ewwitsbella, @ igoferalforelliewilliams, @kissesforells,

@ asteroidzzzn, @ 97cityy, @ joliettes, @ p1llowthoughtss, @ aouiaa, @ lez-zuha, @ ineffablefics, @ peepshake, @ lil-elliesgf, @ wex--12, @ ccinnamongrl, @ siriusblackrunmeover17, @ whenlostinthedarkness,

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please note that i am no longer accepting requests to be added to the taglist, so if you would like to be notified when a new chapter comes out, please follow @ belleloves and turn notifications on!

#nobody compares to you series #ellie williams #dealer!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #ellie fanfiction #belle speaks #v #belle writes

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chappellroansdreamgirl · 23 days

Text

good luck, babe! [e.w x fem!reader.]

chapter one.

author's note!<3 - this is inspired by chappell roan's unreleased song good luck, babe! i lllloooovveee chappel roan! this was originally going to be just a LONG ASS one-shot but i don't think i can write any more tonight 😭😭 . BUT I REALLY WANNA PUBLISH IT SO HOPEFULLY YOU GUYS LIKE IT!!!! also forgive me if there's any grammar/spelling errors... i'm posting this at 12:59 am🥶🥶🥶🥶🥶 . reblogs and comments are SO appreciated!!! i busted my ass for y'all 🤗 .

content warnings - SLIGHT angst, reader has internalized homophobia and is outright homophobic to ellie, reader is in the closet, ellie is a lovergirl and she's going through the five stages of grief, modern!au, reader gets sexually assaulted/harrassed, LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING ELSE!!!!

special thanks to!!!!: @sharkfemme and @dykedearest FOR HELPING ME OUT!!!!!! and also LYNN AND MAXIM!!! ALL FOUR OF YOU ARE AMAZING BETA READERS I'M KISSING YOU ALL THROUGH THE PHONE RN!!!

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

it's fine, it's cool.

ellie's grip on her glass got impossibly tighter as her eyes never left your figure, your body swaying to whatever shitty mainstream pop music that was playing.

ellie williams hated secrets. she hated surprises, and she hated being in love with you.

she hated the way you would ghost her after spending a week at her apartment. she hated the way you would stop responding to her texts after you would leave. she hated the way she would let you back in when you needed her, she hated how much she loved to comfort you. she hated how gentle you were when it was just the two of you, compared to how cruel you got in public.

you can say that we ain't nothin' when you know the truth.

ellie took her hand off the glass and gripped the bar table instead, afraid that if she broke another glass she'd be banned from the bar.

you were like forbidden fruit to her, or maybe that was what she was to you.

she knew you weren't ready to come out of the closet. she understood that. so, why keep on playing this fucking game with her?

why did she even still feed into it?

i guess i'm, the fool.

the closet was made out of glass, really. you would stare at every woman's body that passed you, your eyes would scan up their short dress, she could see the curiosity and desire in your face.

but every single time after you two would hook up, there was always a new excuse.

"i'm not a fucking lesbian, ellie. i just... don't like men sometimes." sometimes?

"they're just stupid thoughts... it's not like i could ever be with a woman." but you had been. you had been with her.

"ok but... do you even count as a woman? you wear boxers, you don't even know the meaning of the term ladylike and... i don't know- look at your fuckin' hair! the closest you'd get is a transwoman." that one had hurt her. she didn't talk to you for a month after you made that comment. and then you appeared in her apartment complex hallway, sobbing hysterically.

and of course, she took you back.

like she always does.

with her arms out like an angel, through the car sun-roof.

she hated playing this fucking game with you. it was killing her.

every single time she'd see you at this bar, she imagined you dragging her onto the dancefloor. she imagined being able to walk out with your hand in her's, waking up to your groggy groans when the sun invaded the sacred space of your shared bedroom, you'd hide your face in her neck, mumbling something about, "shouldn't have drank that much last night."

every single time you pulled this shit on her, it felt like her already shattered heart broke off into impossibly tinier pieces.

"i wish you were a boy." crack.

"it's not easy for me like it is for you, els. i don't know the first thing about being proud of myself." crack.

"this hurts me more than you, baby." shattered. her heart was shattered.

it hurts you more than her?

the fucking audacity.

the nights she spent crying next to your sleeping figure.

the hours she'd spent texting you and checking her phone second after second after goddamn second.

the way she would ignore every single obligation she had to pick you up from whatever shit-hole situation you had found yourself in, immediately and happily dropping anything to make sure you were ok.

and it hurt you more than it hurt her?

you didn't know shit about hurt. about misery. about love.

i don't wanna cut it off!

her friends had told her to cut you off. her therapist said in his own professional shrink way that you would never be good for her. at least not while you weren't even good for yourself.

but she couldn't let you go. it seemed like every reason that she had to leave you, fuelled her determination to stay.

but you don't wanna call it love!

every single time you somehow broke her heart in a new way, she fell harder in love with you.

you just wanna love someone that calls you baby!-

ellie was pulled out of her internal anger when your eyes met hers. although it was only a few seconds ago, it felt like she was staring into your eyes for an eternity.

don't fuckin' wave, ellie. look away- LOOK AWAY. , she thought to herself as she was unable to look away from your beautiful irises.

you had this slight smile on your face, the dancefloor's led lights adding a shimmer to your already twinkling eyes.

it felt like her melancholy thoughts had lifted and increased all at the same time by the sight of you acknowledging her presence.

ellie went against her better judgement, her slender hand flying up to wave at you. her lips quirked upwards gently as she scanned your delighted face.

your light expression quickly turned into one of frustration, suppressing your grin with a tightening of your lips before pulling the nearest man close to you in for an unexpected kiss, opening your eyes once you knew the mystery man's were closed, locking your eyes onto ellie's before closing them once more.

the light had died in ellie's stomach after that. her happy hand that was raised in the air faltered painfully back to her side as she watched the man's hands roam down from your sides... to your waist... to your ass.

you can kiss a hundred boys in bars,

those butterflies that she had just felt in her tummy had died slowly, turning into knots of anguish.

she watched your hands cradle the man's face. those same hands that had counted each and every freckle on her face on a snowy morning that had you both stranded in her apartment.

those same hands that had a death-grip on her back as you sobbed into her shoulder every other weeknight as she tried to muffle her own cries.

those same hands that had shoved her violently as she finally tried to stand her ground one afternoon you showed up knocking on her door. "you know what... fuck you, ellie! i don't know why i keep on doing this shit with you anyways." you said, before storming off. you called her later that night. she answered. "i'm sorry, els. i'm sorry, i'll do better, i'm so sorry-" , "it's ok, baby. it's ok. i know you didn't mean it. you're ok baby, i forgive you."

shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling!

she would've stayed in that seat, stewed in her anger for a bit more before the tears inevitably came falling down if it wasn't for the way the dude's hands creeped under your skin-tight jeans and how you flinched away from his grasp, breaking the kiss immediately with a nervous giggle creeping up.

the guy obviously took it as an invitation to do more, placing his hand back on your waist and agressively pulling you closer.

you can say it's just the way you are,

ellie's head tilted as she watched this go down.

what she wanted to do was launch that creep into the nearest wall and make sure he never tainted your body again. but she didn't want to get up too soon, she wanted to be certain that you needed help, whether you wanted it or not.

your hand stopped him from coming any closer, placing it right before his chest. you said something along the lines of, "don't want to do anything." .

make a new excuse, another stupid reason-

instead of him being a decent human being and leaving you alone, his face quickly turned into one of anger. his jaw jutted out as he tried to pull you in again, leaving you thrashing against his body.

how was no one else seeing this? why was no one else doing anything?!

she didn't even have time to process what she was about to do. her feet were on the ground, marching their way towards you before she could even think about her course of action in a smart way.

"let me go, fuckin' creep!" she heard you shriek as she grew closer to you, attempting to elbow him in the chest.

ellie felt like no matter how fast she was walking, she would never make it to you in time.

he laughed tauntingly as he grinded against. "i'm the creep, bitch?! you kissed me f-"

his last word was stolen from him as ellie forcefully pushed him off you with and landed a blow against his nose.

he groaned in pain, falling to the ground as he cradled his now-broken-nose.

you gasped in shock and horror. "what the fuck, ellie?!" you scolded her. as if you would've been fine on your own.

she ignored your words though, pulling the guy's hand away as she forced another punch to his face.

now people were finally looking.

she didn't stop until she felt your hands on her stomach, pulling her away from the scene.

"she fuckin'... said... no!..." ellie's voice thundered, erratic breaths in between her words before bringing one last painful kick to his face before letting you lead her out of the bar and into the night air.

you didn't stop even after you two were at the entrance door of the establishment, you made sure the two of you were far enough away that ellie wouldn't be caught if the police were called.

she couldn't help but feel those stupid fucking butterflies again as your hand gripped hers and felt a little disappointed when you dropped it, suddenly all too aware that you were still in public.

her green eyes met your own, yours filled with anger and chaos... hers filled with love.

"hey baby." the auburnette sighed out simply, that stupid love-grin back on her face as she was finally close to you.

your eyebrows furrowed in disbelief as your hands went to massage your temples. you let out a humorless giggle. "you're so... fucking stupid, ellie!" you exclaimed, shoving her chest as if she was in the wrong.

her grin turned into a confused frown as she surrendered her hands in the air, her eyebrows mirroring your own now. "wh-wh....what-"

good luck, babe!

"god, you have this severe goddamn saviour complex or some shit!... i was fine! i was fucking fine on my own before you marched in and assaulted that guy."

well good luck, babe!

you gaslighted beautifully, defending the man you knew nothing about over the woman who was fatally in love with you, she almost believed you.

ellie's frown turned into an angry smile as she brought a hand to gently wipe over the bridge of her nose, a mannerism of her's she had developed whenever she got frustrated with you.

"assau-... ok, sure-... you wanna talk about assault, baby? that fuckin' guy would've assaulted you if i didn't step in. he was assaul-"

you shut your eyes tightly the way you do when you wanted to block something out that ellie was obviously right about. you shook your head stubbornly. "gggoddd ellie- it was my fault! i wanted it and then i didn't. i shouldn't have- i shouldn't have kissed him in the first place. i gave him mixed signals, i-"

you'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling!-

your eyebrows grew dangerously closer to your face as you cradled your head in your hands.

ellie was quick to walk right back to you, caressing your arms.

"what? baby, no. no, it's not your fault... that- that fuckin' guy... hey... look at me, sweetheart." she cooed lovingly.

good luck, babe!

you slowly brought your hands away from your face, meeting her breathtaking green eyes.

you wanted to fall into her arms, you wanted to thank her for coming to your rescue and kiss her and confess to her how scared you truly were.

but you didn't. you never did.

your slightly calm expression that came over you once you met your secret lover's gaze turned into one of annoyance. ellie was, like always, taken by surprise as you thrashed against her grip, just like the way you did with that monster in the bar.

good luck, babe!

ellie's eyes blurred with tears as she watched your face turn into a grimace.

"fuck you, ellie." you said quietly as you broke free from her hands, storming off into the night. leaving her. like always.

you'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.

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steddietogo · 1 year

Text

Steddie grammys au part 2

Part 1

------

Steve is texting Eddie Munson via the private message function on instagram. Because that's just the kinda shit that happens to him now. One day he's at the Grammys doing his job and the next, the lead guitarist/lyricist of a famous rock band is following his instagram account (Dustin and Robin had lost their collective minds) which is full of dorky pictures of him with a group of high schoolers, his cat and Robin. And that one picture of Robin and him at pride, posing with a lesbian and pansexual pride flag respectively.

His follower count has also gone up by couple extra thousands and there are a couple DMs from people he's never heard of, saying some unsavoury things about him. It's all very intense and dramatic. Needless to say, his account is private now.

The thing is, Steve has been flirted with during interviews before, he's a good looking guy and he knows it. It's just never happened with an international rockstar before—then immediately went viral for the entire world to see.

Didn't peg you as a cat person Stevie

Then there is the other thing. Eddie Munson flirting with him in his DMs. Which kinda sorta makes him forget how to be a person. Steve Harrington is nothing if not a people person, always knows the right thing to say. But with Eddie he barely just manages, no sign of the alleged lover boy he had been in his high school years. Eighteen year old Steve would cry if he could see the bland ass conversation he's having about his cat of all things.

I'm not

He just barged into my house one day and refused to leave

Eddie is hot, and rich and famous. Did he mention hot, because he is. Painfully so. Steve will never forget his all black ensemble at the Grammys where he had been standing a foot away from Steve in his bejewelled suit jacket with nothing underneath it.

Point is, Eddie is intimidating. He seems so far away with his rockstar status and the hoards of fans worshipping him like he's their god. What could Eddie Munson possibly want from Steve Harrington?

Would you like to get dinner sometime?

Eddie's latest text is staring up at him like its going to jump out of his phone and attack him. Its too late to ditch and run, Eddie knows Steve has seen it so he needs to come up with a response. Soon. So Steve does the only reasonable thing and barges into Robin's room at ass o'clock in the morning.

"Say yes Dingus!" Robin says, after kicking him in the shin for waking her up.

"But—" she silences him with another well placed kick.

"Listen, no one who just wants to bang you asks you about the shitty retail job you had in high school, Steven. Even if he only wants to sleep with you, you're gonna get a fun night out of it and like bragging rights or something," He supposes she’s right. Eddie did seem very interested in Steve’s personal life. He really did hope it is a date though. If only he has the balls to actually ask him.

"I'd be so jealous of you right now if I liked men, so get out of your head and go have some fun. Now get the fuck out and let me sleep,"

------

Eddie picks an upscale rooftop bar with private seating and a breathtaking view. He's there sitting at the booth half an hour before their scheduled meet up time out of nerves.

Eddie sometimes hates that his public image takes precedence when people meet him. The truth is that he is a little bit of a loner. Never got the point of physical intimacy without a connection no matter how much people tend to think he's the type of person to have a different person warming his bed each night.

It makes dating so hard when the perception of Eddie the rockstar doesn't line up with who Eddie the person really is. Eddie rarely even takes the first step anymore. It took the combined ragging of his entire band for him to even gather the courage to message Steve.

"Hey," a voice greets him from behind.

Steve is here. And Steve is an enigma. An ex high school jock who used to babysit a bunch of middle schoolers. He's so full of delicious contradictions and dry humor and it's impossible not to like him the more he learns about him.

But there’s still the question of what Steve expects of him that Eddie dreads a little. Above all, Eddie just wants Steve to like Eddie the person so badly.

------

“A fire extinguisher,” Eddie’s eyebrows are somewhere up in his bangs.

“Yep,”

“Against an armed robber,”

“I swear I had grey hairs at seventeen because of those kids,” Steve knows how sappy and fond his voice sounds when he talks about the kids. It’s never been something he could help.

The night’s been going a lot better that Steve had expected. Eddie is funny, and dramatic and it’s hard not to feel giddy from the attention he utterly devotes to Steve. They have a nice dinner, and exchange stores over drinks and it’s feels like a real date. Steve can practically hear Robin in his head telling him to stop being such a dingus and overthinking everything.

They go quite for a second, Eddie suspiciously focused on his drink when Steve feels his boot nudge against his shoe. Steve nudges back and soon instigates a game of footsie neither of them acknowledge above the table. It ends with Eddie’s foot trapped between Steve’s ankles and a faint rise of colour in his cheeks as he takes a comically large gulp from his drink. It’s just adorable.

"Can I kiss you?" The words are out of Steve’s mouth before he even realises it. Before he could beat himself up about it, Eddie turns a slightly worrying shade of crimson but he's nodding and thats all Steve needs before he is leaning over the table.

It's nice, it's really fucking sweet and not at all how he had expected Eddie to kiss, but Steve is quickly learning that nothing about Eddie is what it seems like. The kiss is all soft presses of their lips, wet, languid slides of tongue at the seams of his mouth. Steve feels a little dizzy when he pulls away and drops back into his seat, happy grins mirrored in both their faces.

———

Its a couple months after that when Eddie starts trending again. He posts a picture taken by Gareth, post show as he lays on top of Steve on the couch. Steve has his arms around him, lips pressed to his gross, sweaty hair.

Caption says: Happy birthday to my sweetheart <3

———

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #platonic stobin #stranger things fanfiction #steddie grammys edition #mine #it’s currently 3.30 am #I’ll tag everyone who asked tomorrow #imma sleep now #enjoy

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strangersmunsons · 2 months

Text

bark at the moon

there's something suuuuper weird in your garage. your best friend Robin calls up her old pals, Steve and Eddie, to come and take a look.

Contains: Eddie x Fem!Reader. Mix of canon & Modern AU, w/ tweaks to established lore (faithfulness to the source material? I don’t know her). Plot of the show is more or less the same, but focus will be on minor threats escaping from the Upside Down, and no more. Everyone is aged up a bit, timeline of events is kept vague. Reader learns some secrets that are tough to wrap her head around, Eddie is an awkward sweetheart, and platonic!Stobin reigns supreme. Word Count: ~8.1k Warnings: Some brief descriptions of gore. Reader has a mild panic attack. Mentions of food & eating. Strong language. I've been tinkering away at this fic since the summer; it's a little different than the sweet & fluffy stuff I normally post, but I had a blast writing it! So I hope you guys enjoy! 🩷

“Call me when you get home, okay?”

“I will.” You smack a kiss to Robin’s cheek and push your stool back against the bar. “Try not to get into too much trouble tonight. It’s only Thursday.”

“No promises,” Vickie chimes in, grinning toothily at you, cheeks flushed from a mix of joy and booze.

“I mean it.” You jab a finger in her direction, only half-jokingly. “If you FaceTime me again at 3 AM so I can provide ‘emotional support’ while you’re puking your guts out in the bathroom, I’m hanging up.”

Vickie doesn’t even blink. “You won’t hang up,” she replies dismissively.

She’s totally right, but you don’t say so.

“Just try and keep your insides where they belong, please. They should be, y’know — on the inside. Alright? I love you both. Goodnight!” You blow another dramatic kiss in their direction as you saunter out of the bar, weaving between sticky tables over the even-stickier floor to the exit.

Lizzy’s is you, Robin, and Vickie’s favorite haunt, a nondescript dive bar located on the outskirts of town. It’s a squat, dingy little building tucked neatly away into a thicket of trees at the deadend of a backroad. There’s no neighbors or rival businesses in sight, just a small parking lot with a defunct telephone booth that probably hasn’t worked in several decades. The bar is usually only frequented by patrons belonging to one of two exclusive sects: members of the local biker gang, and this random lesbian couple and their one friend.

Truly a hidden gem.

Happy Hour at Lizzy’s has been a tradition for you and Robin (and Vickie, when she chooses to tag along) since you met at work retreat a year ago. When you caught sight of her funky patched-up blazer and choppy hairstyle, you immediately clocked her as the other youngest, coolest person in the room and forced your friendship upon her in the name of survival. Who else were you gonna hang out with for an entire weekend — Matt from HR who, ironically, was on probation for sending a coworker unsolicited dick pics? No way.

“Hey, can you hold the other side of my bag open for me? I’m gonna jam these cookies in there — quickly, while no one’s looking.”

Two peas in a pod, stealing extra goodies from the complimentary snack table and gossiping in the back row during presentations when you should’ve been listening. You’ve been attached at the hip ever since.

Full of mirth from the quality time spent with your best friend, you hum cheerfully to yourself as you push through the exit and step outside. The door whacks shut behind you, closing you off from the bar’s warm interior, and immediately, you take notice of two things.

First, you’re met with a surprising chill in the air. It’s been pretty temperate so far this week, and pleasantly warm earlier in the day, but it’s become startlingly cold in the mere hours you were inside the bar. You swear you can see a frozen puff of breath each time you exhale. You hug your arms around yourself, frowning slightly. Gravel crunches under your feet as you walk to your car.

The second thing you notice is that it’s obscenely dark out. A single orange streetlamp flickers in the parking lot, illuminating little more than the fluttering moths bashing themselves stupidly into the bulb. There’s no moon in the black-velvet sky; it’s just a blanket of darkness above. You glance at the watch on your wrist, but the time is indiscernible without proper lighting. I guess it’s later than I thought?

The hairs stand up on the back of your neck. There’s a gross, inexplicable feeling of nakedness as you cross the lot; the cold, unexpected dark and loss of time has you feeling disoriented and exposed. Naturally, your mind begins dredging up scenes from every horror movie you’ve ever watched, and you pick up the pace. Reaching the car, you wrench open the driver-side door, eager to be within the safe confines of the vehicle.

You slide in, and release a relieved breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. Slumping back against the seat, you think, Man, I gotta lay off the slasher flicks.

The moment doesn’t last long. Another bolt of paranoia suddenly shoots through you — you whip your head around, searching the backseat for a killer lurking in the shadows, waiting to slice your throat open, possibly with a machete, or maybe even a hook attached to a stumpy wrist.

Nothing there. Totally empty. Not even an extremely trim, flexible murderer contorting themselves out of view down on the cramped floor space.

“It’s fine,” you say aloud to no one in particular, turning forward again. You start the car and ease out of the lot, switching the radio to a pop station — your last line of defense. No one ever got brutally murdered while listening to Britney.

Thankfully, the ride is uneventful, and nobody pops up behind you with any instruments of violence. The further you get into town, with its familiar lights and gentle hum of nighttime traffic, the more at ease you feel. Your mind drifts, thinking of work, what you’ll make for dinner tomorrow, whether or not Vickie will be throwing up within the next hour. Any mundane topic that’ll help calm your nerves.

Eventually you reach home and pull into the garage. It’s a miracle you can even still park in there, it’s so full of junk — old furniture and hardware tools and odds and ends you haven’t had the energy to try and sort through.

A sigh escapes as you cross the threshold that separates the garage from the house. The sweet, homey kitchen is a welcome sight to enter. You put a kettle on for a cup of tea before bed, and decide to dial Robin while you wait for the water to boil.

She picks up after several rings.

“Hello my love.”

“Hi Rob. I’m alive.”

“Oh, good. That would’ve been awkward if it was someone else calling me.”

“Are you still at the bar?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving in a few. Vickie says she’s fine, but she’s got that look in her eye, so…”

There’s a faint “I am fine!” in the background and you snicker. “Good luck with that.”

Robin snorts. “Thanks. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

Robin bids you goodnight, and you feel a rush of affection for her. Your roommate recently moved out to go live with her boyfriend, leaving you as the sole tenant of the house. Although you reassured her endlessly that you had no issues living alone, Robin was insistent on constantly checking up on you lest you ‘get SVUed’ — her phrasing, not yours.

The kettle starts whistling, and you pour the steaming water into a mug with a bag of chamomile. You plop down on the soft cushion tied to the kitchen chair, letting the weariness of the day settle in your bones.

You scroll idly through your phone while sipping your tea, ignoring the slight burn it leaves on your lips and tongue. The old house settles and creaks while you relax, making those soft noises that you’ve become accustomed to over time. In fact, you’re so used to it by now that in your sleepy state, you don’t even register the odd sound in the garage, a sort of thunk, not unlike that of a confused bird flying into a picture window.

When the last drop of tea is gone, you place the mug in the dishwasher and head for your bedroom. You go through the steps of your night routine as though on autopilot before finally crashing into the plush bed. Within minutes, sleep takes you.

The sound of your alarm is innocuous enough — a small tinkle of bells or chimes or whatever cheerful twee instrument it is that Apple is using.

It’s incredible how something so innocent can sound so ungodly. Ugh.

Barely lifting your head up off the pillow, you drag the trilling device towards you with snatching fingers and turn it off. Maybe you’ll get up when the second alarm goes off, but let’s be honest — it probably won’t be until the third, and even then you might steal a few extra minutes under the covers.

Eventually you manage to pull yourself upright and, with a huge yawn, lurch out of bed. You shuffle down the hall, thinking of little more than the bagel you’re gonna demolish before jumping in the shower, and make your way back into the kitchen. Your bare feet pad softly across the linoleum floor, cold and sticking slightly to your heels. The sky outside the window is a dark, deep blue.

Then finally, in the stillness of the early morning, you hear a dull thud.

You pause halfway to the toaster.

Ten seconds go by. Silence.

Okay, that’s fine, it’s probably noth–

Thud.

Goddamn it.

There’s a stab of alarm as the sound repeats again, then twice more in rapid succession. You take a deep breath, willing yourself to remain calm, and grab the softball bat you keep propped up by the door. Safety first.

You tiptoe cautiously to the door separating the kitchen and the garage, thinking it’s probably a raccoon or something, he slipped inside when I drove in last night. Actually, there’s so much shit in there, he’s probably been living there for weeks. I really should call a Junk King –

You push the door open slowly, peering around the edge, prepared to fight. Your self-defense weapon is made of bright pink aluminum that catches the dim kitchen light emanating from behind you, glinting in your hands. You’re pretty sure it’s a little-league number so, clearly, it’ll be an even match for whatever it is that awaits you.

At first, nothing appears out of the ordinary. There’s no human silhouettes lurking in the dark. Everything is more or less the same as it was last night. The car is right where you left it, and the windows are intact. The spare furniture crammed against the perimeter is still there – nothing is missing or vandalized. But the room is still too dark for you to make out any less obvious differences, so you reach for the lightswitch on the left side of the doorframe.

And then, from the far corner of the room, up towards the ceiling, there’s an ear-splitting screech that nearly stops your heart.

Before you even have time to blink, a shadowy mass is suddenly flying straight at you. It’s still mostly obscured in the dark — whatever it is — a nebulous blur that swings in a low arc across the room. It’s moving so quickly that the air whistles as the creature cuts a path through it.

You let out a shriek of your own and spring backwards, slamming the door shut. It’s just barely closed when it collides into the wood with a frightening crash. You lock the door with numb fingers and slump back against it with your heart in your throat, and a hot, loose feeling in your lower stomach that, in the midst of your hysteria, you manage to acknowledge as a warning that you might shit your pants.

You lurch forward and spin around, now watching the door with wide eyes. The noise from before, which you now understand must have been that thing flinging itself against the walls, resumes with a fervor that makes you sick with fright. It slams into the door relentlessly, and you physically cringe with each hit.

With shaking hands, you pull one of the kitchen chairs out and prop it underneath the door handle. You really don’t think it could be strong enough to break through, but…

At least you don’t think —

“Robin, I’m about to die.”

“...at six-thirty in the morning? Can you put it off until this afternoon, at least?”

Robin’s voice is still thick with sleep and there’s no doubt that she’s irritated by your early phone call, but right now, you could care less.

“I think there’s some kind of cryptid in my garage.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the phone.

“Come again?”

“Like, I think the fucking Jersey Devil is in there, or something. When I got up this morning I kept hearing this weird noise, so I put my big girl panties on and went to investigate –”

“By yourself? Are you dumb? What if someone was in there?”

“Hey, I had protection, okay? Besides, I figured it was probably a racoon. If it had been a person planning on hurting me, they weren’t being very discreet about it –”

“Alright, alright. Continue.”

“So I open the door, and next thing I know, this thing screams and starts fucking flying directly at my head. I didn’t get a good look at it, Rob, it was too dark, but that thing is out for blood. It keeps flying into the door. Listen to this shit.”

You put your phone on speaker and hold it out, standing as close to the door as you’re willing to get.

“Um, I can’t hear anything.”

“...well…it was doing it earlier...”

“...right. So, what, a bird flew into your garage?”

“A bird? Maybe.” That sort of fit, right? Whatever it was, it had wings. It was kind of big. It made noise. You consider. “Could be a bat, I suppose.”

Across town, Robin suddenly sits bolt upright in bed. Vickie mumbles incoherently next to her, half-awake from hearing your too-early conversation.

“I’m coming over,” Robin says abruptly, and hangs up.

Flinging herself out of bed, Robin begins dressing frantically, scrambling to pull a pair of jeans up over her bare legs. Drawers and closet doors bang open and slam shut again. Vickie groans from beneath her pillow. “Could you keep it down, please?”

“No, sorry babe. Gotta go. I’ll explain later.”

“Are you kidding me?”

You rub your temples in irritation and throw yourself back down on the couch. You’ve taken refuge in the living room while you wait for Robin, and have spent the past fifteen minutes going back and forth with animal control. Trying to convince them to come get this thing out of your house? An exercise in futility.

A frantic knocking makes you jump, before you realize it’s coming from outside the house. You cautiously enter the kitchen again and when you see Robin’s face through the small pane of glass in the front door, your whole body sags with relief. You fling it open breathlessly and throw yourself at her. “Thank God!” The words are muffled, as your face is pressed into her shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay!” She slings her arm around you in a hug and pats your back. “We’re gonna take care of this.”

You release her and start venting your frustration. “Yeah, we’ll have to. I tried calling animal control and apparently they can’t do anything since it’s not a dog or a cat, and they kept telling me I had to call a wildlife removal agency instead, and they just kept going on about how they have to send a professional who specializes in birds or bats or whatever the hell it is, and that it’s gonna cost me like at least two hundred bucks –”

Robin cuts off your rambling. “I don’t think you should call anyone.”

You huff. “I certainly don’t want to, if it’s gonna cost me that much. I thought this was what animal control did. What am I paying taxes for?”

Robin’s been here all of two minutes and you already feela little better. The run-in earlier had frightened you, certainly, but you’re no longer alone in the house with an eldritch horror.

Robin shakes her head. “No, I mean I already called someone.”

That stops you, and you squint at her in confusion. “Who? You know a guy who handles this kinda thing?”

“...actually, I know two.”

Eddie’s green-and-white van screams around the corner, practically making the turn on two wheels.

“Jesus, Munson, slow down!”

“Relax, Harrington. I’m a certified expert driver. My insurance company said so.”

A Megadeth song that Steve doesn’t know thumps out of the speakers at a deafening volume. Eddie drums his hands on the steering wheel in time with the music, headbanging as vigorously as he can manage without taking his eyes completely off the road.

Steve reaches for the stereo knob and turns it down. Eddie shoots him a disgruntled look from the driver’s seat. “Hey, man —”

“We got somewhere to be, alright? I told Robin we’d get there ASAP. The last thing we need is for you to wrap this thing around a telephone pole.”

“If she didn’t move so far away, we would already be there,” Eddie complains.

“Dude, she lives like an hour away now. Hour and a half, tops.”

“Well, that’s a long drive when it’s this early!”

Waiting for Robin’s reinforcements to arrive provides ample time for her to shatter your world. You sit together on opposite ends of the couch, staring at each other in intense silence. Your brow is deeply furrowed, eyes nearly shut from the force of the expression.

“Are you being for real, or is this an elaborate lie you’re making up that you’ll laugh at me for falling for later?”

Robin drags her finger across her chest, drawing an imaginary X. “Cross my heart and hope to die. Trust me, I know how crazy it sounds.”

You let out a high-pitched laugh that sounds more like a wheeze. “Yeah, it sounds fucking crazy!”

Robin’s expression turns resentful. “Hey, you’re the one who called me saying Mothman was in your garage this morning –”

“I said the Jersey Devil, actually, but c’mon! An interdimensional monster. Is that real? Can that really be real?”

“Listen, just think about what you saw. You were pretty freaked. Did it really seem like some rabied-up household pest?”

It didn’t. The odd, kite-like shape, the speed with which it flew, and the utter determination — there was no doubt in your mind that it had dived at you deliberately, with the malicious intent to bite and scratch and hurt. You remember the hot taste of fear in your mouth, like a bitter pill dissolved on the tongue.

“No, it didn’t,” you admit quietly. That thing, whatever it was, was weird. But that doesn’t make Robin’s story any easier to swallow.

When it came to the supernatural or…whatever this was considered, you were neither a believer nor a skeptic. You weren’t willing to fully corroborate the existence of such things until you had experienced something like it yourself, but you still took others’ reports in stride; if someone claimed that they felt cold spots in their grandmother’s bedroom after she died, or that their belongings often ended up in odd places despite no one moving them, then you rolled with it. Who were you to deny their experiences? You wouldn’t tell them they’re wrong.

But Robin’s Upside Down, well…it’s giving less childhood ghost story and more Stephen King novel. One of the weirder ones too, that he wrote when he was still snorting a ton of cocaine. She’s on some Tommyknockers shit.

“You’ll see,” Robin promises. “When we kill it, you can get a good look at it.”

“Right, about that. Steve is your himbo friend from home, right?”

Robin smiles proudly. “The one and only.”

“But he’s good at this? Getting rid of these things?”

She nods eagerly. “Oh, very. I know I say he’s a himbo, but I’m selling him short, really, he’s the best. Best guy I know, in fact.”

You hear the pointed lilt in her voice, the one that’s always there when Robin mentions Steve to you. You roll your eyes. “There’s a monster in my garage, and you’re worried about getting me a date?”

Robin throws her hands up in defiance. “I’m just sayin’! He and his girlfriend Nancy broke up.” Her face suddenly lights up as she remembers a bit of gossip. “She’s bisexual now, by the way! Shame she didn’t realize it when we were in high school together, I had a huuuuge crush on her.”

“I thought you had a huge crush on Vickie in high school?”

“I did,” she says, as though there’s nothing contradictory about that fact. “Listen, I’m a complex, multifaceted lesbian, with a lot of —“

She’s interrupted by the knocking at the front door, and both of your heads turn automatically towards the sound.

It’s your second house-call of the day. Robin jumps up, winking at you. “It’s gonna be fine,” she whispers, and takes your hand, giving it a squeeze.

You follow her back into the kitchen, where you’re promptly welcomed by the sight of two boy-faces smushed shamelessly against the glazing in the door.

Robin rolls her eyes and yanks it open.

Without the door in place to support him, one boy loses his balance and topples forward, crashing into the kitchen. The other boy, who pulled back in time, laughs openly at him.

“Hey, dinguses, this isn’t my house, remember? Don’t be weird.”

“There’s not a day in Munson’s life that he hasn’t been weird.”

The one pulling himself up off the floor grunts out, “I resent that.” When he’s fully upright, he gazes at you with wide eyes and a slight frown, not saying anything.

Robin steps in and they each take turns embracing her in greeting. One of them even ruffles her hair affectionately, and you watch the three of them with interest.

You’ve seen enough pictures of Steve Harrington by now that you could pick him out from a mile away. Of the two boys he’s taller, and more classically handsome, with his pretty features and artfully-sculpted hair. In his neat green pullover and pressed jeans, you can totally picture King Steve as he was in high school — athletic and rich and preppy, with his equally rich and preppy girlfriend.

While you recognize Steve immediately, this other boy you know less. He looks only vaguely familiar, perhaps a background figure in Robin’s photos. His dark hair is long, curly and disheveled, and his eyes are huge and starkly brown against his pale skin. Despite the early hour they must’ve left at, he's taken the time to deck himself out in black leather and loads of silver jewelry.

After he releases Robin, Steve introduces himself. He saunters forward confidently, one hand extended out towards you. “I’m Steve,” he says with a charming smile. He cocks his head slightly to the side, and there’s a brief pause for dramatic effect. “Steve Harrington.”

In your peripheral vision, you can see Robin holding a hand over her eyes in embarrassment. The other boy shoots him a dirty look.

You shake his hand politely, mildly amused. “Nice to meet you, Steve.”

When Steve releases your hand, the dark-haired one gives you an awkward wave. “I’m Eddie.”

The name rings a bell. You wave back and smile at him kindly. “Hi, Eddie.”

He shuffles his feet, Reeboks squeaking against the linoleum, not quite meeting your eyes.

“I’m really glad you both are here,” you add, glancing between the two boys. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Our pleasure,” Steve replies. “Always happy to be of service —”

“So,” Eddie cuts in, “where did you find this little fucker, anyway?”

“The garage.” Your voice is soft with trepidation. “The door’s right there.”

Three sets of eyes, blue and hazel and brown, follow the line of your pointed index finger. The chair is still jammed underneath the knob in a feeble attempt to barricade the door.

“Alright, we just need to grab our stuff from the van,” Eddie tells you. “And we’ll take care of it. If there’s only one, it shouldn’t take us long at all.”

You nod, like this is all good and normal and not the weirdest morning of your life. “Okay.”

When they move to head outside again, Steve eyes your little pink aluminum softball bat, back in its place in the corner. He smiles. “Hey, I got one of those!“

Eddie jogs lightly to catch up with Steve as he strides to where the van is parked outside.

“Hey,” he hisses, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder to get his attention. “You didn’t tell me this was Robin’s hot friend.”

“Huh?” Steve squints at him, disgruntled. “Who else would it have been?”

“I don’t know, literally anyone?”

“If I’m talking about Robin’s friend, then I’m talking about her. I didn’t realize I had to clarify.” He yanks the trunk open, and his voice takes on a more taunting tone. “Why? You nervous that a girl is actually speaking to you for once?”

Eddie steps back, visibly stung. “Hey, fuck you, man.”

Steve and Eddie’s friendship is not as tenuous as it once was, but sometimes old habits die hard.

Steve softens immediately, face painted with regret. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” he mutters, swiping a hand through his hair. He sighs. “I bumped into Nancy at the store yesterday, I’m not in a good mood.”

Eddie nods awkwardly, not really sure how to answer. “I’m sorry that it didn’t work out, um…again.”

“Thank you…for that reminder,” Steve replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. He turns to Eddie with narrowed eyes. “That we dated twice, and then also broke up twice.”

Eddie just smiles and claps him on the back. “I’m here for you, brother.”

From the kitchen window, you can see Steve and Eddie trudging back towards the house fully armed. Steve is holding a wooden baseball bat hammered-through with nails, and Eddie has what appears to be a makeshift spear — really, it’s just a big stick with a knife jerry-rigged on the end.

Robin takes in your open-mouthed shock. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you reply, dumbfounded, staring. “This is fine.”

The boys reenter. Steve smiles brilliantly at you, face clearing of some previous sourness you don’t know the cause of, and gestures with his bat to yours. “We can upgrade that for you, if you want,” he jokes.

You chuckle uneasily, panic setting in as you stare at the lethal-looking spikes of the nails. “Heh…maybe later.”

Eddie watches you carefully, the way your fingers scrunch nervously into the fabric of your sleep shirt, and the occasional, rapid twist of your head that you can’t seem to control, like you’re desperately trying to clear your mind of something awful.

Robin glances down at her buzzing phone, Vickie’s name and face popping up on the homescreen for the hundredth time this morning — apparently, she’s now awake and frantic that her clumsy girlfriend may have yet again gotten herself involved in some wild, life-threatening shenanigan.

“Just give me a minute, she’s freaking out,” Robin mumbles, pushing past you and into the living room for privacy.

Steve turns his back to you as he goes to remove the chair from under the knob, and Eddie takes this small opportunity to move closer to you. He wonders if he’d be going too far if he took your trembling hand in his.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs. “We’re not gonna let that thing get at you.”

You manage a nod, overwhelmed. Eddie reaches out and pats your arm but pulls back quickly, like he’s afraid to touch you for too long.

Steve calls your name, and you turn to him, distracted.

The chair is back in its place at the table, and he gestures to the now-unprotected door. “Is it crowded in there?”

“Very,” you confirm. The untidy chaos in the garage would normally embarrass you, but given the circumstances, you’re a little beyond caring. “Sorry.”

“That’s fine,” he reassures you. “We’ll try and be really careful about your stuff.”

“But no promises,” Eddie adds, a smile touching his lips for the first time.

You try to smile back, still feeling bizarrely distraught. “Just try not to break my windshield, please.”

He laughs softly. “Sounds like a reasonable enough request.”

“Okay, Munson, you ready?”

“Yeah.” Eddie joins him by the door. There hasn’t been any more noise from the garage since you heard it this morning — you don’t know what that bodes for them.

They brace themselves, weapons raised and at the ready. With a flick of his wrist Steve opens the door, which slowly creaks open. Shoulders hunched, he crosses the threshold, and switches the light on. You watch with bated breath, anticipating the sharp cry to be uttered at any moment.

Nothing happens.

Both Steve and Eddie cautiously enter the garage, watching for any signs of life. Steve starts jabbing at the little nooks and crannies amongst your things, trying to poke it out of hiding.

Eddie crouches down on the ground and peers underneath your car.

“See anything?” you ask hesitantly.

“Not yet,” answers Eddie in a low voice.

Steve peels a dusty tarp off of an old end table, opens up a discarded cabinet. “Come on,” he mutters.

Three agonizing minutes go by as they pick their way through the room, searching under and over and behind every bit of junk, neither boy finding what they’re looking for.

“Maybe it got out,” Steve muses, standing upright, relaxing his grip on the bat, letting it rest casually against his shoulder.

You shift uncertainly, still hovering from your post at the half-open door. “Would that be good or bad?”

“Good for us. Bad for the neighbors,” says Eddie.

Suddenly a streak of dark gray erupts from behind Steve.

You barely have time to yell; Steve, feeling the ripple of wind on the back of his neck, whirls around.

The creature beats its leathery wings and it’s moving up and up until it reaches the ceiling, circling the room, no doubt gauging which angle it should dive at and towards who.

Instinct tells you to slam the door shut, like you did earlier, but then Eddie and Steve will be trapped. Instead you leave the door ajar, crouched in pathetic terror. The boys recover their stances quickly, muscles tensed, ready to swing and jab their respective weapons the moment it comes within in striking distance. Their faces are twin mirrors of fierce determination.

The creature goes for Steve first, swooping down on him; you’re horrified to see its open mouth is full of concentric rows of spiny teeth. You utter a sharp cry, almost unable to look, certain that he’s about to be mauled by this terrible thing.

And the creature is fast.

But Steve is faster.

There’s a horrible sound, a meaty thwack! as the baseball bat smashes into the monster, sending it careening over your parked car like a gnarly fastball. It hits the wall and slides to the floor.

Eddie wastes no time in slamming one heavy boot down on a tattered wing, pinning the dazed thing into place. With one sharp jab, the knife pierces deep into the creature’s belly. He gives the spear a swift jerk, dragging the knife down, and cleaves the body almost completely in two. Its oily flesh is taut, but fragile; the thin skin surrounding the wound peels back, and it splits open like an over-full garbage bag, glistening, red-black insides seeping out onto the hard concrete floor.

Eddie whistles. “Goodnight.”

Gobsmacked by what just unfolded, you tiptoe into the garage. “Is…is it dead?”

“Yup,” says Eddie, nudging the thing with his foot. “This is kind of a small one,” he calls over to Steve.

Steve’s puffing slightly, shoulders heaving with adrenaline. “I noticed that. Probably not doing too hot out here in the real world.”

You gape at them both, eyes flitting between the two boys. Small?

You creep closer to the pulpy mass, getting your first good look at your uninvited guest. If you were right about one thing earlier, it’s that this is certainly no common house bat; it’s gray and rubbery, made of slick naked flesh, with a long twisted tail like braided rope. Its wings are shot through with six spidery limbs, its small head little more than a gaping maw lined with razors. And despite Eddie and Steve’s comments, to you? This thing seems enormous.

Eddie smiles at you proudly. “And just think — we did it all without breaking your windshield.”

Steve grimaces. “Yeah, about that…”

There’s a dent in the passenger-side door of the car. You’re sure if you were to hold Steve’s bat at the right angle against the dinged metal, it would fit in the depression like a glove.

Robin appears seemingly out of nowhere, leaning casually against the doorframe, sliding her phone into the back pocket of her jeans.

“Hey. What’d I miss?”

The cleanup process is quick but dirty. Eddie scrapes up everything he can with a snow shovel of all things, and dumps the carcass unceremoniously into a Hefty bag — the real heavy-duty kind, with the red strings — as it was politely held open by Steve. Meanwhile, you scrub at the blood left behind, but it doesn’t do much. The ominous stain is likely etched into the garage floor forever.

Maybe you can throw a rug over it or something.

Robin yawns as she watches you work. “Can we go get breakfast? I’m starving.”

“I’m down,” says Steve, motioning for you to hand him the scrubber clutched in your hand.

You hand it over, but warn him, “I don’t think this is coming out.” He starts scrubbing anyway.

Eddie pipes up. “Are there any good diners around here?”

You wince. “We just threw an eviscerated monster in the trash. Don’t you need, like, a refractory period to deal with that level of gross?”

He thinks it over for a moment, then smiles and shrugs. “No.”

Laughter bubbles up and spills over your lips uncontrollably. It starts out normal, but then you can’t stop, and then it sort of feels like maybe you’re hyperventilating.

Robin, your soulmate, bless her, is always in tune with your emotions. She reacts quickly, kneeling down beside you on the cold floor, and wraps an arm around you. “Hey,” she says gently. “Relax, just breathe. I know everything you heard and saw today is literally insane, but it’s all okay.”

Robin’s hick hometown. Parallel dimensions. Little girl with superpowers. Monsters. Something about a gate...Monsters. Monsters from said-parallel dimension. Monsters from said-parallel dimension finding their way inside your home. Monsters in your home.

“Jesus,” you gasp in frustration, knuckling stupid tears at the corners of your eyes. “What is this?”

“It’s a lot to take in, is what it is,” says Steve sympathetically. “But that thing’s dead, and you’re safe now, and that’s what matters.”

“The big bad stuff is already finished,” Eddie adds. You didn’t notice, but he’s crouched down right next to you, mirroring Robin’s position on your other side. “Not to mention,” he nudges you playfully, “you’ve got two pretty damn good exterminators on speed dial now, huh?” He places a hand on your shoulder, and you can feel the warm metal of his rings through your shirt.

You manage a weak mile. “True. That was pretty impressive,” you sniffle. His fingers give a reassuring little squeeze, but — again — is quick to let go.

He glances at Robin and Steve. “You know,” he starts in an accusatory tone, “you guys were definitely not this nice to me when I had to find out about all this shit.”

“We were in a time crunch,” Robin says dismissively. “You had to get with the program.”

The hysteria starts to wane; your body slumps a little under the combined weight of Robin and Eddie’s arms. “I changed my mind.”

Robin’s brow furrows. “About what?”

“…I want breakfast now.”

The ride to the diner gives you a chance to mull over the bizarre nature of the morning’s events. You let your head fall back on the seat and close your eyes; a stranger thing has never happened to you.

Part of you wonders why Robin never told you all this but you immediately dismiss the thought. Why would she, unless it was absolutely necessary, like today? In addition to being pretty far-fetched, the whole thing also sounds pretty fucking traumatic.

“What do you guys call those things again?” you mumble, turning to Eddie, who’s sitting next to you in the backseat of Robin’s car.

Eddie’s face turns pink when he hears you address him, though you can’t fathom why. “Uh, demobats.”

“Demobats,” you repeat. “How’d you come up with that?”

Steve pipes up from the passenger seat. “The first monster we saw from the Upside-Down was called a demogorgon. Some nerds named it.”

“Oh,” you say faintly.

“We can talk about something else,” says Robin. She looks at you anxiously in the rearview mirror, suspicious that you’re going to fall apart again.

“I’m fine, Rob. I’ve made my peace with it.” You pause, and amend. “I’m making my peace with it.”

“Oo-kay.” She drags out the first syllable, letting it be known that she doesn’t really believe you.

“Are there very many of these things?”

Steve seems to hesitate before he answers. “We don’t think so. Only a dozen or so managed to slip through the gate before it shut, and we think we got most of ‘em when they were still flapping around Hawkins. We found one that nearly crossed over the border into Ohio — we were keeping an eye on the papers — but other than that, this is the furthest out of town we’ve heard of them going.”

You process this, not really sure what to say. There’s not really much you can say. Instead, you turn your head to the window and watch the world race by through the glass, letting it slide past your eyes in a blur of green and blue.

The diner’s parking lot is mostly empty. Work should have already started for most — only a handful of elderly patrons are inside, sipping coffee at the bar and reading the paper.

The matronly waitress wiping down a table lets you know that the four of you can sit anywhere you like. Robin immediately slides into a booth by the window, well away from the other customers.

Steve takes the seat across from her, hoping you’ll sit on the bench next to him, but you plop down tiredly next to Robin instead. Eddie takes the last open spot, opposite from you.

A hush falls over the group while you peruse the menu. The waitress comes and takes orders; waters all around, coffee, and juice, a blueberry short stack for Robin, French toast for yourself, a breakfast burrito for Steve, and fried eggs and sausage for Eddie, with a bottle of hot sauce, please and thank you.

Polite chatter resumes, and quickly devolves into familiar banter around mouthfuls of food, though you stay quieter than the rest, thoroughly worn out. Steve and Robin’s camaraderie takes up the bulk of the conversation, anyway, both of them firing back and forth at each other with ease. You decide that you like Steve — he’s clearly grown into a genuinely nice guy, different from the high school boy Robin told you he once was, but it seems he’s retained just the perfect amount of bitchiness. It’s easy to see why she’s so fond of him.

You’re content to watch and listen to them with mild amusement (though Steve periodically directs his comments towards you, subtly watching your reaction to what he says) and it seems that Eddie is, too. You can’t tell if he’s used to being their third wheel or if he’s just being shy because there’s a new person around.

Robin and Steve enter a fierce debate about something or other — the prospective music career of someone named Tammy that you vaguely recall being a former crush of Robin's. You face Eddie and ask in a hushed tone, “Are they always like this?”

He swallows a bite of gooey, Tabasco-smothered egg. “Pretty much.”

“I wouldn’t have the energy,” you marvel.

Eddie chuckles. He shifts in his seat, and his leg bumps into yours under the table. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, turning pink again.

“That’s okay.” You study his face, which is angled down towards his plate, decidedly away from your gaze. His eyes are big and dark and warm, like sticky-sweet molasses.

“You have very pretty eyes,” you tell him matter-of-factly, just as there’s a lull in Robin and Steve’s argument. In tandem, both of them turn their heads to stare at you.

Surprise flickers across Eddie’s face when he realizes you’re speaking to him. His face warms to an even deeper red, but he looks pleased; and you’re glad for it.

“Thank you?” It comes out like a question.

“You’re welcome.” You nod and give him a soft smile, which he returns, and for a moment you might as well be the only two people in the room.

Unbeknownst to you, Robin watches the exchange with her head cocked to the side, eyebrows raised in surprise. You return to eating your breakfast, and she casts Steve an apologetic look. Eddie tries to keep his expression neutral, hiding his glee.

You excuse yourself to the restroom. As soon as you’re gone, Robin says, “Sorry, Steve.”

He just sighs in defeat, slumping back against the booth’s cushion. “Whatever.”

Eddie stabs a fork in his direction. “You’re not even over Wheeler yet, anyway. Let me have this.”

Robin’s brow furrows. “You’re still hung up on Nancy? Steve, come on.”

Steve’s mouth drops open. “You’re the one who said we should get back together!” he cries.

Robin’s mouth pulls to the side in mild guilt. “Which was a mistake on my part, I will admit.”

“Just wasn’t meant to be,” Eddie chimes in.

Steve turns his incredulous look to Eddie. “And don’t even get me started on what you told me about her —”

“I’m the last person you should be taking relationship advice from,” he interrupts nonchalantly.

Steve gapes at his so-called friends. Robin plows on.

“I’m sorry, but if you’re not over Nance, I’m not letting you near my girl. She’s not gonna be your rebound; she deserves better than that.”

“Yeah,” concurs Eddie, the word garbled around a forkful of food, “like me.”

Steve drops his head onto the table.

“And stop trying to flirt with her, so I can.”

“Yeah, because you’re doing such a great job at that so far,” says Steve sarcastically, forehead still pressed against the formica.

“I’m gettin’ warmed up! Just give me a second, Christ.”

Steve, though snarky on the outside, is still soft on the inside, and so feels a pang of sympathy — he knows why Eddie’s nervous around girls. One drunken night he, Eddie, and Dustin had been shotgunning cans of shitty beer in the Hendersons’ backyard, and he’d spilled his guts about the abysmal reality of his love life. Not that Steve’s is going much better, obviously. But Eddie had deep-rooted fears that went beyond Steve’s understanding, insecurities that harkened back to his childhood and twisted into trickier and trickier knots the older he got.

Eddie has his reasons to be nervous.

“Alright,” says Steve, finally yanking his head back up off the table. “I give, she’s all yours. But I’m gonna remind you — and don’t take this the wrong way — that all she’s done so far is give you a single compliment. Don’t get carried away.”

“Too late,” Eddie replies dreamily. “I’m already planning my proposal.”

Robin starts laughing, just as you approach the table again.

“What’s so funny?”

“Boys,” she replies without hesitation. She takes another sip of coffee. “I’m so glad I’m gay.”

You finish the rest of your breakfast. When the waitress offers to bring the checks around, you’re quick to foot the bill.

“Please, it’s the least I can do,” you say among the chorus of protests. “I don’t know what I would have done if you guys hadn’t shown up.”

“Ended up in the Weekly World News,” Eddie teases.

“What a high honor that would have been.” You roll your eyes. “I think I’ll pass.”

Steve drives everyone back to the house, and a wave of sadness washes over you as you all pile into the kitchen once more. The prospect of the boys’ departure fills you with a strange kind of emptiness; it hits you that you really don’t want them to leave. You’re already feeling attached.

You suppose being rescued from a monster is just one of those things that brings people closer together, like a family barbecue, or making a blood oath.

And truth be told, you feel slightly…uneasy. Discombobulated. Though the events of the morning are still fresh in your mind, the steps of your daily routine are drifting hazily back to you through the fog of shock. Normally at this hour, you’d be plugging away at work. You have an explanatory email to write to your boss for missing today, and you imagine Robin will be submitting something similar. A nine-to-five job, running errands, going to happy hour — they all seem so trivial. How are you supposed to go back to all those things as though nothing out of the ordinary happened? Knowing that your best friend used the free time she had between finishing high school and working retail to help save the world from monsters and government conspiracies and God only knows what other crazy shit?

It’s all too surreal. You grip the edge of the kitchen table with one hand, steadying yourself. Easy girl.

You glance around, then choose to settle your gaze on Eddie, soothed by all his dark, warm colors.

Steve checks his watch, sighing. “We should probably head back. I got the afternoon shift today.”

Robin shakes her head in disbelief. “I cannot believe that Family Video is still fucking open.”

Steve ignores this and immediately turns to you instead. “To clarify, I have a real job, too — I was part-time at my company, and now I’m transitioning to full-time.” He’s needlessly defensive. “Managing the video store’s been a nice side gig, but I swear I’m retiring.”

You blink. “You don’t have to defend Family Video to me, Steve. It’s a very respectable establishment.”

“Yeah,” agrees Eddie, “Fuck the government, you’re the real backbone of our society.”

“Fuck off, Munson.”

“Well, this has been a grand old time,” Robin interrupts their bickering, yawning and stretching her arms dramatically. “But I think I need to go home. Smooth things over with the wife before she starts panicking again.” As though suddenly remembering your earlier distress, she turns to you, frowning. “Do you need me to stay with you?”

Not wanting to burden your friend who is being oh-so-chill about the science-fiction film that is literally her life, you immediately lie. “No, I’m okay.”

Her bright blue eyes narrow, not believing you. “I’ll stay,” she says decidedly.

“No, Rob, I think I’m just gonna go to sleep, honestly.” You are tired. Your bones feel weary; you want nothing more than to collapse back into bed and slip into unconsciousness again. “You go ahead and go home.”

You shift your attention towards Steve and Eddie, who are both hanging quietly by the door.

“Again, I can’t thank you guys enough. Really,” you tell them again, stepping forward with arms outstretched. It doesn’t matter that you just met; you need a proper goodbye from both of them. Right away Steve obliges, and wraps his arms around you, patting your back gently before stepping away again.

Eddie hesitates, looking bashful when you turn to him next, and you lower your arms in embarrassment. You don’t want to make him feel like he has to hug you if he doesn’t want to. But before you can feel too stung about it, he steps forward and embraces you tightly.

It’s oddly intimate — his arms are low, circled around your waist, and his cheek presses against your hair. He sighs, a soft exhale that you can’t see or hear but rather, you feel. The creeping sense of loss grows stronger when he releases you again.

“See you soon, I hope.” Steve gives you a final wave, when he’s halfway out of the house. “We should all get together sometime. Y’know, on non-monster related business,” he jokes.

“For sure,” you promise, fluttering your fingers back at him.

“And if you ever need anything,” Eddie’s low voice is suddenly close to your ear, “just let me — us — know. We’ll be here before you know it.”

You let out a small, shuddery breath. “Thank you,” you whisper gratefully, touched by his attentiveness. Eddie seems to be the only other person who understands the gravity of what you’ve seen. Robin and Steve have been in the game too long, perhaps, and although they’re understanding, the remarkability of their Upside Down has worn off.

Eddie, however, doesn’t appear to have achieved quite the same level of nonchalance that they have, and when he looks at you, his concern is tangible. It’s etched in the set of his frown, practically staring out at you from those big eyes of his. Those big, pretty eyes.

“See you around,” he says softly.

And with that, he’s gone.

thank you for reading!!! 🦇💙

taglist: @kores-mun-son-n-more

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson reader insert #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson series #god i hope this pacing is okay? this is the longest fic I’ve ever written #can’t tell if I’ve jammed too much in here or not enough 🤷🏻‍♀️

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goldenamaranthe-blog · 1 month

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Band AU: Hazbin Hotel

Because there's always a band AU.

-666 News Broadcast Theme Plays through the dive bar cafe from the small, flickering TV in the corner-

Katie Killjoy: Breaking News in the Pop industry today! Our sunshine and rainbows, Mandy Moore wannabe, and Princess of Hell, Charlotte Morningstar, has come out with a new music video to help promote a brand new album that appears to have been conjured up seemingly overnight.

Angel: Hey, Vagina! (Elbows Vaggie) Ain't that your girl crush from the open band night down at Husk's Casino two months ago?

Vaggie: (chokes on her coffee) What?! Turn it up, Jackass!

Angel: (steals the remote from across the bartop and turns up the TV)

Tom Trench: And, boy howdy, this makeover is on par with most Disney child stars diving off the deep end!

Katie Killjoy: (spears a pen through Tom's hand) No one gives a shit Tom.

Tom Trench: MY HAND!!!

Katie Killjoy: Spectators and fans of our usually diabetically sweet princess feel that this sudden shift is caused by her breakup with Seviathan Von Eldritch just last month, ending the royal arranged engagement, after he mentioned how she refused to "put out" before marriage in an interview with Hell's High Class Weekly.

Vaggie: (bristles) The douchebag....

Katie Killjoy: Let's watch as our lovely princess makes her breakdown public.

-Screen shifts to Charlie holding a mic in one hand while picking a guitar in another, wearing 2000's Avril Lavigne glam rock attire (hot pink, baggy cargo pants, black leather studded belt, rainbow converse, black leather wrist bands, grey tank top with two black goats faced just the right way so their curved horns make a heart and tied together with a rainbow knot, and a black and red stripped tie) Razzle and Dazzle are playing drums and bass-

Charlie: Don't you know that IIIIIIIII- (flips off the camera and sticks out her tongue while mouthing "Fuck you, Seviathan" as the song reaches its climax) I don't give a daaaaaaaamn about you!!! I won't give it up, not for you!!! I'm not gonna cry about some stupid guy. A guy who thinks he's all that!

Vaggie: Whoa! (Big smiles like when Adam got stabbed) Get it, Charlie!

Katie Killjoy: (as the screen returns to normal) Other songs on the album include "Behind These Crimson Eyes", "The Dick Who Blocked His Own Shot", "Smack a Bitch", "Since U Been Gone", and the gay community's rabid favorite "Dear Vaggie"-

Angel: (sucking down his third popsicle for breakfast) What now?

Vaggie: WHAT?!?!?!?!

Katie Killjoy: -The obviously plagiarized parody of "Cool for the Summer" by Demi Lovato has unsubtle lesbian and bisexual overtones that specifically mentions Vaggie "the Steel Vagina". The lead singer and guitarist of the Power/Grunge Metal band, Fallen Angels

Angel: (wheezes as he laughs breathlessly and falls off his stool)

Vaggie: (steaming) Angel!!! ¡Eres un chupapollas, hijo de puta! Why would you tell the news that was my name?!

Angel: (ugly walrus gasps and giggles) Because it's better than I ever dreamed!!!!

Katie Killjoy: Fans of both artists are absolutely frothing at the mouth to see what Vaggie's response will be.

Tom Trench: Frothing at the mouth and other orifices, if you catch my drift. (Gets a pen slammed into his balls) GaaAhaHaaaaHaha!

Katie Killjoy: More on this story tonight at eleven.

Vaggie:

Angel: Soooooo~ Whatcha wanna doooooo~?

Vaggie: We're going to Tune Town, getting a copy of that album-

Angel: Ooooooooh-hohohoooooh~ I can visit dat nice glory hole they got there.

Vaggie: -THEN!!! We are going back to the apartment and making a response single.

Angel: Do you know what you even want to put in it?

Vaggie: (slipping on her jacket) I'll figure it out after listening to the album!

#hazbin hotel #incorrect hazbin hotel quotes #band au #pop star charlie #metal band vaggie #metal drummer angel #chaggie #seviathan von eldritch #charlie morningstar #avril lavigne 2000s fashion was peak fashion for me #I Dont Give by Avril Lavigne #vaggie #tom trench #angel dust #big brother angel #angel and vaggie are roommates and bamd members #katie killjoy #so many song references #breakup empowerment

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whatwouldsylwrite · 1 year

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At least I got you in my head (2)

(1)

Summary: Abby is straight. And then you move in with her.

Tags: modern au, fem!reader, straight!abby (she is doing some comphet bullshit), pining, idiot in love and it's abby, reader is gay and tired.

Notes: drinking, swearing, reader is wearing a dress. Cait here is Caitlyn from Arcane. Abby gets to feel what is was like to be a victorian man.

tags: @abbyily @catkirkfan @oatmealzco

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Everyone could appreciate someone’s beauty, right? Right?

That was what Abby was thinking as you two were making your way down the street to the bars where Ellie and Cait were supposed to meet you. Your delicate heels were clicking on the pavement and well. This little strap around your ankles made them look so dainty and it was so aesthetically pleasing Abby didn’t want to look away every time you sped up a little. You were in a short black dress and wow, some girls could really pull off a dress - it was so tight around your body. Abby wouldn’t wear something like this ever, it was so not her style, but when she saw other girls in dresses? She just couldn’t help but admire how beautiful they were. And when the beauty met the intelligence - Abby was full-on fangirling. She always thought it was vain of her to want to be friends with women who were practically goddesses (except Ellie, Ellie was a gremlin even if she was smart), but fuck. Wasn’t it cool to know women who were just smart and beautiful and then boast about knowing them to everyone?

“I’m a little excited to meet Ellie.” You admitted, you eyes a little more bright after you shared some wine at home. “You told me so much about her, she is a legend in my head.”

“Ellie is a menace and a threat to society.” Abby sighed dramatically.

“Exactly. How can you describe her like this to me and not expect me to get insanely curious?” You smirked and almost tripped, but Abby caught you, holding your arm gently. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Just hold on to me.” Abby offered you her arm and you stared at her, surprised, before snaking your arm around her. Abby liked the feeling of protectiveness when her friends relied on her like that. Yeah, she was an MMA fighter, she could protect them against any asshole, and she liked when girls felt safe around her, so she walked you down the street as carefully as possible.

You made your way to the bar, and you let Abby go in the instant when you saw your friend, but there were so many people Abby couldn’t see who exactly was your friend.

“Cait is right there, I’m going to grab her. Do you see Ellie?” Abby looked around and spotted the familiar bun.

“Yeah.”

“Let’s meet here, okay?” You said and walked away, leaving Abby to get Ellie.

Abby made her way through a few people before she got to Ellie and grabbed her shoulder.

“The fuck-” Ellie started, ready to fight, but she relaxed when she saw Abby. “Fuck, Abby, you scared the shit out of me.”

“I really like that you think you can fight.” Abby laughed and Ellie punched her in the shoulder.

“I swear to god I’m gonna beat your ass one day.” Ellie looked around, expecting you to be somewhere close. “I thought (y/n) is with you?”

“Yeah, she went to meet her friend. Let’s go. Don’t be a dick.”

“Dude, I won’t. Is she hot?”

“What is up with you lesbians asking about each other?” Abby scoffed.

“Oh, she asked if I was hot?”

“I said you were so ugly she’d go blind.” Abby said with a small smile and caught Ellie’s hand before it hit her again.

They made their way to the spot when you agreed to meet and Abby saw you with your friend and she just forgot how to speak. The girl was tall - taller than Abby, and it was saying something - but she was so proportionate in her hourglass figure. Abby looked at her, bewitched - she looked like a model. Legs for fucking days, long raven hair, and listen, Abby didn’t have any insecurities about her own body, but this girl’s chest was truly impressive. She was missing something, though - your confidence and ease, the girl looked a little awkward and nervous, but it seemed like your presence was grounding her. God you were so fucking nice.

"Hi!" You said with a smile and motioned at your friend. "This is Caitlyn. This is Abby."

"Nice to meet you." Abby smiled and Caitlyn smiled in return with an adorable gap in her teeth. "This is Ellie."

Something was not entirely right, because when Ellie and you made eye contact you both froze. Abby noticed it even though you recovered quite fast, and something uneasy sat in her stomach.

"I'm (y/n)." You smiled and Ellie smiled back like you both were sharing a secret, and Abby hated how it made her feel like a fool. "Okay ladies. We all need a drink, don't you think?"

You made your way to a free table in the corner of the bar, feeling your hands shake, and you tried to not show it, but you felt both stares at your back: Cait’s, who probably put two and two together, and Abby’s, who probably didn’t. For some reason you felt guilty, even though you didn’t do anything - well, except you slept with your roommate’s best friend. Roommate you were trying so hard not to crush on. Roommate who was straight (you know. usual gay shenanigans). And it happened months ago, way before you met Abby, you had no reason to feel ashamed, but you still did.

So you repressed the feeling to the pits of your consciousness and did what you did best: got a drink and started talking to get everyone to know each other and relax. You were mostly worried about Caitlyn - she wasn’t a big party-goer, and meeting people wasn’t easy for her. Well, thankfully, Abby and Ellie were very enthusiastic and Cait relaxed pretty quickly, letting her beautiful sarcasm make everyone laugh.

“You know we look like we’re on a double date.” Ellie snorted and you laughed, taking the comedy of the situation.

“This is a very fortunate support of stereotypes.” Cait said and you waited for her to say something else, because Cait just would. “Unless it was your attempt at flirting, of course. In this case I’m sure you can do better.”

The look of offense on Ellie’s face was precious. You laughed so hard you slapped Abby on her thigh, and she laughed too, you both wheezing and gasping for air every time you looked at Ellie’s face.

“I can do better.” Ellie said, flustered, and you couldn’t decide if she got defensive or eager to prove Cait wrong.

“I’d certainly like to see it.” Cait leaned on the table and you made a little “ooooh” sound while Abby laughed into your shoulder.

“Yeah, Els, I think Caitlyn is already kicking your ass here.” Abby said and you laughed again. Then Abby leaned in to you so she could whisper in your ear, her hot breath making your baby hairs stand up and your hands tingle. “Look at her, she is so riled up.” You both giggled and looked at Ellie again who was puffing but trying to come up with something to say.

“Oh, you don't know what you signed up for." Ellie said with a triumphant smile, and you got curious. You remembered Ellie as very confident and flirty, but she didn't seem to be like this right now.

"Surprise me." Cait smiled and you barely kept yourself from pinching her cheeks and saying "that's my girl", because you were so proud of her, coming out of her shell and being so forward.

"You know, the weather wasn't good today." Ellie said casually, not looking at Caitlyn. You and Abby watched what she was going to say next like it was a movie.

"I suppose."

"That's because all the blue from the sky is in your eyes." Ellie said in a quiet seductive tone as she looked into Caitlyn's eyes.

All three of you groaned and it looked like it only encouraged Ellie, because she grinned like a maniac.

"And I have more." Ellie threatened.

"She does." Abby whispered again and fuck, why did it feel so fucking intimate? Why did it feel like you were her-

No. You were not going this road. Nope.

"Well, I'm glad you're self-aware. It has some charm to it." Caitlyn smiled and Ellie looked happy from the compliment. "Give me your worst one."

"Oh I'll need a drink for this." You said as you stood up, losing the warmth of Abby's side to go to the bar.

The night went smoothly after. Ellie didn't leave Cait alone after that, saying a pickup line every chance she got, but Cait seemed to like it for the pure feeling of cringe. Eventually they both found out what kind of nerds they were and they had a long discussion about something you couldn't care to get into, because your head was a little fuzzy from alcohol and Abby being close. Her side was pressed to your side and you basked in her warmth. You were a touchy drunk, and even though you controlled yourself and didn't touch people without permission, the feeling of someone else close to you got you longing for human touch.

It was getting closer to 4 am and Abby noticed you getting more quiet and putting more weight on her. Abby leaned down to you, careful not to scare you.

“Are you sleepy?”

“Oh fuck.” You said as if Abby’s words revealed something obvious to you. “I am. I miss my bed.”

“You wanna go home?”Abby said fondly. She drank the same amount as you did, but the difference in metabolism meant she burned through her drinks faster and wasn't as drunk as you were, so she felt her mom friend mode kicking in.

“Yeah.” You nodded and looked at Ellie and Cait who were still talking like 4 hours passed in a second. “Ladies, we’re going to head out.”

“Already?” Ellie asked, surprised.

“I wanna go hug my bed.” You shrugged.

“Text us when you get home, okay?” Abby asked when you both stood up, ready to leave.

Both girls stood up too to hug you and say their goodbyes before you left the bar. Abby was still shocked at how tall Caitlyn was - it was rare for Abby to hug girls who weren’t a head shorter than her. And Cait was a head taller than her, so it was a very strange experience. Ellie and Caitlyn stayed, still talking, and you were glad Cait got along with her - she really needed some other friends and not more rich arrogant idiots Cait had before.

Abby supported you as you made your way back home, your legs a little wobbly, but Abby had to give it to you - you were wearing heels and you were walking just fine, even sleepy and a little drunk. You weren't tipsy, but you weren't wasted either - just in the middle where you still were in your right mind, but your body was starting to give up on your coordination. You held onto Abby's forearm and she just felt so fond of you.

"Do I speak funny?" You asked Abby and she laughed.

"What do you mean?"

"Do I slur?"

"No. You're not that drunk."

Suddenly you snorted and Abby had to stop both of you before you'd fall.

"Fuck, you know that video? When the guy comes home wasted and he is like. I'm not drunk. And then his mother I guess, she is like. Can you tell the time?"

"God, your English accent is awful." Abby wheezed, already being entertained by your little reenactment.

"Fuck you. So this guy is like, …Yes. And then turns to the fucking clocks, points at them and goes. I am NOT. fucking. Drunk." You wheezed again, almost folding in two from laughter, because that video was 10 times funnier when you were drunk. "Have you seen it?"

Abby was laughing too, both at your terrible posh accent and the story.

"No."

"Oh man, wait. Stop. We're gonna watch it."

And now you two were standing at 4:30 in the morning in the middle of the street laughing your asses off at the stupid old video when it replayed again and again. Abby was worried at one point you'd just fall, but you stayed on your feet, even if your heels were not steady on every step, because the straps on your ankles were dangerously loose. (yep, she was still staring, but alcohol made her forget the reason why it was okay for a straight girl to stare at another girl's ankles)

Somehow you made your way home in 10 minutes and Abby made some tea for both of you while you were in the shower - it wouldn’t hurt to get some hydration before sleep. You came to the kitchen, your hair in a bun, your usual sweats plus an oversized t-shirt combo on, but Abby stared, her thought process coming to a screeching halt.

You mixed the t-shirts in the bathroom and put Abby’s t-shirt on. Abby’s mind was literally blank. She didn’t understand what she was feeling, but that feeling was so fucking strong she couldn’t even say a word as her eyes looked you over. Her t-shirt was big on you, shoulders way too low on your arms, and you looked so cosy and homely and cute and pretty-

"What's up?" You asked as you sat down on the chair, noticing Abby's stare.

"You- um. This is my t-shirt." Abby admitted, and her chest was so tight with The Feeling she was afraid her voice went two octaves higher. You looked down and then stared back at her, as surprised as she was.

"Oh god I'm so sorry, I didn't check. I'll go change." You stood up from your place, ready to go, but Abby stopped you.

"I don't mind, you can wear it, it's not a big deal." Abby shrugged. And it wasn't a big deal, it was just one of her many t-shirts, she didn't mind sharing. You were sobering up and probably tired as hell, Abby would prefer not to bother you.

"Really? My t-shirt is probably in the bathroom, I can change in a second."

"Keep it." Abby said and put a cup in front of you, strange feeling of possessiveness making it home in her vocal cords.

"Thanks. I'll wash it, I promise."

You both drank tea in a comfortable silence, watching the sun slowly go up. The city was quiet and empty, the morning wouldn't really start in another hour, and it felt intimate, to experience this empty morning with you.

You washed both of your cups while Abby went to take a shower. After Abby finished showering, she reached for her t-shirt on instinct, but the empty rack reminded her where her t-shirt was. Well, your t-shirt was still there and she needed to get dressed anyway. It would be only fair, right?

Abby took your t-shirt and put it over her head, her nose immediately being attacked with your scent: your spicy perfume, body wash and a slight hint of mint shampoo. You smelled nice, and your scent reminded Abby of the safety of your apartment: that was the first thing she smelled when she'd come home if you were already here. It was nice. Or sometimes you'd be out earlier and she'd smell your perfume in the hallway.

Abby walked to her room and fell on the bed, checking her social media. There were a few stories on Ellie's insta, and the last one was her and Cait drinking coffee and playing chess. Abby had no idea where they found the chess table, but hey, they were having fun. Abby liked when Ellie showed her true side instead of being cool and hot and a fuckboy, which worked amazingly when Ellie wanted to hook up, but sometimes she needed to get her nerd side shine or she'd infodump on a first available person.

There was a knock on the door and Abby looked up, meeting your eyes in the doorway. You looked a little apprehensive but also vulnerable, and Abby couldn't get a read on why you were here.

"Hey, um. Do you wanna cuddle to sleep with me?"

What.

Well what did she mean "what", she didn't need to overthink it! Her new favourite person wanted to cuddle!

Abby opened her arms, silently inviting you, practically buzzing with excitement: you wanted to cuddle with her and Abby was a sucker for cuddles, so of course she'd let you. You walked through her room carefully as if you weren't supposed to be here, but then you just fell on top of her, and wow, (y/n) is so fucking soft.

That was why Abby liked to cuddle with her girl friends: women were soft. And you were soft in her arms right now, letting a long pleased sigh.

"You're very soft." Abby said as she curled her arms around your shoulders.

"That's the boobs." You chuckled. "Yours are very soft too."

"Thanks, I guess?" Abby laughed when you put your head on her left tit.

"As long as you're okay with this." You murmured and went up a little, still finding a right position until you put your nose next to Abby's neck, sending shivers down her spine. She was ticklish, but she could manage. "Really. I don't want to do something you're not comfortable with."

"I'm so comfortable, don't worry. I like cuddles." Abby wasn't sure why you were so persistent in checking if she was okay with being physically close to you, but she thought it was very sweet. "I didn't think you were a cuddler."

"What? I told you before. When we watched that shitty horror movie."

"Oh, I thought you were joking." Abby murmured as she breathed your scent in. You felt so safe to her she was already drifting off.

"I wasn't. I like cuddles."

"That makes two of us."

You sighed again as you wiggled around, slotting yourself more comfortably against Abby and she started mindlessly stroking your back, soothing you into sleep. She was already half-asleep and she needed you to stop moving and just relax so you'd stop waking her up. When you didn't stop, Abby pressed you closer and moved you to what she thought would be more comfortable for both of you. You got quiet suddenly, and Abby sighed, content, falling asleep almost immediately, oblivious of your flustered face.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson #abby tlou #aligyimh

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welp0w0 · 3 months

Text

a Jester and an Ex Royal Advisor walk into a bar-

- for a lil date at Quinn's

yeah. i have no excuses here, these stupid undertale au lesbians have taken over my entire frontal cortex.

the mannequin in the foreground with the glasses is Quinn, design made by @fexrox, filling the role of Grillby the Ragatha in this AU is based off of the Ragatha of @ask-the-rag-dolly

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wheresarizona · 10 months

Text

Float Like a Feather

pairing: Joel Miller/inexperienced f!reader

summary: You like to go to the bar at night, have a shot, and dance to the jukebox until it tires you out. Joel likes to go to the bar, have a couple of drinks, and watch you dance, entranced by how carefree and happy you look. Ellie thinks it's disgusting how you stare at each other with moon eyes and decides it’s time Joel finally talks to you.

rating: E (18+!! This is basically smut with some plot. No y/n, age gap (20-25 years), Soft Joel Miller, reader isn’t a virgin but is very inexperienced, Joel is extremely sweet in showing how good sex can be, alternating pov, unprotected p in v (wrap it up), creampie, oral sex (f receiving/first time), vaginal fingering, (1) pussy slap, spit mention, dirty talk, praise kink, a hint of Protective Joel, a couple of ma’am’s, Good Parent Joel, Ellie giving Joel so much shit, Ellie being the best wingman, Joel supporting his lesbian daughter, a touch of pregnancy, Joel holding a baby, TLOU AU where Joel doesn’t lie to Ellie and they’re good when they get back to Jackson)

word count: 7.1k+

a/n: My dearest friend @dresupi sent me the song Stella by Cereus Bright as a prompt for Joel Miller, and this is what happened. I’m going to be honest and tell you this is completely self-indulgent. Thank you to the love of my life, @juletheghoul for betaing!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Masterlist

Jackson is just so… normal.

Or at least as normal as a town can be in an apocalypse.

Returning with Ellie, they were given duties like every other person who lived there to keep the place continuing to be normal.

They’ve been there a little over a month, and Joel already has a routine: up at seven am, making sure Ellie gets up, too (ignores her grumbling), goes with her to the canteen to have breakfast (ignores her glares). They split up to go do their jobs for the day, him returning to the house around five, showering the day away, then goes to have dinner with Ellie at six (happily listens about her day and the girl she’s taken a liking to named Cat). She goes to hang out with her new friends, and he likes to go sit in the bar to have a couple of drinks over a few hours and people-watch.

It’s more person-watch, or at least each time he’s gone, there’s only one person who catches his eye.

Every night at around eight, you make your way into the bar, taking a shot of something clear at the bartop, then going to the jukebox, putting on a song, and dancing.

It’s not one song, or two, you keep them going and dancing until there’s a sheen of sweat on your skin, and you finally have to get some water.

It entrances him with how carefree you are, how happy you are, your eyes closed, smiling as you just lose yourself to the music, moving to the beat.

Sometimes people join you, sometimes men try to convince you to get a drink with them that you always politely decline, and Joel would feel like a creep, but sometimes your eyes open and lock with his, and you wink at him, which always makes him so damn flustered. He knows you’re aware of him because when you enter the bar, your attention goes to his corner table, smiling at him before you go take your shot.

There’s no way in hell you’re interested in him, though—he’s way too old for someone so young and lively. You probably just enjoy having an audience watching as you float across the dance floor, having the time of your life.

It doesn’t matter anyway because he’s convinced himself he’s fine on his own and doesn’t need anyone. He isn’t even sure if he can allow himself to care for another person, not after all the ones he’s lost—so all of his focus has been on his kid and keeping her safe.

He’s sitting at his usual table with his whiskey in front of him, watching as you dance to an upbeat 80s song in your black leggings and purple tank top, when suddenly someone is plopping down in the seat next to him, taking him from his reverie, quickly turning his head to realize it’s just Ellie.

“Is that her?” she asks, pointing at you moving in the empty space in front of the jukebox used as a makeshift dance floor.

He feels a flush creeping up his neck, “Don’t point,” he says, lowering her hand. “It’s rude.”

“Fine, Joel, I won’t point.” She rolls her eyes. “But is that her?” she nods her head toward you.

“Is that who?”

“The woman Tommy says you stare at with moon eyes but are too chicken shit to ask out.”

His face pinches in anger, turning his attention to the teen. “I do not stare at her with fuckin’ moon eyes,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, you do. It’s disgusting—just ask her out already.”

“I’m too old for her,” he replies, taking a drink.

“You are fucking old, but with how she looks at you, I don’t think she gives a fuck.”

He lowers his glass. “How does she look at me?” he asks quietly, and Ellie grins.

“Your sight must be going, old man,” she ribs. “She looks at you with the same goddamn moon eyes, and it’s obvious she likes you, too.”

“That’s a fuckin’ lie—ain’t nothin’ obvious.”

“Well, you’re the only person she looks at, so…”

He perks up.

“Am I?”

That can’t be…

“Yep, and you should just finally make a fucking move.”

He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Why are you givin’ me shit when you’re too chicken shit yourself?”

Her eyes round.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He lowers his voice to make sure nobody else would hear.

“You like Cat, and from the times you’ve brought her around, she likes you, too.” He shrugs. “I’m not the only one with fuckin’ moon eyes.”

“Ah ha!” She points at him. “You do have a crush!”

“Keep it down,” he hisses, frantically looking your way and seeing you’re still dancing without a care.

“Jesus, Joel—chill out. I wanna make you a deal.”

“What’s that?” he asks, meeting her eyes with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ll ask out Cat if you ask out Dancing Queen over there.” She juts her thumb toward the dance floor.

He lets out a long low sigh scrubbing his hand over his face because Ellie was his kid, and he wants her to be happy, and she’s happy with Cat. If this will get her to do something about her own crush, he obviously has to do it, but it will be so fucking embarrassing when he gets shot down.

“Fine.”

“Fuck yeah! She’s heading to the bar. Now’s your chance.”

His eyes go wide. “Now? You want me to do it now?” He figured he’d have time to work up the courage—he’s rusty.

“Yeah. Go.” She pushes on his shoulder, and Joel reluctantly gets up with a groan, scratching at the back of his neck as he walks toward you. Looking back at Ellie, she’s grinning and giving him two thumbs up, which spurs him on to do what she asked.

You’re chugging a glass of water, your skin glistening in the lights of the bar from sweat, and Joel thinks you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

He approaches, taking a deep breath. He finally clears his throat. “Um, excuse me, ma’am?”

Setting the cup down, you turn to face him with the most beautiful smile curling up on your lips.

“Cute corner guy!” you say, and his cheeks heat.

“The name’s Joel,” he replies, sticking out his hand.

“Hi, Joel—” You introduce yourself, shaking his offered palm, and he notices how much smaller yours is. “—I’ve been waiting for you to come talk to me.”

His eyebrows are in his hairline. “You… have?”

“Oh, yeah, you’re very handsome, and don’t stare at me like you’re picturing me naked. It’s honestly refreshing. Wanna have a drink with me?”

He smiles. “I’d like that very much.”

Ellie has disappeared, and the two of you take up residence at his usual table. He finds you’re lovely to talk to—learning you’d been in Jackson almost six months, you lived in the Denver QZ before that, your age which had him wondering why in the hell you were even giving him the time of day, and you hadn’t crossed paths outside the bar in the rotation of jobs because you were a teacher down at the school full time.

“—so the dancin’ helps wear you out so you can sleep?” he asks.

“Yes.” You nod. “Insomnia is an absolute bitch, but if I can get myself tired enough, I’ll finally sleep—so dancing, which is much more fun than going for a jog or running.”

“Fuckin’ hate runnin’,” he replies, taking a drink.

You giggle. “I do, too,” you say, taking your own sip. “Was that your daughter earlier?” you ask.

“Oh.” He scratches his mustache. “Kinda? I’ve basically adopted her as my own, and she lives with me, but she doesn’t call me dad or anythin’ like that.” He shrugs.

“Okay, so you’ve got a kid, are from the Boston QZ, have been in Jackson for a month, are Tommy Miller’s brother, prefer whiskey, have the most gorgeous brown eyes, and enjoy watching random women dance in bars.”

He huffs out a breath, knowing his cheeks are tinted pink, darting his eyes away.

“I, uh, apologize if I’ve made you feel uncomfortable…”

You touch his bare forearm on the table, his flannel shirt’s sleeves rolled up, and his skin tingles under your palm.

“I promise you don’t make me uncomfortable at all. To tell you the truth, I quite enjoy you watching me and kinda hoped you’d talk to me sooner… or join me.”

He meets your gaze, swallowing hard, surprised at the hope swelling in his chest.

“I, uh, apologize again, but this time for bein’ so forward because I haven’t talked to a beautiful woman in quite some time, and I just want to make sure I’m not misreadin’ things…?”

You smile warmly at him.

“Joel, I am very interested in you romantically, and one drink away from being brave enough to see if you want to come back to my place.”

You do like him, and he’s honest to god shocked. He’d convinced himself he was better off alone, but maybe having someone wouldn’t be too bad. Jackson is safe, there isn’t much risk aside from patrols, and Ellie seemed to think he needs somebody—and you’re so beautiful and sweet; he was already gone on you before he’d spoken to you, and now that he knows he’s got a chance, he’s not going to waste it.

He gulps, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as arousal crashes into him like a freight train.

His voice goes deeper. “I can promise you, I’d say yes.” He has to ask, though. “You really want an old guy like me?”

Smirking, you answer, “Oh, yeah, I really like you, and I just know you’ll be good in bed.” You wink, rubbing your hand up his arm.

He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s been a long fuckin’ time, and I’m out of practice, so it might not be as good as you’re hopin’...”

“Good thing we’ve got all night for you to practice over and over and over again,” you purr.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, his jeans feeling much tighter. “You, uh—”

“Want to get the fuck out of here?” you interrupt, smiling at him. “I’d like that very much.”

Joel Miller is a goddamn sweetheart and a really good kisser.

The moment your front door is closed, he has you against it, kissing you hard—one of his hands cradling your face, the other moving up your stomach to grab your breast, moaning when his tongue slips between your lips to tangle with your own.

Arousal is burning brightly in your belly, your cunt throbbing with need, wanting this man desperately.

You, of course, had taken notice of Cute Corner Guy Joel Miller the first night he’d gone to the bar for a drink. Those beautiful brown eyes never looked at you salaciously. If anything, it was more in wonder and so unbelievably adorable you’d been dying to talk to him but wanted to ensure he made the first move to know he liked you and not just the show you put on. It didn’t matter to you that there were quite a few years between your ages; he’s incredibly attractive, and you wanted to know more about him. Plus, as a bonus, you’ve heard older men who grew up before the world went to shit were very generous in bed, which would be nice since your little bit of experience with guys your own age hasn’t been all that great.

Your fingers are working open the buttons on his shirt, his tongue sliding along yours in a way that makes your toes curl, him interrupting by grabbing the hem of your tank top, tugging it and your sports bra over your head in one go, tossing them away without a care. Returning to what you were doing, Joel's big hands are on your tits, trailing kisses down your neck until he’s bending to suck one of your pebbled nipples between his lips.

“Oh, god,” you gasp at the sensations shooting straight to your pussy.

He comes off you with a wet pop, smirking. “It’s Joel, but close.”

“A dumb joke—fuck, that’s hot.” His shirt was undone, impatiently pushing it off his arms and taking in his broad chest and the little bit of softness on his belly, noticing scars, some old, some new, littering his golden skin. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

He’s palming your breasts, his big, expressive eyes looking at you, and you can see the honesty in his gaze when he replies, “You’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

“God, you’re so fucking endearing—I need your dick inside me,” you say, rubbing your hand over the impressive bulge in his jeans.

He chuckles. “Bedroom?”

“End of the hall.” You point.

He’s on you again, his lips crushing against yours, his hands on your waist to help guide you as he moves you away from the door, walking you backward down your hall, kicking off your shoes as you go.

You’re glad your tiny two-bedroom house was clean, squeaking in surprise when you basically get thrown into the middle of your queen-size bed, a lamp on your bedside table illuminating the room in a soft glow.

Sitting up on your elbows, you watch as he toes off his shoes, his belt clanking as he works it open, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. He pushes them down and off with a groan, delightfully discovering that Joel goes commando and revealing the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen—long and slightly curved up with a nice girth to it, the tip reddened and shining with precum, your eyes going wide at how big he is.

For the first time, you think you might want to try blowing a guy, never having an opportunity before with people’s personal hygiene iffy outside of the town walls.

His attention is back on you, leaning over the mattress to grab the waistbands of your leggings and underwear, pulling them both off before he crawls up onto the bed between your spread legs.

“Can I suck your dick?” you ask.

His gaze is burning when it meets yours, shaking his head. “Sorry, baby. You can later, but right now, I gotta taste your pretty little pussy.”

Your eyebrows lift. “You’re gonna eat me out?”

No one has ever gone down on you. It’s always been quick fucks to scratch an itch—dear god, Joel’s going to ruin you for anyone else, you just know it, and it excites you immensely.

“May I?” he asks in return.

“Yeah, but you should know it’ll be the first time…”

His face goes pale, his eyes widening. “Havin’ sex…?” he croaks.

“What? No, I’ve had sex—” He visibly relaxes. “—a handful of times. There’s just never been much… foreplay? Kinda thought it was a myth.” You shrug your shoulders.

He’s frowning. “It ain’t no myth and a fuckin’ shame no one’s tasted you,” he says, moving onto his stomach, his big hands pushing your thighs apart with his head at the apex of your thighs, staring at your pussy with a look of hunger. He spread open the lips of your sex with his fingers. “I could spend hours with my face buried in this gorgeous cunt,” he rasps, his words making your core clench hard around nothing.

“Fuck,” you whisper. Anticipation is swelling up inside you, suddenly blurting, “Can I keep you?”

You feel the blood rush to your face. ‘Can I keep you?’ Where the fuck did that come from, and how are you hoping he’ll respond, that he wants to date you? Actually, yes, that is your hope.

He meets your gaze with a confused look. “What?” he asks.

Taking a deep breath, you say, “I really like you and don’t want this to be a one-time thing… Can I keep you?” You chew on your bottom lip.

His face softens, eyes on yours as he kisses your inner thigh. “Yeah,” he replies. “You can keep me if I can keep you—I’m a one-woman kinda guy, anyway.”

“I can be your one woman?”

He smiles. “I’d like that very much, Tiny Dancer. Your, uh, handful of times, did any of them make you come…?”

The question has your face heating, answering, “...no. I usually took care of myself…”

He looks honest to god offended. “Fucking selfish men,” he seethes. “That won’t do. Here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna lick your pussy and use my fingers to make you come at least twice—It’s been a while, but I sure as fuck remember how to pleasure a woman. Then I’ll give you my dick, and I’ll be honest, I don’t know how long I’ll last bein’ inside your tight little cunt, but I’m aimin’ to make you come one more time, and that’ll be round one.”

The way he sounds so sure has you throbbing.

“Just marry me already, Joel.”

Your comment makes him laugh. “Let me take you out a few more times, and then we can discuss marriage,” he replies with a wink.

“Fucking deal.”

There’s an earnest expression on his face. “If I’m doin’ somethin’ you don’t like, tell me, no hard feelin’s—same goes for if there’s somethin’ you’re really likin’. I just wanna make you feel good, Tiny Dancer. You understand?”

You nodded your head.

“Use your words, baby.”

“Yes, Joel. I understand.”

He smiles. “Good girl.” His response has you gasping as tingles move down your spine. There’s a knowing smirk on his face. “You like that,” he states. “You like being my good girl—I know you’re gonna be real good for me, aren’t ya?”

Your lip is pulled between your teeth, so unbelievably turned on, nodding your head at his question.

His fingers slap against your clit, not hard, but enough it has sparks of pleasure igniting in your center, your head falling back as you moan.

“Words, baby,” he says.

“Yes, Joel,” you gasp.

“That’s my good girl. Feel free to pull my hair—I like it.” He ends the sentence with a wink, then his attention is back on your wet heat, watching him lick his lips, knowing he can see you glistening in arousal.

His fingers spread you open again.

“Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he murmurs. “Bet you taste amazin’.”

He spits on your clit, your eyes going round, feeling the hot saliva as it slowly drips down to your sopping hole, moaning loudly when Joel’s head dips down, swiping his tongue through your folds from your entrance and back up.

It’s a new sensation and heavenly.

He’s groaning like he’s enjoying the most amazing meal, licking every bit of your sensitive flesh he can get. The beginnings of your orgasm are taking shape, feeling the heat starting to build low in your belly, and when his lips latch around your bundle of nerves, and he sucks, that’s when your hands end up in his grey hair, needing something to hold onto.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan. “It’s so good. Joel, it’s so good. Don’t stop.”

It’s almost overwhelming, your body starting to writhe, his arm like iron over your lower stomach to keep you still, his facial hair scratching deliciously on your intimate skin while he licks and sucks at you with abandon. You see him between your legs, your fingers tangled in his grey waves, his eyes closed as he feasts on you like a man starved—they open to meet your gaze, his glazed over and so dark you’re not sure any of the beautiful brown remains.

“You’re gonna make me come.” The muscles in your belly start to tighten, his tongue licking your entrance while his head shakes, nuzzling your clit with his perfect nose, and the sensations send you over the edge, your body tensing up as you come with a shout of his name, euphoria exploding in your veins.

You're panting as you fall back flat onto the bed, hearing Joel’s muffled voice saying into your cunt, good girl, him groaning as he shoves his tongue inside you to lick up your release.

You’re in love with him.

Or maybe that’s just the happy chemicals coursing through your body.

God, he’s perfect—how could you not fall in love with him?

His head pops up. “How was it?” his rough voice asks.

“I’m in love with you,” you answer dreamily.

His chuckle is warm. “That good?”

“Oh, yeah. Fucking incredible.” You sit back up on your elbows to look down at him, your slick coating his facial hair around his mouth and the bottom half of his face. “This is what I’ve been missing? I am mad but also so fucking happy you finally talked to me.”

“You, uh, really were waitin’ for me to talk to you?”

“Yes.” You nodded. “I love your beautiful, expressive eyes, and you’ve always looked at me differently than other men, almost like you were seeing me and not just my body, you know? And I just really wanted to get to know you. I figured all of the winks and smiles would clue you in that I was interested.”

“I just thought you liked havin’ an audience.”

“You’re literally the only person I like watching me.”

He sighs loudly, looking away. “I feel dumb for not realizin’ sooner.” He shakes his head. “Fuck, I wouldn’t have even made a move if Ellie hadn’t put me up to it.”

You smile. “What, did she dare you?”

He has the sweetest smile when he meets your eyes. “No, she made a deal with me that she’d ask out her crush if I asked out mine.”

“That is the cutest shit, and I do not know why you being a good dad really does it for me. Come up here and kiss me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, groaning as he crawls up the bed, ending up with his hips in the cradle of your thighs, feeling his cock all hot and hard digging into your belly. His arms are on either side of your head to hold himself up, his face above your own. “You’re beautiful,” he says, nudging the tip of his nose against yours.

“Thank you,” you breathe. “You’re very handsome.”

His lips hover over your own. “You want me to kiss you?” he whispers.

“Please.”

“As my lady commands,” he responds, slotting his mouth to yours in a searing kiss.

You moan at tasting yourself on his lips, your hands ending up in his hair, opening for his tongue to slip inside and slide along your own. It gets more and more fervent, your body thrumming in desire until the need becomes too much, and you’re murmuring into his mouth. “Fuck me.”

He groans, answering, “Can’t yet—gotta make sure you can take me.”

You break the kiss, his mouth red and kiss swollen, his dark eyes looking at you questioningly.

“I’m wet enough,” you reply. “Just stick it in.”

He inhales deeply. “I don’t wanna hurt you, baby.”

“Isn’t it supposed to hurt?”

It’s always a bit uncomfortable at first.

His eyes squeeze shut, taking a deep breath, whispering, Jesus Christ, on the exhale. “No, sweetheart, it’s not supposed to hurt if you’re doin’ it right.”

“Oh.” You’re frowning. “Joel?”

He looks at you. “Yes, Tiny Dancer?”

“I’ve had sex with the wrong people, haven’t I?”

“Looks that way, but we’re changin’ that tonight.” He kisses you quickly before he moves to lie on his side beside you, one arm propping his head up, his other fingers skating up your stomach to your breasts, circling around one nipple, then the other, making you shiver and goosebumps erupt on your skin. “I’m gonna use my fingers,” he rasps, his finger now circling your belly button. “I need to open you up—is that alright?”

“Yes.” You nod. “As we’ve discovered, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing—can’t believe I’ve been doing sex wrong.”

He sighs. “Just chose selfish assholes who didn’t give a fuck about you or your comfort.” His eyes narrow, eyebrows knitting together, his hand pausing. “Do any of ‘em live here?” he asks in a low tone, and the change in demeanor makes you gulp.

“So you can teach them a lesson…?”

“I just wanna talk, is all.”

“Uh-huh, right. With your fists? The enthusiasm is sexy, Joel, but they’re all back in Colorado.”

“A shame.”

You cup his cheek. “Just means you get to show me how to have good sex, and isn’t that exciting?” you ask, wagging your eyebrows. “You’re the first man who’s made me come, and I’d really like to do that with your dick inside me.”

“Fuck,” the word is said barely above a whisper, seeing his throat bob as he swallows. “You’re gonna be the goddamn death of me. I fuckin’ know it.”

Smiling, you pat his cheek. “Never, Joel. I like you too damn much.”

He has a little smirk. “Yeah? You like me?”

“I mean, I’m counting this as our first date, and I’ve already told you I’m in love with you and have basically proposed marriage, so I’d say yes, I like you very much.”

He chuckles, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw, his thumb rubbing over your bottom lip. “You’re so fuckin’ cute.” He presses two fingers to your lips. “Suck,” he orders. “Get ‘em nice and wet so I can loosen you up ‘cause I am fuckin’ dyin’ to be inside you.”

Doing as he says, you suck them into your mouth, massaging them with your tongue, ensuring you’re getting them nice and wet, feeling delighted when his mouth falls open.

“Have uh—” He pauses to audibly gulp. “You asked if you could suck my dick. Have you ever…?”

His fingers leave you, shining in spit.

“No,” you answer, shaking your head. “It’d be another first.”

His eyes get darker, moving his hand between your legs, sucking in a breath when he slowly circles your clit, causing sparks of arousal to dance in your belly.

“Fuck, baby, I’ll show you how a bit later—I’m still convinced you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me,” his voice is huskier, dipping his fingers lower to press one thick finger into your aching entrance. “Especially,” he continues, sliding in another digit that makes you moan at the stretch, “with this pussy.” His fingers are pumping in and out of you while his thumb moves on your bundle of nerves, the fire burning low in your stomach, slowly building. He scissors his digits, and you gasp his name.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning over you to give you a quick kiss. Your fingers thread into his hair, pulling him back down for another that he smiles into, him murmuring against your lips, “Gotta get you really fuckin’ wet and stretch you out a bit, pretty girl. I want you to love havin’ my dick inside you and make you feel so good, you beg me to fuck you again—bet you wouldn’t let any of those other guys back inside this perfect pussy.” You’re whimpering, energy thrumming under your skin as he works you up. “Fuck, you’ve made me so fuckin’ hard it hurts. All I can think about is how fuckin’ tight and warm you’ll be when I finally split you open on my cock—Hell, might even make me come on the spot. You’d like that, wouldn’t ya? Knowing your sweet little cunt drives me fuckin’ wild—you drive me wild, I’m fuckin’ crazy about you and wanna be the only man you want or need.”

He kisses you again, his words making your heart pound in your chest, your body burning up, pushing you closer and closer to your release.

“You are,” you moan into his mouth.

“I’m what?”

“The only man I want.” Your fingers have a tight grip on his grey strands of hair. “It’s so fucking good, Joel—you’re fingers feel so fucking good. Oh my god, you’re gonna make me come again.”

“Damn straight, I am.”

He crooks his fingers, sliding them along your top wall until he rubs something that has you pulling his hair and moaning his name, your back arching. “There it fuckin’ is.” He sped up, fucking his digits into it over and over, the fire in your belly getting hotter and hotter.

“You gonna come for me?” he asks, hearing his fingers moving in and out of you wetly. “Can feel you fuckin’ flutterin’, I know you’re close.”

There’s no time for you to answer because you’re hitting your breaking point and coming with a gasp of his name, your cunt seizing up as pleasure radiates through your body.

“There we fuckin’ go,” he says into your lips. “My good girl.” He kisses you hard, pressing a third finger inside you, the wetness from your orgasm easing the way. Your mind is a pleasurable haze, enjoying his lips on yours while he spreads his fingers, reveling in the delicious stretch.

He breaks the kiss, pulling back, and you open your eyes to see his already on yours.

“I think you’re ready,” he says. “You still want my dick?”

“Yes.” You nod. “I’ve never wanted dick more.”

That makes him smile.

“Good,” he replies, nuzzling his nose against yours before kissing you softly.

His fingers leave you, groaning as he moves to have his body hovering over yours with one arm beside your head, holding himself up while kneeling between your legs.

He meets your gaze. “You tell me if it doesn’t feel good.”

“Yes, Joel.” You nod again.

“Good girl,” he purrs. His free hand comes up to his mouth, spitting on his fingers, using them to slick up his cock, then he slides his length through your folds to get himself even wetter. He notches at your entrance and slowly starts pushing in, it feeling like he’s splitting you open, your cunt accommodating his girth, stretching around him, filling you inch by glorious inch.

He’s cursing under his breath as he slides in all the way, and when he’s bottomed out, you feel so unbelievably full it has you gasping—your fingers are digging into his shoulders, Joel’s face pressing into your neck.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, the sound muffled. “You’re pussy’s gonna make me come.” The thought of him coming inside you has you clenching around him. “Fuck,” he pants. “Don’t do that—I need a second, or this is gonna end before it’s started.”

You’ve never let someone come inside you, yet here you are saying roughly, “Joel?”

His head comes up immediately to look you in the eyes with worry on his brow.

“Am I hurtin’ you?” he asks earnestly. “Is it too much?”

“No, it’s so fucking good—it feels so fucking good. You feel so good inside me.”

“What is it, Tiny Dancer?”

“I want you to come inside me. Please.”

He hisses, a pained look coming over his face, feeling his cock jerk. “I can’t,” he pants. “Can’t risk it—you can have it anywhere else.”

“Okay,” you reply, trying not to sound too downtrodden—it’s his choice, after all, and you respect it.

“Sorry, baby,” he kisses you sweetly. “I’m gonna move.” He pulls one of your legs up high on his ribs, then the other, both of his arms ending up on either side of your head, locking your feet at the small of his back, feeling the splay of muscles move as he pulls almost all the way and pushes back in, both your mouths falling open. He starts with a slow, steady rhythm, his dick carving out space in your depths and filling you perfectly. He’s so big that when he pushes all the way inside, it feels like he’s all up in your guts, the feeling stealing your breath, but it’s so good—his cock is pressing into spots you didn’t know existed, that familiar heat making itself known in your lower belly.

Sex has never felt like this.

He’d gotten you so wet, he’s sliding easily in and out of you, hearing the suck of your pussy taking him. It’s blowing your mind at how fucking amazing it feels, even with him being so well-endowed, there isn’t any discomfort—you’re moaning unbidden, unable to keep it in, Joel breathing hard, him slowly picking up the pace until he’s grunting, and there’s a slap of skin on skin, his thick cock filling you over and over.

The only thing you can think about is how good he feels, pleasure wracking through your body with every push and pull of his hips. Your nails are digging into the skin of his shoulder blades, Joel's mouth fusing with yours to kiss you while he fucks.

“Touch yourself,” he says into your lips, and you slide a hand into the little bit of space between your bodies to play with your clit. His golden skin glistens in sweat, a beautiful flush crawling up from his chest to his gorgeous neck and cheeks, rough sounds pulling from his throat as he kisses you. Your fingers work against your sensitive nub, and it has you rocketing closer and closer to your end before you’re coming again, crying out his name, your body tensing, your pussy squeezing him so tight, a strangled groan escapes Joel as he has to slow to a stop.

Your body is alight in ecstasy, Joel nose to nose with you, a drop of sweat on the tip of his falling onto yours, saying through heavy breaths, “You almost fuckin’ got me.”

Blinking open your eyes, you look up at him with a dreamy smile.

“Yeah?” you ask, voice rougher than usual. “Am I gonna make you come?”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ are.”

“Good—come for me.”

He starts moving again, his hips pushing in and out of you, hearing the wet slide of his cock fucking into you.

His face screws up like he’s in pain, his mouth slack, eyebrows knitting together, eyes closed, grunting as he sets up a hard pace that makes your eyes roll back.

It’s so fucking good.

“I want you to come for me,” you moan. “I want you to feel good, Joel.” Your hands move into his sweat-damp hair.

“I feel so fuckin’ good with you,” he groans, crashing his mouth to yours, kissing you desperately, all tongues and teeth, your noses bumping.

The springs in the mattress are squeaking, the headboard hitting the wall in time with his thrusts, the slick sounds of your pussy taking him filling the air, combined with moans and groans, the noises in the room are absolutely obscene.

He’s panting into your mouth, picking up in speed, his rhythm getting jerky.

It’s been a long fucking time since he last fucked someone, and he’s so fucking lost inside your pussy—it’s nirvana, heaven, your tight, wet heat lulling him to his finish, his brain unable to think of anything else except how good you feel around him; how perfect, your cunt hugging his cock snugly in your deep, warm depths, and making him lose his goddamn mind.

He told you he couldn’t come inside you—that’s been a hard no for him ever since he lost Sarah, not wanting to risk bringing another child into this godforsaken world, and here you are tempting him.

His conundrum is he likes you a lot, and he knows you like him, too, and not only that, you just like him—there’s no ulterior motive, you don’t want or expect anything from him except him, and he’s so fucking gone on you that maybe it might not be a bad thing if consequences happen from this evening.

Here in this somewhat normal town, he can see you having a life together. One night, and he’d like to have a life with you or whatever you’re willing to give him. He’s spent so many years suffering in his grief and wasting away his days that maybe it’s time for him to actually live. Ellie’s here and safe, and now you’ve come into the picture, and he doesn’t want to keep living the way he has been.

He’s feeling so fucking good, caught up in how you’ve bewitched him, his strokes getting faster, the knot in his belly winding tighter and tighter—it hits him suddenly—the point of no return, his balls tightening up, and it’s too late to pull out, he’s too far gone. His cock is pushed in all the way to the hilt when the coil snaps, coming with a guttural groan that reverberates in his chest, spurts and spurts of his spend gushing deep inside you, Joel feeling like he’s filling you to the brim.

Pleasure is thrumming in his veins, his heart pounding, collapsing on top of you with his face nestled in the crook of your neck, panting breaths and comforted by your scent—your fingers are moving in his hair, and he’s on cloud nine.

The thing that surprises him is he’s not panicking. At minimum, he expected dread, yet there’s nothing but warmth and happy contentment.

When was the last time he felt this blissed out?

He can’t even fucking remember—he hasn’t felt this relaxed in probably over twenty years.

You say something, but he’s so out of it he doesn’t make out the words.

He hums in question, putting all of his energy into listening.

“I said I’m keeping you.”

Joel snorts.

“Good,” he murmurs. “I’m keepin’ you, too. Fuckin’ milked me dry.”

“Was that okay?” you ask, and he can hear your worry, lifting his head to look you in the eyes.

“I’m well aware of what could happen—are you okay with that?”

There’s a small smile on your lips. “Yeah, I am.”

“Then everything’s okay.” He kisses you tenderly.

After a minute, you pull back. “You’re gonna stay the night, right? Like, we can do… more?”

He smiles. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, and I’m assumin’ you have it off?”

“I do.”

“So do I, and I’d love to stay tonight and the next if you’ll have me.”

Your mouth is turned up in that gorgeous smile, him loving your fingers pushing his hair away from his face. “You can stay forever, Joel.”

And there isn’t anywhere else he’d rather be.

2 years later…

It’s a warmer night, with it being the beginning of summer. The stars shine brightly in the sky high above as Joel and you stroll hand in hand down the street back to his house.

“Thank you for dancing with me,” you tell him, turning your head to look at him, the moon offering some light.

He meets your eyes. “Anytime, Tiny Dancer—it was better than me fightin’ that fucker who wouldn’t leave you alone.”

The bar had been packed tonight, with a lot more people dancing and one guy, who you assumed was new to town, that wouldn’t stop bothering you, which led to Joel getting up from his corner table and staring daggers at the other man as he pulled you into his arms and danced with you.

“It was better, and I enjoyed it very much.”

He smiles. “I know you did, baby,” he replies, kissing your hair.

Arriving at the house, Joel opens the front door for you, walking in first, hearing sounds in the living room, and heading that way.

“...Oh no!” Ellie exclaims dramatically. “They’re gonna get you—better use the jump drive!” As you walk into the room, she makes rocket noises, finding her lying on her back in the middle of the floor, holding up a laughing one-year-old, pretending the baby is flying. “Oh, yuck, you got drool in my mouth, Ollie.” She lowers the baby down on her chest to wipe at her mouth, Joel standing beside you, his arm going around your waist, both of you smiling. Her head tilts up, realizing you’re standing there. “Hey!” she greets. “Wait, fuck, how late is it?”

“Late enough that Olivia should be asleep,” you answer.

Olivia Sarah Miller was a year and three months old and looked so much like her dad that, aside from her complexion, it was a wonder if she’d gotten any of your genes.

“Fuck.” Ellie sits up with one arm, the other holding the baby. “I can explain—you know she has that tooth coming in, and she wouldn’t stop crying when I tried to put her in bed, so I brought her down here so she could chew on a cold carrot like you told me to do when she’s teething. While she was doing that, I was reading her that issue of Savage Starlight Joel found me, and then you know, she wanted to be Dr. Daniela Star and travel faster than light.”

“Uh huh,” Joel says. “Olive wanted to be the Doctor?”

“She did,” Ellie confirms.

“Your baby sister, who can barely talk, told you that?” he asks.

“I’ve learned to translate her babbles, and it was clear she said—” Ellie uses her free hand to make the baby’s bottom lip move to look like she’s talking. “—‘Ellie, I wanna fly.’”

“You’re a fuckin’ liar.”

Olivia yawns, her eyes starting to close on their own.

Ellie grins, speaking quietly, “Yeah, but I tired her out, so you’re fuckin’ welcome.”

Joel sighs, walking over to her, the baby looking up at her dad and holding up her little chubby arms, saying in a tired voice, “Dadadadadada.”

“Yes, baby girl,” he answers fondly. “Daddy’s home.” He groans as he bends down to pick her up, the baby shoving her face in his neck, putting one of her hands on his chin. “Thank you for watchin’ her, Ellie,” he says. “A great job, as always. You stayin’ the night here or goin’ over to Cat’s?”

“Heading to Cat’s, but I’ll meet you guys for breakfast in the morning,” she replies, getting up from the floor.

“We’ll see you then, kiddo.”

“Thanks again, Ellie,” you tell her, smiling. “You’re your sister’s favorite babysitter.”

“Fuck yeah, I am!” she replies in whispered exclamation, walking closer to you. “Hopefully, I’ll be the next one’s favorite, too. How’s my brother doing?”

You snort. “Such high hopes it’s a boy when you know Joel is a girl dad—give me your hand.” She holds it out to you, and you press it to your large swollen belly. “Feel them kicking?”

Her eyes are round in wonder, staring at your stomach. “Strong fuckin’ kicks,” she says. “I definitely think it’s a boy.”

“Well, less than two months, and we’ll know.”

“Yeah, soon I’ll be proven right. Night guys!”

“Goodnight,” you both reply, watching as she heads out of the living room, hearing the front door open and close.

Olivia is passed out in Joel’s arms, him turning his head to kiss her forehead, his big hand rubbing up and down her back.

“Let’s go put her down,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he answers just as quietly. “I believe I made a promise to my wife I’d eat her out for an hour.”

“Pretty sure it was two hours, and you did, my sweet husband.” Reaching up to stroke his cheek.

“I love you,” he says with big eyes full of devotion, his head moving to kiss your palm.

“I love you, too.”

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