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peterparkersnose · 9 months

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Hairspray

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: pregnancy, before the outbreak, established relationship with joel, sarah is a little snitch, denial, age gap (not really specified), descriptions of childbirth, money insecurity, 2003 references

a/n this was too good to give up. lets pretend that the outbreak never happened and the miller’s got to live happily ever after :)

summary Sarah finds Y/N’s hidden pregnancy tests

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read time: 6 mins 14 seconds

The phone was new. Joel had installed it a few weeks ago. No more cord! Your opposite hand felt awkward not having something to fidget with while your sister told you the horror stories of her giving birth. Something Mandy had brought up numerous times after confiding in her that you were pregnant.

It was your first; you were in your mid-20s. War was happening overseas, the world seemed to be going to shit. What a perfect time to bring a child into the world, huh? Your husband would be ecstatic, you just knew it. But the mere thought of something growing inside of you made you sick. “And then the feet came out instead! Ripped me open like-” You jumped a little. Facing the front door, you didn’t hear your husband come in from the back. His hands wrapped around your stomach as your shoulders pressed against his chest as your sister went on about telling you how her third kid cost her sixteen stitches.

A sharp gasp came from your mouth. “Are you alright? Is it the baby?” your sister yelled from the phone. Panicked, you quickly said your goodbyes to your older sister, assuring her everything was alright. You decided to give in to the kisses Joel was placing on your neck.

“What was she going on about now? Babies? Please tell me she’s not having another one.” Joel groaned. “Nope. Nine was enough for her,” you sarcastically answered. Four nieces and five nephews were enough for you to handle. Sarah enjoyed having kids her age to play with, but Uncle Joel was getting a bit too old for the rough play the younger ones enjoyed.

“What time is it?” you asked him, grabbing at his wrist. His hands were placed on your stomach almost like he knew. His watch read a little before three. “Sarah?” you asked him, swaying with him slowly. “Tommy’s coming over and we’re going to go work on a job,” he sighed.

“Again? Joel-”

“I’m sorry, It’s a quick one. Just a little steel door frame and I’ll be home late for dinner. I promise,” he said, kissing you on the cheek. You would need more cash once the baby came.

“I’ll go get her.” you sighed, but not in an angry way. You loved your stepdaughter more than anything in the world. You have known her since she was a small girl and have gotten along with her since the day you met her. She is going to be the best big sister.

Joel handed you the truck keys. Tommy’s car beeped in the driveway. “Give Tommy my love,” you called to Joel as you heard the screen door shut. --- A mainstream pop song quietly played in the truck as you waited in line at Sarah’s middle school. Parents were eager to leave and the San Antonio traffic was bound to be crazy on a Friday afternoon. You spotted your curly-haired stepdaughter as she left the school doors with some friends. You recognized a few from the sleepover she had last week. “Do you have any hairspray?” she asked, throwing her backpack in the back seat. “Yes?”

“Perfect.” Sarah responded. “May I ask why?” “Tiffany and Ashley gave me the recipe for a new oobleck!”

Sarah excitedly waved a loose-leaf piece of paper with a sparky pink gel pen scribbled all over the paper in her stepmom's face. “Hairspray is the main ingredient,” she explained, going over all the ingredients she needed. You smiled to yourself, carefully exiting the middle school parking lot as Sarah rambled about her day.

Sarah burst into the house, setting her backpack down and heading straight towards the kitchen. “Do we have any… flour?” she asked, reading off her list. “Red jar, babes.” you stated the obvious. The flour had been in there for years. “And the hairspray?” She asked. You sat down on the couch, fatigued by what you assumed was your pregnancy. Rubbing your temples, you replied, “Under my sink.”

Sarah burst into the bathroom, whipping open the cabinet door under your sink. In her excitement, the jolting movement of the door opening vaulted the zip-loc bag of pregnancy tests you had taped to the top of the cabinet out on the floor. Confused at first, she held up one of the blue sticks. Then she got it. “Y/N?” she yelled from the bathroom. Sarah was old enough to know what these were, and what two lines meant. Once she realized she was holding a stick of what you peed on, she threw it back in the pile of the rest of them sprawled out on the floor.

Sighing, you kicked your feet back on the ground. You had just gotten comfortable when Sarah called for you.

“Hm?” you asked, causally walking into your bedroom. Your tired state seemed to do a complete 180 when you saw Sarah on the ground with your tests. You froze, unsure of what to say to her. Rapidly blinking your eyes a few times to stop tears, you realized that there was no going back from this. Without a single word spoken you crouched down, collected the pregnancy test strips, and put them back in the bag. Seeing the loose pieces of tape, you used them to adhere the bag back where it was. You handed Sarah the red printed bottle of your hairspray.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked cautiously, sitting at the edge of the bathtub. “A-are they yours?” she anxiously asked. A small laugh came from you. “Yes,” you smiled. “I’m going to be a sister?” she asked you. You shook your head yes.

“Does Dad know?”

The world seemed to blur a bit when she asked that. You could feel your heartbeat increase at the thought. “No. Not yet.” “What!” Sarah gasped. “How long have you known?” “About three weeks.” “Three weeks!” Sarah yelled, throwing her hands in the air. “It’s difficult to… come to terms sometimes,” you said, trying to come up with the best way to explain this to Sarah. “You have to tell him. Tonight!” Sarah exclaimed.

You hated to admit that she was right.

“I don’t know Sarah, he’s out on a job with your Uncle and…” “I will call him. Try me.”

You looked at her, unsure of her new aggressive demeanor. She was always a natural leader. “Sarah, this is serious.”

“I know.” she said simply, exiting the bathroom. You followed her, watching her like a hawk for the rest of the night. And the rest of the night consisted of you making dinner, ravioli. Sarah was in the kitchen and made her ooblek and when that was done she finished her homework.

You sighed when the clock rang eight. He was more than late for supper. Sarah was asleep in your lap, the mindless cartoons played on. You watched them, trying to calm your anxious mind.

You heard Tommy’s truck pull into the driveway and saw its headlights as he left the driveway. Sarah stirred a bit, but a simple smoothing of her hair soothed her back to sleep. Joel quietly made his way into the house, only noticing the two of you when he locked the door.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. You shrugged. Joel sat down next to you. “How is she? Is her homework done?”

“Yup.” you said coldly. “Look Y/N, I’m sorry I was late but the hardware store was out of the screws we needed and Tommy’s car was having an issue so we had to stop and get some-”

You couldn’t listen to Joel’s rambling any longer. You frankly didn’t care about some damn screws. It had to be done, and it had to be done now. Sarah was right, he deserved to know.

“I’m pregnant.”

Joel’s ramblings ended. A moment of silence lasted between the two of you. “Really?” he asked, a tiny awkward squeak coming from his voice at the end. “Mhm. Sarah found the tests. Under the sink, taped to the top of the cabinet if you want to see for yourself.”

Joel sat. “Huh,” he said, getting up from the couch and heading into the shared bathroom you guys had. He came back a moment later, his face was white as a sheet of paper.

“Can we financially do this?” you whispered, knowing Sarah was well faking her sleep and listening. Joel shrugged, plopping back down next to you. He knew this was a big issue and it would have to be discussed later. They were doing well, but Joel knew firsthand a baby on a small income was expensive. “I’m happy, if you couldn’t tell.” he said, a little bit of hope rang in his tone. “I could. My reaction was the same.” you assured him. You rested your head on his shoulder. “Everything will be okay.” he said, entwining his fingers with yours. “How long have you known?”

You seethed. “Don’t kill me.” “Maybe,” he said flirtatiously. You loved when he still flirted with you, even though you had been together forever and you were his wife. “Three weeks.”

He sighed audibly. “How far along are you?” “Don’t kill me.” you reiterated. “I have no clue. I haven't even been to a doctor yet, Mandy’s horror stories are traumatizing enough.”

“We’re making an appointment first thing tomorrow,” he assured you. You shook your head in agreement.

“Does she know?” he whispered, looking down at his daughter. He was so excited to be able to give Sarah a sibling. His bond with Tommy was unmatchable. Even though there would be a significant age gap between them, he still loved his little brother like no other. Even if they were six years apart, they were close. “She’s the one who found the tests.” you quietly chuckled, reminding Joel of what you said earlier. “She was threatening to call you at work and ‘expose me’,” you told Joel. He rolled his eyes. “Jeez, that damn kid.” he smiled, giving Sarah’s fluffy hair a pat just like you did moments before. He brought his hand back to yours and moved the back of your hand up to his lips and kissed it. “I love you,”

“I love you too,”

“And our little family.” you added. “Yes, and our little family.” Joel confirmed.

(if this story was spaced weirdly, apologies)- tag list

@dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @mandoloriancookie @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @avengersfan25 @nyotamalfoy @milly-louise @mxtokko @undeniableadrenaline @evyiione @qualitypudding @jmillerswife @kittenlittle24

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR FOURTEEN

in which eddie finally offers you an honesty hour. which is great, until you learn you've bit off more than you're capable of chewing. (oh, and we find out more of what happened at steve's infamous party)

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 5k+

→ a/n: there is still one more bit of the memory left for steve's party!! i broke it into three bits because otherwise it would be too long as one giant clump lol. sorry this is being posted so late... but hey! it's here! see y'all again thursday lol thank you to everyone for continuing to be so kind about this story and show it so much love

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◁ previous part, next part▷

14:00 ────────ㅇ─────── 24:00

SIX MONTHS EARLIER

It’s Eddie. You only know because when Nancy opens the door, she greets him loudly, letting her drunken squeal echo down the hallway and into the kitchen.

“Munson! Finally!” her voice carries, and you fight the urge to try and move to peek through the doorway to see him, “Took you long enough!”

Eddie's voice is too quiet for you to hear his reply. He’s not drunk, not fueled by reckless decisions and overflowing affections like most of the other friends were already.

There’s a terrible twisting in your gut at his arrival, and you know it shows across your face when Robin looks at you apologetically. As if for a moment, they had forgotten they way you and Eddie avoided each other. As if for a moment, they had all pretended that the entire group could convene and it could be easy, and that was on them instead of you or Eddie. But it wasn’t on them. That blame could never fall on them.

It was on Eddie, you decided. He was the one who more ardently avoided you rather than vice versa. He was the one with a sharper tongue between the two of you, always snappy, always irritated with you. It was on Eddie. It should be on Eddie.

Except, you still felt bad about the Chrissy ordeal. He may have acted as if he disliked you for no reason before, but now he was hating you with reason. You can’t blame him; you’d do the same thing. If he ruined a date like that, stomped all over possible potential and threw it away without even considering your feelings involved, you’d be out for blood.

You sort of needed to apologize, and needed to apologize soon.

“Eddie, my man!” Argyle calls out from the couch. It captures your attention just in time to look over and watch as Eddie enters the room, his back facing you, his shoulders slack beneath his leather jacket.

He’s relaxed. You’re immediately sure that he doesn’t know you’re here yet.

“Hey, man,” he greets with a gravelly voice, an edge of fatigue to it you’re familiar with. It’s the kind of tiredness that follows long weeks, as you two had spoken about that first night. For a second, you wonder if he’s still having those. And if he is, how often they happen, if he ever comes home from them and thinks about that night, if he has anyone to call when it’s late and they haunt him.

You know you don’t. Neither Steve nor Robin are ever awake that late, or at least don’t answer the phone at that time of day, and you don’t feel close enough with the rest of the group to burden them like that.

There had been a time where you would wonder if Eddie could have become that person, if the type of conversation you two had at the bar the first night could ever translate over phone lines. But that time had been early on, and was long dead. It laid in an unmarked grave with all your other ponderings of what a friendship with Eddie might look like.

“We can keep you two apart,” Robin whispers, or at least tries to whisper. She’s loud, “He said he had work and wouldn’t make it. We… We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.”

Oh.

Oh, what a knock to your pride. Robin means nothing harmful of the words, they should be neutral and just an explanation offered to you. But your mind takes them in its grasp and runs, runs, runs.

“We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.”

You’re the backup plan. You see it now, and it sucks, but you press your lips into a cellophane smile that Robin can’t see through in her flurry to distract you with an offering of you two plus Steve having another round of drinks. You decide to take a straight shot of the nearest bottle of vodka, swallowing it down to drown your already sinking heart. You fake laugh when Steve tells bad jokes, you make up lies about your dates of the last few weeks, deciding you no longer care if you add in more details to look less pathetic.

You’re the backup plan. So you’re sure they won’t notice when you spin a new version of yourself.

This version of you that spews from your lips has gotten lucky more times in the last month than you have in the last year. This version of you is always the one having the last say in conversations, the one leaving men on read rather than the tables being flipped as they were in reality.

Robin says nothing, even when she notices some of the things you say not aligning with what you’d told her earlier that week. She only side-eyes you as Steve drinks in every detail, only disrupting to suggest another shot.

At some point, she gets too drunk to side-eye you.

“Fuck,” Steve sighs, throwing his head back as he glances out to his living room, where Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, and Eddie have taken to sitting in an oblong circle around on his and Robin’s furniture, “I need some fresh air. Anyone else?”

“Me,” Robin responds so quickly, you would have made fun of her if you didn’t notice the sickly shade of green creeping up on her.

Steve looks at you, raising an eyebrow, but you only shake your head. It makes the room threaten to spin. Maybe, just maybe, you should have slowed your roll with the vodka shots. Maybe.

“I’ll stay in here, hold down the fort,” you promise, letting your eyes fall shut before you inhale deeply through your nose, exhaling softly through parted lips.

No way. You hadn’t drunk nearly enough tonight to excuse getting sick as Robin was seemingly about to.

Robin and Steve leave you be as you compose yourself. You think you hear them extend the offer to everyone in the living room, but you can’t make out who agrees to go and who stays. But as you listen to all the footsteps making their way out the front door, Steve calling out that they’d be back soon, you start to become convinced you’ll open your eyes to an empty apartment.

You open them to an empty kitchen. So far, so good.

But then a voice clears their throat from the living room, just as you pull your phone out of your pocket. You open it to find the cursed dating app still open, your messages with the bartender still staring you back in your face. The bartender you thought you’d hit it off with. The bartender that had stood you up the night before.

Fuck him, you think bitterly as you turn to find Eddie entering the kitchen. Because of course, given your luck, Eddie was the only one who stayed back.

“Those apps fucking suck,” Eddie notes, using the neck of his beer bottle to gesture in the general direction of your phone.

You look between him and the lit up screen for a moment, finding half the mind to click out of the private messages, “You’ve used them in the past?”

“Nope.”

You wait for a second, giving him the chance to elaborate. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, he’s Eddie. If he explained himself to you, that would just be too easy.

“Okay,” you sigh, squinting at the page and past the vodka, trying to fumble your way back onto the screen that would show you eligible bachelors in your area, letting you swipe and judge them by solely looks as if they weren’t actual people on the other side of the phone. As if they weren’t more than a reservoir of attention at your fingertips.

Maybe that had been your mistake with the bartender – you let him become a real person to you.

“Why are you even still on them? I heard you’ve been having a shit time with the guys on there – quite the opposite of what you’ve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.”

It’s something in the way he says it. One moment, you’re looking down, ignoring him. The next, you can’t help but lift your head in shock. The words all felt sharpened and poised for a kill, ready for an attack you hadn’t expected so early on in the night.

“I-” you don’t know how to defend yourself. You don’t know whether to stick by the lies you’ve told tonight, or to be concerned with who was telling Eddie about your love life, “You win some, you lose some. It’s the nature of the app.”

Eddie grins and leans on a counter across from you, “You haven’t made it sound like you’re losing at all tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’. Quite the body count you’ve got there, player.”

You’re drunk. You tell yourself that’s why you take his words straight to heart – you’re drunk, and therefore, you’re sensitive.

“You’re bluffing,” you snap, “You couldn’t hear me from all the way over there.”

“We could.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, we could.”

“You’re lying,” you spit finally, crossing your arms defensively. Your emotions were rising too high, too quickly, and you blame the vodka. You blame the vodka and you blame the drink Steve had made you. You blame the bartender who stood you up. And most importantly, you blame Eddie.

“I’m lying? You’re the one who’s been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,” Eddie narrows his eyes at you, as if he expects you to shrink in cowardice when he stands up straight and takes several steps across the kitchen to be closer to you, “Why do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? It’s not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act you’re putting up. Everyone strikes ou-”

“I’m pathetic?” you scoff and interrupt him, not even paying any attention to where he was going. The tips of your ears are starting to flame with a red tinge, “Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where I’d be and told them you had to walk your neighbor’s dog.”

“I did!”

“Your apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.”

He freezes up entirely, grin faltering before your eyes, “How do you know that?”

“I didn’t, but Nancy did,” you roll your eyes at the cracks in his composure, “It’s all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you go out with my friends,” Eddie grumbles, reserving himself back to his side of the kitchen. If someone came in and squinted closely, they’d find that imaginary boundary between the two of you, an invisible line that would not be crossed. Not here, not tonight. You wouldn’t touch Eddie Munson with a twelve-foot pole if you could help it.

“And it’s not my fault that you don’t.”

You can see his agitation spreading like wildfire across his face, in the tick of his jaw and the twitch of his eyes. You can practically see the words that linger on his tongue as he bites down on it – it is your fault.

“Whatever. Why are you lying to Steve?” his voice goes monotonous as he crosses his arms, and the muscles strain against his shirt. His leather jacket has long been discarded, probably thrown over the back of the couch or a chair in the living room.

You mirror him, crossing your arms, letting the screen of your phone press into your side, “I’m not lying.”

“You are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment,” his eyebrows furrow and you consider the consequences of chucking your phone at him.

Your irritation, your own agitation, is all bubbling beneath your skin. If it wasn’t for the vodka mingling with it, you would have been squirming from the discomfort. Usually, he doesn’t get to you. Normally, his off-handed comments come with a sting that can quickly fade.

None of the jabs are fading tonight. They only seem to linger. Because he’s right, and you hate that he’s right.

“How the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going?” you uncross your arms, waving your hands wildly into the empty air between you and Eddie, “We aren’t exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?”

Eddie swallows hard, and you can watch the words wash over him, but you’re unsure of which of your drunken slurs specifically got to him. You weren’t wrong in any of your statements, you weren’t outlandish in either of your guesses. But your words have frozen him up all the same and you aren’t sure why.

“You’re right,” when he physically melts, the deathly chill remains in his voice, “We aren’t friends. But Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where I’m going with that one?”

It’s in the way he says it, confirms it.

We aren’t friends.

He hisses it out as if it were a painful reminder, as if saying those words burn him eternally. He says them as if they are capable of sending ice through his veins and bones alike.

You know why he froze now, and it’s too late.

“Well-” you pause, unsure of how exactly to respond. You’ll be having a talk with Robin, surely. But technically, Nancy was your friend, right? Surely, she was allowed to know the drama of your love life, wasn’t she? “You say that as if Nancy and I aren't friends.”

“Are you?” he tilts his head tauntingly, as if he knows something you don’t.

“We… are.”

He catches the hesitation; he runs with it. He finds the handle of the knife you’d tried to keep so hidden, and he twists as hard as he can.

“Would Nancy agree if we asked her?” he hums, as if he were seriously contemplating this, as if it were a mediocre debate rather than a question of if you had friends or not, “Do you even have her on Instagram?”

“You, her supposed best friend, don’t have her on Instagram.”

“Because I don’t have Instagram, full stop.”

“Instagram isn’t the normal gauge of friendship,” you defend yourself, “Some people can have thousands of followers and no friends.”

You don’t have Nancy on Instagram. You don’t follow her, she doesn’t follow you. The most she’s acknowledged your presence on the app was tagging you in a photo on a night out once.

“It’s not about follower count,” Eddie shrugs, “It’s about mutual followings. That’s how Hollywood dictates whether celebrity couples are still together these days, yeah? If they follow each other. If you’re friends, you’d follow each other.”

The vodka makes you bold. Bold enough to mutter out, “Oh, fuck you,” in response to Eddie’s prodding.

“Wait, I-” you watch an unfamiliar emotion pass over Eddie’s face, something kin to regret. But his words are already out in the air, he’s already twisted the knife in your gut fully. He’s already spilled your blood in the middle of Steve’s kitchen, with no one around to witness it. He did it for himself – he did it for his own pleasure, his own enjoyment.

He enjoys hurting you.

“Save it,” you mutter, slowly deflating as you turn your back to him, facing the counter to grab your drink to nurse your wounds.

If you looked close enough in the corner of the room, you would have seen the shovel you should have used to bury away your hope of a friendship with Eddie. You should have piled the dirt over the casket, should have put 6 feet of soil and earth and worms between you and that fruitless yearning.

But you didn’t. He hadn’t taken it quite far enough yet.

Yet.

But then he had to cross that invisible barrier. He just had to walk across the kitchen, come up behind you, and not mind his own business. He just had to look over your shoulder just as you opened the bartender’s profile again, if for nothing else than to further hurt yourself for the night.

You were so caught up in your own disappointment, you never saw the flash of recognition that crossed Eddie’s face. Only the anger that followed.

—

HOUR FOURTEEN - 5:00 AM

You don’t bother with putting pants back on, only Eddie’s sweatshirt. At this point, pants were just beginning to feel like a nuisance when it came to the two of you. A nicetie, as one might put it.

What were the points of niceties with him if he could never hate you?

You have the entire five minutes he spends in the bathroom to try and compose yourself. To try and desperately ruminate through these feelings and detach them from everything that was transpiring. The emotions didn’t belong here, there weren’t twists of guilt and sorrow of loss involved for Eddie when he was fucking you.

So why is that all you could feel right now?

He could never hate you, but he had spent the last year doing exactly that, hadn’t he?

“Hey,” he reappears in the entryway of the kitchen with the worst possible timing, right in the eye of the storm that had begun to cloud over your mind. He holds up a pack of cigarettes you can only assume he’d snagged from his room, “I’m, uh- I was gonna grab a smoke out on the balcony. Join me?”

There’s something of desperation in the way he asks you. All the words are casual, but his tone is an undermining plea; please say yes, please join me, please let me in. He knows something’s wrong, and he’s not just turning a blind eye and ignoring it this time.

You stare at the pack of Marlboro Reds for a few seconds before shrugging, “Sure.”

It’s certainly not as enthusiastic as you’re sure he was hoping for, but he smiles at the small victory nonetheless.

The first thing you notice about his balcony, aside from the clustered furniture, is the view. You’ve never thought your city to be very charming, always looking at it from a pedestrian’s view or through the lens of a tired, crabby college student embarking on another late night. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d step foot on a higher floor of a building like Eddie’s, one just tall enough to see over the rooftops of most of the mundane buildings, one that could peer right over the skyline and show a new dawn breaking. It’s a flourish of pink, orange, and violet, each shade stealing away another breath. The sun is just barely yawning over the horizon, just finally awakening.

God, you’re going to regret not actually sleeping during this time.

“What’s got you scowling?” Eddie mumbles the question out around a cigarette, pausing with his lighter in midair.

You turn your head, and- just like that, all the anger and confusion melts away. He’s painted in the same shades of the sunrise, in a golden light that almost seems to be emitted from him rather than the waking sun. He is all soft edges and tired eye bags, a stubble that you can imagine the itch of against your palm if you were to reach out a hand to hold his face. If you were to kiss him right now, you fear he might dissolve all over your tongue, leaving nothing but his sweetness behind to remind you it was all real.

It’s real. Even if it doesn’t make sense with what you guys projected before tonight, even if it doesn’t align with how your lives will continue on, tonight was real. You were here, he was here, and what happened…. Simply happened.

I could never hate you.

You get it now. Because in this lighting, with a soft breeze tugging your hair and mind alike, you know you feel the same way about him. And you know it contradicts all you have shown him in the past.

You could never hate him. He could never hate you. It’s unfortunate that that’s what you’d been calling it before tonight – hate.

“It’s going to really suck,” you breathe out half a sentence. Two endings before you: letting this night go or, “Not sleeping for a full twenty four hours.”

You don’t know how he does it, how he looks at you like he knows you had something else to say. But he gives you those eyes, and they almost elicit the truth from you.

Almost.

He throws his head back in laughter, and the pinks and purples and all the fights wasted are now trailing down his neck, “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

He’s much better at pretending than you are. You know that now.

“Seriously,” you turn and walk to the railing, crossing your arms against the metal grate before he joins you at your side, “I’ll probably ditch my classes on Monday. I’ll have to sleep twenty four hours straight to even the score.”

“God, I wish I could fuck off for Monday,” Eddie groans. He’s throwing his head back again, and you can’t help but wish you could replace the golden rays with your lips. You wish your warmth could sink beneath his skin like the sun’s does.

“You can’t?” your voice cracks with the question as he finally lights the cigarette between his lips.

He takes a long drag, shaking his head with the exhale of smoke, “Nope. I work Mondays at the shop.”

“The shop?”

“Myo’s,” the way his lips curl around the filter of his cigarette as he fights his grin burns a hole in the middle of your chest. Burning and erupting, yearning and longing, ignored and buried, “The auto shop on Main street.”

You know by the way he looks at you that the name should ring a bell, but considering you don’t own a car, you don’t have the slightest clue what his job is, “Oh, so you’re a mechanic?”

“I- Yeah,” he nods slowly, “Yeah, I’m a mechanic,” he pauses and you can see that he has more to say, it just takes him a moment. He looks off the balcony, shifts his weight between his two feet, takes another drag of nicotine. When he finally gathers his thoughts, you’re patient and waiting, biting back a small smile the moment he whips his face towards you, “Have we seriously never talked about that before? I swear I’ve told you I’m a mechanic.”

“Nope, seriously. Never.”

“There’s no fuckin’ way.”

“There absolutely is a way,” you laugh, letting your head fall backwards and not catching the way his gaze falls on you. The sunrise paints you in just as beautiful of a lighting as it had him. If someone asked you, you’d say that you doubt he noticed, but he did. He noticed. He always noticed, “Usually, by now, we’d be at each other’s throats.”

“We sort of were,” he shrugs, eyes still glued to how your collarbone peaks out from beneath his sweatshirt, “Surprised we didn’t leave more hickies.”

The topic you’d been avoiding. The topic he seemed indifferent about.

I could never hate you.

You decide to put his words to the test.

“Are we going to talk about it?” you ask, looking down now and picking at flakes along the metal railing, still not noticing him noticing you, “About…. what we just did?”

“Are you always this straight to the point?” he chuckles nervously. In your peripherals, you catch the way he leans and mirrors you, side by side on the railing. His light cigarette hung loosely between indifferent fingers. Indifference, indifference, indifference.

If you’d just look at him, you’d see anything but indifference written across his face.

“Only when it matters,” you reply, breathing in his secondhand smoke, “Only when it’s important.”

His pinky is within reach of yours once more, just like at the parking garage. Even after feeling the entire expanse of his bare skin against yours, you still crave more – you crave for the intimacy that comes from hooking pinkies as grown adults, from knuckles curling into each other like hinges of a door of possibility.

You don’t see the way he swallows hard, or how he nods subtly to himself before he says, “Alright. Let’s talk about it.”

Those words make you look at him quickly, taken back and not expecting for him to give so easily. If you had noticed him noticing you, it would have been the expected reaction; if you’d seen the way his eyes traced over the pink and orange shadows of your features, you’d know he can’t really say no to you. Not anymore.

“Yeah?” you only ask for the confirmation because you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He won’t let it. He holds it tightly, just nodding, “Yeah. I… You deserve my honesty.”

You deserve my honesty.

I could never hate you.

“I’m starting to get a bad feeling of deja vu, Eddie. We don’t have to do honesty if you don’t want to-”

“Ask me anything. Right here, right now. I’ll answer with the full truth.”

You flashback to hours before, when he’d offered his honesty this willingly and you’d only thrown it back in his face. But right now isn’t that moment, the two of you aren’t in the heat of an argument, there isn’t an impending doom on the horizon and the weight of the night no longer rests on either of your shoulders.

You don’t care as much about why he hates you now, or what he meant by never hating you to begin with. You don’t care much about the porn magazines and you don’t care what changed that first night.

They’re all petty details that have had too long to gather dust.

You do care about his job, you do care to know why he chose to fix cars. You do care about if he still takes night classes, and if yes, which ones. You care to know his favorite color and you care to know how he takes his coffee in the morning. Maybe you even care to know if he has a favorite coffee shop.

You care to know all the new petty details you’d never uncovered about him. Miniscule bits and pieces of him you crave to hold in your hands, if only just for tonight- or today, at this point.

But you need a baseline question. Something that won’t throw him off, but really doesn’t twist around your heart as severely as the others. Something that does neither damage nor nurture to the vines and blooms still occupying your chest.

You suddenly remember a small detail that had been revealed to you by a third party tonight, “Okay, um, well…” you ponder on phrasing, and Eddie edges ever so closer to you, “At that bar we went to tonight, the bartender – Frank – mentioned how you’d been going there for about six months.”

Eddie pales, but he nods nonetheless. Maybe the question is more loaded than you’d anticipated.

“I guess... I…” you continue to stumble over your words and it only leaves Eddie more time to panic, “I’m just curious why you started going? Yeah, yeah. That’s… that’s my question,” you tilt your chin up, try to be seem more confident in your question.

Even in his panic and sudden blanching, Eddie looks ready to laugh at you as his eyebrows scrunch. Somewhere between the wrinkles, you swear you could find something like affection, “That’s your question? Why did I start going to a bar that’s conveniently close to my apartment?”

Maybe it is a good baseline question. Maybe he was just nervous from the other possible questions you could have asked about your time spent together at the bar.

“That’s my question,” you confirm.

The color isn’t returning to Eddie. His hand shakes when he brings his cigarette to his lips. His breath is evidently shaky on the exhale as the smoke puffs out unevenly.

It’s not a good baseline question.

“I…” he won’t meet your gaze, and all your gut can do is twist, twist, twist in anticipation, “I got kicked out of my last bar I was a regular at.”

“Got kicked out? Why?”

It’s ripping the bandaid off the wound of honesty, and neither of you even realize it. Neither of you notice the blood of your history catching up to you.

Eddie sighs and rolls his shoulders before looking at you, “I got into a fight.”

Your twisted gut stills. A fight? Why is he freaking out so evidently over a fight? Does he think you’ll judge him that harshly?

“A fight?” you echo your thoughts with a soft laugh into the morning air, “You… Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing? Jesus, did you go to jail that night? That would suck, but… Eddie, I won’t judg-”

“I didn’t go to jail,” he interrupts, “I mean, they should have called the cops on me, but they didn’t. They gave me a second option of leaving immediately, and being banned for life, effective the moment I stepped out of the building that night. I took the ban.”

“Well,” you relax your shoulders, looking over at the rising sun, “That’s nice of them, I guess, right? I’m sure whatever mean drunk swung their fist at you deserved to get their ass handed to them-”

Eddie interrupts you with a soft utterance of your name, making you look back to his hues of gold instead of the sky’s, “I swung first.”

Oh. Maybe that’s why he still looks so wrecked with nerves. Maybe he thinks that’s the piece you’ll judge him on – it has to be the reason you can see sweat gathering along his eyebrow, just beneath his bangs. “Then I’m sure whoever it was deserved it? I-”

“He did,” he interrupts one final time. You’re about to finally snap at you, telling him to just let you speak, to just accept that you weren’t going to judge him over some bar brawl, when he drops the final bomb of an answer. Here is the honesty, you both realize at the same time, as his words slice through you, “It was about you. I got banned because of you.”

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

#twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #gotta blast off to the gym now lol

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kumimi3 · 5 months

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❪ LOOKISM BOYS<33 ❫ ❮ little sweetheart (child!reader) ⟡ ↳ platonic!Harem (workers version)

- Who knew a young child is involved in such a criminal association such as the workers? Who knew the young sweetheart has captured many of the workers hearts’ as well?

- Your presence was sudden, having been introduce by none other than Charles Choi, giving everyone a brief notice that you are welcomed by the elite CEO himself, that must mean something. You’re special.

- You play such big parts in the worker’s plans despite being young(around 13-14 yrs old), earning Eugene’s approval, praising you for your logical intelligence as he pats your head in soft caresses

- Yuseong, his younger twin, has taken a liking to you as well, offering to let you play with his toys whenever you visit the company--Which happens ever so often, but nobody complained, in fact, they preferred your presence over anything else

- It didn’t matter that you were childish, it was a part of growing after all, a reason why Eugene lets you run rampant inside his company like it’s a playground. Eugene creates rules for safety measure, but other then that, he gave you the privilege to do anything, even going as far as to enter the room when there’s a meeting.

- Samuel acts ever so stoic and dull on you, scolds and huffs at you like a tired father, yet he hopes you know that he only means well. He takes pleasure in being your bodyguard, pretending to act as if it’s nothing when he hears your arrival, yet he is always at the entrance, eager to meet your doe eyes as you open your arms to hug him, to which he complies

- He has taken you to rides before, often being assigned to take you to the private and luxurious school Charles Choi has transferred you in, but he didn’t mind it, even when he clicks his tongue in feigned annoyance, yet he still assists you, even going as far as to show off in his 100 million car. He has grown to like you alot, to the point he lets you play around in his cars

- “Oi! You scratched the new leather seats I got.” “I’m sorry Sir Samuel, I didn’t mean to!” “... It’s fine, just keep still next time, brat.” If it were someone else, they would’ve been 6 ft under.

- Neko gushed at your cuteness, ignorant of the fact that a young teen managed to enter the private area filled with blood and gore--She definitely hides you from the treacherous games, but yet she wanted you to stay.

Ryuhei Kuroda kept pinching your cheeks and teasing you for your height since the day you came, thinking of you as the child of him and Neko, such childish dreams, but he made it obvious all the time

“Yah, Neko~ Our baby Y/n is here!” “Want your papa to buy you a toy or something? Oh, right…. Yeah, I’m your papa!"

Now gun and goo, even with a child, they are still so careless

Goo screams your name from a mile away throughout the entire building, opening his arms wide as he runs towards you, holding you up in the air as he twirls the both of you around

Being given mission by Charles Choi, the infamous pair are always there by your side, protecting you from any harm as you complete your quests for the workers affiliates

Gun, as with his calm demeanor, it’s relaxing to be with him, receiving soft pats and short praises from him many times, not to mention his liking towards carrying you

Whenever you’re with him, he doesn’t waste no time to hold you with one arm and resumes to his schemes, he may be quiet but he’s really great with the littlest of details

You don’t like pickles on your burger? He’ll get rid of it before you can even see it. You gushed about a pair of toys 2 week ago? It’s inside your bedroom now. You only like a certain color in a pack of gummy bears? He’ll pick them himself so you wouldn’t have to <3

Goo is vocal with his wants, always whining that you should call him “Big brother/Oppa” instead of ‘sir’! Spends millions on you, from the headband on your head, to the custom made designer shoes you wear for school.

He’s a maniac, he’s a psycho, but he just couldn’t help but feel at ease with you, for once he’s not meeting new members just as a nutcase like him, you were a breath of fresh air for him

They all protect your innocence from the illegal work they do, they’ll protect you from being ruined, not matter what, you’re their little baby after all <3

Little do they know you’re just as deranged as them lol

#lookism #x reader #lookism hc #lookism webtoon #platonic!reader #ryuhei kuroda #samuel seo #eugene lookism #gun park #lookism joongoo #lookism fic #lookism imagines #lookism manhwa #goo kim #lookism x reader #lookism x y/n #lookism x you

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secretmellowblog · 4 days

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Les Mis Canon-era Paris Photographs: Jean Valjean and Cosette’s route to escape Javert, in Pictures!

Jean Valjean's escape through Paris is Victor Hugo's way of mourning the Paris he knew from before his exile, the Paris before the modern renovations.

Hugo wrote Les Mis from exile in Guernsey, at the same time as Paris was undergoing a series of massive renovations. The "Old City" of medieval Paris that Hugo loved was being replaced by the “New City" of Baron Haussman. The dark medieval labyrinth lit by oil lamps was being replaced by modern wide streets and standardized architecture lit by gas lamps. Victor Hugo is nostalgic for the Paris he remembers before his exile-- so Jean Valjean is able to escape Javert using things unique to the Old City. He escapes through a labyrinth of tiny medieval streets in a neighborhood Hugo claims was destroyed during the renovations; he climbs over the convent wall using the rope from an oil lamp, the very oil lamps that were being replaced by the more modern gas lanterns. The dark maze hides him from police surveillance in a way modern streets cannot.

A man named Charles Marville photographed Paris shortly before many (though not all) of the renovations occurred. In this post I'll go through all the different streets mentioned in the Valjean-Javert Paris chase chapters, and provide Marville's photographs whenever they the image has been labeled with the name of the street. Note that there may be some inaccuracies. Some street names changed over time.

Here is a map of what the chase looks like, taken from the book "Paris in the Times of Victor Hugo."

A quick overview: Jean Valjean starts in a slummy half-built suburban area. This area is highly associated with the King; the royal Jardin des Plantes is nearby, and King Louis XVIII often rides by in his carriage during the afternoons. After travelling down a bunch of streets, "zigzagging" back and forth, Jean Valjean decides to cross the Seine over the Bridge of Austerlitz (a bridge named after one of Napoleon's victories.) Then he reaches the areas of the city near the Faubourg Saint Antoine that are more associated with working class rebellion. From there he enters a dark isolated half-built medieval neighborhood near marshes and timberyards, with narrow mazey alleyways, that Hugo mostly made up. Hugo pretends this medieval neighborhood used to exist, but was destroyed like many others during the recent renovations. Now that we've gotten the overview out of the way, let's go more specific!

The chase starts out in "the old quarter of the Marche aux Chevaux." At the time, this was a less inhabited and poorer area of Paris; it's described as basically a slum. Here are some of Marville's photographs :

Then we're told "Jean Valjean described many and varied labyrinths in the Mouffetard quarter, which was already asleep, as though the discipline of the Middle Ages and the yoke of the curfew still existed. He combined in various manners, with cunning strategy, the Rue Censier:"

"and the Rue Copeau," (according to the map I linked earlier, the Rue Copeau is now the Rue Lacepede. Here is Marville's pic:)

"the Rue du Battoir-Saint-Victor and the Rue du Puits l’Ermite. There are lodging houses in this locality, but he did not even enter one, finding nothing which suited him. He had no doubt that if any one had chanced to be upon his track, they would have lost it."

"As eleven o’clock struck from Saint-Étienne-du-Mont:" (note: this refers to the church of Saint-Etienne)

"he was traversing the Rue de Pontoise, in front of the office of the commissary of police, situated at No. 14." (Jean Valjean sees Javert and the police following him on this street, because they're visible in the light of the lantern from the police station.)

"He took a circuit, turned into the Passage des Patriarches, which was closed on account of the hour,"

"strode along the Rue de l’Épée-de-Bois

and the Rue de l’Arbalète, and plunged into the Rue des Postes."

"At that time there was a square formed by the intersection of streets, where the College Rollin stands to-day, and where the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Geneviève turns off." (Note: these streets are labeled Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève, but not Neuve-Sainte-Geneviève, so they may be different streets! But I'm putting them here anyway.)

"It is understood, of course, that the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Geneviève is an old street, and that a posting-chaise does not pass through the Rue des Postes once in ten years. In the thirteenth century this Rue des Postes was inhabited by potters, and its real name is Rue des Pots." (Annotation: Hugo's bein silly and making little puns. He's snarkily pointing out the "new saint-genevieve street" is old, and the post street rarely has post-chaises/carriages go through it.) (Jean Valjean hides in the shadows and watches to see who shows up in this big square intersection of streets. In the moonlight, he recognizes Javert.) "He slipped from under the gate where he had concealed himself, and went down the Rue des Postes (which I shared a picture of previously), towards the region of the Jardin des Plantes." (Note: the Jardin des Plantes is a royal garden. Here is a modern photo from Wikipedia.)

"He left behind him the Rue de la Clef,

"then the Fountain Saint-Victor, skirted the Jardin des Plantes by the lower streets, and reached the quay. There he turned round. The quay was deserted. The streets were deserted. There was no one behind him. He drew a long breath.

He gained the Pont d’Austerlitz." (The Pont d'Austerlitz, named after Napoleon's victory at the battle of Austerlitz, is a very famous bridge. Marville has no photographs but here's an 1830 engraving:)

"The bridge once crossed, he perceived some timber-yards on his right. He directed his course thither. In order to reach them, it was necessary to risk himself in a tolerably large unsheltered and illuminated space. He did not hesitate. Those who were on his track had evidently lost the scent, and Jean Valjean believed himself to be out of danger. Hunted, yes; followed, no." Here's the quai by the pont-au-change-- a different quai, but gives you an idea of what the areas around the Seine often looked like.

(Then Jean Valjean sees Javert and the other police on the Bridge of Austerlitz, following him. He hurries towards the darker alleys of the city.)

"A little street, the Rue du Chemin-Vert-Saint-Antoine, opened out between two timber-yards enclosed in walls. This street was dark and narrow and seemed made expressly for him."

Here's an abandoned timber-yard-ish looking picture:

But Marville has no photographs of this street. I'd have to double check, but iirc this is the part where Hugo starts to 'make up' more street layouts. I wouldn't be surprised if this street really WAS made expressly for him (meaning Hugo made it up.) "The point of Paris where Jean Valjean found himself, situated between the Faubourg Saint-Antoine and la Râpée, is one of those which recent improvements have transformed from top to bottom,—resulting in disfigurement according to some, and in a transfiguration according to others. The market-gardens, the timber-yards, and the old buildings have been effaced. To-day, there are brand-new, wide streets, arenas, circuses, hippodromes, railway stations, and a prison, Mazas, there; progress, as the reader sees, with its antidote."

(Here Hugo talks about the Haussman renovations directly, claiming that if his street layouts are "inaccurate" it's because these are some of the Old Medieval Streets that were razed during Paris's recent renovations. He goes on for a while comparing Petit-Picpus to various other areas that were changed during the renovations.)

"Le Petit-Picpus, which, moreover, hardly ever had any existence, and never was more than the outline of a quarter, had nearly the monkish aspect of a Spanish town. The roads were not much paved; the streets were not much built up. (....) Such was this quarter in the last century. The Revolution snubbed it soundly. The republican government demolished and cut through it. Rubbish shoots were established there. Thirty years ago, this quarter was disappearing under the erasing process of new buildings. To-day, it has been utterly blotted out."

The Petit-Picpus, of which no existing plan has preserved a trace, is indicated with sufficient clearness in the plan of 1727, published at Paris by Denis Thierry, Rue Saint-Jacques, opposite the Rue du Plâtre;

and at Lyons, by Jean Girin, Rue Mercière, at the sign of Prudence.

Petit-Picpus had, as we have just mentioned, a Y of streets, formed by the Rue du Chemin-Vert-Saint-Antoine, which spread out in two branches, taking on the left the name of Little Picpus Street, and on the right the name of the Rue Polonceau. The two limbs of the Y were connected at the apex as by a bar; this bar was called Rue Droit-Mur.

The Rue Polonceau ended there; Rue Petit-Picpus passed on, and ascended towards the Lenoir market. A person coming from the Seine reached the extremity of the Rue Polonceau, and had on his right the Rue Droit-Mur, turning abruptly at a right angle, in front of him the wall of that street, and on his right a truncated prolongation of the Rue Droit-Mur, which had no issue and was called the Cul-de-Sac Genrot." Here is @everyonewasabird's attempt to puzzle this out:

It was here that Jean Valjean stood."

Then Jean Valjean escapes by pulling down an old oil lantern, strung up by ropes. Hugo notes that this would have been "impossible if the streets were lit with gas, the way they would be after the renovations. This picture shows an old oil lamp strung up by ropes:

Finally, Jean Valjean climbs over the wall into the Petit-Picpus convent. This convent is fictional. Hugo pretends it used to exists but is no longer around-- another relic of the early 19th century that has been lost over time.

TLDR:

Jean Valjean's escape through Paris is Hugo way of mourning the Paris he knew from before his exile, the Paris before the modern renovations. To quote Volume 2 Book 5 Chapter 1:

The author of this book, who regrets the necessity of mentioning himself, has been absent from Paris for many years. Paris has been transformed since he quitted it. A new city has arisen, which is, after a fashion, unknown to him. There is no need for him to say that he loves Paris: Paris is his mind’s natal city. In consequence of demolitions and reconstructions, the Paris of his youth, that Paris which he bore away religiously in his memory, is now a Paris of days gone by. He must be permitted to speak of that Paris as though it still existed. It is possible that when the author conducts his readers to a spot and says, “In such a street there stands such and such a house,” neither street nor house will any longer exist in that locality. Readers may verify the facts if they care to take the trouble. For his own part, he is unacquainted with the new Paris, and he writes with the old Paris before his eyes in an illusion which is precious to him. It is a delight to him to dream that there still lingers behind him something of that which he beheld when he was in his own country, and that all has not vanished. So long as you go and come in your native land, you imagine that those streets are a matter of indifference to you; that those windows, those roofs, and those doors are nothing to you; that those walls are strangers to you; that those trees are merely the first encountered haphazard; that those houses, which you do not enter, are useless to you; that the pavements which you tread are merely stones. Later on, when you are no longer there, you perceive that the streets are dear to you; that you miss those roofs, those doors; and that those walls are necessary to you, those trees are well beloved by you; that you entered those houses which you never entered, every day, and that you have left a part of your heart, of your blood, of your soul, in those pavements. All those places which you no longer behold, which you may never behold again, perchance, and whose memory you have cherished, take on a melancholy charm, recur to your mind with the melancholy of an apparition, make the holy land visible to you, and are, so to speak, the very form of France, and you love them; and you call them up as they are, as they were, and you persist in this, and you will submit to no change: for you are attached to the figure of your fatherland as to the face of your mother.

#les mis #les mis letters #lm 2.5.1 #lm 2.5.2 #lm 2.5.3 #lm 2.5.4 #Plz appreciate this post XD

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hd-fan-fair · 5 months

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H/D CAREER FAIR 2023 MASTERLIST & REVEALS!

What an amazing fair we had this year. But this much awesomeness doesn't occur on it's own. The mods would like to take this opportunity to thank some people:

♥ To the authors and artists. We're so so thrilled you participated for the 2023 fair. Your talents and amazing works truly made the Fair what it is! There would have been no fair without you all.

♥ To our readers and viewers. Thanks for taking time to view, read, kudo and comment. We truly appreciate your efforts and love every single comment that was left.

♥ To everyone who participated in our Fair Cup. You guys were incredible! You put in so much effort to read and comment and hustle for your team. We hope you had much fun!

♥ To those of you who spent the time reccing stories and artworks you loved – thank you!

♥ And finally, to everyone who helped beta and cheer for our participants – you're all amazing!

So give yourselves a round of applause! Without further ado, this is the reveals!

Much Love, phoenixacid & sassy_cissa (IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER) ART 1. chachisoo drew "H.J. Potter", (2019) oil on canvas, Draco Malfoy (Digital Comic, General) 2. P_pato_roldnart drew Close Observation (Digital Art, General) 3. Itsphantasmagoria drew Holes (Digital Art, Explicit) 4. LordAzazel23 drew Under the Dementor's Watch (Digital Art, General) 5. porcelainheart3 drew One Foot In The Grave (Digital Art, Teen) 6. PinkElephant42 drew In Life & Death (Digital Art, General) 7. Dustmouth drew Harry Potter Gets a Job (Traditional Art/Comic, Mature)

ART & FIC 8. Bubblegumhead drew and wrote The Thread that Binds Us (22k, Teen)

FIC 9. harrows wrote Wherever You Go, There You Are (12k, Explicit) 10. Sleepstxtic wrote Connecting Lines, Connecting Crimes (15k, Mature) 11. annanotherthing wrote Amourous As This Lovely Green (15k, Explicit) 12. Romaine wrote Terminal Lucidity (3k, General) 13. Sita Z wrote Full Fathom Five (18k, Explicit) 14. Mischievous wrote All the Good Things and the Bad Things that May Be (11k, Explicit) 15. oflights wrote If the Bees Know (20k, Teen) 16. Meowfoy wrote WanderFull Fit (7k, Explicit) 17. starlitsilvereyes wrote Death is Not Fit to House a Love (21k, Explicit) 18. ravenesse wrote Let's Get Physical (10k, Explicit) 19. Flightinflame wrote Another Side (2k, Teen) 20. Ladderofyears wrote A Year In The Life (19k, Mature) 21. xErised wrote Playing Quiddick (12k, Explicit) 22. arminaa wrote Within You Without You (40k, Explicit) 23. Poison_literature wrote Blood Tainted Fingertips (7k, Mature) 24. dysonrules wrote A Competitive Cooperation (20k, Teen) 25. Maraudersaffair wrote My Own Personal Poltergeist (11k, Explicit) 26. Enchanted_Jae wrote Scanning the Skies (3k, Teen) 27. apricitydays wrote Once More To Arcady (32k, Explicit) 28. rei382 wrote The Sinful Serpent (11k, Teen) 29. Moon_Peach wrote Californian Calcite (31k, Mature) 30. DrWhoIsGinnyHolmes wrote Broom Service (7k, Explicit) 31. StarQuesting wrote Half Sick of Shadows (40k, Explicit) 32. Phoebe_Delia wrote Just Take Me Home (5k, Teen) 33. SanderVanSunshine wrote Ten Visits to Fire and Flight: The World of Dragons (17k, Explicit) 34. epsilonargus wrote means to a triumph (5k, Teen) 35. Tigersilver wrote The Plot (15k, Teen) 36. toxik_angel wrote Fawning Over You (39k, Explicit) 37. Aulophobia wrote To Have A Home (128k, Explicit) 38. meloflavor wrote Can't Pretend (3k, General) 39. saltwatergarden wrote port in a storm (8k, Mature) 40. peachpety wrote Playing for Keeps (7k, General) 41. DodgerKedavra wrote The Scent of Soft Rains (20k, Explicit) 42. SquibNation10 wrote Launch me to Ultralife (39k, Teen)

PODFIC 43. Cailynwrites read Call Me, Won't You? by Aelys_Althea - a Podfic (4 hours, Teen)

We will post stats and banners and Cup results shortly! ♥

#drarry #drarry fic #harry potter #draco malfoy #draco malfoy/harry potter #hd career fair #drarry art #please help spread the word #drarry podfic #masterlist #reveals are here!

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honeybeefae · 3 months

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For the First Time In Forever…

I feel like writing again! I’ve missed you all so much and am so thankful for all of your love and support and kind words and just your existence! You are all amazing!

To celebrate, and because I’m wanting to ease myself back into writing as I am afraid I’m severely out of practice, I’m posting some prompts below that I would love for you all to look over and choose! Any character you want, any scenario, and you can combine!

I don’t know if I will get to all of them and as a forewarning, most of them will probably somewhat short, but I will do my best! I also want to extend this offer to the Baldurs Gate 3 fandom as that game has been my saving grace for awhile! But ACOTAR is very much accepted as well!

I love you guys and can’t wait to write again for you! ❤️

Prompts

Angst:

1.) “Don’t lie to me. I know everything”

2.) “I don’t love you.”

3.) “Please don’t do this.”

4.) “I can’t believe I fell in love with you.”

5.) “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

6.) “Us? There never was such a thing.”

7.) “You think I would fall in love with someone like you?”

8.) “You don’t deserve me.”

9.) “You….you cheated on me?”

10.) “Don’t leave me, please, I still need you.”

11.) “What do you want me to say?”

12.) “You promised!”

13.) “Stop pretending this wasn’t your plan all along, to break me down until I’m nothing.”

14.) “You can’t do this.”

15.) “I hate you.”

Fluff:

1.) “Can I hug you?”

2.) “You’re everything to me.”

3.) “Surely you know how much I care about you?”

4.) “Come for a cuddle?”

5.) “You’re so oblivious, aren’t you?”

6.) “Stay with me tonight. Please.”

7.) “I love you.”

8.) “Can I keep you?.”

9.) “Come on, I wouldn’t forget your birthday!”

10.) “I’ve never seen someone so beautiful.”

11.) “I never thought I’d see you again…”

12.) “Come dance in the rain with me!”

13.) “May I have this dance?”

14.) “Will you marry me?”

15.) “I want to show you something.”

Tropes:

1.) Enemies to Lovers

2.) Friends to Lovers

3.) Strangers to Lovers

4.) Soulmates

5.) AU

6.) Amnesia

7.) Marriage of Convenience

8.) Lovers to Enemies

9.) Forbidden Love

10.) Fake Dating

11.) Second Chances

12.) Damsel in Distress

13.) Stuck Together

14.) Opposites Attract

15.) Love Triangle

Smut:

1.) “I want to fuck you so badly.”

2.) “You can take it, pretty girl, can’t you?”

3.) “Mine.”

4.) “On your knees.”

5.) “Submission looks good on you.”

6.) “You look so pretty with my cum painted on your face.”

7.) “Please let me cum inside you, please, I need to breed you.”

8.) “Beg.”

9.) “Someone’s been bad.”

10.) “Don’t you want an audience?”

11.) “Use your words.”

12.) “Such a fucking brat, you should know your place by now but it seems I’ll have to remind you.”

13.) “Do you know how much I’ve been wanting to do this to you?”

14.) “No more, I can’t take anymore.”

15.) “Swallow.”

Scenarios:

1.) One person is injured

2.) One person is sick

3.) One bed trope

4.) Pregnancy

5.) First Date

6.) Wedding/Reception

7.) First night together

8.) Truth or Dare

9.) Forced proximity

10.) One person discovers their secret

11.) Meet cute

12.) Accidentally hurting the other

13.) Hurt/Comfort

14.) Confessions

15.) Breakup

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fanfics-i-wanna-read · 6 months

Text

Swan Queen Fake Dating Fanfics Masterlist

Canon-compliant*:

Temporary Distractions by amycarey (12/12 chapters)

Not So Fake Relationship (version 1) by edean13 (one shot)

Not So Fake Relationship (version 2) by edean13 (one shot)

Showtime by mustdefine (one shot)

One date by PhoenixTat (one shot)

Fauxlationship by CarrotLucky13 (one shot)

I Wear the Pants by inkheart9459 (one shot)

Look Who Came To Dinner by brokenmimir (one shot)

SwanQueen Week Summer 2014 (Ch. 2) by EmmaShalforever (one shot)

I Can Almost Hear Your Harmony by swansaloft (one shot)

See I Look For You In The Morning by BrokenEvilRegal (one shot)

Operation Albatross (or something like that) by perfection_located (6/6 chapters)

Milk Bottles and Misunderstandings by boxxybrown506 (one shot)

our tiktok remix is both atrocious and catchy by coalitiongirl (one shot)

Love Triangles Are For Losers by seriousfic (one shot)

See l Look For You In The Morning by BrokenEvilRegal (one shot)

Pretend We Used To Be Lesbian Lovers! Do It For The Children! by seriousfic (2/2 chapters)

Girlfriendy Displays by TheOnlySPL (one shot)

The Door to the Heart Is Open and Shut by undergroundlegends (one shot)

I thought love was only true in fairy-tales by OceanAndARock (one shot)

The Truth Always Comes Out by angstbot (16/16 chapters)

Fake Relationship by EmmaShalforever (one shot)

Fake Relationship by imaginecreatebefall (one shot)

My Girlfriend, Regina by giftofamber (one shot)

Not a Bad Thing by ofendlesswonder (one shot)

The Long Con by lostlilsnail (one shot)

AU:

The Story of It All by Sage1982 (14/14 chapters)

Date in the Name of the Law by apples-a-day (one shot)

For Love or Money by starsthatburn (38/38 chapters)

I'll Be Home For Christmas (With My Fake Girlfriend) by nakedrednailpolish (14/14 chapters)

Wedding Crasher by misscanteloupe (one shot)

Marry Me (Because I'd Like to Date You) by starsthatburn (10/10 chapters)

Faking It by YoungTruthLP (one shot)

Gonna Go Down in Flames by amycarey (one shot)

Let’s Play Pretend by shopfront (one shot)

Suitor in the garden by Sparring Woodpecker (one shot)

Right Kind of Wrong by cynarabueno (20/28 chapters, in progress)

This Baby is Not an Excuse by AlexRyzlinGold (one shot)

where dwell the brave at heart by coalitiongirl (one shot)

A bed of roses by sunofthemoon (10/10 chapters)

All I want for Christmas is you by FadedRiddler (one shot)

Complex Relations by MoonlitRamblings (11/11 chapters)

A Christmas Game by BlueHoneyBee (long one shot)

First Comes Marriage by Alternate8reality (7/7 chapters)

We haven't mended by HelveticaBrown (8/8 chapters)

Christmas at the Mills' by Swen and Chill (anotherouatwriter) (one shot)

Make Me Dance (I Want To Surrender) by glowswen (one shot)

*By "canon-compliant" I just mean that the story takes place in the universe of the show, it may still diverge drastically from the canon storylines at one point or have slight changes to canon.

#swan queen #swanqueen #emma swan #regina mills #once upon a time #ouat #swan queen fanfic #swan queen fanfiction

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noroi1000 · 9 months

Text

Honored One Shot no.14 - @satosuguswife

„Pictures”

Hurt and comfort Warnings: fake blood, mentioned nsfw

When you entered the house, you saw Satoru lying on the floor with the left part of his forehead red. His cheek, the corners of his mouth, his throat. Everything was painted red.

His shirt was also soiled, and his uniform jacket was unbuttoned. Clothes a bit tattered. A pool of blood around.

And next to the wall sat Suguru whose face was tilted down. His typical loose clothes were also soiled. One sleeve of his white traditional dress lay on the floor as his left hand held his shoulder. Hair in disarray.

You felt the cold flow through your body... As you drop your bag on the floor, you heard faint sounds.

And suddenly you saw and heard Satoru laughing out loud and wallowing in 'blood'. Suguru also joined him and his arm appeared, showing that he doesn't have a severed arm at all.

They both laughed and suddenly looked at you.

And then their laughter died down. Because they saw big tears running down your face as you looked at them.

Their expressions stopped and you suddenly kicked your bag at Satoru, watching him catch it.

"(y/n)...!" Suguru called after you, reaching out to you with his hand but he didn't manage to stop you.

Wiping away your tears, you ran to your room slamming the door.

These are supposed to be grown men?! They may be almost 20 years old, but that doesn't change the fact that they are idiots!

You lay down on the bed and cried.

How could they do this to you? It was not funny! You thought something had happened to them! You thought someone had attacked them! And here it turns out that it was just their stupid joke?!

You'd take it more as a joke if you caught them fucking on the kitchen table! Or if they did something else! But that's not cool!

What they did is not cool at all...

You've been afraid of losing them so many times. Especially Suguru who had an existential crisis for a while. But now everything was fine, so why did they want to fool you and show that they are dead.

"Baby, can we come in?!"

You heard Satoru's voice outside the door.

"...Fuck off!" You groaned as you turned your head away from the pillow you were lying on.

"Baby..."

"Get away from me! You're so stupid!"

"(y/n), we can talk?"

Suguru opened the door slightly, peeking inside to see you lying on your stomach on the bed and crying into your pillow.

"What do you want think?! You think it was funny?! You're probably fucked up and crazy! Fucking idiots!"

"It was supposed to be a joke... A little revenge for scaring us earlier..." Whitehaired one muttered.

"This is not funny!" You screamed as you watched your boys wipe their faces off of the fake blood. "I never meant to scare you!"

"And that blood on your clothes in the washing machine?"

"I got my period, you idiot! We've been together since second year at school and you still can't remember when i get my period!"

"Baby..."

Suguru's hand was placed on your back and he picked you up, placing you on his lap.

You hugged him crying.

Satoru sat next to you, put his head on Suguru's shoulder and pulled you up to hold on to him as well.

"We didn't know you'd react like that... Sorry..." he muttered, rubbing your thigh.

How could you have reacted differently? They pretended they died! You used to be afraid of them all the time because they are sorcerers...

And now they're doing this to you... You were afraid that you would lose one of them... And when you were afraid that they might leave, it turns out that they made a joke of it?

"You look prettier when you smile than when you cry. Like when you blush."

You looked up at Satoru's blue eyes as he stared at you intently but just as calmly.

"When you look at us with love and not something like that. We didn't want to do this to you. Sorry. It won't happen again."

He leaned in to kiss your cheek. You let him, feeling his soft lips against yours.

You gave him your lips, allowing him to kiss you. So he pressed his lips against yours.

"So Suguru wouldn't be jealous..." he murmured with a smile and reached over to his boyfriend's face, pulling him in for a kiss.

And then you kissed the dark haired boy softly.

"Show you something?" He took his phone out of his pocket and opened the flap.

And then he showed that you were his wallpaper.

You're used to him wanting a model in a swimsuit or something in the beginning.

And now he has you and Suguru as he stands shirtless next to you. His shirt is on your body. naked thighs. Why? Because Satoru took this picture naked in bed.

"This photo is beautiful. But I'd like to see your smiling face with hearts in your eyes. When your mouth is open when you moan."

You changed suddenly and he clenched his hands on Suguru's clothes.

"Satoru, do you think it's a good idea to talk about it now?"

"I'll have a picture of her fucked up face next to yours. And you'll have a picture of her fucked up face and mine. Matching wallpapers!"

"And she?"

"She will have a picture of my face when you fuck me and your face will be next to mine!"

"I don't know if that's a good idea now."

"Honey, can I make you feel better?" He purred in your ear, licking your neck.

You can't be angry with them for long. Because they hold your heart.

"Do it..." you murmured as you snuggled into Suguru's chest and felt their fingers begin to touch you.

It's supposed to be humorous? Yes.

Because he's looking for the perfect shot for photos. His photos are crazy. Remember how he used to sneak pictures of you at school when you were in your room or in the shower so you could go back to his room and do things everyone knows...

That's why he likes taking pictures like this.

And if they want you to forgive them, let them. Maybe thanks to this you will forget that the whole floor in the house is smeared with fake blood...

Just as it was supposed to be. For Suguru, a picture of you lying under Satoru with a red face and small tears. Your face contorted in pleasure. And next to your face is the face of Satoru whose cheeks are red and his eyes are rolling backwards.

For Satoru, your same face when you lie with your back on Suguru's chest. And next to the dark-haired man's smile.

For you (even though you didn't want this wallpaper on your phone), a picture of their faces as Suguru dominated Satoru. Satoru blushing with little tears in his eyes?

At least you'd prefer these photos to photos of them in fake blood.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo #jjk x you #getou suguru #geto x reader #satosugu #suguru #geto x reader x gojo #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto x gojo #satosugu x reader #honored ones event

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sinner-sunflower · 1 month

Text

A HH Lucifer-centric AU 17/?

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 15, PART 16, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22

Back in business, y'all!

It finally arrived on this part. I'm excited what you all think of this development.

The italics at the end are flashbacks Lucifer is having on that particularly familiar convo.

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

Lucifer didn't know what he expected to see beyond the entrance to the tree. He had assumed it would be like the outside- plastered with evil and decay and suffocation. Hell, he expected that he would die the second he steps inside because he may be the King of Hell but this is a being as old, possibly older, than his Father.

He didn't expect this though.

Cotton clouds walking along the vibrant blue skies like a herd of sheep. Towering trees, adorned with leaves as shining like the finest emerald, dance gracefully in the soft breeze. There's crystal-clear waters acting like a mirror for the heavens, tranquil movements reflecting the azure sky above. Animals, predator and prey are frolicking without a care in the world as if the circle of life simply does not exist.

And at the heart of it all, in the place where time stands still, lies an apple tree. The clouds make way for the sun above to shine its golden rays, helping Lucifer's brain solidify where he is.

There is no way.

Lucifer: Eden?

The Sin of Pride hears humming behind the tree. He moves closer to inspect and gets his second shock of the day. He chokes up a little.

Lucifer: Lily?

It was Lilith? That can't be right. The woman smiles at him but it doesn't look like Lilith. Her smile was always warm, serene, and full of life- this was not his ex-wife and wow, did that thought just made him start to lose it.

Lucifer: W̶͇͚̫̻͂̄́̽̽͗ẖ̷̮̩̄͂͛̊̓̕͠à̵̯̪͇̝t̵̘͔̪̱̤̗̙̂ ̸̨̡̻̰̼͖̈́̀͐̒̏̕t̶̡̛̼̺̱̳̮̍͌͐͠ͅh̸̫̔͒͠͝ę̶̏͌͆̾̕��̩̪̝̪ ̶̟̥̒́̎h̵̑̉͜ë̵̹̓l̵͉̘̗̆͑̏͝͝l̸̘̹͔̣̓́̂̚ ̸͉͖͑́̑̋ả̷̹̩̰r̸̩̖̼̔͊̽̈́̈͐̕ͅë̵̡͓ ̵̠͚̝̜̾̒̃́y̸̭͒̽̋̈́̋ȯ̸̘̈́̍̃ͅu̴̪̫͉̯͍̬̠̐̆́ ̷̞͈͒̄̔̑͐͋͝d̴̢̦͚̐̊̓̍͌õ̵̝͍͉͉͔̲͑̇̎͌͋̀į̸̥̮͔̊̾̚ṇ̴̣̬̀̈́̈́̓̎̕̚͜ǵ̵̼̖̄ ̸̹̬͍̓̑́͆̎w̶̛̲̮͓̤̩̗͕̒̌̄̆̈͝ė̴̖̏̀͆̊͑͝ạ̶̺͍̥͌̽̀̒r̸̨̞̣̖̺̱̐̃̔ͅį̸͙͔̈́͐̆ņ̵̺̟̠̏͑̒̚ḡ̵̜͛̆̒͌ ̴̧̞̮̰̦̲̇̄̽̋͆̄ͅt̵̘̓͆͗h̷̳̗̖͘ã̴̘͉̹̘̯͚͠t̵̳̂͝ ̴̨̦̭̳̒͂́͌̓͋͝f̷̢͚̀͐à̷̢̩c̷̤̝̼̞͙̮̄̾́̽̅̀͐͜ẻ̸̛͈͝?̴̮̗͎͓̥̱͑̒̈́̈́̿ͅ!̴̩͍̭͕̳̳̭̉̆

Roo: Well, I can't let you see my true form now, could I? It would likely burn your eyes where you stand. Soooo, I picked something you're... a little bit more familiar with. You like it?~

Lucifer: Y̸̦̥̥̱̞̓̌͐͜͠o̶̥͍̊̈́̋͠ü̶̢̠̩̙͎̈́ ̶̛̮͙̜͔̋͋̽̇̈́ḣ̸̫̈̓̔͂͠a̵̰̤̳̅͒̉̆̕v̵̡̖̰̺̂̂͒̎̀͑͠ḙ̸̟̥́̃̈́̄͝ ̸͎͙̳͎̖̀̍̎͜n̵̢̩̪͉͔̗͈̈́͘o̷̗̻͕̯͋̄̃͝ͅͅ ̷̞̹̥̻̤̥̋r̶̨̫̳͔̀͌̓͊͊͜i̵̧̲̪͍̻̹͍͆̍̈́g̷͚̑h̴̨͎̰̀̀́͗̿͜͝ṱ̵̠̍́͆̃̎̏!̶̢̧͉̻̺̣̬̊

Roo: And who are you to tell me what to do, fallen? You're a mere speck in my sight. Besides, didn't my sister use that other woman's face? What was her name? Eve?

Lucifer: F̶̤͍̪̭̾̑̈͊͠ù̴͈̫̚c̵͇̎́̍̽̚͠k̵̳̩̞̖̝̤̀̒͋͌̉í̶̧͚̟̠̚̚ň̸̨̘̖̳̳̆̐͗̋-̴̮́̾͒̔͆

Lucifer lunges but the fact that it is his ex-wife's face made him hesitate enough for Roo summon roots, essentially pinning him against the Tree of Knowledge.

Roo: Can't have that, dear fallen. Hmm, how can I make you behave? Perhaps this look is a bit outdated. How abouuttt...

Lilith's face was enveloped in red and black, smile morphing into an all too familiar grin. One moment he was staring at Lilith's beautiful face, now he found himself locked in a gaze with the unmistakable form of Alastor.

Roo: This is more your style now right, sire? I must say, this one looks more outdated and tacky.

Anger must still be all over his face because Roo made a pondering look. The Root of All Evil pretended to contemplate before obnoxiously letting out an excited squeal.

Roo: Oh! I got it!

Alastor shrinks, his red bob cut lengthens, turning blond from the roots. Gray skin became porcelain white with red circles appearing on the cheeks.

He's going to kill her.

Roo: Perfect, no?

He's going to kill this fucking bitch for using his daughter's face!-

He breaks free from his restraints in a flurry of rage, hand immediately grasping Roo's (NOT HIS DAUGHTER) neck. Charlie (NO IT IS NOT HER) struggles, sending the roots back to get him but his hellfire is preventing them to get closer.

Lucifer pries Roo's mouth open and began reciting an incantation- runes physically manifest themselves, entering Roo. Lucifer can feel the power of Goodie's seal flow out of him, draining him of his strength. He start coughing up blood but pushes through.

This is for Charlie. For everyone.

By the end of it, Roo is motionless and Lucifer slumps on the tree, exhausted beyond belief. He's holding his throat as golden blood drip from is mouth. Goodie didn't say it was this bad.

He tries not to look at Roo's body. She's still wearing Charlie's whole being and he doesn't want to see an almost dead version of his daughter's face.

Lucifer thought it was over until there was a chuckle. He looks on in horror as the mangled body of Roo sat up in manic laughter. His daughter's lovely smile turned more broken, so much that it's tearing her face apart.

Roo: Surprise!!!

Lucifer: What...? You're supposed to be sealed now. I was inches away. It was supposed to work!

Roo bursts into more laughter like he just said the dumbest thing ever. She looks up to the sky.

Roo: Oh man, you're really that stupid?? This ritual was never going to work and Goodie knew it! All this ancient thing does is barely prick my finger.

Lucifer: I don't understand. I- why?

Roo: Because Goodie knew what I needed and sent you to give it.

Lucifer thinks back to his first conversation with Goodie and feels this sense of dread.

Goodie: I can lend you something that shall be enough to contain her. But for this to work, I need one thing.

Lucifer: And what do you need?

Lucifer: What is it?

Beautiful Eden disappeared and now replaced with a decaying forest. The green grass turned into the red flowers from outside as they continue to excrete miasma.

Lucifer never felt so breathless.

Roo and Goodie: You

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moonshynecybin · 3 months

Text

short fic (~1000 words ish) i wrote inspired by @kingofthering's wonderful fake dating au which you can find here ! go read it... anyways thinking about valentino and anger and his love languages and his insane little brain and PERFORMANCEEE and fame being a nightmare. anyways:

“And so my question, I suppose, is about your previous comments about Marc— would you say that you’ve put your feud behind you?”

Vale feels Marc shift from one foot to the other, his shoulders tensing under the lazy stretch of Vale’s arm. He’d tucked him there as soon as they’d entered the room, hoping the physical contact would sell it a bit more— give the two of them something to fall back on in front of the press— make their answers more convincing. Pictures sell faster than words, in his experience. But he shouldn’t have worried, Marc’s media training is a well exercised muscle, and his usual wide smile is pasted across his face. He’s good at this, but Vale may be the only person in the room who can tell how nervous he actually is, his slight change in posture and the rigid line of his jaw giving him away. Valentino is not exactly at ease, himself. It's the first time in quite a while that a press conference has made him feel like he was about to vomit.

Camera flashes light up in a dazzling flurry, pulling Vale back into the present. The entire room is holding its breath, paying careful attention to their answer, dying to know how two of the biggest stars in motorsport went from hating each other to being photographed together with one of them on their knees in the span of a calendar year. Sharks smelling chum in the water.

So Vale makes himself laugh, open and gregarious. Does what he does best— make it into something funny. Something that can’t touch him. Bring everyone else in on how hilarious it is, how absurd. Because if he thinks about it too long he feels like smashing things. He cannot fucking believe the nerve of this reporter. Cannot believe he has to do this. Cannot believe that Yamaha had asked him to let Marc do this alone. Cannot believe he thought about letting him. Cannot believe they’re pretending that they’re— that they—

“I would hope so! It would make being together very difficult otherwise.” He says, light enough to be a joke, gesturing between Marc and him. Marc’s hand tightens on his waist, catching against the smooth fabric of his Yamaha shirt. It’s the first verbal confirmation of what they said in their joint press release— that they’ve been dating. That they are together. That sometime in the off-season they’d reconciled and fell in love.

Of course, that’s not exactly what happened. It’s just harder to explain to the world that the sex you’ve been having with your rival 14 years your junior has been— well. Decidedly closer to something like hate sex than the kind of sex you have with a person that you’re in a committed relationship with. And that a lucky paparazzo had simply been in the right alleyway at the right time. And that Marc and him had barely been on speaking terms before the photo had hit the front page of every major publication in the world.

So here they are.

“And what about last year’s championship? Do you still hold the same opinion about Marc and Jorge Lorenzo's actions at the end of the year?” Another journo asks.

Vale pushes down the wave of emotion, hot and tense—embarrassed—that crests in his chest when he thinks about last year. That’s not what he’s here to do. He grits his teeth, instead. Keeps on smiling. He turns a little, uses the height difference between him and Marc to smile down at him, face close to his, and really sell it. The perfect couple. He winks back at the press.

“It sounds like you all want me to sleep on the couch!” He tries, and the tension in the room breaks, laughter tittering up from the press corp. A bomb defused. “No no no no, Marc and I, we are fine. We are better than fine, even! We are—“ He looks back at Marc, still too close, and pauses when he sees something complicated and delicate playing over his face. Something a little too real to be acting. But Marc quashes it when he sees Vale looking, and turns back towards the room, grin huge and polite. Vale’s words catch in his chest and tangle there for a moment, coming out a little stilted. He covers it with a theatrical shrug and a big smile. “We are good.”

As the press laugh, Marc’s shoulders unspool where they’re pressed against Vale—and he can tell Marc is relaxing, a little. Letting out some of whatever breath he’s been holding. It’s clear that what they’re doing, what Vale is saying, it’s working– the press swaying back to their side as they absorb the news, the shock of the two of them together. The picture they make.

Vale rubs a thumb over the bone of Marc’s shoulder. He's warm.

Marc starts to speak. “You know, that is in the past. Valentino and I…” He searches for the words in English, brings a hand up to fiddle with his ear– one of his nervous tics. “We had a not so good relationship at the end of last year. But in the off-season, we talk. And learn to separate on-track and off-track. It is good between us.”

And Vale just about can’t stand that, even though he knows this is the plan. He can’t very well smooth this photo thing over and air his grievances at the same time. Doing this is the path of least resistance, he remembers. He tells himself. The one most palatable to the masses– him and Marc, united. Love overcomes all, he thinks bitterly.

A journalist picks their head up.

“So it’s serious between you two, then? This is for real?”

Vale looks at Marc again, watches the slight flutter of his eyelashes, blinking as the question hits him. Vale wonders what he’s thinking about. If he’s wondering why they’re doing this, now in front of the whole world. If he’s asking himself how they let it get this far. Wondering why he got to his knees in that alleyway when Vale had told him to. Why he’d raced Vale the way he had the entire second half of last season.

Marc’s smile dims, just for a second, and Vale pulls him closer.

He crushes the instinct to crack a joke just for Marc, to make him smile for real. To ask him why he’d had that look on his face a moment ago. To ask him to come to his trailer later just to– talk. Not to strategize with their PR teams, with their families. To just– be. Like it was before.

But that’s just not the kind of lives they lead. That’s not possible.

Valentino turns back to the press. Smiles. Lies.

“It’s real.”

#callie speaks #motogp #rosquez #my fic #forced coming out au

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