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dilfartist · 11 months

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A foolish endeavor

Pairing; Yandere Miguel O’hara x reader

Synopsis; You manage to snag Miguel’s gizmo and escape to another universe. How long will it take before he, or the spider society, find you?

Word count; 2.8k

Reader description; Female/GN

TW; kidnapping, probably terrible spanish (i did use sources Spanish-speaking users suggested), non-con touching, yandere themes, dark writing.

Notes; {if i mistranslated any of the spanish please do contact me in my DMs. I wanted this fic to be better but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Did not proofread.}

Midnight coated New York in a dark blue hue. Most nights the city lights illuminate the darkness, providing the ability to see. However, the motel you find yourself ambling to is the more isolated part of the city.

Rain poured down heavily, producing cacophonous echoes of raindrops slamming against the concrete. Clad in a drenched hoodie and damp black yoga pants, you scurry to the other side of the street just in time to avoid being hit by the passing truck.

Cigarette smoke and frigid rain overwhelm your senses, mainly due to the cigarette buds scattered on the motel parking lot.

The motel is okay looking. By no means does it look nice, but it isn’t a hard no.

“Guess this is where I’ll sleep tonight,” you mumble to yourself. You take a brief glance at your surroundings. Night overcame the sky, giving the atmosphere a dark hue but the lights gave you a clear standpoint.

Numerous lights hummed irritatingly, not even a minute passed and you found yourself obtaining a headache. You navigate the main office, which is on the left side of the horseshoe-shaped building, and a blue neon sign points in the direction of the office. You started sauntering over, putting pep in your step when the cold rain declined heavier than it did the last five minutes.

Six months ago, you wouldn’t be having this problem. At least that’s what you believed. You could’ve been at your apartment, catching up on a show you’ve failed to complete thanks to your busy work schedule.

Unfortunately for you, doing a task as simple as watching your television, in your home, was truly impossible. Why? Because the earth you roam isn’t yours, to begin with. Your apartment isn’t yours. The job you work isn’t yours. You aren’t certain you even exist in this universe.

You can’t find the strength to complain. Honestly, you’re delighted to be away from the man who stole you away from society.

Miguel O’Hara.

Otherwise known as Spiderman 2099. You know, the superhero.

It must be confusing to hear that a superhero kidnaped a poor civilian. Superheros don’t normally commit unforgivable acts. Regardless, Miguel didn't care. Miguel is aware he is different from other heroes given his beliefs. Abducting you was just one of the many wrongs Miguel fulfilled.

You just wished you knew his motives at the beginning. If you did, you wouldn't have to search for sanctuary. You wouldn't have to lie low in a different universe.

Before Miguel, you lived a decent life that included a decent job. It was a Tuesday afternoon with sunny weather and clear skies. Your friends invited you to a picnic at the park and, for once having a clear schedule you agreed. You recall the sun beaming down on you, overheating your body to the point shade was a necessity. You moved from the picnic blanket to a nearby bent tree. One moment you're enjoying the shade, the next you're falling. Then something transpired. You jerked in the air, something white clinging to the front of your shirt. You felt your body floating in the air, legs thrashing in fear when your body conceded it was in mid-air.

You must have fainted because you have no recollection of what transpired next. What you do remember was watching through bleary eyes as four strangers hovered over you clearly disputing. Currently, you know them by Jessica Drew, Peter B. Parker, the iron spider, And Miguel O’Hara.

The accountability for your well-being somehow landed in the hands of Miguel. In the beginning, Miguel had such a short patience for you, not that he didn't possess an attitude with anyone else, he just happened to have a really short fuse with you.

His explosive temper with you was undeserving. You hardly gave him any reason to blow up. Your presence alone just pissed him off, at least it appeared so.

You avoided him as much as possible; Departing a room when he entered. Ensuring any errands were accomplished before he arrived home, so you didn't have to leave your room to aggravate him.

Then he began to seek you out; popping up wherever you were in his apartment. Alone watching television on the couch? Not anymore. Miguel joined you on the other side silently watching as well. Sitting silently in the dining room eating lunch? Miguel enters with a bowl of cereal, starting a conversation about the day’s news. Enjoy video games and decide to play by yourself? Miguel grabs a controller and questions the rules and certain controls.

For someone who was as snappy at you as a feral dog, he sure did like to invade your solitude.

By the second month of staying at Miguel’s, he found solace in your presence. He became relaxed. Nice even. And then by the fourth month, you became friends. You never visualized being anything other than friends, but unbeknownst to you, Miguel did.

When you first caught the news of Peter figuring out what universe you belonged to, you were ecstatic. After all, the mystery of your universe's number had been the sole reason for crashing with Miguel and not immediately returning home.

You turned to Miguel, asking when was the appropriate time to drop you off. To your astonishment, Miguel’s brows furrowed, and his lips morphed into a grimace, “you will not be returning.” he affirmed.

Miguel shocked not only you, but everyone witnessing the scene. A gauche silence conquered the atmosphere.

You and Miguel stared at each other for a beat, then you voiced your perplexity. “What do you mean “I will not be returning?” Miguel, I need to go home.” you took a step closer to Miguel.

Miguel gazed at you with an uninterested stare. “What I say goes, (Name). And I say you're staying here.” he spun around, returning to whatever he had been working on before. “We all have a busy schedule and dropping you off will only alter it.”

“It’s not worth it,” he said like he was ending the conversation.

“Okay, then Peter can take me home when he needs to drop off Mayday.” you insisted, looking over at Peter to see if he’d be alright with your plan.

No expression was needed for you to catch on to the attitude Miguel began to gain. “(Name), I won’t tell you twice. The answer is no. Now, Peter take her back to my apartment. We’ll speak about the matter later, at the moment there are more important issues happening.”

You found it laughable. To think the minute you stepped into the man's sight he wanted you gone, but now Miguel was fighting you to stay with him. Ironic, isn’t it?

That night you and Miguel, the very moment he came inside his apartment, quarreled for an hour in a half. Your argument being you did not belong to him and could do whatever you pleased. Miguel’s argument was the insignificance of the matter to him.

You detected Miguel’s temper was starting to get out of hand. The way his fists began to clench, the way his brows creased, and the frown deepened after every sentence he uttered. You’ve seen his strength. His fierceness. And you’d rather leave than have any of his tantrums directed at you. Doing what any rational person would do, you attempted to leave the room. You advised him to de-stress before speaking to you again.

Miguel was having none of it. Not even a second passed before you were yanked back by the forearm.

You’re face-to-face with Miguel. Miguel towered over you, looking down at you with his signature red piercing stare. He bends down, momentarily staring at you until he finally speaks. “I can't allow you to leave.” The way he talks is low and if the room weren't already quiet, you wouldn’t have heard him. “I love you,” he confessed, voice cracking, closing his eyes as if it pained him to say it. He opened his eyes again. “And I won't allow myself to lose any other person I care for.”

Pulling twenty dollars out of the torn-up wallet you found on the side of the road, you slide it forward on the mahogany brown table. The fatigued receptionist glances at the money, then gazes at you with an irked expression.

“This isn’t enough.” She states matter-of-factly. She slides the twenty back to you.

You purse your lips, staring down at the cash. Twenty dollars is all you had. What were you to do now? The next nearest motel could be miles away; it was a miracle you made it to this.

Your eyes flicker back to her. You take two fingers pushing it back to her, giving her your best puppy eyes. “Please! I don't have anywhere else to go tonight. If I can’t stay here I’ll have to sleep on the streets.”

You were lying. You would’ve taken off by dawn, needing to be on the move after getting rested.

Her hardened expression softens. She takes a deep breath, eyes studying the money. Shaking her head, she takes the cash. “One night only, alright?”

You propose to her a smile, nodding with gratitude. She allotted you a key. A small golden-greenish key, with the number five engraved on the head. Tonight you’d sleep on the grounded floor of the motel.

The inside was decently prepared, having a dingy tone that gave off a haunted vibe. You hum in displeasure. Two queen-sized mattresses are positioned on the right side of the wall. They appeared stiff, and the blankets laying upon them looked thinner than a sheet of paper.

Sighing, you softly booted the door shut. Flopping down on the nearest bed, you groan at the sensation of the rough mattress.

When tomorrow comes you’d have to find a fresh location. Miguel could continually find your locale, thanks to not only Lyla but the whole Spider society. Perhaps you postponed his search this time. His watch or gizmo- whatever the hell it was- rests on your wrist.

Shifting your head to the side, pulling your hand out of your pocket, you glance at the gizmo.

Tightly clutched in Miguel’s hold, you stare quietly at the ceiling. You debate acting on your next actions. There were times Miguel slept lightly, aroused by creaks in the floorboard. Other times when the sound of glass shattering did not bother him even a little.

Glancing down at the arm wrapped securely around your midriff, you endeavor to gradually lift his arm up. He unconsciously retaliates, arms consolidating, resulting in a small gasp slipping from your lips. You’re quick to rub his arm, to offer him comfort, and to calm him.

It works. Miguel grumbles, his grasp faulting. You carefully move his arm aside, then unhurriedly get up from the bed.

Before leaving the room you observe Miguel. Miguel sleeps soundly, an angry expression inscribed on his face. But he is asleep, so you take your chance while you are able.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, you immediately spot the gizmo on the marble counter. Compared to the technology you have at home, it was top-notched, a huge improvement. Of course, he lived in the year 2099. Obviously, there would be a difference in technology.

You grabbed the gizmo, examining the complexity. From monitoring the spider people using them, you know it’ll take you wherever universe you request. Great. However, you weren’t a spider person. If you teleported in the middle of the air, you couldn't grapple on the closest object with a web. Or claw your way down a building

Fuck it.

If dying meant escaping him, then so be it.

You didn’t really mean that. Every time you went to teleport to a different universe, you cringed retreating your hand.

“Jesus! Alright, I'm doing this!” you softly berated yourself. Bracing for the impact of the possible fall you might face, you shut your eyes tight and twisted the gizmo. “Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground!” you cried.

How long would it take them to find you? How far could you get?

God, being on the run was stressful.

Your eyes flutter closed, plush pillows luling your tired mind. ‘I should get some sleep’ you thought. Warmth spread throughout your numbing body, as you finally permitted yourself to sleep.

When you awake gasping for air, almost as if you’d been suffocating. Instantly you arise, a hand rushing to your chest confirming it still thumped with a beating heart. Your skin is sticky with cold sweat, making your clothes uncomfortably cling to your body. “What the fuck?” you barely uttered, mouth arid.

Suddenly you had a gut feeling to check the window. You stand, groggily walking toward the large window adjacent to the front door. Pinching the hem of the curtain, you haul it aside.

The night is still pristine, the stars glowing in the dark sky. Nothing seems out of place. And yet you continue to have that gut feeling. Look outside, there’s something outside. Your eyes move to the parking lot.

You see it.

Blue and red. Something blue and red is making its way toward the motel. Squinting, you can make out what it is. Miguel. It's Miguel!

“Oh, shit!” you expressed, dropping the curtain. Wasting no time you locked the bottom and top locks. You veered around, frantically searching for a place to hide. You are no fool. Locking the door was simply a distraction; Miguel would tear the door off its hinges in a second.

Hiding underneath the bed is a childish strategy. That and hiding underneath the covers. Still, you drop to your knees, squeezing underneath the bed, using the blankets to cover any spaces revealing you. Pressing the palm of your hand against both your mouth and nose, you listen closely to everything around you.

At first, all you hear is the air conditioning blowing cool air, and the people next door’s baby weeping. Then you hear it. The doorknob oscillation. Your eyes widen, fear causing your breath to hitch. When the door refuses to open, the person behind the door commences kicking in the door. One kick achieves them access to the room. The door slams against the wall, shaking the ground, sending a vibration under you.

“¿Qué carajo?” you know that voice anywhere. It’s Miguel speaking in his native language. A habit Miguel has when he’s angered or stressed. “¿Dónde está ella?” Miguel snaps, striding into the room with anger-powered steps.

You can see through the tiny slit in the blankets, Miguel turning to the table where you placed the gizmo. Miguel picks up the gizmo, putting it back on his wrist.

He shifts his concentration to finding you. He calls out your name, malice dripping from the way he shouts it. He disappears from sight, presumingly moving on to the bathroom. Many things are heard being tossed around. Miguel probably was looking for evidence of you staying here, apart from the gizmo.

You gather the courage to, oh, so carefully stretch your leg out, then proceed to quietly shuffle from under the bed. You waste no time, rushing out the door, feet bare without socks or shoes. The gravel burns the soles of your feet, scraping and imprinting on the skin.

You practically succeeded in leaving the lot until you caught a glimpse of what stalked behind you. On all fours, Miguel sprinted at you, claws scuffing the concrete, like a predator running after its prey.

“Holy shit! What the actual fuck!” you panic aloud, taking your eye off what was in front of you, your mind solely focusing on the man hunting you. Big mistake on your part. A concrete parking block is in your way, but you don’t see it. You jolt forward, tripping over the block, your other foot catching you before you hit the road.

Just when you thought you still had the chance of running away, you’re sorely mistaken. Miguel pounces on you, and the clash of your bodies colliding results in Miguel tumbling down the road, you secure in his arms.

The tumble ends; you’re struggling not to vomit, head resting on Miguel’s firm chest. The world spins. It’s easy to forget your position when the urge to throw up is fresh.

Miguel holds your head, pressing a myriad of kisses on every part of the skin visible, muttering with his eyes closed. “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.” He sounds so frantic, reciting those same words, his tongue stumbling over the utterances.

His eyelids raise, uncovering his red orbs. He presses his forehead against yours, staring deeply into your eyes. It’s a domestic stunt that makes your stomach churn. “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.” he huffs, then continues, “I’m happy you’re alright. I don’t know what I'd do if I lost you, mi alma.”

Taking your hand, he places a soft kiss on the back. “Had an anomaly harmed you, I would have ripped their fucking throat out!”

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Translations

- “¿Qué carajo?”/ what the fuck?

- “¿Dónde está ella?”/ where is she?

- “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.”/ I should be furious with you, but I'm not.

- “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.”/ thank god you’re okay.

- mi alma/ my soul

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stairain · 1 year

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Masterlist

Bolded is NSFW.

✪ = Reader Favorite ✫ = Author Favorite

Bad idea. - You see your Professor talking to one of his co-workers, prompting insecurities about him belonging with someone his age.

Yes, Professor. - What follows after a jealous argument between Professor Spencer and his student.

Only you, darling. - You tell your professor you want a “real relationship”, it doesn’t bode well at all.

Beatdown. - Your professor can’t seem to get enough of your punishments. He was pushing your limits, and you intend to break him.

✫ I know your wife and she wouldn’t mind. - Even though he's married to someone else, Spencer can't resist taking care of you every time you show up on his doorstep.

✫ Swing and a Miss. - You meet a nerd at a bar, and you’re determined to claim him as yours.

✪ In the Pouring Rain. - You're driving home and there’s a storm incoming, but pulling over and never pulling out seems more than satisfactory.

✪✫ Vegas Redemption.- You spot Spencer at a hotel lounge alone, you see has a ring on his finger, but that doesn't stop you.

Headlights Flashing - Spencer and you are rivaling street racers, and despite your deep rooted hatred for each other, with enough adrenaline, arousal, and pure aggression shooting through your veins, you find yourself at the mercy of your contender.

Come and Save me now. - Spencer is supposed to be your doctor, but making you feel better surely wasn’t out of the job description.

✪✫ Daddy's Little Helper. - Spencer wants nothing more than to show his appreciation for you babysitting his daughter, but by giving you a baby of your own was not what you expected.

✪ Truth of a Lifetime. - After a long day at work, you want nothing more than to unwind with your best friend, but playing a game of drunk Truth or Dare was definitely not what you had in mind.

✪✫ Captive to Crosswords. - Spencer’s got you tied to a chair, but he’s more interested in finishing his crossword puzzle than finishing you.

✪ Down by the Dock. - After telling Spencer how distant he's been, he's determined to prove just how close he can get with you.

Dare of a Lifetime. - Part 2 to “Truth of a Lifetime” where you show Spencer the kinds of things you’re into, and he is quite the hands-on learner.

✫ Make Hate to You. - Spencer’s convinced you like him a little more than you’re letting on, but you’re set on showing him just how wrong he is.

✪ Mommy's Boyfriend. - While dropping off your son at school, the last thing you expect is your ex-boyfriend Mr.Reid to be his teacher.

✪ Gun that doesn't shoot. - You've grown tired of the princess treatment from Spencer, just wishing he'd slap you around for once, so you don't stop until he does.

✪ Old Fashioned. - After a long night of waiting tables, a quiet man who can’t help but blush every time you speak to him is just what you need.

✪ Staying Up. - You're peacefully sleeping when Spencer comes home needy for you, but you're more than happy to let him use you.

✪✫ The Art of Film - Spencer's wears his FBI vest and bodycam while he fucks you.

BBM Baby - Spencer wants nothing more than to leave work to be with you, so you sext him to torture him even further.

The Chase. - Getting pulled over wasn't exactly your plan for a Friday night, but getting pulled over by a hot officer just might be.

Wrong Move You're Dead - Spencer was never shy about his obsession for you, but you don't know just how far he'd go to prove you belong to him.

✪✫Jealous Girl. - Catching Spencer talking to another woman wasn’t exactly ideal, but thankfully you know just how to handle him.

Impatience.- Your patience was hardly that of a saint, so it’s no surprise when Spencer’s forced to leave work to fuck you.

✫ All Aboard. - When you meet a handsome stranger on the train home, he's adamant from the moment your gazes lock that he’ll get a taste of you.

Desk Pet. - Despite knowing the importance of work, Spencer still can't help but distract you in the worst way possible.

Begging for a Breaking. - You've never been that of a beggar for Spencer, but you’re not about to back down now.

✪ Friendly Competition. - Spencer gets a little too cocky and thinks he can please you better than a toy, so you take it upon yourself to crush his ego.

✫ Brushstrokes - You weren’t entirely sure what being Spencer’s muse meant, but it certainly wasn’t what he had in mind.

Loosen Up - Parties have never been much of Spencer's scene, luckily you've got no problem helping him calm down.

Conditioned Response - You knew training someone like a dog wasn't the most ethical, but Spencer just makes it too easy to pass up.

Good Decoration - After misplacing a folder full of explicit images, the last thing you’d expect was Spencer to take it.

Double-Edged Sword - The only way Spencer is allowed to fuck you is to wear a strap-on.

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #dom spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #dom spencer reid x reader #dom!spencer #professor spencer reid #teachers pet #student and teacher #sub spencer reid #sub!spencer #sub spencer x reader #sub spencer reid x reader #sub spencer #sub spencer reid smut #sub spencer reid x reader smut

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jjwho · 5 months

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18+ What about you turns them on?

Pile 1. Pile 2.

Pile 3. Pile 4.

Pile 1

"Love take it off" "Rough sex on the bedroom floor" "Tan skin and light eyes" "Night time" "Looking for a good time" "Kissing on her neck" "Smoking that lemon drop" "pushing her up against the wall"

Messages: "I love to thrust between your thighs" "I want to give you a handjob" "Control me, I'm being good"

Oh wow pile 111 your person is one he'll of a person🫣🫣🤭🤭🤭

So Pile 1 what turns your person on about you? They love when you obey them and do whatever they tell you to do. I saw them sitting on a chair and telling you to sit and getting more turned on when you don't say anything and just sit down "like a good girl" for them. I love getting rough with you. They love how you light then up and are their sunshine to their grumpy Ness. I see seeing your body in lingerie and drinking wine and champagne and giving him some really gets him started😶😶.

He's sooo hornyyy for you pile 1 espically when you just sit on his lap and let him kiss you on your neck and ket him do whatever he wants to you.

He loves when you wear his clothes and give him a good handjob when he gets back from work or came back from a bad day. He loves when you "reward" him. He likes how obedient you are to him while still being nonchalant to everyone else. He likes how you're quiet and don't question his demands. He loves when you tell him to be more controlling over you. He digs it so so much! AHH wow he's quite a "daddy" guy.

Likes you whenever you're blindfolded. He loves getting rough with you, because your small whimpers turns him on and how little you talk. He loves when he knows he's doing a job on you and knowing you only belong to him. He does feel you are unforgettable, the feeling you leave him, your taste you left him. He loves whenever he can get you alone by yourself a little helpless in a sense and him eating you up.

He loves the way you move your pretty body for him. He digs the silence and intensity between you two.

Pile 2

"Talk to me" "I know you want me baby" "I'm here to save you girl" "I'm here to rescue you" "Oh boy you drive crazy" "You gonna have to more than just say it" "I want you, you want me" "Slam my door" "Spin round on it" "keep your hands right there" "keep your eyes on mine"

Messages: "Sit on my face" "I'm going to overstimulate you" "Give me oral" Roleplay.

Wowie pile 22222🫢🫢🫢🤭🤭

Pile two your person gets turned on by knowing how much you want and need them. Like zamnnnn-

They love whenever they're your "saviour" being the the "strong man" for you. They love how you drive them crazy and they love when you show them they also drive you crazy. They love the ride or die energy you two give each other. They want you to be completely dependant on them.

If you're with someone else they always think about how much better they'd treat you or fuck you. They defs want the penetration. They love how jealous you can get them or seeing you jealous turns them on. Having make up sex is a big thing for them espically an argument in the car too. When you rub your ass on circles on them to tease them is something they love.

They love when you guys are fuckjng and not breaking eye contacts and seeing your facial expressions. He loves when you tell him what you want. Espically in innocent ways or down right naught whether it's "I want to do it please" or "I want your dick inside me now" they love oral sex with you. Whether you give good head or them. The sweaty and heat that is built is on a different level and they love it!!! They also really want to fuck you till you overstimulate and seeing you not able to walk after.

Pile 3

"That pussy kill be so vicious" "Baby I can make that pussy rain often" "Do it how I want it" "Damn I need you now" " when you get here don't you say a word" "You ain't even seen the dark side" "Do me right" "When you put your body on mine and collide" "Wanna see your body on mine" "I pleasure you for the moment" "She's so nice, she let's me use her body" "Yeah I treat her like bitch" " I let her suck on my dick"

Messages: "Eyes on me only" "I want to do it infront of your ex" "Ride that dick"

Pile 3 are u and your person just fuck buddies or are you guys together cause they don't like your ex and your ex knows yall fucked?

Seems like you got with each other to make someone's ex jealous even or someone got sick of their ex, maybe someone's ex even cheated and this is revenge. He loves seeing your pussy and it does make him feel and do a lot of things and drives him wild. He really likes know he can make you wet any moment. He loves whenever you're there for him in sexual ways and he can treat you in slutty ways, it turns him on.

He gets really turned on when he thinks of doing it in front of your ex or gets turned on of the thought of you and him doing it in front of his ex. Jealousy is his big thing, but a toxic thing is he might like sleeping too multiple people with no feelings just to make you jealous. He likes when you ride him when you're mad and jealous. He feels you're way better at it when you're in that mad mood.

He likes showers and seeing your body and his collide with no words just emotions in actions. Rough and spanking.

Pile 4

"Jump on it." "Ride it my pony" "The things I would do to you" "Juices flowing down your thigh" "I'm inside you" "No shirt no blouse" "let me hold both your hand in the holes of my sweather" "Baby we could take it to the bathroom"

Messages: "Cum in my mouth and I'll spit it in your mouth" "Let's do a 69" "Lets do it infront of the mirror so you can see how hot you are" "Your cute voice turns me on"

Wowie pile 4 Very fluidyyy

They like when you're very enthusiastic and eager to just jump on his dick and just ride it. He loves leaving you hanging till he sees the wetness drooping down your thighs. He loves seeing your face when it's desperate. He definitely fantasies about eating you out and you Cumming in his mouth and him spitting it right back in your mouth.

Definitely likes seeing your hot naked body alone. He fantasies about doing it in public restroom and in public hot spars or hot springs. Some parts of what turns him on is taking car of you and really getting steamy in cold weather's like winter or a really rainy day.

He wants you to do a 69 with him where he slides your panties to the side and eats you out while you suck his dick. Just pleasure being shared equally is really pleasuring alone to him. Alone alone alone. I guess he really likes privacy, but does he?🤭

He may think you're a little insecure about yourself so it may be a turn on of thinking about how you guys could do it infront of a mirror with you backwards cow girl and he sees you through the mirror and you see yourself in the mirror turns him on.

He loves your voice and you sweet talking him. He may want to cream inside you or think about getting you pregnant. He may have a breeding kink.

Wow

Heartbeat by Childish Gambino

Sweather Weather

#Spotify #SoundCloud #tarot community #astrology #free tarot #pick a pile #intuitive readings #psychic readings #tarot deck #pick an image #pick a pile reading #free readings #18+ tarot #+18 tarot #spicy

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thelightsandtheroses · 13 days

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when the rain washes you clean, you'll know

Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: Secrets can’t stay hidden forever, not with these rainy days anyway … Warnings: 18+ blog, MDNI, secret relationship vibes, sexual tension, passing mentions of sexism and work, flangst (is it a lolabee fic without this?), copious references to rainy seasons and rain, poor communication, elements of rivalry if you squint maybe? Notes: This is my entry for the very lovely @undercoverpena’s April Showers challenge and I would like to thank this event for giving me some Javi P inspo. The fic title is from the brilliant Fleetwood Mac Dreams. Word Count: 2.7k

April brings the rain in Bogotá. You hear that in Cartagena, they get an extra month of dryness, but you’ve never minded water. You’re used to it.

If you were at your apartment now; with rain pitter pattering against glass windows, steaming coffee in your cup and a whole evening away from the office ahead of you, it would be better, you’d enjoy this moment. Instead, you’re desperately searching your handbag in the vain hope that this time around you will find an umbrella.

The embassy has a few umbrellas near the entrances and exits, but these have already been purloined by people leaving work before you. That will teach you to work late, to try and impress Messina again in vain.

This job isn’t what you expected. You wanted to expand your horizons, to do something wild and reckless with your life while you could. It seemed sensible to do this now, before mortgages and future commitments and expectations made it too difficult to be spontaneous.

The post in Colombia, working for Claudia Messina, seemed like a perfect opportunity. When you were told about it, all you could think was how it would certainly be a change from your small-town world and to learn from a woman rising in a male-dominated field was a dream, as well as a chance to stop the bad guys? You said yes almost automatically.

The reality is different to the images you’d let run wild in your mind. You’re not an active agent, you’re mostly doing translations, paperwork and shadowing Messina. The DEA’s office is dark and dank, illuminated by artificial bulbs and full of cigarette smoke. Your apartment is small and loud. Work takes so much of your time that you feel like you never explore this beautiful country or city and now it’s the wet season.

You feel like your adventure hasn’t yet started. It’s been weeks since you moved here and despite your best intentions, this isn’t what you had hoped for.

“Where are you parked?” a voice asks softly behind you. You turn around and see Agent Javier Peña - the source of most of your late nights of work as you try and untangle his messes or work on a better case for Messina to present.

When you had first joined the DEA office, one of the women in the office had taken you under her wing and shared the gossip and news about all of your new colleagues. She told you that Agent Peña has been in Colombia for years though, longer than most of the other active DEA agents.

He has a reputation. It’s all she’s needed to say to you about him.

Your few conversations with Javier have been professional, concise and fine. You’ve tried to notice his smile, the way he slightly changes his voice when he speaks to you, or any women. You refuse to be a notch in an already impressive bedpost, or to be the woman people talk about.

He might have a reputation, but from what you’ve heard, he’s one of the ‘good guys’. It lowers your guard; lets you point vaguely in the direction of your car. Javier smiles.

It’s a good smile. You can understand the rumours with a smile like that.

“We haven’t met, have we? I’m Javi” Five words. It takes only five words for Javier Peña to ruin everything. “I’d definitely remember seeing someone like you. Which uh, office are you in?”

You stand stonily silent, listening to the water running off the umbrella. Javier looks at you, brow furrowed as you extend the silence.

The rain does sound beautiful.

You open your car door and get in. Part of you wants to leave Javier right there, standing dumbfounded in the rain, his clothes getting damper by the second, the rain pouring over his stupid umbrella.

“I work for Messina, Peña, in the same damn office,” you say finally before slamming the door shut and starting your car engine.

“You changed your hair,” he says, hands on his hips defensively as he stands over your desk. “What’s your problem, Agent Peña?” “You changed your hair, that’s why I didn’t recognise you.” “Right.” You’re proud you manage to avoid physically rolling your eyes at his excuses. “It’s true,” he argues, shifting his position slightly. “Uh huh.” You remember that Colleen has boasted about him noticing her damn nail varnish so this feels weak at best so this hardly feels plausible, but as you look up you notice that Javi appears genuinely disturbed at your reaction. You take in his appearance further, now he’s not at the end of another busy day, isn’t fighting away rain in a damp suit and shirt, with curls peeking through his hair. Today he’s wearing a white shirt with a black pattern on it, his hair slightly scruffy, but moustache carefully sculpted. He smells like cologne and cigarettes. Sweet, woody notes trying to mask smoke and drawing you in like a siren’s song. “Look, this has been … delightful, but do excuse me, Agent Peña,” you say coolly, focusing on each syllable of his surname because you at least remember his name, at least you remember meeting him before yesterday. “I need to get back to work.” “Oh, well, please don’t let me keep you,” Javi replies with a sardonic tone, one eyebrow raised and his arms folded. “I shan’t.” You don’t move. “Must be very important work,” he says pleasantly, a slight smirk at your lack of movement. “Well, someone has to actually work around here,” you reply sweetly.

You don’t need to be a special agent to know that everybody has secrets. It’s a fact of life. There will always be things we keep from others, especially at work. Most of them will be mild and harmless, but some of them won’t be. It’s a constant.

There’s a reliability to this idea that perhaps you’re never getting the true person in front of you; just the shiny version that they want to project, the one that masks all the little secrets like they can’t quit smoking, or they drink milk straight from the carton.

It’s you too. You have a secret.

Your secret is wearing a light blue shirt today. Your secret is walking down the hallway arguing with his colleague. Your secret is the smell of cigarette smoke, whispered words and so much heat.

Your secret now is Agent Javier Peña.

He’s been your secret for weeks; weeks since the teasing banter developed into something else, to lingering touches, to kisses that you need like breathing and hands that map your body in a way you can hardly describe. You spent the month break from rainstorms in between yours and Javi’s apartments under the cover of night and cloud. Now it’s raining again, the wet season truly living up to its name.

Down in the DEA office, you can’t hear or see the rain outside. The windowless, dimly lit basement is a world away from the bustle of Bogota’s streets, yet somehow still is damp. Colombia’s wetness permeates through poorly maintained vents, through wet umbrellas in the bucket by the office door that hint at a world outside.

Steve and Javier are arguing. It’s not subtle, not a quiet disagreement between colleagues. It’s hands on hips, hands in the air, shaking heads and barely concealed curse words.

Maybe you should say something.

Or maybe not.

You try and return to your paperwork and the steaming mug of coffee you’ve been anticipating ever since your morning cup. There’s a coffee shop a few steps from your apartment building and you’ve finally convinced them to sell you some of their coffee blend. It’s not quite the same, but it’s close.

You think of breakfast this morning. The ghost of Javi’s lips on yours.

There’s a noise, a clearing of a throat and you look up to see Steve and Javi standing in front of your desk.

“Messina’s in meetings until five.”

“I know,” Javi says.

“It’s you, we want to speak to.”

You raise an eyebrow. Whatever this is between you and Javi relies on the two of you barely acknowledging one another in the office.

“You’re fluent in Spanish, right?” Steve asks directly.

You nod, still perplexed at how Steve’s Spanish is . “Why?”

“Firearm trained? You’re not just a desk jockey, right? You’re qualified?”

“Came third in my class.” You may have been a little higher if not for a terrible argument with your parents two days before your final exam. It hadn’t been your finest hour. You still carry it with you in every awkward phone call, every stilted letter home.

“Okay. That’s good. So, I don’t see the problem, Javi.”

“She came third. Who came first?’

“Really?” you ask incredulously, hurt and anger raging. How fucking dare he? You’ve told him about how hard it is to be taken seriously in the department, how the sexist roots prevail even with Messina in charge. Institutions can’t change overnight - they need people like you to fight them. Javi had emphasised, talked about his own barriers, the presumptions people had from his surname, his heritage.

He has the decency to look away, eyes abashed and fixated on the floor. Good, you think, that’s the very least he could do.

“I can get one of my informants -” No, you think, no, not one of Javi’s informants. You’ll do it, whatever Steve needs, surely you can do it instead?

“What do you need, Steve?”

This morning feels a world away now, but you let the memory take you away from this moment, from Javi’s inscrutable look when you said yes to Steve, from the fact you’re doing something this brave, this dangerous. You remember the coffee on the stove, its rich aroma seeping through the room as you wander out of Javi’s bedroom. Hands behind, wrapping around your wait and turning you around to meet his kiss. His hands move down your nightdress, teasing at the lacy hem as he moves them underneath. Laughing between kisses. “It’s raining,” you say. “I noticed,” he teases, tracing kisses down to your neck and then back up your jaw. “I think of you when it rains.” “Oh, yeah?” Javi stops for a second and looks at you quizzically. “Of how we got talking, of how we got from there, in that moment to here.” “Well ,I’ve never been more grateful to be caught in the rain.”

You’re starting to wonder if there was ever a time in Colombia that it wasn’t raining. The stormy clouds add to the greyness and foreboding of the street you’re currently parked in.

“Don’t,” Javi says quietly, the rain hitting the car windows and roof, echoing loudly around you. “Please don’t do this.”

You chance a look at him. “Do you not believe I can do this?” you ask, the concealed firearm heavy on your side, the wire Javi had put on feeling all to visible to you. He’d swallowed as he did it, featherlight fingers trying not to linger, you wondered if he was also trying not to default to the usual way he’d touch you.

“Oh, baby, I know you can.” Javi swallows. “But I want to be selfish and tell you not to do this. This isn’t a game, it’s not a drill -”

“I know that. I’ve been through the same training -”

“It’s different. You’ve not seen what I’ve seen.”

“I can handle it,” you reply simply.

“I don’t want you to.”

“Don’t be a sexist.”

“Don’t be so naive then, goddammit!”

“I’ve read the reports, studied the intel. I am not some naive ingenue here, Javi, fuck you for saying that. You made out I was stupid earlier, like I was some -”

“I’m sorry.” You can hear the apology is genuine.

You don’t reply, letting the rain speak for you instead. If you’re honest, you are nervous. This is your first undercover assignment and is so beyond the comfort and safety provided by your windowless desk.

It’s the job though, it’s what is needed.

“I’ve got this, Javi, whether or not you believe in me,”

“I do believe in you. I am sorry. I just - I don’t like it out here. I don’t like me out here, I don’t like who I am or who I become and I don’t - you’re still you. That’s part of what I love about you.”

You raise an eyebrow, meet Javi’s gaze. “Love, huh?”

You expect him to walk his words back, to huff or not say a word. He just shrugs.

“You ready?” Steve asks through the walkie talkie.

You nod before catching yourself, pressing the button and saying, “Yes, yeah, I’m ready and in position.”

“Okay, keep it to what we agreed, nothing else and keep it quick.”

Next to you, Javi looks at you pointedly, reinforcing Steve’s words.

“Understood,” you say and you can’t help but chance a smile at Javi as you unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the car.

Rain hitting your skin.

Your heart’s racing, it’s so loud you can feel it in your ears. The incessant beating and drumming of adrenaline coursing through your body.

You should be cold, but you’re not. Not as they load them into the van, as Steve pats you on the back to congratulate you on a job well done.

You wish your undercover persona was the type of woman who wore a coat on a rainy night. You wrap your arms around yourself.

You can still hear the gunshot. The shouts.

There’s a weight on your shoulder, the scent of cologne, cigarettes … Javi permeating through your haze.

He stands next to you, leaning against the wall, a lit cigarette between his fingers.

“I’m fine,” you say urgently.

“I know.”

“It’s just … a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought they had made me towards the end.”

Javi pauses, taking a long drag of his cigarette before offering you it. You accept it with surprisingly shaky hands.

“I did too,” he admits in a low voice.

“But they didn’t.”

“They didn’t.” Javi pauses. “You did great.”

“You haven’t.”

“I haven’t, what?” he asks playfully, turning to face you. In the dim streetlight, you notice each feature of his face, how it’s illuminated in yellow light and how deep brown his eyes really are. His brow is furrowed, hair slightly dishevelled in the way you normally associate with a good night, but you know from his bad days in the office is from running his hand through his hair too many times.

“Changed,” you say. “You said you don’t like who you become, but you’re you, Javi. I like you. All of you.”

“You say shit like that, I’m going to end up kissing you right here.”

“Dare you,” you tease.

He smirks. “I would,” he replies in a low voice.

“It’d be romantic, with the rain and all. Maybe less so with our colleagues around though. ”

“Is that what you want?”

“Do you?” It’s the first time the two of you have broached this subject. For months, you’ve existed in peace with the parts of Javi he can give you out of an assumption that was all that he could offer. Today seems to have changed things though.

Javi swallows.

“Take away the job, or who you’re hunting, take it all away for a moment. Would you want - would you want to be with me like that?”

“If we were in Texas, if none of this was going on, then nothing would stop me.”

“I’ve never been to Texas,” you muse.

“When this is over, we can go,” Javi says and the vulnerability in his eyes is so alien.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Looks like it’s still raining,” Javi says, noticing your attention at the view outside.

“Yep,” you say, “I suppose we should head back to everyone else, right? Finish the paperwork?”

“I didn’t say it this morning, but I think of you too. When it rains, I always think of you.”

Tag List

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

#javier peña x female reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier peña x you #UndercoverAprilShowersChallenge #javi pena x you #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x reader

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lenaellsi · 14 days

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it's honestly a bit odd to me that so many people have jumped on the 'aziraphale will be pulling all the strings and playing politics in heaven' train. like I think it's true that the metatron is underestimating aziraphale's intelligence and ability to disrupt the second coming even while separated from crowley, but I also think the idea that aziraphale is going up to heaven with a clear idea of how he's just been lied to, an understanding of how much danger he's in, and a plan to stop it is a huge reach.

frankly, aziraphale is very vulnerable to manipulation. I'm thinking now of neil’s post with the diary entry from before the edinburgh minisode where he was duped by two humans, the whole thing with the nazis in 1941, and his sponsorship of shadwell's various obviously fake agents (sergeant milkbottle, etc.). he's not nearly as savvy as fanon tends to portray him. he takes people at face value, especially people he thinks of as Good. (that's not a dunk, btw--I find these things endearing, and a sign of aziraphale's innate wish to see the best in people. I just think that sometimes the BAMF protective aziraphale of fanon overshadows the slightly more naive aziraphale of canon. and honestly, I also think TV aziraphale is just a bit softer than book aziraphale, though he is capable of stepping up when it counts.)

and he's a bad liar! I know it's a meme in the fandom that aziraphale lies all the time, but he doesn't like it, and he's bad at it. he gets nervous and comes up with terrible excuses and the only reason he ever gets away with it is because the people he's lying to are idiots (gabriel), have their own agendas (god, the other archangels), or trust him to be honest (crowley).

aziraphale's real strength is his ability to take sudden, completely unexpected action. that's one of the things that crowley admires most about him. "he's unpredictable," is what he says to nina, and it's true! aziraphale's greatest moments of rebellion have always come from spur of the moment decisions, not intricate plans. (if anything, crowley is the planner--the arrangement and the thwarting of the apocalypse, their two longest cons, were both his idea.)

aziraphale gives the sword away because when he is forced to make a decision under pressure, he tends to land on the side of rebellious kindness. shielding crowley from the rain in eden, lying to gabriel to protect job's family, defying the quartermaster and returning to earth via possession during the apocalypse, blowing up his halo--he does these things because he's following that same impulse. when aziraphale has time to over think, he frets and fusses and is paralyzed by indecision. (or worse, he falls back on what heaven has taught him.)

TL;DR: I don't think aziraphale has any sort of grand plan other than a generalized "make things better," and I certainly don't think he is planning to betray heaven. he might try to come up with a plan once he figures out how bad things are going to get, but my bet is that what will actually disrupt the second coming is an absolutely bonkers off the wall decision that no one, crowley included, could ever predict. and I think it’ll happen, as it usually does with aziraphale, just after he accepts a difficult truth that fundamentally shifts his worldview—in this case, his final rejection of the idea of “good” and “bad” people, and of the entire morality system of heaven and hell.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #final fifteen #aziraphale #long post #been in a meta mood lately sorry #to be clear people can write whatever they want. playing with characterization is fine and good in fanworks #but also I do wonder if the fanon built over four years between seasons is seriously impacting the way people read the final fifteen #and because I suspect it will come up: his smile in the elevator reads as Aziraphale’s denial smile #the one where he plasters it on as a ‘this is fine this is what I want I am a Good Angel’ reaction #‘I’m not trapped in here with you you’re trapped in here with me’ is not a thought aziraphale would ever have about himself #he doesn’t think about himself that way #crowley thinks of him as a force to be reckoned with for sure. but aziraphale is not that sure of himself

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dreamerinthemoonlight · 4 months

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Genshin Guys on Your Birthday (Zhongli, Kaeya, Neuvillette, Wriothesley)

Y'all are getting two posts today. This one now and one from my blog at it's usually scheduled time.

On another note, Happy Birthday to Me!

CW: None, fluff, slightly suggestive in Kaeya's

Zhongli x gn!reader, Kaeya x gn!reader, Neuvillette x gn!reader, Wriothesley x gn!reader

Zhongli

he goes all out on your birthday

Not in a tons of presents kind of way, but you know he spent quite a bit on your birthday present.

I mean, he's a stickler for quality in general, it's just worse on your birthday (don't worry, tartaglia heard it was your birthday and was happy to donate top the cause)

He makes you breakfast in bed (your favorites), schedules lunch at whatever restaurant you want, and cooks you your favorite meal himself for dinner

Depending on your personality he helps H Tao with the planned birthday party or helps you avoid it like the plague

After dinner the two of you curl up on the couch and cuddle until bed

Kaeya

Your birthday is a huge deal and nothing will ever convince him otherwise

For the most part, when he's around you he lets that charming face drop. Not today.

He goes all out. Makes sure you have a big birthday party.

He enlisted Klee's help, so there's a chance something got blown up in the process, cough cough the good hunter stove but the result was a very bright and lively venue

The picnic happens early. After all, there is a kid attending and he has plans for later

Said plans include a picnic (with your choice of drinks, alcoholic or otherwise) and fireworks

He basically begged Jean to let him order B-Day fireworks from Yoimiya, though it didn't actually take that much work. Any kind of collaboration with Inazuma is good in her eyes, and Jean is fond enough of you, it was no issue. (she's also very glad that Kaeya didn't enlist Klee in making the explosives. Yoimiya, she trusts. Klee, not so much.)

And of course, Kaeya does his very best to make sure your satisfied in other ways. If he has his way, you're not walking home. Not that he doesn't mind carrying you. After all, it would be his fault you're boneless and on cloud nine.

Neuvillette

Let's be honest, Sedene thought he was going to have a heart attack in the days weeks leading up to your birthday

Sure, he's dealt with Furina's birthday and his is a public holiday or sorts, but that's not the same as it being your birthday

This is the first time he's celebrated a birthday that isn't a holiday, so he's a bit at a loss as to how to celebrate it

After some research, he figures out that sweets is going to be part of it, but presents? Birthday party? What the heck?

After some thought he enlists both the help of the Melusines (who would be very upset if they didn't get to help) and several humans. Navia in particular was a huge help. (And Wriothesley for making sure to remind Neuvie that Melusines should not be in control of dinner. Neuvie is very smart, but he has a weak spot for the Melusines and they certainly volunteered for the job)

Overall it was the most...interesting birthday party you've ever had. A combination of Melusine and Human decorations, fireworks, and every friend you have. And, of course, the best, most expensive water Teyvat has to offer

Neuvillette plans this for earlier in the day --he decided that taking the day off would be appropriate Wriothesley and Sedene's idea as well so he has time afterward for a more private

The two of you leave the city for the afternoon and walk around the countryside or go swimming. Simply content to spend the time in each other's company. It 100% rains, but that's not unusual

That evening he takes you to an expensive restaurant and gives you the gift he spent far too long picking. It was worth it to see your face though, lighting up like a child. You don't care if your in public when you give him a long, deep kiss in thanks, with a secret vow to make sure his next birthday is even better than he made yours

Wriothesley

Birthdays with Wrio are pretty chill affairs

He makes sure you have time to open the gifts sent from the over world, from the inmates, and from Sigewinne, but after that, no one should expect to see you for the rest of the day and most of the night

Whether it's running around the wilderness, going to the Opera (if the show of the day isn't a trial), or just walking around the city

He's also pretty unsubtle about trying to buy you a bunch of pretty stuff. You're his s/o, he thinks you deserve the world, and at least on your birthday you're willing to let him

But mostly, his gift to you is time and attention. On your birthday it's all about you

If you decide half way through that you want to go home and spend the day just hanging out there too, that's fine by him

And when you go back, only to stumble into the surprise party the inmates and Sigewinne spent the say putting together, well you don't believe it one bit when Wrio said he had nothing to do with it

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powderblueblood · 5 months

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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER SIX — IN MY ORBIT

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: it's escape from new york, if by new york you mean eddie munson's trailer. he knows you need to stay away from him, you know he needs to stay away from you, but honey... who else is gonna tell him there's an 'e' in roane county? content warnings: MINORS DNI obviously, my god. we've got your usual here-- mentions of masturbation, both male and female, white hot motherfucking yearning of the sexual and emotional kind, a surprise nancy wheeler, little women references, sticking it to the teacher we don't need no education style, eddie munson says acab word count: 12.2k

Dear hooker from the Christmas card in Minneapolis, can you shut the fuck up? I need to think!

Dear Bilbdoolpoolp, you nutty sea bitch goddess, do me a solid and send me a diversion– tear the roof off this trailer– I need to think!

Dear Lacy, quit looking at me like I just bit the head off your Virginia Woolf doll. I want to suck face with you so bad, like really goddamn bad, and you seem like you want to do it to me as well, what with your whole, like, big doe eyes and all that shit, but I need.

To think.

It’s not what Eddie wants to clamp over your mouth, but it’s what you’re getting. His hand, his whole ringed hand, which takes up the better part of your face so all he can see is your eyes flashing from possibly turned on (jury’s still out) to confused to plain angry.

“Mmmphmph!” you squeal against his hand, and he pulls his most panicked, most pleading expression out of the bag.

“Lacy! Lacy. Lay-cee,” he hisses, teeth grit and spittle flying,”Do me a favor, do me a favor for once in your life and be. Cool. Be cool.”

His fingers slide from your mouth and your jaw is set all hard. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?!”

Right. Ice princess. Totally. Totally. “When I said be cool, I meant be quiet!”

“Ed.” That gruff rumble is coming from right outside his door. Eddie holds an index finger to his lips, and motions, like a goddamn kindergarten teacher, for you to do the same. Because that’s all you seem to understand. And you roll your eyes, but you do it anyway. And he– fuck, you’re cute.

“Yee-aah?” he calls back, tone about as even as the Appalachian mountains.

“Can I–”

“No!” Eddie barks, seeing that door handle twist a fraction of an inch. What would Wayne do, if he caught you in here? Would his brain explode all over the trailer? Would that be the end of the last truly good Munson family member? I mean, probably not, but he’d be all disappointed in Eddie and that would be worse. So much worse. “I’m not… Decent.”

You, still with your finger planted in the indent of your cupid’s bow, do a bad job of suppressing a snort. “Who are you, Rita Hayworth?” you hiss, and Eddie raises his hand to seal your stupid lips up again. Stupid. Lippy. Stupid lips. You bat it away, motioning like, okay, I’ll be cool!

Who the fuck is Rita Hayworth, anyway?!

“Well. Get decent,” Wayne says, a single knuckle rapping on the door–that means get movin’, “Need to talk to you.”

And far be it from Eddie to keep the man he’s effectively betraying by stowing you away in his bedroom waiting. Up like a shot, he lifts the needle from the skipping record, pausing by the door before he heads out to meet his fate.

He can tell by the look on your face that he’s blown this. Whatever it is– was. He had a perfect precipice of a moment, and he’d totally shot himself in the foot. But Eddie would sooner see you alive and unkissed than dead of pneumonia in the freezing rain, ‘kay? Call him a hero, whatever.

“Just–”

“--shut the fuck up,” you whisper, hands drawn up in surrender. Realizing that there’s nothing funny about this situation. “I got it.”

The door whumps closed behind him, shaking the entire trailer in its wake, and you wait all of three seconds before racing to it and pressing your ear up against the paint-chipped wood.

What’s going on out there? Is it about me?

How could it be about you? Unless Munson’s uncle had some kind of sixth sense, some breach in his cerebrum that alerted him once you crossed the threshold of his precious trailer. Come to think of it, you don’t remember seeing a second bedroom in this thing.

You’d be lying if that didn’t elicit a little pang of pride– my trailer’s better than your trailer, you jealous? Doesn’t answer the question of where the Munson uncle sleeps, but at least you and your mother had a two-bedder.

To your flaring frustration, the Munson men have opted to use an indecipherable muttering gravelly man octave with which to discuss this pressing business. That could or could not be about you. Insanely inconsiderate that this is the one time that Eddie Munson isn’t the loudest voice in the room, a ball of fury and sound and action knocking over everything in its wake. When it was the one time you actually wanted to hear what he had to say.

You also regret to inform yourself that that wasn’t all you wanted from him, up until about forty-five seconds ago.

The white-hot embarrassment of being caught ready to throw a leg over him–the white hot embarrassment of being caught holding onto his wrist in the record store, of him catching you falling out of his van–descends over you in a wave that almost takes you out at the knees.

But you’d wanted it– you did, in one suspended moment that you couldn’t pawn off on being high or drunk or wildly angry, sobbing soaked out in the rain. You had looked at Eddie Munson, in his dark, bottomless eyes and took in his slope of a Grecian nose and his dumb, effusive mouth with the pink lips and the pretty teeth and you had wanted it. Him. Him and the nebulous it that he would inevitably end up doing to you.

He wanted you back. You thought.

When Eddie slips back into his bedroom, you’re peeking through his blinds. Your trailer remains in total darkness, that criminal slip of a key obviously still jammed in the lock. You look over your shoulder at him and his brow is set in such a weird and distant crease that you think– shit. Maybe I hallucinated all that. Maybe that was all me.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice flat and near silent. What happened out there?

“My mom,” you start, “She…”

Never came home, is where you were going with it, but you don’t get to finish. “Okay,” he says, all absent. He flicks off the bedroom lamp as he passes it, this unconscious motion that leaves you both stranded in a blue-tinged darkness.

In the moments it takes your eyes to adjust, he’s sitting next to you on the bed.

“I’m gonna sleep on the floor,” he tells you. His irises are shiny and hard and serious.

Oh. The kind of tension you want to poke at.

“Don’t be stu–”

“I’m not bein’ stupid, Lacy.”

You blink. Your faces are close. In the dark, the fractals of him would be easier to not remember in the daylight. You could pick out the parts you wanted–his cheekbone, his jutting jawline, the sloping corner of his mouth–and not puzzle them together in the morning. You could separate it. It could be fine. A non-event.

“It’s cold,” you press, your voice low and solid, “and you don’t have another comforter.”

“How do you know that.”

Lucky guess. “I just do.” Just let me have this without having to ask for it.

I am a little afraid, I don’t know of what, and you’re the last solid thing I can grab onto.

Or lay next to.

“What side of the bed do you sleep on?”

“All of it.” God, he’s so obstinate.

“Pick a favorite.”

His mouth–his mouth–scrunches up the way a shitting cat’s might. You puncture the silence with a visible shiver. This staredown is horrible.

“Fuck. Fine.” Point to Lacy. Eddie, arms out, gestures to the side of the bed furthest from the door. “Get comfy.”

In a scramble, you dig yourself under the comforter, pulling it all the way up to your chin. But now the shivering has started, and there’s no sign of stopping it– real, muscle seizing, teeth-chattering shivering.

Eddie mumbles something like Jesus Christ, or God help me or some other plea for mercy, and slides in beside you, pitching himself at the very edge of the mattress. Arms folded over his chest.

“You gotta quit shaking!” he hisses.

“I am fuh-reezing!” you seethe back.

You kick your knees up into your arms, facing away from him and curling yourself in the tightest of balls and really, really working hard on calming down your wracking because, honestly? Little embarrassing.

The mattress crreeaaaks. A shift in weight.

“Are you really that cold?”

You put that shaking to good use and nod in the affirmative. “Ice princess, right?”

Like you were putting this on for show. God, he’s such an asshole.

The way he gulps is borderline cartoonish. “Okay.” A shaky breath. “But we have to not make this weird.”

The mattress shifts again and you feel his weight edge closer to you. You relax a little from the fetal position, head craning to peer over your shoulder. He was– hovering, as much as one could hover when lying in a horizontal position.

“Munson, are you trying to cu–”

“Stop it. Stop making it weird. I’ll throw your ass out that window and it’s a cold snap and you’re already cold blooded so you’ll, like, double fucking freeze to death.”

But he wouldn’t. Of that you were fairly confident.

Eddie’s hand edges toward your waist, positioning his front side ever closer to your back, which feels… not horrible at all, until–

“No. Nope. That’s not gonna work.”

You have to bite back a smile. Boys. Boys and their stupid, simple penises.

He flops back against the mattress, head angled to the ceiling. Awkwardly, he jigs an arm up, like some puppeteer’s yanking his string. His hand hits you square in the back of the head.

“Ow–”

“Shut up. Get under here.”

Slowly, and almost shyly, you rotate your shivering body a cool one-eighty degrees and find him concentrating resolutely on the ceiling. You glance up. There’s black mold on that ceiling. You wish you had noticed that before, but when up shit creek, et cetera. Inching and inching, you settle in next to him, head nestling into his armpit.

His arm gingerly curves around you.

You bring your hands up to your mouth, fingers curled in fists like a little kid.

Your leg brushes against his, accidentally, racking up the leg of his flannel pants. You can feel the hair against your bare calf– strong, ticklish.

And you can hear his heart.

Jackrabbity. Thu-thump-thu-thump-thu-thump.

So’s yours.

He is so warm.

“Hey,” he whispers, tone a little softer this go around, “Can I ask you something?”

You do a tiny swallow and hope it’s not obvious. “I guess.”

“... Does it stink down there?”

Eddie Munson smells like cigarette and soap and that warm smell from the dryer. You inhale and hope it’s not obvious.

“Yes. You’re ripe. It’s disgusting.”

“Good. ‘night, Lacy.”

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

–

Eddie wakes up with a painful inhale and two of his rings tangled in your hair.

Shit! Fucking shit! See, he was supposed to stay awake, stay alert, make sure Wayne didn’t like, suddenly develop a tendency to sleepwalk and stumble into his room while you were all… curled up next to him. With your freezing little ice blocks for feet. And your lashes fanned out across your cheeks. And your tiny little kitten snores, you goddamn bitch.

But for as freaked out as he was–and is, girl in his actual human bed and everything–Eddie started nodding off here and there. And suddenly, here and there became the morning sun beaming directly into his stinking retinas from a crack in the blinds.

He is now hyper-aware of your hand curled beneath his sternum and your boobs pressing against his side.

The following procedure needs to be handled delicately, like a bomb.

Because the other thing, among all the other other things, is Woody fuckin’ Woodpecker has come calling this morning too.

Now, blue sky situation, ideal world, you’d just be able to scoot that hand a little lower and help him out with such an issue. But since he blew any shot of you wanting that along with any semblance of dignity he held in your eyes last night, that is a no-go.

He needs a Bible level miracle to will himself soft and untangle his rings from your hair without you waking up. And he also needs to wake you up and smuggle you the ever-loving fuck out of his trailer.

Careful, careful, careful– he starts picking strands out from around the silver, wondering how the hell he let himself just… tousle his hand around in your hair without, I’unno, getting turned into a pile of dust.

Then you make this noise– this little mewl, like mmnnrgh?, and Eddie’s entire body skips a beat. He needs to commit it to memory, record it to the ongoing multi-track mixtape he’s unconsciously been creating in his mind. Lacy’s Greatest Hits, featuring dick-in-fist chart toppers such as Who Died and Made You My Parole Officer?, Sorry, I Don’t Teach Remedial, and an eight hour loop of you saying his name. Eddie. Eddie. Eddie.

He wants to pull you on top of him, rings-in-hair and all, and kiss all the broken little mmnnrgh?s out of you ‘til you don’t have the breath to make any more. ‘til all you’ve got is his name on your tongue, your Siberian cold hands under his shirt.

And if he keeps thinking thoughts like this, he’s gonna kill himself!

This is not helping. You are not helping.

With some absolutely saint-worthy maneuvering on his part, Eddie gets his fingers free of your hair, but it’s not the gentle tug that wakes you up–

It’s a certain eardrum-perforating WHOOP-WHOOP.

Eddie Munson never thought he’d see the day where he was thanking whoever down there that’s lookin’ out for him for the sound of a cop car. Instant boner killer.

But also–

“Issat-thefuckin’-cops?” you slur at an almost normal volume, rising from underneath Eddie’s arm.

He shushes you, all harsh and wiry and you’ve just woken up, bleary-eyed and not yet able to comprehend your surroundings. Which, boy howdy. He darts to the window like an animal alarmed, peering out through the blinds.

“Oh, you gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

“What’s happening?” you whisper-ask, slapping consciousness into yourself with a palm to either cheek.

“Lacy, on a scale from one to ten,” Eddie seethes, scanning his view from the window, “How likely is your mom to report you as a missing person in under 24 hours?”

Your stomach drops with an acidic, awful clunk. Going out and making a fool of us. Your mom, caring only when she absolutely has to.

“Eleven.”

Eddie turns his big, siren-eyed stare on you.

“Then we gotta get you outta here. Like. Yesterday.”

You, now, you’re at a total loss. A total loss that’s made your blood turn bad under your skin, a total loss that has made you want to strangle your own mother, but a total loss where it actually matters. “I can’t believe she’d–!”

“Don’t matter, sweetheart! Does noooot matter– this the first time you ever got the cops called on you or something?”

You blink, remembering red and blue lights outside of your house in Loch Nora. But that wasn’t for you. Technically. Figures why you suddenly feel morning-sick nauseous, though.

“Well, mazel tov,” Eddie says, misreading the memory and starting toward his door.

You scramble for him, tugging at him by the bottom of his t-shirt. “Where are you going?!”

“Running interference. We need a distraction,” he tells you, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Okay, sorry for not being an accomplished criminal.

“Interference. Yeah. You’re good at that.”

He hits you with a sneer. “Not my first rodeo. You post up by that window and watch– when the coast is clear, I’ll give you a signal.”

“And then what?”

“And then– and then what?!” Eddie gasps, totally incredulous that you’d even try to ask– to seek his guidance, or whatever, “And then you’re on your own, kid! I’m already about to throw a match into the powder keg of your stupid hot mom, I’m not gonna stick around to watch her blow up!”

A quiver escapes your pinched lips, one that nearly says don’t go.

You’ve been taking care of yourself for a long time. That’s not the problem. The problem is tasting what it’s like when somebody helps you and realizing you haven’t had your fill. That, and your mother’s wrath which is your father’s wrath if you blow your cover and word gets back that you were hanging out in Al Munson’s boy’s trailer.

Nuclear fallout. Worse than Eddie’s room.

Eddie notices that you’ve been quiet a half-beat too long– and not just because you are both pressed for time, he puts his hands on your shoulders. Reassuringly, hurriedly. He shakes you, pump-pump, snap out of it.

You’re still gripping the hem of his t-shirt.

“Hey.” His voice is quieter. “This is gonna be fine.”

“Before you go out there, I– I need to ask you something.” It’s all compulsion. Why are you helping me? Why are you being nice to me? I don’t deserve you being nice to me.

Do you regret not kissing me last night? Do you regret not doing it right now? What am I supposed to do if I regret it too?

“Lacy?”

“Did you fuck Cass Finnigan in the ass?” Oh, yeah, there it fucking is.

Complete bafflement. Eddie seems to completely short circuit, powering back to life with a groan. “Wh– how did you know that?”

You huff, because it’s all you can do.

“I’m the goddamn Oracle of Delphi.” Finally, your vice grip of his shirt loosens. “Well. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Okay, insulting.

Eddie stalks out of the room, head reeling on several different strata levels. By someone’s infernal grace, Wayne has already left for the day–it’s 7AM; way to get a headfirst start on inconveniencing the boys in blue, Lacy’s mom–so Eddie has ample space to flail his arms around wildly, frustratedly, cursing himself out before grabbing his uncle’s insulated parka from the coat rack and heading out the front door.

“Officers,” he says, half-wishing the zip on the jacket would choke him out so he wouldn’t have to put himself in the line of fire like this, and for what. “What’s uuuup?”

“Perfect.” That clipped yap comes from behind a cloud of smoke, teeming out of your mother huffing back a Dunhill. “There’s the little curr himself. Ask him where my daughter is, why don’t you.”

Well, now Eddie sees where you get it from.

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to school, son?” one of the officers (Callahan, if Eddie’s last speeding-ticket-receiving memory serves) drawls, clearly not all too concerned with the happenings here. But, considering to your mom, who can resist a Blanche DuBois type in a crisis, right? Definitely runs in the family.

Eddie lets his tongue loll out in an exaggerated hack-cough. “Sick day.”

“Then you oughta be inside, right?” Cops, man. Our nation’s greatest thinkers.

“I would be,” he says, taking on the haughty tone of– well, of your mother, “was it not for that obnoxious weew-weew of yours rousing me from my sick bed.” He even clutches at the lapels of the coat, shivering for effect. That one’s for you, baby.

“And y’know what, while we’re on the subject of noise…” You weren��t wrong when you said that he’s good at running interference– because he’s good at being a nuisance. “I’ve been meaning to put a call into you guys. You guys, police guys.” Eddie moves to stand in the negative space between your trailers, however many feet it is.

“See how much distance it is from here–” he points to his trailer where, if you’re not totally fucking this up, you’re watching from the slits in the blinds of his bedroom, “--to here?” Other arm goes up. He’s standing there like Christ the freakin’ Redeemer, and the cops’ attention is pulled right to him because he’s got priors and he might do something weird and they’re idiots. Your mom is all about Eddie too, forgetting to be concerned and distraught for half a moment.

Munsons have that effect on people.

“... yeah?” Callahan says, prompting a wild-eyed Eddie to go on.

“I should not be there,” again, a nod to his own trailer, “and be able to hear Englebert Humperdinck from in here.” He waves a wild arm toward your trailer, edging a couple steps closer to it. Big ol’ brown eyes here locks his gaze on your momma. “Lady, that’s crazy. What are you doing playing ballads that loud?!”

Lacy Sr goldfishes back at him, mouth bobbing, presumably-last-night’s lipstick bleeding. Still so very hot.

“I mean, look, I get it, you’re writing a letter to daddy in jail–and that sucks, and if you need company, you know where to find me–but can’t you do it a little quieter?” Eddie says, a wholly believable impression of a flabbergasted man. The cops almost seem to buy it.

“I am not in there playing records–” “Right, you’re too busy letting your daughter go missing under your nose. Listen, ma’am, this might not be Loch Nora, but around here, we got respect for our neighbors!” Oh, he is a honey-glazed Christmas ham.

A honey-glazed Christmas ham that is advancing towards your trailer door and dragging the attention of the attending adults with him, indicating you with a subtle two-finger salute that you better get out of his.

You snap the blinds back into place. Motherfucking go time. Until you realize that you have no shoes to speak of, just your book bag and whatever’s left of your steely reserve. You’d tossed your sneakers into that bag with your sodden cheerleader get-up– where the hell was that now?

You shove on the sizes-too-big work boots by the door and make it happen.

Eddie’s out there just pantomiming like his life depends on it and you take the steps in front of his trailer two at a time, as silently as is humanly possible– and fuck, it’s cold out here, but the cold helps! The cold makes you faster, more decisive, more agile simply down to the fact that you need to get out of the fucking cold. Adrenaline is sparking off at the base of your throat, making you a little dizzy but a lot determined.

You catch Eddie’s eye as you sneak, sneak, sneak around the back of your trailer. He gives you a not entirely subtle thumbs up and yells, “Yes! Yes, I think it’s an issue pressing enough for the law, I am a goddamned high school senior! I can’t study if the dulcet tones of Paul Anka are breaking my focus every five minutes!”

“Thought it was Englebert Humperdinck?”

“She’s got a catalog of records on her like you wouldn’t believe!”

Then it’s just hands on the outside of the trailer, feeling around for like, a trap door, some loose paneling, anything.

“Oh, so we couldn’t have sprung for a model with a freaking back door?!” But a window is kind of like a back door, you realize, and you’re a goddamn cheerleader. You’ve got a core of steel.

A lot of elbow grease is required to slide open the window of your tiny living room, but by god do you crank that thing. Army rolling onto the couch and into a bunch of boxes of breakables–living mausoleum, great to see you again–you freeze. That’s a lot of clattering.

“Did you hear that?” Your mother’s voice.

“I’m shocked you can hear anything at the volume you’re playing those Rat Pack records, duchess.” Eddie. You choke out a silent laugh as you dash to your bedroom.’

Alright. Alright. I gotta make it look like I was up to something… First word that comes to mind? Slutty. Because that’ll make the police no longer give a shit what you were doing (she brought it on herself) and effectively redirect your mother’s rage.

Hands tear off the borrowed boxers and Stooges shirt and grab the first thing in your mess of half-unpacked clothes. A form-fitting jersey dress in dark blue, which you throw on without thinking of underwear. A calf-length pea coat on top of that. The nearest pair of loafers to go with. You’re not formulating this outfit, okay, but one cursory look in the mirror and it sure does scream walk of shame.

But at least it doesn’t scream walk of shame from trailer across the way.

Then, your front door creaks. “No, I know I heard something in here…”

Fuck! Fucking fucker! As delicately as humanly possible–so, not very–you ease yourself out of your own bedroom window, book bag in tow.

I’ve gotta make this look believable.

You land on the ground with a soft thump, mere feet from your front door. There, Eddie is holding up the rear of the party walking into your trailer. You, not a goddamned second to lose, break into a soft jog and do a fucking make-believe loop around Eddie’s place, heart hammering in your ears.

You, a professional in willing your own reality, call out a super convincing, “Mom?” as you approach your trailer from the opposite side.

As if you just got here.

“Lacy?!” she squawks, darting right back out from whence she came. She barrels past Eddie, the two Hawkins police officers following close behind.

“What is… going on?” you ask. Lying– you come by it natural.

“Where the hell have you been?!” your mom shrieks, and she would slap the shit out of you if she could. You see that much in her fiery eyes. “You know, I came home this morning to a key broken off in the lock of our door and you were nowhere to be found! Nowhere!”

You cannot help yourself, unable to stomach her self-righteous display of motherly concern. “So where the hell have you been ‘til this morning, Mom?”

Her mouth hardens into a line. Comin’ real close to getting backhanded in front of the cops.

“I came back after cheerleading last night,” you explain, eyes going all earnest and wide as you include the cops in your little spin– paying special attention to Callahan, because he’s not not a little cute, okay? “It was raining like crazy, and I was trying to unlock the door and–you know how that lock sticks, Mom–my key just broke off! In the door! I was like, gee, what do I do? And you weren’t home, Mom. And I had no idea how I could reach you. Mom.” The second she gets you alone, she’s going to strangle you. Worth it, for the look on her face. “So I went to a friend’s.”

Callahan seems to drink in your disheveled appearance. “A friend’s, huh?”

“Just a friend’s, Officer,” you simper, batting your eyelashes, trying to steam up the little piggy’s horn-rimmed glasses. “Promise.”

In the near background, Eddie Munson silently gags. You have to force the corners of your mouth down to keep from smiling.

“I’m so sorry to have wasted your time, gentlemen.” Your mom’s chipped manicure tightens around your bicep. “Get inside that house. Now.”

“Hardly a house. Doesn’t even have a goddamn back door.”

The cops give a good ol’ salute and get to getting, their quota for community service just about totalled for the day. Passing by Eddie on your way to the front door, your mom rolls her eyes. “Typical.”

Over your shoulder, you throw him a twisty little grimace. A mouthed thank you. Seriously.

“You ladies keep that racket down, now,” he calls and watches your mom muscle you past the doorway.

Slam goes the door, the trailer seeming to shudder with it. And then it’s quiet. Still. Eddie sighs out a big, cold lungful, his eyes trained on your front door. Without the immediate distraction of you, the memory of last night’s hushed and furrowed conversation with Wayne gathers over him like a stormcloud, heavy with thunder, pregnant with rain.

Your dad called.

Al Munson never calls. He just shows up. He never calls, unless he’s trying to take the temperature of a place. A place that’s recently been occupied by a family he had a significant part in completely blowing up– yours.

Eddie has… no idea what he’s supposed to do about that.

Because Eddie Munson deals in absolutes.

And he, unfortunately, evidently, obviously, absolutely cannot stay away from you now.

–

So following the events of that fateful Friday, you had no good goddamn idea how to behave. You spend the weekend without a single sighting of Eddie Munson, much to your confusing chagrin, and you really did try your very best to behave normally about this.

But for the first time in a long time, you were completely alone.

No chittering friends to distract you. No stilted lunches with your mother. No conversations into rusted handsets through shatterproof glass.

You drifted around town, retreading haunts that really should have elicited some kind of feeling in you. They used to, y’know, when you escaped the neon of Starcourt (before it burned down) for the mothball-scented stacks of the bookstore.

Which, fittingly enough, was just called The Bookstore. Way to establish a town-wide monopoly.

Toeing around the shelves, chipped nails clutching a Simone de Beauvoir book you’d already read but lost and didn’t exactly intend to buy, you willed yourself to give into the curse of familiarity. To woo yourself with recognizable surroundings. To pretend like your whole worldview wasn’t skewed by a Stooges t-shirt still lying under your pillow.

The boots, you’d left in an inconspicuous position by the front door.

The rest of it, though…

Consciously, you’re reaching into the shelves of the philosophy section, reorganizing the whole thing because they’ve completely blended the Eastern and Western flavors (and even have a little theology thrown in there, for Chrissake). Unconsciously, you’re thinking about how you’ve been wearing that Stooges shirt in some respect since Thursday. How Friday night found it rucked up around your breasts as you squirmed under the covers, two fingers in radial motion in your panties, muffling gasps into your shoulder. Thinking about him gripping you by the shoulders, leaning into you in the half-light, his hair fanned out on his pillow as his arm sloped around you. How Saturday found you with such white-hot shame that you couldn’t even think about him grinning at you without cringing. How Sunday, today, in the bookstore, finds you wearing it under your bottle green sweater.

You’ve lost your mind. Your entire mind. The Woman Destroyed, indeed.

So, maybe it’s better that you’re spending the weekend solo. But of course, the moment that thought occurs and you yank a copy of Fear and Trembling off the shelf, you’re looking down the barrel of something just awful.

Red-rimmed eyes, bucketing tears and sniffling, there’s goddamn Nancy Wheeler. Full on weeping, in your bookstore. What’s worse is, there’s no passing this off– there’s no pretending you never saw it, like you normally would, because she makes direct eye contact with you.

“Ohgh–!” is the noise she makes, a kind of snotted-up exclamation, a congested gasp of surprise at your own dissociative gaze intruding on her private moment.

God, you’re so tempted to just slam the Kierkegaard book back in place and high tail it out of the place.

But you don’t.

From your confessional box-esque view, you can see that weeping Wheeler is clutching a copy of Little Women.

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, the bookstore always making you take on a library-hush tone of voice “They don’t all die of scarlet fever.”

It catches Nancy off-guard; she lets loose a little heh-heh, despite her crumpled expression. “I know,” she says, voice all uneven from her tearfulness, “I’ve read it a million times.”

“Which part got you this go around?” you ask. “The book burning? Meg and that pitiful violet silk debacle? Jo’s sham marriage?”

“Jo doesn’t end up in a sham marriage,” Nancy spikes, wiping under her eyes with a delicate knuckle. You wish to god this girl would turn ugly just once. It’s sickening.

But you were right on this one, and you knew it. “Does so. She spends her whole life refuting the idea of getting all shacked up like Meg, only to settle down with a man, what, twice her age?”

“She loves him.”

“Does she? I mean, she loved Laurie too, in a way.”

“You think she should have ended up with Laurie.” Nancy says this to you in a way that’s almost condescending. A tear drips off the tip of her perfect nose. Fucking joke.

“Don’t be so goddamned simplistic, Wheeler,” you sigh, rounding the sagging bookcase so you can meet her in her aisle. Because you’re right, and you’d like to be face-to-face when you tell her so. “Jo shouldn’t have ended up with anybody.”

Her brow crinkles. “That’s way too sad.”

“Really?” you scoff. You’d have expected Nancy Wheeler to cop to a narrative undertone a little better than that. “All Jo wants is freedom– to live as she pleases and write as she pleases. It’s totally diminutive to just marry her off in the end. Jo deserves to be alone. Make her life completely her own. She doesn’t need Friedrich, or Laurie. She’s enough– she’s Jo March, for Jesus’ sake.”

A seed in this triggers something in Nancy and lets out a big old yelping sob– one that makes Ivana, the take-no-shit owner of The Bookstore, lean over the counter and glower at them. Library hush, remember? You take a couple of steps forward, shielding Nancy from view.

“Okay, what did I do? What’s going on here?” you ask– you kind of hiss, actually.

“I’m sor– no, it’s nothing, it’s stupid!” she blubbers. “Just… God, they all get to be a lot sometimes, don’t they?”

And immediately, you know exactly what she’s talking about. Your friends. Your friends loved to shit on Nancy Wheeler, both to her face and behind her back– though it was more of the latter on this on-again phase of her and Steve’s rocky romance. Steve had shared some not-stern-enough (as far as you’re concerned) words with you guys, basically asking you to lay off Nance. Yes, she’s a nerd. Yes, she kind of thinks she’s better than you guys. Yes, she kind of can’t hang. But she’s Steve’s girl, and that’s what matters.

To her credit, she’s made an effort with you all this time, despite all the ribbing. Despite your pointed coldness toward her.

She doesn’t see kindness as a weakness. You do.

It occurs to you that you’re wrong.

“Tell me about it, sister,” you mutter, hugging de Beauvoir and Kierkegaard to your chest.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffs, meeting your achingly dry eyes with her big, sparkling wet ones. You hate a pretty crier. She looks like a fucking woodland creature. “For how they all treated you, I’m sorry. I should have said something.”

Ah, because you were victim to some not-so-sly digs too. Nancy was probably relieved the heat was off her for once.

“I believe that,” you say, and you do. She’s got no real good reason to lie to you, especially being that you’ve been such a pill the entire time you’ve known her. “But what did we expect, y’know. Lie down with dogs and all that shit.”

“Right,” she nods. Peers at the books in your hands. “That’s pretty… heavy stuff.”

“What, this?” you flash her the Kierkegaard, “Wait, shit, this isn’t Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas!”

Nancy laughs as high and clear as a bell, and you feel kind of… good about it. Proud of yourself. The sound dies between you, a touch of awkwardness coloring the moment.

“Listen. Nancy.” Your tone takes on a seriousness; this is advice you usually save for yourself, but… you don’t know. You’re feeling charitable. Inspired by recent events, maybe. “All of these people are bottoming out in the middle, okay? You don’t need to worry about them. Their relevance in your life is… fleeting, at best.”

“Is that how you feel?”

“Yes,” you tell her, and mean it, “Always have.”

“Didn’t always seem that way,” she says, a tilt to her head. Her bloodshot eyes are studying you. “You seemed pretty wrapped up in them, from what I saw.”

“I’m a chameleon, girl. I adapt to survive.”

“Is that how you feel about… all of them?” There’s weight behind that question. “Bottoming out in the middle?”

She means Steve. You can tell she’s also afraid that she thinks the same thing. Sweet, devastatingly handsome, unambitious Steve. Lionhearted, driven, stratospheric Nancy. She’s going places. He’s going to his shift at Family Video.

“You’re not ready to hear my thoughts on that,” you say, reaching for the book in her hand. Out comes your fountain pen and you’re scribbling in the inside cover. “But you should call me, when you are.”

“Okay, but— you know this means I have to buy this now,” Nancy chuckles.

Amateur.

“Not necessarily,” you say, taking a step closer and slyly slipping the book into the open tote she’s carrying. You pat the wide-eyed Wheeler on the shoulder.

“Sometimes the five finger discount chooses you.”

–

Monday morning finds Eddie Munson not just on time, but early for first period. He’s here before you are, sinking further and further into his seat as he anticipates your arrival. Of all the freakish things he’s done in his whole entire life, this behavior is the freakiest.

But he couldn’t help it. It was a weekend of strategically watching through the blinds so he could avoid you if you left the trailer, and sometimes catching you watching him back. Though, your blinds still aren’t fixed, so it’s not like there was some vice-versa catching going on. What? Shut up. It’s been a confusing forty-eight hours.

He’s slept so poorly that he’s actually hallucinated you in that cursed Stooges t-shirt a couple of times, pacing past your bedroom window.

These visions have led him to have quite the cramp in his dominant hand.

Which is not great, because he’s probably going to have to re-take this pop quiz that Kaminsky is apparently handing back today.

And a cherry on top of this weirdo shit cake is Ronnie Ecker is sitting diagonally across from him at the top of the classroom, looking all concerned and stuff.

He hasn’t told her anything. Not about you and your impromptu sleepover at the trailer, not about his dad’s looming and uncertain return, nothing.

He’d gone over to her place on Saturday to work out some kinks in some Hellfire stuff, but he’d spent most of the time standing in the middle of the living room, zoning out at the TV as an episode of Murder, She Wrote rolled on.

“Dude, what’s the fucking matter with you?”

“Wh– nothing! Angela Lansbury, man, she’s really. Uh. Magnetic.”

But as much as Ronnie had pressed, and she had pressed because she’s a presser, no juice was coming out of this little orange! No siree fuck. Eddie had done such a good and painful job of saying nothing that Ronnie had completely sold herself on the theory that the black mold in his bedroom had finally entered his brain.

Which, I mean, eventually it will, right.

Point is, Eddie is now shitting himself because he knows that the second you walk through that classroom door, it’s gonna be written all over his face. Maybe not in such excruciating detail as I helped her out of the rain and she put her head on my chest and she smoked a cigarette so pretty I almost died and we listened to my–our?!–favorite Tom Waits record and we almost kissed but I did technically sleep with her if you want to be super nit-picky about it, but. Ronnie’ll know something.

And Eddie has an idea how Ronnie will react– and it matters to him how Ronnie will react. Always has, always will. And she is going to beat him to death with her Trapper Keeper, probably, screaming bloody murder about what a moron he is for letting this happen.

But also, she might not. Because she’s always kind of admired you from a distance, too. She would kind of be all shy whenever she came out of a Biology class that you two shared. It was super weird, because Ronnie doesn’t do the crush thing.

Is this just the deadly nightshade effect you have on people, or what?

Fuckshit. Shitfuck. As if he willed your arrival into existence, there you are. Breezing through the door in some belted velvet getup, with your shiny little shoes. They’ve got ribbons attached, winding around your ankles like you’re a ballerina or some bullshit, a terrible, sultry ballerina with daggers for eyeballs that are aiming right at Eddie.

He diverts his interest to his textbook for the first time in his academic career.

And he prays, prays, that you still don’t want to acknowledge him in public– that you’ll just sit down in front of him and ignore him.

Somebody down there likes him.

You take your seat, leaning back further than you need to and flicking your hair all over his desk. It’s almost like every other Monday, but this time it feels pointed.

“Well,” Mr Kaminsky sighs, following you in the door and looking as bedraggled as ever. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”

He clicks open his briefcase, clearly imagining the silence in the classroom to be worth much more than it is. “Some of the worst quiz answers I’ve seen on record.”

Your hair smells familiar, Eddie thinks. Like a mixture of your rich, smoky floral perfume and his shampoo.

“That’s what you get for pulling a shittily written paragraph-answer pop quiz on a half-taught section, dumbass,” Eddie hears you mutter.

Kaminsky calls your name. “Something you wanna share with us?”

Eddie watches your shoulders stiffen. “We’re not even halfway through the section, Mr. K. How are we supposed to answer questions on something we haven’t been taught?”

“Hilarious, coming from you,” Kaminsky says, stabbing a finger in your direction, “because you’re one of the only aces.”

“Just because I passed doesn’t mean I agree with the way I was taught,” you level, and Eddie can see by the way your shoulder blades shift that you’re folding your arms. “I read ahead, anyway.”

“Great. You can continue that independent learning streak,” Kaminsky smirks, “in detention.”

“Oh, that is bullshit!”

Christ, Eddie wants to kiss you between those tense little shoulderblades. All the way down your spine.

“Yeah? Be my guest–Lacy? They call you Lacy, right?–and take two. Now, if there’s no more objections to my teaching methods? No?”

Thunk. A stack of papers lands on Ronnie Ecker’s desk. “As the only other person who scored a hundred and hasn’t given me any lip, go ahead and pass those back, Miss Ecker.”

Ronnie, god love her, does as she’s told. But not before doing a little rifling through the stack and scribbling something on one of the tests. The papers sail back through the classroom in a whirlwind of white, take one, pass it along.

You’ve got Eddie’s, and you hold it over your shoulder without so much as turning to look at him. Which is what he wanted, what he needs, sure, but what he actually wants is for you to accidentally graze his hand so he has an excuse to hold it and maybe eat it.

He snatches the test back, all nerves. Unsurprisingly, a big fat D for duuuuhhhh plants itself in red like an ugly lipstick kiss at the top of the page. Eh, at least it wasn’t an F. You take the victories where you can get ‘em these d–

All of a sudden, you’re snapping back around, grabbing Eddie’s paper back from his desk.

“Hey–!” he hisses, almost knocked unconscious by another bloom of your perfume. “What’re you doing!”

You, again, do not even deign to look back. You just stretch a single index finger back in his general direction– a Lacy-coded sign to fuck off, I’m busy. You hunch over the paper for the remainder of class, seemingly checking and re-checking and going at it with your precious fountain pen.

He spends the next forty minutes in a cold sweat, mind racing, until the bell finally rings.

Then it’s a dash, with Eddie trying to grab you and you heading straight for Kaminsky and the both of you just slamming into his desk.

What in the everloving fuck could she be doing now?

“This is a C grade,” you state, plain and simple. Kaminsky just flops his khaki-wearing ass into his chair.

“What are you talking about?”

“Eddie’s test. You mis-graded him.” Wait, this is– is she helping me? “You docked him points here, here and here when the answers were perfectly fine.”

“I think I know how to grade a test, Lacy. I’ve been doing this, for a job mind you, since before you were even a twinkle in your convict father’s eye.” Woah, Kaminsky. Straight for the jugular.

But then Eddie notices you seize in the tiniest of flinches and decides he kind of wants to punch out this teacher. “Look, hold up, we don’t–”

“Fine. Compare it with mine.” You smack your test paper, with its circled red A, on the desk next to Eddie’s. He squints, and he recognizes it, because he’d recognize Ronnie Ecker’s handwriting anywhere– up top of your sheet, scribbled, HARD AGREE– TOTAL BULLSHIT. “They’re basically the same answers. I mean, same content, same major point– the sentence structure leaves a little to be desired, but he’s got the right idea.”

Snared.

“Wait, really?” Eddie’s eyebrows raise. Okay, even he didn’t know that. He barely remembers even taking this test. He can’t be sure he didn’t cheat, but he’s not about to mention that now…

You look at him, right at him, for the first time today. And shrug, with your one little shoulder, like you love to do when you’re too cool to speak.

“And you give a shit… why?” Kaminsky says, asking the question we’re all pondering.

“Peer tutoring,” you tell him, enunciating those words like you’ve taken elocution lessons. You could’ve. You’re, apparently, full of surprises. “I’m rehabilitating my image.”

Kaminsky is going red, red, and redder under that collar.

“Which is why I won’t be able to make it to detention. Either of ‘em.”

“Now, you listen to me, you little hoity-toity madam–” the older man says, shooting out of his chair to lean almost nose-to-nose with you. Eddie reaches a hand out, to either pull you back or slap this dude, but you sense it coming. Push it away. Ow.

“Mr Kaminsky,” you say, all mock gasp, “What is Ms Kelley gonna say when I tell her that you’re getting in the way of me enriching my fellow students’ academic experience? Is that really the kind of environment we want to foster here at Hawkins High?”

You hit the teacher with a sneer of a pout, boxing him right down to size. And Kaminsky actually retreats, like physically backs off.

“Fine. Fine.” The teacher grabs a red marker from the cup on his desk, harshly scribbling on the ‘D’ on Eddie’s test and marking up the whole paper with a massive fuck-you ‘C’. “Best of luck with that rehabilitation, Lacy. If this is the company you’re keeping, you’re gonna need it.”

“Neato threat, real original!” you chirp, and it’s all venom in those vowels as you gather the tests back, “Knew you’d see the light, Mr K.”

Eddie, of course, follows your hard little steps out of the room like a loyal mutt. But not before he turns and aims a whaddaya gonna do! flavored shrug at Kaminsky. “Go Tigers?”

“What?” In the hallway, he struggles to keep up with you in a sea of jostling students. “And how?” Dodging a backpack. “And–” Marry me? Tripping a freshman. “Gareth! Watch where you’re going, man!”

“Kaminsky wants to play hide the klobása with Kelley.”

“The what?”

“Czech sausage. He’s Czech– Christ. He wants to bang her.”

“Oh.” Get in line, my man. He watches you twist your combination lock with a grace that’s frankly unnecessary. He’s fidgeting where he stands. So much for avoiding you, but he was doomed from the start in that regard. “That was– woah, back there. Like, I think you might have just single handedly raised my GPA.”

“Good. So we’re square. Indy County Tech Center, here you come.” You deposit your books, grab some more, and flick his newly-graded test at him so that he has to catch it in midair. Then, a slam! of your locker door and you’re gone, making tracks down the hallway in your little ballerina shoes.

“Lacy– Lacy, wait up.” Eddie finally falls in step with you, following wherever you’re going. “I’m feeling some hostility here.”

“Wow, point to Munson. How perceptive,” you snit, not meeting his eyes.

“Are you mad at me?”

“How could I be mad at you? I don’t even know you.”

“Lacy, don’t be a bi–”

That makes you stop dead, stabbing a finger in the air near his chest.

“Do not fucking call me a bitch.” You mean it. God, but you mean it, and he can see it; you’re about to boil over, just about holding it together. Your big eyes flutter at him and he feels like he doesn’t have kneecaps. You suck in a jagged breath, hard expression faltering. “I feel like an idiot. If you really wanna know. I thought–...”

“You thought what?” he asks, and he kind of knows, but he also thinks that might be blowing shit way out of proportion. You look down, tugging a piece of lint from your sleeve. Eddie verbally nudges at you, because if he touches you, he might a) crumble or b) be on the receiving end of some blunt-force trauma. That binder you’re holding is huge. “Lacy. You thought what?”

“I just–... You ignored me all weekend,” you say in this little mouse voice he was not expecting to come from you. Except, he had heard it before. I’m cold.

But so what? She’s– she’s always cold.

“And? You’ve ignored me, like, my whole life.”

“I know that, but…” This is difficult for you to choke out. Bodies pass into classrooms behind you and soon enough, you two are alone in the hallway. Again. But there’s no sniping, no snarling, no cur-like behavior with your teeth exposed. “I didn’t hate being in your trailer.” Oh my god. Oh my god. “Hanging… out with you, I didn’t–” Holy shit. Eddie does not know where to look, what to feel, what to think, what to do. And he shows it as much, kind of just gap-mouthed staring at you, willing himself to say something smooth– or at least nice. But when you glance back up at him, finally, it’s a look of defeat.

“Look, whatever. Congrats on your C. We’re even. So you can forget it.” And you move around him, ducking through the door of AP French.

Not you can forget it, like in your dreams, Munson, but you can forget it like it was right there and you blew it, buddy.

The classroom door clicks closed and Eddie bends at the midriff, feeling like he’s been stabbed.

–

You felt like you were trying to digest a rock until the final bell rang– though, c’mon, you didn’t know what you could have possibly expected. Eddie Munson is Eddie Munson, and you’re you. And you’d thought it yourself, it was an instance of temporary insanity. Dawn broke, the harsh light of day illuminating all the reasons why you two being anything less than contentious semi-strangers was a logical impossibility.

So what if you wanted to kiss him. You’ve wanted to kiss a lot of people and haven't done it. It hadn’t killed you.

However, it hadn’t gnawed at you like this either.

Nancy Wheeler called, by the way, which means she stole that book off the back of your advice–that, or paid for it once you left the store, a flurry of charming apologies fluttering around her head like Snow White’s attendant birds. Typical. But she’d called, and you two had had an awkward forty five second conversation where she asked you if you’d mind awfully if you looked over her latest piece for the Streak.

Something about spotlighting female business owners in Hawkins.

“Coffee’s on me!” she’d said brightly, so super-duper keen. You all-of-a-sudden hated to put a damper on her, so you said sure.

“But I’ll be uncompromising. I want you to know that.”

“Of course. That’s why I asked you.”

It occurred to you then that Nancy Wheeler, in her way, might actually look up to you.

How fucking weird.

And sure enough, there she was, waiting for you in the parking lot once you gathered all your stuff from your locker. She leans against her car, wearing a corduroy skirt and a sweater that you don’t even really hate, and throws you a casual wave. The thing about Nancy and her consistent commitment to kindness toward you was she wasn’t even asinine about it– she never chased you around the playground, begging you to put on her friendship bracelet. If she did, you could actually hate her. Hate her for being cloying and desperate. You could call her all the shitty words for saccharine in the book and feel justified.

But that is, regrettably, not the case.

You almost say something like, Thank god your car is out of the shop, I’m sick to death of walking in these shoes, before you remember you made up that thing about Nancy’s car being in the shop. In order to skip class with Eddie Munson.

And just as you’re crossing the lot to her wood-paneled station wagon (family car, you’re guessing?), that very same Eddie Munson skids directly into your path. Like, gasping for breath.

“You di–huhh, you didn’t hear me calling you?” he says, straining against his lung capacity.

“Jesus!” you jump, “No!”

You really didn’t. You must have rage-tuned him out.

“Oh, right. Oh, fuck, you walk so fast. Gimme a second here,” Eddie wheezes, hands on his knees. “You– you want a ride home?”

You look over his shoulder to a very perplexed looking Nancy Wheeler and find yourself fighting a smile. Motioning for her to wait a sec, you turn back to Eddie. “I’m good. I got a thing with Wheeler.”

“Wheeler the priss?”

“And Lacy the bitch,” you remind him of that epithet he’d pinned on you like a corsage.

He clocks it and grins. Eddie’s grin lands like a dollop of cream in your otherwise shitty coffee. You do not like this about him. At least, not right now.

“The dynamic duo.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna go solve crimes,” you roll your eyes, kind of over the whole bit already, “You’re making us late. What do you want, Munson?”

Eddie holds up a ringed finger, uno momento por favor, and digs around in his pockets. Candy and gum wrappers and an old, crushed cigarette soft pack all fall out during his cavity search until finally, he produces a crumpled piece of bright yellow paper and thrusts it toward you.

“It’s no Harrington kegger, but you are cordially invited.”

It’s a flyer. Corroded Coffin, Live at– Oh. Oh. It’s been painstakingly hand-doodled and photocopied, the pencil marks where mistakes have been erased still visible on the print.

This is his band.

You, in only the way you can, study it with a quirked brow– a look of dismissal, one might even say. Your eyes slowly raise to meet Eddie’s, who looks as if he’s about to start hopping from foot to foot, there’s so much nervous energy thrumming under his leather jacket.

Fwump. You palm the flyer into his chest. You nearly feel the physical sensation of his heart sinking.

Then, you pluck your fountain pen from thin air, uncapping it with your teeth.

“There’s an ‘e’ in Roane County, dumbass.”

With the delicate nib, you scratch the letter onto the misspelled place name, using his chest as an upright writing desk. You can actually feel his breathing becoming all uneven. His grin rounds out its corners and becomes a smile, and you can tell the difference between those two expressions now, apparently.

“Does that mean you’ll come?”

“That means I know where it is,” you say, capping your pen and leaving him clutching the flyer to his chest.

“Friday! Ten PM!” Eddie yells after you, hand cupped around his mouth. “Roane County Quarry! With an ‘e’!”

Nancy meets you with a look of total bemusement as you finally tug open the passenger door of your car. She watches Eddie watch you, almost tripping over his Reeboks as he walks backwards toward his beat up van. And you read every inch of the look she’s giving you.

“He is my neighbor, Wheeler.”

“Yeah! He seems like a… super nice neighbor. Really friendly.”

“So not ready to talk about that yet,” you mutter, beating back a blush that’s threatening to color your cheeks.

Nancy giggles– bubbly like phosphate, friendly-teasing, not pointed, not mean. Weird feeling. She turns her keys in the ignition. “But when you are, will you call me?”

–

You’d swear Corroded Coffin were about to be on the cover of Circus, the way Eddie has been… well, Eddie-ing out at rehearsal all week. He’s thrown not one, but two temper tantrums about the boys not sounding tight enough (“We need this clown car tight, you clowns!”) and has received not one, not two, but three perfectly aimed drumsticks to the head, courtesy of Ronnie Ecker.

The third one was just target practice, but he earned the other two.

“What has crawled up your ass, dude?” Jeff, a sophomore that can admittedly out play every single one of them in bass and every other instrument, demands.

“I bet I know what crawled up his ass,” Ronnie glowers from behind her snares, “Or should I say who.”

Now, Ronnie hadn’t witnessed Eddie giving you that flyer, or your copyediting work on it, but she had that preternatural thing where she could feel it when Eddie was out and about doing some dumb stupid dumbass bullshit. Like those dogs that can detect earthquakes. She’s full time on the beat detecting earthquakes.

“Cool it, Jessica Fletcher.” Maybe Angela Lansbury really did do a number on him. “I quite simply want us to sound good, for once. Not Hideout good– good-good. The Quarry is a big deal! Like, a literal big cavernous deal. You want a dry run for the Garden? This is our shot, maestros.”

“Are you seriously comparing Roane County Quarry to Madison Square Garden?” Cyrus, their second guitarist and first-rate vocalist, says with narrowed eyes. “Something did crawl up your ass.”

“And die,” Ronnie agrees.

“And now the death stench is in your brain,” Cyrus adds.

“And the stench has turned toxic.”

“And the toxicity is killing off your brain cells one by one by one.”

“And we’re gonna get on stage at the Quarry, and your head is gonna explode–”

“Just like Scanners,” Cyrus and Ronnie finish in such an eerie unison that it actually raises goosebumps on Eddie’s arms.

“Fuck, are they serious?” sweet, gentle, naive Jeff asks, brown eyes flared in alarm. Something about being a child prodigy in one arena makes you so desperately gullible in everything else.

“No!” Eddie barks. “We just– we’ve gotta be good.”

Because what would Lacy say about what Robert Christgau would say about us?

Something cutting like a scythe, brilliant like a diamond.

But for your part, you don’t know much about metal.

I mean, you’ve got a vague familiarity with the genre– you’ve got a subscription to Rolling Stone and Creem (RIP), for god’s sake. The roots were far more accessible to you as a whole; ‘Smoke on the Water’ by Deep Purple has the kind of intro you can paint your nails to, for example, and ‘Immigrant Song’ by Led Zeppelin feels like hotwiring Billy Hargrove’s car and driving it over a cliff (in a good way).

The absolute thrash of it all, though? Your one musical blindspot. And you weren’t quite sure how keen you were to lift the veil on it

Regardless, you decided you were going. You were going to show up at Roane County Quarry, ‘e’ included, and dip your toe into the kind of lawfully insouciant scene you’d always fantasized about, ever since you read your first Kerouac.

Granted, the metalhead-and-allied contingent of Hawkins weren’t exactly the Beat poetry set, but you doubted they’d be boring. You imagined a lot of leather incorporated into the outfits. At least one of them would have a switchblade. Maybe there’d be a Hells Angel there.

The only way to know is to go.

Something Eddie possibly failed to consider, being that he has molten lava in place of a bloodstream, is that it is positively arctic on this fateful Friday night. So sub-polar is the goddamned weather that you have to dig out your warmest coat.

Your warmest coat isn’t exactly the desired attire for a thrash rock show happening in a quarry.

“What the hell is she wearing?” come the murmurs as you slip your way through the modest (but gathering?) crowd, all finding heat around fires set in trashcans and mouthfuls sunk from bottles in brown paper bags. Girls with hair so gelled and spiked and backcombed that it looks sharp and flammable give you dirty looks, and the looks their boyfriends give you are even dirtier– and not even in that way! Misogyny in rock and roll, alive and fucking well!

You spot Eddie Munson in the near distance and bend down, grab a pebble, and pelt it at his denim-and-leather clad back. He spins, alarmed, on alert, and does a bad job of dimming how he lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree when he sees who’s launching projectiles at him. You. He’s all lit up, looking at you.

You glance away. Like, yes. The miracle has arrived. Calm down.

Then his face falls a teensy bit.

“What–”

“If you ask me what I’m wearing, I’m going to scream,” you say, crossing your fuzzy arms over your fuzzy chest. “And we’re in a quarry. Sound carries.”

Eddie reaches out, hand all gnarled like Dracula or something, and pets you on the arm of your coat.

“Guys, get over here.”

“No–” you start, but all of a sudden, all four members of Corroded Coffin are taking turns stroking the arm of your fur coat. “Stop that. It bites.”

“Eddie, can you confirm or deny that it bites?” Ronnie Ecker says in a tone you’ve never heard Ronnie Ecker use before– knowing, biting, a little nasty. You’re not sure whether or not to be offended by that, but… you like this look on her.

Or maybe you just like when anyone gives Eddie Munson shit.

“He’s never had the privilege,” you say and shoot Ronnie a sly look. Just to test the waters. She blushes. Point to Lacy.

“Alright, let me go ahead and nip this in the bud before it begins,” Eddie cuts in, manually removing Ronnie’s petting hand from your upper arm. He flourishes a hand out in front of you, a half-bow, a consummate dork. “We’re almost on. May I escort you to your seat, m’lady?”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, committed to the contrarian bit for the time being, but let him lead you all the same. “They reserve seating in this ditch?”

“Not for everybody!”

“Why am I getting special treatment?” You don’t know what answer you’re expecting to that question.

“Lacy,” Eddie levels, stopping dead at his van and looking you dead in your face, “you wore a mink coat to a metal show. You’re not a VIP, you’re a liability.”

“What, dead animals aren’t hardcore enough for you people anymore?” you drawl as he props open the passenger door of the van. You take his hand, as you’ve taken his hand a handful of times now, in a way where it’s almost ordinary. But then, halfway in and halfway out of the van, you pause.

“Oh, no. This just won’t do.”

“Whaddaya mean?” Eddie mumbles.

“Well, I’m not gonna be able to see shit from here.”

“Where do you–”

“I’m getting on the roof, asshole.”

You slam the door on him, rolling down the passenger window. All hands and swinging limbs, careful not to snag your tights on the peeling paintwork, you clamber out the window and up onto the roof of his van. Settling your ass down, crossing your legs over his windshield, you flash him one of those winning smiles. He smiles back.

There’s a buzzing in your stomach. It’s not from the flask of whiskey you’ve been sipping from, but you’re willing to lie.

“Cheerleader,” he teases.

“Break a leg, Munson,” you say, cheersing that aforementioned flask to him. “Snap it clean off for me.”

There’s not a whole lot of pre-show faffing about (you didn’t time your entrance to hang around) before Corroded Coffin takes the stage. And god, the sound is horrendous. You can barely hear the banter up top (winning, you’re sure) from the band’s frontman– which, to your shock and awe, is not Eddie. It’s a fellow senior named Cyrus Painter (great name, by the way), who you vaguely recognize from Math and from the Hellfire table you crashed that one time. He doesn’t seem to hold much of a stage presence beyond glowering and muttering darkly into a microphone that’s barely picking up his voice, but all importance of that seems to go right out the window as soon as they hit the opening chords of their first song. You think it might be called ‘Whiplash’.

And it’s good.

It’s almost perverse, how technically accomplished it is– like, high school bands should not be this technically accomplished, but then you twig that Ronnie is in band. Like, the marching band. And so is that other kid on the bass, the one who they featured in the Streak for winning a bunch of teen virtuoso awards. Cyrus carries the song with the beautiful grace of a wrecking ball, but–and you might be biased–the one that’s putting the texture on this whole operation is the lead guitarist.

Eddie’s not in band. Eddie’s not technically perfect. But it’s Eddie that’s throwing shots of gasoline down the hatch of this fire-breathing dragon. This would be way too neat of an outfit if it wasn’t for him, fingers flying so fast over his fretboard that he barely touches it, scuzzing up the surrounds of the thrash metal with an almost bluesy warmth.

Warmth. Of course it’s warmth. Of course it’s searing fingers and sweat you can almost see teeming from underneath his bandana, even in the sub-zero temperatures. It’s Eddie, throwing his whole self into this.

A shot of pure admiration followed by a twinge of envy.

You wonder how he does that.

The song concludes, barely leaving time for whoops and applause before they launch into another. They’re laser-focused, locked in like Chrissy Cunningham in that goddamn basket toss, and you kind of get it. It’s not for you, but you kind of get it. This is sword swinging fucking music, slay the monster fucking music.

Dungeons and Dragons fucking music.

It’s all build, all fantasy, all story, all rage and rush and ravenousness. And before you know it, it’s all over, and you’re applauding– applauding more reservedly than you feel you want to.

“I’m comin’ up there!” There is Eddie, who’s apparently made a beeline from the milkcrate stage to his van, under the pretense of loading equipment. Which he’s managed to do in what seems like thirty seconds flat.

A gas lamp of eagerness and pure energy, he’s blazing bright and clumsily hoisting his way onto the roof to sit with you– he doesn’t have your muscular strength, so he has to kind of swing a leg and roll his way up there, almost knocking you over.

“Woah!” you giggle as he collides with you, reaching for your flask with a gimme that. He hoists himself up next to you, tugging off his bandana and running a hand through the flattened waves to give them a little oomph again. But Eddie right now, he’s all oomph.

“So,” he nudges you, eyes gleaming, “Don’t leave me in suspense, Lester Bangs. Whatdja think?”

You screw your lips up, sigh hard through your nose. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Munson…”

“Hmm?”

“...but it didn’t suck.”

“Really?” Eddie’s eyes gleam, like you just scored him that ‘C’ grade all over again.

“Re–ally,” you nod, pulling the flask from him, “I mean, Ronnie? She’s fucking John Bonham.”

“I keep telling her that.”

“And that kid on the bass–?”

“Jeff.”

“Jeeeeff. Him and Cyrus, right? Dead set on a Pulitzer.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

You let the trepidation hang between you for a beat or two, letting Eddie’s eyes search your face with a big fat uuummm? Hello? as you take an achingly long pull of that whiskey.

“Am I forgetting somebody?” you murmur.

“Oh, fuck you!” he barks through a laugh. You’re both shoulder to shoulder, his breath blowing warmth onto your cheek because of how far his voice projects. “C’mon, Lacy. I can take it.”

“Can you?”

“Don’t tease me, ice princess.”

“‘Don’t freeze me’, you mean.”

“Dammit.”

“Gotta be quick on that trigger.”

“I know.”

“Like you are on that fretboard,” you finally hand it to him. “I mean, shit, Munson.”

“Really?” he says again; he is beaming, glowing from the inside out. He’s radioactive, this kid. You cannot, cannot, cannot stop looking at him. “Really shit, Munson?”

“Really shit Munson!” you exclaim, a little louder than intended–blame the whiskey. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

“Who, me?” Eddie shrugs, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m a self-made man, baby.” You think, for a second that he might try and pull that corny movie theater move where the boy stretches only to drape his arm over the girl’s shoulder– and you’re half-relieved, half-disappointed when he doesn’t.

“Incredible,” you say, when you could’ve said bullshit.

That makes him… almost shy. He glances away from you for the first time since he’s sat up here. “Yeah, well. Gotta while away the hours somehow.”

“Can I ask you something?” It flies out of your mouth before you have a chance to stop it.

“If it’s about what I was doing out at that crossroads with my guitar, then no.”

“Can we be friends?” It’s nearly medical, the way you ask him. Like you’re verifying symptoms. And he’s taken aback– maybe it’s how straightforward you are about it, or maybe it’s the weird, tender lilt to your tone. Eddie blinks.

“... do you mean right here right now friends or actually acknowledge each other in the hallway friends.”

“I mean full time at your lunch table friends,” you say. Suddenly, your throat is very dry. “You can even carry my books if you want to.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow, and his voice seems to narrow with them. “I don’t know. Sitting with us sorta requires that you join Hellfire…”

“Friends need boundaries, Eddie.”

“Price of admission, babydoll.” The way he rolls his head over his shoulder is… shut up.

You pause, honestly kind of mulling it over.

Eddie hitches himself a little upright, a lightning flash of concern dashing across his face. “I”m fucking with you. Yes, we can be friends…” he breathes out a laugh, washing you over with that studying look again, ”What a weird way to ask.”

“But weird good, no?” you say, and you say it all bright and searching– like you’re looking for his approval.

Eddie, with his hand braced against the roof of the van, directly behind your back, leans in so that his chin is resting on your mink-covered shoulder. He looks up at you, revved up on post-show adrenaline and a little of your whiskey. It is now, you realize, a little hard to breathe. Eddie Munson smells like cigarettes and soap and garbage can fire and sweat and rock and roll.

“Weird like you’re a weirdo, Lacy,” he hums, “And I aaalways knew it.”

Bangbangbang! The sound of Ronnie Ecker’s balled up fist on the side of the van makes you both nearly jump out of your skin, two skeletons too close for comfort.

“Guys, I hate to break up–whatever the hell, but I’ve still got a curfew!” she yells. “And my Granny’s got a gun!”

You and Eddie, you and your friend Eddie, look at each other and burst into nose-first laughter, snorting away. Giddy, giggly, stupid. And the funniest part is, you really think you’ve killed it.

By saying let’s be buddies!, you think you’ve put a stake right into the pitter-pattering heart of the nebulous other feelings you find yourself feeling when you look in Eddie’s eyes, at his lashes, at his hands, at his neck.

For a clever girl, you are so, so stupid.

author's notes: here we here we here we fucking go! i'll admit i'm a little delirious writing this because it's REDACTED past REDACTED but i needed to get this up and outta me. and also because y'all deserve it, being so supportive and nice to me AGAIN. i can't get over youse. dyou wanna get married - bildoolpoolp, a real goddess from dnd! her areas of control are darkness, insanity and revenge to which i say: lacy that u? - virginia woolf doll came to me in a dream and then i found this article about a virginia woolf doll. all i want for christmas? virginia woolf doll. stones in pockets not included - rita hayworth, always decent - got me feeling like miss tayla the way i'm burying meaning in eddie's dialogue! - the oracle of delphi, one of our baddest bitches on record - calling lacy's mom a blanche dubois type was admittedly shady of me but... if the shoe fits. - i'm zeroing in on officer callahan based almost solely on how much joy i get from watching him in search party, a show about terrible awful millennials that takes a turn you'd never see coming! THIS IS A FORMAL REQUEST FOR YOU TO WATCH SEARCH PARTY - in case you wanted a visual for the stooges t-shirt eddie gave lacy - LITTLE WOMEN ALIGNMENTS AS I SEE THEM: nancy is a stone cold jo march with a touch of beth around the ears, lacy is amy sun amy moon jo rising, EDDIE IS AN AMY, steve is a meg sun amy moon - also jo march is a lesbian and if you really want to talk about it, trans. i'm not citing a source for this i don't need to - jessica fletcher you beautiful bitch - y'all remember ms kelley, the hot guidance counsellor? right???? - nancy the priss and lacy the bitch-- make us solve crimes! - the missing 'e' in the corroded coffin flyer is a real fucking thing from that hawkins memories box you can buy. i love that boy and he can't spell and i want it framed. - circus, a rock magazine that was neck and neck in notoriety with rolling stone. here's ozzy on the cover in a tutu! - scanners is a perfect film from 1981 by my baby daddy david cronenberg! (cw for head explosion in the trailer) - listened to smoke on the water or immigrant song lately? no? well, we were all raised by school of rock so fix that - alright so the corroded coffin lineup of it all. i've long held the belief that eddie is in fact not the vocalist but is, on charisma alone, the de facto frontman (think russell hammond in almost famous). cyrus is named for the mountain goats song the best ever death metal band in denton which makes me cry if i think about the freaks in corroded coffin being the best ever death metal band out of hawkins! when you punish a person for dreaming his dream, don't expect him to thank or forgive you! they will both outpace and outlive you! - lester bangs! i did another almost famous/real life reference :( which is also a deep cut lacy reference that may or may not be explained - john bonham died! thaaaaaat's all for this round, folks. thanks again for sticking with me, likes and reblogs and comments are always so appreciated and who knows if i'll write even more next time! COZ I SURE FUCKING DON'T!!!! okay love u hellcats x

#published by powder #hellfire & ice #in progress #e. munson by powder #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #eddie munson smut #do not come for me if this is not fully proofread okay..... even saints are fallible bitch....

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kaleldobrev · 4 months

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Dean Winchester Masterlist

A rebloggable Dean Winchester Masterlist for your viewing and reading pleasure. All stories are Dean Winchester x F. Reader unless otherwise stated

Authors Note: Will update this as I post more stories

Come on Tiger (823) | You convince Dean to come to bed

You’re Not Normal (College AU) (556) | The reader and Dean become friends in a weird way

Happy Father’s Day (1.2k) |It’s Father’s Day, and the reader has some news to tell Dean

One Day (1.2k) | The reader and Dean talk about their dream life away from hunting

You Don’t Mean That (Demon!Dean) (2.3k) | Sam and the reader finally find Dean and bring him back to the Bunker. Sam says not to talk to Dean before they cure him, but the reader has other plans.

I Love The Way You… (2.9k) | Dean wants to propose to you but isn’t really sure how, so he asks Sam, Jody, and Donna for help

Nightmare Cure (1.6k) | You struggle with nightmares. So Dean comes up with a way to help you.

Autumn Vibes (1.2k) | Dean creates a new recipe in honor of the fall season.

A Date with Dean: Lucky Strikes (5.8k) | Dean and you go bowling for this weeks date night. But decide to make it a little bit more interesting.

The Comforts of a Winchester (2.2k) | Having a nightmare sucks, but at least you have Dean to comfort you.

I Dream of You (1.7k) | Dean dreams of a life with you, but do you?

Pizza, Beer & Zeppelin IV (1.2k) | Dean is surprised to find out what your ideal first date is; and he’s more than happy to oblige

You Deserve Love (2k) | Sometimes Dean needs reassurance that you love him

A Small Part of You (2.3k) | Although Dean is gone, at least you’ll always have a part of him

I Love Her, That’s Why (2.2k) | Dean thought that he was doing a pretty good job at hiding his feelings for you…until Jack started asking questions.

You Make Me Happy (2.3k) | With you doing what he believes to be an incredibly reckless thing on a hunt, Dean finally realizes how much you really mean to him

Old Man (3.4k) | Dean never had a problem with the age gap between you two; not until now any way

Without Hesitation, Yes (2.6k) | After all these years, Dean finally asks you to marry him.

Spitting Image (2.8k) | You think Dean looks like one of your favorite characters. Dean on the other hand…doesn’t see the resemblance.

Come Back Home (4.5k) | After a relationship ending argument that caused you to leave the Bunker, you and Dean haven’t heard from/seen each other in over a year. Are there still sparks between you two? The better question is: Did they ever truly leave in the first place?

Daddy in a Different Way (2.5k) | A simple misunderstanding leads an older woman to believe that you and Jack are together, not you and Dean. But Dean does a “very good job” at clearing things up…But maybe not in the best way.

Pumpkin Muffins (930) | You and Dean decide to try new nicknames for each other

Days Like These (1.4k) | You and Dean decide to spend the day in while it’s raining outside.

Mutual Pining (4.3k) | Dean and you are in love with each other, and it’s obvious to everyone but the two of you

Please Don’t Leave (2k) | Dean’s lucky to have you in his life and honestly doesn’t know what he would ever do without you

New Record (1k) | Dean and you set a new record

Pillow Talk (1.2k) | A common theme of yours and Dean’s pillow talks happen to be about having that white picket fence and apple pie life

Happy Anniversary (Non-Hunters AU) (2k) | You and Dean celebrate your 18-year wedding anniversary

It’s Okay (1.8k) | Dean’s a little jealous that Sam still talks to you and not him

I Finally Get It (2.7k) | Dean thinks he looks like a character from one of your favorite slasher films. You on the other hand…don’t see the resemblance.

Genuinely Happy (506) | You and Dean enjoy a nice car ride together while you admire how genuinely happy he looks

Coming & Going (1.8k) | You want Dean to stay, but will he?

What Are We? (2.1k) | Dean and you do a lot of couple things together but yet…you’re not a couple, and you often wonder why.

Stupidest Person Alive (1.7k) | After a near death experience in which you almost lost Dean, you tell him that you can’t risk losing him again.

The Day Before (743) | Dean comforts you when you get a migraine

Once Mine (Michael!Dean) (1.3k) | Michael thinks him possessing Dean can be a win-win for the both of you

Knew You’d Come Around (Michael!Dean) (1.5k) | Michael’s happy you’ve finally come around

Comfortable? (516) | Falling asleep in Dean’s lap while he’s driving

Would You Like To… (978) | You and Dean have been dating for a few months, and now he’s trying to figure out how to ask you to move into his room

Midnight Confessions (1k) | You and Dean have a “heart-to-heart” conversation on the way to Stanford to pick up Sam

Hauled Up (1.5k) | Sam recruits you to try and convince Dean to stop hauling up in his room

When You’re Ready (1.8k) | A case hits you particularly hard and all you want to do is be alone

Never the Favorite (844) | You finally try and set the record straight

Screw Consciousness (410) | Taking a nap with Dean after a long drive

Things Overheard (2k) | Dean overhears a private conversation between you and Sam

I’ve Got Ya (162) | Dean trying to comfort you after a nightmare

Blush (389) | For the first time in your life, you can say you’ve made Dean Winchester blush

Taste (657) | Dean going down on you in the back of Baby

Under Control (2.3k) | Dean keeps reassuring you that he has everything under control in terms of the Mark. But does he really?

Not the Same (Endverse AU) (4.7k) | Part One | Part Two

Coffee Kisses (3.3k) | Part One | Part Two

Old Man / Age Gap Universe

Shiny New Toy (Demon!Dean)

Supernatural: Purgatory Masterlist | 3/? parts done

My Hero Masterlist | ¾ parts done

Dean dressing up as a cowboy for a case and using Old West style pick-up lines

Introducing Dean to phone apps

Going to karaoke night with Dean at a bar

Pretending to be married to Dean for a case

Eating Halloween candy with Dean

Being one of the only witches Dean can stand

Getting Dean the perfect birthday present

Dean still worrying about you even though you’ve broken up

Dean still answering your calls even though you’ve broken up

Finding out you’re Dean’s soulmate from Apocalypse World Michael

Wanted Posters (Incorrect Quotes)

Dating Dean Poem/Moodboard

#dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #spn #supernatural #spn imagine #spn one shot #supernatural imagine #supernatural one shot #dean x you #dean x reader #reader insert #female reader #fluff #smut #spn drabble #supernatural drabble #spn drabbles #supernatural drabbles #kaleldobrev dean winchester masterlist

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acesw · 4 months

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The Grecos, Schneider, and her Religious Trauma

One of the characters I really find interesting is Schneider. There are strong signs that she has religious trauma, which ties really well with the neglect she's experienced growing up and the way this trauma reflects her behaviors and words.

The Grecos are known to be really religious, and they're quite devout to Christianity as a means of life. It does not mean that they wouldn't do things to ensure that they're able to at least eat. Living in Chicago of all places is already one struggle enough, making sure they get by despite having bad relationships with gangs adds so much.

Prior to moving, they were more devoted to God as coming from a community in Sicily. They moved because of how bad the poverty situation had been (the major Italian emigration in the 1900-1910s), hoping to seek a better life in America. Of all places though, they moved to Chicago, where there were crimes and gangs all about. This resulted to the Grecos having to pull strings to keep their head up the water, and they still practice Christianity as a means to maintain morale.

We then have Schneider. The youngest and most neglected child of the Grecos. She was barely fed and paid attention to among her 11 older sisters. The Narrator also notes that she was even neglected from the start, as she turned a year old before her father realized she wasn't baptized.

Now, there are two main instances that showcase Schneider's religious trauma peeking through are the traces "From One Castle to Another" and "Long Night Trip". Both of which are very much talking about Schneider's past. There are parts of the dialogue that stick out to me.

-From One Castle to Another

"It's impossible to keep every child well-fed. Schneider could not even get a piece of bread in the Eucharist. But a good daughter would not let anyone worry about her. She sat on the bench outside the church and hummed. She found a way out for herself."

"The Grecos are among them. They're covered by the dark cloud of long-handed umbrellas. [...] But you can't find Schneider. [...] It rains heavier. The priest opens his arms to embrace the sky, 'The Lord be with you.' " " 'And also with you.' Schneider responds in a voice that could hardly be heard. She puts her hand on her heart. This is the first time she responds to the Lord. And it will be the last."

-Long Night Trip

The Narrator talks about Schneider's slow descent into losing her faith in these conversations. She used to pray and hope that God would fix things and give an answer for her and her family's suffering. And all that happened was that it got worse.

It only ever makes Schneider question and doubt, and eventually she stops believing in God. But everyone around her, her family in particular, still maintains their strong belief that he'd guide them out of struggle. Meanwhile, she take things into her own hands for that matter.

And again, everyone would resort to praying, praying, and praying. Yet Schneider wouldn't dare try. Because if he listened to her this one time then they heard all the other times and never cared to help. That rubs salt in the wound.

So with this, we see how Schneider creates her newfound identity. She starts frequenting underground markets and doing certain odd jobs. She is able to make amends with other gang leaders and grow her own strong faction in Chicago.

All so she makes enough money for the rest of her family to eat and thrive. It showcases her sense of selflessness, her full care for her family despite how they treated her. She cares for them more than anything, because even with barely receiving love, they're the ones that raised her. Schneider actively does it all to prove that she can give.

Even in the main story there are those hints of that trauma seeping through. Throughout the game she refers to her bosses as "My Lord", a name that's usually reserved for God.

In the 'Green Oranges' segment of chapter 2, we see that Schneider's younger self describes America as a new world. A place of wonders, where blessings will be given and all sins will be forgiven. There, "God loves the world". Because back in Sicily, she believes that God does not love her and her family here. This ties back to the major Italian emigration in the 1900-1910s, where again, the poverty situation had been so bad. Not to mention the overpopulation and the natural disasters that came with it.

Meanwhile, her adult self is heavily injured from the gunshot wounds and Vertin stops shooting her. She expresses her frustration of being unable to die fast, which then turns to this: "Or did God finally forgive me...He allowed me...to stay alive!!"

"God would never make or guide one to that first action," Schneider thinks, because only she alone did it. She decided to step in, with no guidance of the God she once loved. The God that never forgave her.

The entirety of chapter 1 and 2 shows that her trauma runs really deep. The youngest and most neglected child turns into the most diligent and faithless Greco. She expresses her clear disdain for God, and does everything in her own power to do what "he never did for her and her family."

#reverse 1999 #schneider #schneider reverse 1999 #character analysis #she and marian definitely reunited with their family #they deserve their happy ending #schneider needs a hug

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sunny44 · 6 months

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All these years (Part 7)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Ex girlfriend Reader

Warnings: arguments, fluff and other things

Summary: Separated by a disagreement, Charles and Y/n meet again after years apart and all the feelings they had repressed come flooding back.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A few months later from the last chapter

I woke up to caresses on my cheek and smiled to hear him let out a nasal laugh.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, love." he said huskily and kissed the tip of my nose. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, and you?"

"Of course." He climbs on top of me and starts kissing my neck. "We have to go to your mother's for her birthday lunch."

"hmmmmm." I let out a frustrated moan. "I don't wanna go."

"I know you don't, but we have to." He kisses me. "You have to sort it out soon."

"We don't have to sort ourselves out."

"Baby..."

"Charles, don't start, she owes me an apology, not me. She used to nag me and complain because I'd broken up with you and now that we're back she thinks everything will be the same as before. And she's wrong.”

"Fine, I won't interfere anymore."

"Thanks." I say and I feel him get up and take me in his arms and I start to laugh. "What are you doing?"

"We're going to take our shower and go to your parents' house."

"I swear I'm going to kill my dad for making this up."

"But it's your mother's birthday," he says, laughing.

"I know, but she never does anything and he's the one who convinced her to make this lunch."

"It'll be fine."

[...]

We were already in front of my parents' house.

No, I hadn't moved back to Monaco; on the contrary, I was still in the beautiful Milan and didn't intend to leave anytime soon.

For the first few months, Charles and I dated long-distance, seeing each other on weekends, holidays and celebrations.

After the kiss in the rain, we went back to his room and I'd say we did a pretty good job on destroying him. The next day, after breakfast, we sat down and talked like two adults about how we really felt about each other and how we were going to continue our relationship.

As neither of us was willing to move to another city, we decided that it would be good for us to start slowly, not least because living together is practically a marriage and we had a long way to go before we took that step.

So we lived those months apart and it turned out that Charles decided to live with me in Milan since it was closer to Maranello.

So on the weekend of my mother's birthday I came here to help him with the things he was going to take and as my father convinced my mother to do something for her birthday we had to stay longer than we had planned.

And my father planned it on purpose.

"Come on, let's go in." He took my hand and intertwined our fingers, with the other he held the present he'd bought.

"Hi honey, glad you could make it." My dad hugs me and greets Charles. "Hey, Charles."

"Hi guys, how are you?" I asked the Leclerc brothers as soon as I see them.

"Better now that you're here. Come on, we're all in the back." Lorenzo says and we follow him.

We followed him and the whole family was there, including my in-laws.

"My favorite couple has arrived." He goes straight to hug Charles. "How are you darling?"

"I'm fine and this is for you, mine and Y/n's."

"I have nothing to do with the present." I feel him give my mother a gentle squeeze. "Happy birthday, Mom."

"Thank you my love."

I roll my eyes at the difference between how she treats him and me, she didn't even look at me when I thanked her so I decided to leave her there drooling over Charles.

"Hello Mrs. Leclerc, how are you?"

"Fine, dear, and you?"

"I'm fine."

"Did you and Charles get everything sorted?"

"Yeah, since he's moving in with me he only needs to take what he uses."

"You don't know how happy I was to hear you were back together, Charles is even happier."

"That's good to hear, I was a bit unsure about that." She looks at me uncomprehendingly. "You know, a lot has happened to us in the past and I was afraid that maybe you wouldn't think it was such a good idea."

"You're the best possible person for him Y/n, Charles needed someone to make him smile again like I hadn't seen for years and you brought that smile back."

"It makes me happy to know that you're okay with it." She smiles and hugs me and from a distance I see my mother looking at us. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"No rush."

I start to walk towards her, who looks away, pretending she's not staring at us.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes." she says, still not looking at me.

"I'm not going to waste my time then." I turn to leave but she holds my arm.

"Let's talk inside." She went and I followed her, and we stopped in the living room where there was no one.

"Tell me why you were staring at us and then pretended not to."

"It's just that I was watching you and Pescale and I saw the mother-daughter relationship you have and the lack of ours. I was upset by the scene."

"I'm annoyed when I come here and all I get is a dry hello while Charles gets smiles and hugs." She looks at me. "How do you think I feel about that?"

"You tell me."

"I feel awful, like you don't love me. I wish you'd been happy for me when I got a good job, when I moved out and started looking after myself, when I went to a place where I didn't know anyone and made a life for myself there, but all I got was a look of disappointment because I wasn't with Charles anymore."

"I've always been proud of you."

"And where is this pride that I don't see? Where was it when I achieved everything on my own?"

"I know I haven't been a good mother to you in recent years, but I was saddened by what happened to the two of you. And that's no excuse for the way I treated you but I just didn't know how to be your mother anymore."

"And instead of trying, you put me down, manipulated me and meddled in my life as if it were your own."

"I'm sorry for that, my love." I wiped away the tear that ran down my cheek. "Do you think we can start again?

"I don't know, do you?" she nods. "Then we'll have to establish some rules to make it work."

"Whatever you want." I agreed.

"Well, let's enjoy lunch and then we'll talk about it later."

We went back to the back patio and I went to my boyfriend who was talking to my aunt and my two-year-old cousin on his lap.

"You're good with children. Are you thinking of having children?"

"I want to, a lot actually but Y/n and I have only just settled down and I don't want to rush things, but for me we could have them now." My aunt smiles and looks at me and he follows her gaze, smiling nervously. "Hi love."

"Hi." I kissed him and sat down next to him and my aunt took my cousin and left.

"You heard, right?"

"Yes. Do you really want children that badly?"

"Yes, I do." I smiled and kissed him. "Don't you?"

"I never really thought about it after we broke up, but at the time I wanted to."

"Is there still a chance that you want to?"

"Yes, there is." He smiles happily and kisses my forehead.

"I'm glad."

"We can try after we've settled in with your move."

"Perfect."

Bonus scene!

Charlesleclerc Instagram stories

“Family lunches are the best”

Tag list: @formulas-bitch @nuggetvirgo @lndonrris @cmleitora @janeholt3 @coffeewhore18 @blueflorals @agentadhd @eviethetheatrefreak @honethatty12 @lec-16 @ariamox @boherahpsody @ssararuffoni @leilani13gc @alldaysdreamer @minmira95 @dessxoxsworld @dessxoxsworld @vellicora @meadhbhcavanagh @viramila @lightdragonrayne @morenofilm @millinorrizz @leclercdream @buendiabebeta @ironmaiden1313 @julesandro @ssararuffoni @sialexia @notleclerc @glow-ish

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kookslastbutton · 9 months

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Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m) l ch. VI

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 6,192

Warnings: 8-year age gap, mentions of professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), kook gets pissed, jk mother is asdhjf!, mommy issues, lots of family drama/in-laws, fighting, manipulative parent, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues, jk being good hubby to oc, mild sexting, sexual content

Sexual warnings: bl*wj*b, jk c*mes on her t*tt*es, d*rty talk

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, It Will Rain, Heaven+

A/N: um so this got over 6k which i know isn't amazing but for me its big deal okay?! haha! Anyway Part VI here we go! No flashbacks in this chapter because of ch.V buuut, I have a little gift for you and me. Hope you enjoy!! 💞 also pls vote if youd be so kind 😙

<< ch. V ༓ ch. VII >> | series masterlist

Living in the country for over thirty years, the Jeons were known to be excruciatingly slow and cautious drivers. The town was tiny, roads were narrow, and no one was ever in a rush to get anywhere apart from maybe the farmers market.

Once when Jungkook first got his license he took one hand off the steering wheel and his mother almost had a heart attack, saying it was “reckless of him to put them in danger”. It was from that moment forward that Jungkook always made sure to drive at 10 and 2 or 9 and 3 when his mother was in the car. His father on the other hand didn’t care what he did as long as he didn’t go above 30 mph.

Jungkook was counting his lucky stars when he finally got his own car and the chance to move to the city where he could drive how he damn well pleased–responsibly of course. He had recently finished his Master’s studies and was offered a job as an economist in a major medical corporation. The only catch was that he’d have to relocate to Seoul which ended up being more than fine with him.

His parents moaned and groaned that he wasn’t sticking around but his mind was made up. He moved out of his parent’s tiny town one late June and headed to the city where life moved to a whole new beat.

Ten years later, Jungkook finds himself gripping the steering wheel with two sweaty hands again. Kudos to his parents who have been telling him which way to turn and how fast or slow to go for the past fifteen minutes. He honestly should have picked a brunch spot closer to home to avoid all the madness. Walking would have done them good.

“I’ll never get used to how you drive down here,” Mrs. Jeon grumbles from the back seat. “All these sharp turns and six lanes of traffic going 50-plus miles an hour. It’s a wonder you haven’t all gotten in an accident yet. It’s like I always say, the slower the better. You city folks just don’t get it.”

Jungkook peers in his rearview mirror before signaling to switch lanes. “We can’t afford to go too slow out here Mom. This is a highway and dropping down in speed will cause a safety hazard just as bad, if not worse. Environments are different out here than in the woods.”

As Jungkook merges to the right, Mr. Jeon watches the surrounding cars from the back seat window. “Ah son, son, son!” He hollers and reaches for the ceiling handle.

“What? What happened?” Jungkook asks with panic. He flickers his eyes to the mirror again to spot his father's distress.

Mr. Jeon slowly releases the handle and lets out a lengthy sigh. “It's okay now, we’re good. You did good son. You moved over with so little space I thought you were going to hit the car now behind us."

"I told you it's a mad house out here!" Mrs. Jeon adds, tone thick. Jungkook puts his eyes back on the road in front of him and does his best to ignore the irritation bubbling within him.

"I know what I'm doing," he says. "I've lived here for ten years so can you guys please trust me? And stop with the driving advice and yelling every time I do something."

"We're just trying to help Kookie."

"Well, you're not alright?" The snap in his voice has Jungkook's parents sulking back in their seats in silence. "I want us to get to the restaurant safely and I can't do that when you're both shouting at me! So please just let me do the driving. Thank you."

God, if one more person calls him Kookie in that condescending tone he's going to lose it! Kookie was his childhood nickname but for some reason, it stuck to him like glue until he was friggin' 22 years old. He absolutely hates it and the only person remotely allowed to call him by it is his wife because she makes anything sound like honey to his ears.

The next five minutes are nothing but awkward silence and the sound of tires running on hard cement. Jungkook checks his phone—there's still a good ten minutes left according to the GPS. He moves to turn the radio on to break the eeriness of the drive when an incoming call pops on his car screen.

"Who's that? Who's calling?" Mr. Jeon pipes up.

"It's __." Jungkook hits the answer button. "Hey honey! You're on speaker." He smiles a big, wide grin that says nothing less than he misses you.

"Hi! I'm on my lunch break and thought I'd give you guys a call. I'm stopping at the grocery store tonight, after work. Anything you need?"

“Some booze would be nice!” Mr. Jeon echos and looks at his wife who merely shakes her head. He hasn’t had a drink in twenty years due to his high blood pressure, yet he’s still making the same damn jokes. “Got any Soju? Or maybe Bokbunja?” He chuckles at Mrs. Jeon’s sour face.

Jungkook pays his dad no mind and replies to you. “Uhm….we're low on milk again. I drank the last one yesterday.”

"You went through all those gallon jugs in a week?!" You'd think you'd be used to the amount of dairy your husband packs away but every time, it shocks you as much as the first. You married a milk-lovin’ machine.

Jungkook chuckles. "I'm sorry. I can get them for you if you want. We're on our way to get brunch, then hitting the bookstore for Dad, and after we'll swoop back home. I can pick it up along the way.”

“No need, I’m already going out later so I’ll get it. Anything else?”

“There’s nothing else I can think of. How’s work going?” He’s hoping it’s not hectic given the fact that last week was an absolute sandstorm. He distinctively remembers you coming home with nothing more than tired feet and dark circles under your eyes. He drew you a bath that night.

“Eh, so-so. I have a meeting with my boss later but besides that, it’s the usual. I wish I could have come to brunch with you guys. I feel bad I’m missing it.” Well, you do and you don’t. If Jungkook was planning on talking to his mom about the happenings of last night you wanted to be around for support but it was also a matter that should be between a mother and her son.

“Us too, but we’ll see you ton–shit!” Jungkook slams on the break when he sees he’s about to crash into a black SUV. Everyone’s seatbelts lock at the sudden jerk. “Sorry, sorry!” He checks the mirror to find his parents clinging to their seatbelts.

“Are you guys okay?! Jungkook?!”

He scans all around him to find rows and rows of cars all trying to merge into each other’s lanes. Some are coming from the exit nearby whereas others are trying to squeeze through people in hopes to get ahead.

Dammit, Jungook cruses to himself.

“Yeah, we’re good honey. Everything’s okay but we’ve hit a traffic jam. I’m not sure why since it’s literally 11:40 a.m on a Wednesday but looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a bit.”

“We’d never have this problem at home.” Jungkook hears his mother mumbling under her breath to which his father replies with a nodding of his head. “If it weren’t for all this nonsense we’d be there by now.”

“Absolutely. We’d be there fifteen minutes ago,” his father adds with his hands in the air. “Isn’t there some kind of way you can get around this son, like a shortcut?”

Ah yes, shortcuts on the highway. Why didn’t he think of that? Let him just push the button that says flight mode and–no! Having enough, Jungkook holds his foot on the break and twists his body around to face his parents.

“Alright listen to me right now. This is not Tiny Town where there are a million dirt roads that pop from anywhere and all seem to lead to one other. Everyone drives at least seventy out here and that’s just the way it is because this..." He gestures outside the windshield. "This is what happens! We all get stuck in this congested funnel! But if you two can think of a way to get out of here that doesn’t involve attempting to bulldoze other cars, I’m all ears. Until then we’re going to sit here and talk about the weather because there's nothing else we can do!"

Jungkook looks back and forth between his parents. Mrs. Jeon simply stares outside her window while his dad gives a slow nod in understanding.

"Is it really that bad?"

Jungkook relaxes his body back to face the front when he hears your voice. "Yeah, it's pretty bad __." He lets out a long, exasperated sigh. This is going to be a very long day.

"Nice out today. Mind if I roll down the window?" The traffic hasn't got any better and it was starting to get stuffy in the car. Mr. Jeon desperately needed some fresh air in his face.

"Mhm yeah, go ahead."

"How about some music? Find out what's on the radio will you." He sticks his arm out the window, letting the gentle breeze hit his skin. When the first song blares through the speakers, Jungkook's mother breaks her deafening silence.

"Dear god! What music is this?"

Mr. Jeon immediately perks up. "It's PSY! Turn it up! Turn it up, boy!" Jungkook appeases his father's wishes and turns the knob a few more notches. "Oppa Gangnam Style! Eae eae eae e, sexy lady!"

Hearing his dad singing at the top of his lungs has Jungkook rubbing the side of his head. It's not that he sounded bad but he was singing so loud that everyone around them started pointing, laughing, or rolling up their own windows. "Dad, people are going to get annoyed. Take it down a little."

Deeply immersed in the song, Mr. Jeon continues singing regardless of his son's request. "Op, op, op, op, oppa Gangnam Style!" He starts rocking in his seat which causes a few middle schoolers in the car next to them to pop out their phones.

"Dad!" Jungkook hollers when he notices the kids taking pictures. If doesn't put an end to this now, his father's face is going to be trending all over the internet with god knows what filter.

"Op, op, op, op, on on on on!"

"Dad stop!" He tries again, this time turning the music down. Mrs. Jeon attempts to calm her husband down too, placing a hand on one of his arms but it doesn't take much for it to be ripped out of her grasp. Mr. Jeon ends up nearly whacking his wife in the face due to all his energetic dancing.

"Erotic sexy lady! Oppa Gangnam Sty–hey! Song wasn't done yet!" Jungkook's dad never looked so offended in his life. If he had adjusted his gaze just a few inches to the left he'd see the group of kids, the ones taking photos earlier, giggling to one another. But he was too pissed at his son for crashing his party that it went to the wayside.

"Honey, you were causing a disturbance," Mrs. Jeon says.

"A disturbance? In this traffic jam, I'm the disturbance?" He refuses to believe he's the annoyance when they've been in the middle of a highway, moving at 5 mph for the last hour. PSY has recently become his favorite singer and not enjoying himself would have been an absolute tragedy in his opinion. "It's all of you who should be thanking me for offering some shred of entertainment at times like these."

"The entire population of South Korea is going to be thanking you then." Jungkook creeps forward as soon as the car in front of him moves up a ways. Finally moving again, he hums.

"Hey!" An abrupt voice calls from a slight distance. Two teenage boys pull up in a Jaguar, greasy grins on their faces. "Great singing Grandpa! Really know how to move!" The one in the passenger seat flashes his phone playing a video of Jungkook's dad online.

"Wha–how–What?! You delete that right now!" Mr. Jeon is stunned, tripping over his words at the shock of himself actually being the center of the internet. The video is unexpectedly clear.

"Just ignore them, Dad." Jungkook rolls up all the windows in the car and inches up the best he can to get the teenagers out of direct sight.

"But-but how did they do that so fast? It hasn't even been five minutes yet!"

"It only takes seconds, honey," Mrs. Jeon sighs, realizing her husband has become famous over a re-rendition of a PSY song. Of all things, it had to be that.

"I'm starving."

"Me too."

Jungkook glances at the time–2:40p.m. It's now been three hours of sitting in traffic and they've only moved about ten miles. What on earth is congesting the highway this much?

"Maybe we should take one of these exits." His dad scrolls through the map on his phone. "Says there are a few restaurants down exit 6A."

Jungkook considers the idea. He wants to get off the highway, yes, but so does everyone else. The exit his dad is talking about is off the far right lane which means he's going to need to shove in front of everyone's way.

"You sure it's a good place? Wherever it is you're looking?" The reason why he asks is that his dad is notorious for leading them into the most ruin down places. The last time he was in charge of directions, they ended up in front of an abandoned pizza shop.

Mrs. Jeon takes the phone from her husband's hand and swipes through the photos of a quaint restaurant. "It's not bad," she concludes. "And if it means we can get out of this mess, then I'm with your father on this one."

Two against one. Jungkook turns his signal on and waits for someone to let him over. He earns a few honks when he manages to squeeze his nose over but does his best to give an apologetic wave.

After a few more lane changes he gets in the exit lane. He isn't the only one planning to take exit 6B though, being that there are at least twenty other cars waiting in line.

"Maybe we were better off back where we were. All these people want to get off the same place. If we keep going there's bound to be another exit with far less traffic."

Really? Jungkook feels himself ticking again. After all that shoving to get over here and this is what he gets? No, he's not moving back over. They're going to wait in this stupid lane until it gets them to where they originally agreed.

"We just got here and we're not moving back anywhere. This lane should clear up in less time than it would take to go back on the main highway," Jungkook says. "Also, I probably don't need to clarify this but, we're not going to make it to that bookstore you wanted, Dad."

"It's fine, son. We'll go another day."

Which means tomorrow, Jungkook half grumbles to himself. His parents are here for another day after all and he knows his father well enough to know that "another day" really means the closest day possible.

Despite its size, the restaurant his parents choose is charming with its floor-to-ceiling wood paneling and giant, bay windows. The odd hanging plant is spread throughout the open dining space as well, perfectly setting the mood of serenity.

The restaurant only seems to hold about a dozen people inside, however. So thinking it is best to avoid sitting in an overly crowded space, Jungkook asks for one of the tables outside.

“Oh now this is lovely,” his mother praises, pulling her chair up to the table. Jungkook can’t describe how relieved he is to finally hear something positive after hours of nonstop grumbling.

Mr. Jeon takes a seat next to his wife and across from his son. “I just saw someone get Samgyeopsal and it was huge! Let’s get that to share.”

His enthusiasm is short-lived when the scrunched-up face from his wife says she's not a fan. “That's too much food! We still have to be hungry for dinner so we can eat with __."

"Mom's right," Jungkook agrees reluctantly. "__'s stopping at the grocery store after work so we can prep for dinner tonight. I know traffic slowed us down so we're eating at a weird time but it's better we go with something light."

"Oh well, we can always take some to go! Surely __ will enjoy some beautifully grilled pork!" Jungkook's father is adamant. He wants nothing more than a heavy meal after being stuck in the car all morning.

"__ doesn't like pork Dad. And we all know as soon as we get a whiff of it cooking there's not going to be any leftovers."

"Alright, alright," his dad concedes. "I guess I'll try their bibimbap. What are you having hon?"

Jungkook checks his phone messages while his parents make small talk over the menu. You texted him earlier to see how traffic was holding up and he only able to get back to you minutes ago.

Wifey ❤️ : So I'm guessing you haven't talked to your mom yet?

Jungkook: No, haven't brought it up. She seems fine though with the way she's been acting. It doesn't take much for her to go back to her usual self

Wifey ❤️: Her usual self being...?

Jungkook: You know, really particular.

Wifey ❤️: So she's complaining again. I'm sorry 😞

Jungkook: When I was talking with her on the phone before we left, she was much more careful about what she was saying. I expected it to still be that way now. Must have been a mood.

Wifey ❤️: Sounds like she wasn't sure how you'd be reacting after what happened last night. Maybe she's just reverting to back what she's used to because she's unsure what else to do or say. I'd still try finding a way to talk to her. Does it seem tense?

Jungkook: Yeah, you have a point. But Mom's also had a good way of sweeping things under the rug. It's not tense but it's just uncomfortably normal?

Wifey ❤️: Hmm, strange. And your dad's fine?

Jungkook: Honey...have you been on any social media in the last half hour?

Wifey ❤️: No, why?

Jungkook: Might wanna check. We had a little incident while in traffic. I'm still in shock honestly 😅

Jungkook waits for you to find the video of his dad. He already had the guys blowing up his phone from it so he's surprised none of them at least forwarded it to you.

Wifey ❤️: oh my god! Jungkook what happened?! 😂 I hope you're prepared for your students to be all over this

Jungkook: oh shit, that didn't even cross my mind 😩 also it's not funny honey! Listening to my dad singing eae e sexy lady was traumatizing enough. Now I have to see and hear it every time I pop open my phone or some teen punks show it to me!

Wifey ❤️: Aw Kookie, they're just being kids...try not to overthink. And you know those videos come and go. Your dad will be at the bottom of the chain by next week. Until then keep him away from PSY 😅 But I'm sorry you're having a day, I love you 🥺

Jungkook: I MISS YOU SO MUCH 😭

Wifey ❤️: [sent an image]

Fuck! Jungkook chokes on his spit when he sees a blurry close up of your cleavage. Thankfully his parents are still too occupied by the menu that they didn't notice.

Jungkook: sexy af but this isn't the time to be sexting me baby!

He nearly saves the photo if it weren't for the fact that he already had an album dedicated to very sensual *ahem erotic* photos of you. You had let him take them himself —best motherfuckin' birthday ever.

Wifey ❤️: oh adhjjhj, sorry!! That was an accident. I'm such a klutz. This is what I meant... [sent an image]

"What's going on over there?" Jungkook merely glimpses at the new image before whipping his head up, hearing his mother's, sharp tone.

"It's just __. She's asking about groceries again."

With slightly narrowed eyes, Mrs. Jeon continues. "We're about to order if you're ready."

Dammit. He'll have to reply to you later. Jungkook swiftly pockets the phone. "Okay yeah I'm good to go."

"This is delicious," Mr. Jeon says, patting his mouth with a napkin. "Best bibimbap I've had in a long time."

"That's great Dad." Jungkook stirs his noodles.

"Ah, where's the restroom around here?" He asks the waitress as she walks by. She tells him it's in the restaurant, all the way to the back. Mr. Jeon pushes his chair from the table and excuses himself. "All that broth has me needing to go."

"Yes yes, just go." Why his father needed to explain himself every time he needed to use the restroom is beyond him. Jungkook peers at his mother, taking her time eating her own bowl of noodles–they ended up ordering the same thing. "How is it?" he asks.

"It's good."

"Not too spicy?"

"No, it's mild."

Jungkook gathers more noodles on his chopstick. He freezes halfway when he sees his mother eyeing him intensely. "Everything okay?"

Mrs. Jeon folds her hands in her lap. "It's occurred to me that we still have an elephant in the room. I was hoping we'd be able to talk about it while your father browsed the bookstore. But plans changed."

And here he thought his mother had been playing down last night when really she was biding her time. "You know Dad's gonna be back in like ten minutes right?"

Mrs. Jeon nods. "I know it's not the most convenient of times or places, but I'm afraid if we delay it won't get discussed."

"Okay." Jungkook sets his chopsticks down. "Well...where do you want to start?"

"An apology would be nice." Her voice is mellow but the words are a clear demand rather than an offer. Of course, he wants to apologize to her for all the things he accused her of last night. But he wasn't expecting her to be this forward with it, especially since she was guilty of plenty herself. "I'm waiting Kookie," she coos, taking a sip of water.

Jungkook knits his eyebrows in response, unsure of what he's hearing. His mother looks far too relaxed about this whole thing. He decides to give her the benefit of the doubt. "You're right," he starts. "I'm sorry for what I said last night. I shouldn't have spoken that way and I'm sorry for making you leave. I think you and Dad showing up all a sudden threw me off and I reacted poorly."

Mrs. Jeon cracks a tight smile and reaches for her son's hand. "Thank you, Jungkook. I accept your apology." She gives his hand a squeeze before moving to pick up her chopsticks. "Now that we got that settled let's talk about the reunion. I'm thinking about talking to–"

What....the fuck? His mom did not just glide over this whole issue. She did not just put everything on him. And she did not just bring up that damn reunion again, which he's made very clear he wants nothing a part of. "Is that all you wanted? For me to make my amends with you?"

"What else would there be Kookie?" She scoffs, eyes wide.

"Goddamn it." He struggles to maintain a hushed voice. "Can you please stop calling me that? And what the hell do you mean 'what else would there be'? I'm not trying to put the blame on you but there's a good amount you should be saying to me too."

"What things are you referring to? Don't tell me this is about the reunion again. Look, whatever it is that I said was because I just want to see you more. And no more swearing. You know I don't like that kind of language."

"How can you be like this?" Jungkook can't stop himself. He figured his mom and he would have a better, heart-to-heart than this. It makes his skin crawl that his mother continues to play the victim. "It's genuinely shocking me how....do you even love me?"

Mrs. Jeon pauses at that. "Of course, I love you Jungkook. Why–why would you ask that?" She blinks back the slightest hint of tears forming along the edge of her eyes. Never in a million years did she think her son would doubt something this crucial.

"I feel like–"

"Feel what? What is it?"

"I feel like you care more about what I can do for you than you do me, as your son." Jungkook sniffs. This is a lot harder for him to say than he imagined. "There's been so many times that you've–"

"Don't say this honey! I care about you very much!" She reaches for his hand again but he yanks it away. "What are you trying to tell me?" His mother waits for him to form the rest of the sentence.

Jungkook hesitates to look at her straight on because behind what appears to be concerned eyes is disbelief. She isn't taking any of this seriously. It's written all over her face, tone, and all the way down to the way she's focusing on an answer rather than his inability to comfortably talk to her.

"What have I done so many times?"

"Honestly at this point, what haven't you done?" With an icy glare, Jungkook can't hold himself back anymore. The pot that's been brewing, deep in the darkest parts of him is finally overflowing and it's not going to be pretty to behold. "Do you realize how many times you chose your job, your status, and even your friends over me? And you make Dad go along with literally anything! Is it so horrible for someone to say no to you?!"

The couple next to them shoot uncomfortable looks his way, whispering to each other. Jungkook ignores it and starts counting with his fingers.

"Never once have you ever taken responsibility for showing up uninvited, nagging me about this that, and the other thing, making backhanded comments about my life choice, and most of all pretending our relationship is peachy fine. Well, I'm sorry mom, I'm thirty-four years old and I don't need to live by your rules! Our relationship is barely hanging by a thread and being quite real, it's __ and Dad who are the ones clinging to that thread, making sure it doesn't completely snap."

Mrs. Jeon opens her mouth to interject but Jungkook doesn't allow it to happen. It's not exactly intentional that he's pouring out so much in the middle of people's lunch. Still, he's been shoved over a steep cliff, head first.

"I'm sorry mom, I don't know how many times I need to say it. I don't enjoy any bit of this. It's just been a long stretch of–"

"That's enough! I don't want to hear any more." Mrs. Jeon immediately grabs her purse and twists her neck every which way. "Where's your father? I want to leave."

"Mom I'm trying to talk to you! Why won't you let me talk?"

His mother doesn't reply. She doesn't look at him. It's the silent treatment, Jungkook concludes–it's fucking irritating. "I'm not trying to be hurtful," he says, forcing himself to calm down. "Mom look at me."

She doesn't move.

It only takes seconds for their waitress to near her way up to the table with anxious steps. "I'm sorry to be doing this but unfortunately, we've received a few complaints of a disturbance out here." The young girl clasps her hands. "To ensure all our guests are comfortable we're going to need to ask you to take your conversation elsewhere. I'm really sorry."

Fuck. How embarrassing. Jungkook clears his throat and stands up from his seat. "We understand and are genuinely sorry for the commotion. We'll pay at the front and be on our way. Thank you for waiting our table."

The young girl gives a nervous smile and retreats inside the restaurant. Jungkook makes a note to give her a generous tip.

"Hey, what's going on out here?" Mr. Jeon rushes over, hair blowing over due to the breeze. "I heard there was some inconsiderate party out here airing out their dirty laundry for all to see. I tell you, people these days don't know what privacy means anymore!" He shakes his head and takes a seat.

"Get up Dad we're leaving."

"But I'm not done my–––oh shit." Mr. Jeon clenches his teeth. "You two?"

Mrs. Jeon gets up from her chair, still wordless, and walks towards the parking lot. "I'll get this Dad." Jungkook stops his father from pulling out his wallet. "It is best if you go try to ease Mom. I don't think she'll be talking to me for a while."

Mr. Jeon puts a hand on his son's shoulder. It's his way of offering comfort. "You're mother has made things difficult for you, Jungkook. I'll try getting through to her. In the meantime don't let this eat you up. It's been a long time coming."

Jungkook doesn't get home until quarter past six. The drive home was better than the drive to the restaurant, but hitting the notorious five o'clock traffic slowed them down once more. He also had to drop his parents at their hotel which was no easy task. His mother barely gave him a glance before hopping out of the car. The amount of guilt settling in his gut isn't going away any time soon.

"Hey." Jungkook finds you searching through the kitchen cupboard. "I hope you're okay with spice tonight! I got this really awesome–oh baby what's wrong?" You stop what you're doing when you see your husband come up behind you with sunken eyes. He wraps his larger arms around you, desperately needing your scent.

"I blew it," he croaks. "She's so mad at me."

"I'm sorry Jungkook. I'm sorry I couldn't be there." You turn in his arms to pull him into a full embrace. His nose tickles the side of your neck but you don't laugh. "You wanna tell me?"

Jungkook takes your hand and sits you both on the couch in the living room. "The morning started out rough with three hours of traffic and the two of them in the back seat, telling me where and how I should drive. Then my dad got unexpectedly famous off a PSY song. We finally got to some restaurant about half an hour west of here before 3pm. Everything was going okay until dad went to the bathroom."

"Okay," you say, scooting closer beside him. You rub small circles on his upper back as he leans forward on his spread-apart knees. "What happened?"

"Mom suggested we talk about last night so I said sure." You watch as Jungkook fiddles with his hands. "But she didn't actually care about a conversation or what I had to say. All she wanted, all she expected, was for me to apologize to her so we'd be okay again. It all came out after that and I feel so horrible about it. We ended up getting kicked out of the restaurant too."

"Jungkook..."

"I tried __. I wanted to be patient and to be a good son but she can't even look at me right now." He falls back on the couch, staring at the blank wall in front. "Dad's convinced it was bound to happen."

"You are a good son, Jungkook." You comb a few strands of his soft, ebony hair. He closes his eyes as you do. "You're mom's the one who needs to readjust her view."

"I never thought I'd yell at my mom about all that stuff. And certainly not in public where everyone is trying to have a pleasant lunch. I'm a grown-ass adult and I should have had better control of myself."

You settle into his inner shoulder, laying a hand on his chest. "Even grown adults have limits and your mom's far surpassed those limits. Don't blame yourself for this."

"Dad said the same thing."

"Well, that's two against one."

Jungkook smiles. Two against one, that's where he got that from. Not that you're the first person to use the phrase but he never used it as regularly until you moved in together.

"I missed you so much today. I don't deserve you."

You cock your head up as quick as the words fly from his mouth. "Don't you dare say things like that! You're a good man despite how awful your mother treats you." You lean your face near his, eyes wandering deep into his dark brown ones. "If you're not otherwise too tired, I'm going to show you how much I love you."

Jungkook opens his lids at that–apparently not too tired. You smirk and get off the couch.

"Here?" His classic doe-eyes peer down at your kneeled position. Seeing you settle this perfectly between his muscular thighs triggers an intense blood rush that goes straight to his dick. Jungkook didn't think he was going to get horny tonight but here he was with his half-harden length in your hands in the middle of the living room.

"Mhm." You position yourself just enough for him to have a clear view of your tits. You had taken both your shirt and bra off before starting. You know how your husband likes it. "That okay with you?"

Jungkook groans when you grip his cock harder, gliding it from the base to the tip in repeated motions. "Fuck yeah. It's more than okay." You giggle at how quickly your husband gets in the mood. He thinks you're the bitch in the bedroom? You quicken your movements.

"Oh shit this feels so good." He grips the couch cushion, keeping his focus on you. "Need that gorgeous mouth wrapped around me baby, please. Shit–"

You honor your husband's requests and trace your tongue from the base of his cock all the way up to his tip. Once there, you suck lightly before taking him in whole.

"That's it. Take my cock, fuck." Jungkook goes on to praise you as you bottom out. You gag a little at first being that you haven't done this in what....weeks? Damn. Whatever happened to the days when you'd literally go down on each other every day?

"We need to get you reacquainted with my cock honey," he teases, bucking his hips forward to push himself further into your mouth. "All these weeks without my cock in your mouth has you gagging all over me. Been it's been too long hasn't it?"

"Mm," is the only thing you reply with, the weight of his thick length dragging back and forth on your tongue. By now your pussy is pulsating like crazy and you're tempted to just get up and fuck yourself on him. But tonight was about your husband–you're going to make sure of it. And Jungkook loves nothing more than getting head with your bare tits in full view, obviously.

A few sucks later and Jungkook starts fucking himself into your mouth. They began as soft, needy bucks of his hips but now they're rough, full-force thrusts. His length shoves to the back of your throat and you moan desperately around him. "Did you miss my cock baby? I bet you did. My sexy wife....you're mine and you're gonna make me come, aren't you? Fuck yeah, you are."

Your eyes water as you continue to take him, hallowing your cheeks the best you can. Jungkook has his eyes screwed shut and sweat dripping from his forehead. Your panties are so fucking soaked right now and your nipples are defiantly hard from sheer arsousal.

"God I'm so close baby. You're mouth is---fuck I don't even have the words. It's fucking magic! And your tits are so hot from this angle. Kinda reminds me of what you sent to me earlier. Can I come on them? I'm so close." Jungkook takes your broken moans as a yes and starts ramming into you two more times before pullout and covering your breasts with warm liquid. "Fuck fuck fuck," he grunts, spilling himself on you.

What a mess. You look down at yourself. What a motherfuckin' mess and you love it. Jungkook pulls you into a passionate kiss, tongue rolling with yours in heavenly harmony. "Thank you for this," he says between kisses. "I'll help you wash up, I promise."

"Mm Jungkook," you pant. "I think I need you inside me."

Hey, he got his dick sucked and he creamed your tits–it's mama's turn now, or excuse you–wifey.

A/N: this got nasty whoops. not sorry. Anyway LMK what you think, thanks for reading! 💞 also pls vote if youd be so kind

Masterlist

Taglist:

@frieschan @oldermenluverrr @tatamicc @kookswifesblog @llallaaa @sunnybyeol @namtaeh @exactlygreatcoffee @whipwhoops @yoongisducky @ktnj91 @junecat18 @thvlover7 @yoongiworshiper @ellesalazar @monbebe234-blog @parkinglot-nights @borahaexoxo @hobiswhore @kimseokjinbangtan @jjk97091 @mk-id @blueberry711 @givemethemaknaes16 @iammartian07 @jjkluver7 @itsdingdong @jiminshi20 @sweet-sourhotcoco @lubtou @lovingkoalaface @starsinsky1999 @rockstarrgyu @chaconnelatte @kaithezaftig @skzthinkr @babystarcandykookie @glossyyyymin @siudema @justanotherkpopstanlol @sh1nedreamsm1le7

P.S. I'm sorry but I'm not sure if I'm able to tag all of you!

#bangtanbathhouse #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts au #fic:toolatetodream #kookslastbutton

564 notes · View notes

n3ptoonz · 3 months

Note

Hello! I saw your most recent headcanon list thing with the Earthrealm guys being caught Slonking it Silly Style™ and uh. I was just wondering if you'd be willing to do something similar with the Outworld guys as well? Obviously you don't have to if you don't want to, but I think it would be neat! Thank you so much in advance! I love your work :)

deep, dramatic sigh. (kidding anon tysm i gush over comments like this ily smoochhhh) also the terminology made me laugh out loud ty for that

Shang Tsung

kinda sorta didn't gaf. who's to say he didn't want you to hear him. the world may never know

you were to report to him about some findings for his experiments and there he was, leaning over the table and straight up cranking it over a bucket (he's odd like that) honestly when you acknowledge your own presence he's like... can i help you?? you see i'm busy???

but at the same time he's like hold up i have a fine specimen here to help me out here...he's leaving here with SOMETHING (studio laughter)

Rain

i don't think he'd care either if you walked in on him. in fact, he might welcome it. he's used to having his own space, but he doesn't mind sharing it with people he's ok with being around. yes that includes you (is it only you? not even he knows yet)

day 8163 of using Rain's arrogance to push my narrative that he's not only in love with himself but how he looks in the mirror. you definitely walked in on him wanking it in the mirror and he'd freeze but recover so quick

ain't no way you're leaving here after you just caught him though. how else will his problems get solved? you went and made him hard all over again!

Reptile

syzoth has two, let's get that out the way. AND he uses both hands for them LMAOO

president of syzoth is a lil subby bitch society. so when you catch him tugging on both and reduced to a pathetic mess from his own hands??? he's frozen and quite literally has no clue what to do. he's sweaty, there's tears in his eyes, and his fangs are much more pronounced than usual

once you give him the green light that you're into whatever tf he was just doing watch him crawl over to you on all fours and hug your legs, practically begging you to touch him

Havik

expect this smug fuck to claim he wanted this to happen. dude was hunched over and going at it behind his own desk, grunting like a cave man who discovered self pleasure for the first time

1000% expect him to demand you help him, but instead it's after he froze for like 5 seconds and then tried to play it off

he would also be internally shocked when agree to finish the job, but on the outside it's like "that's what i thought...now get over here" whole time he's jumping up and down and twirling in his brain

Reiko

it's already rare that he has time to himself and definitely RARELY has time to be with you for an extended period of time, so you catching him when you wanted to surprise him with your presence it triggered his fight or fight LMAO

legit laughed at the thought of him jumping up from his chair hands ready to be thrown...but his dick is swinging PLSSSSSS

he's like well shit now he deserves your help after you almost got two pieced by your own boyfriend...but who's complaining?!

General Shao

this man weirdly reminds me of bowser sometimes. with that being said i think he'd do a BUAHA as a shocked sound when you catch him thwoping the schlong

as much as i can't fucking stand him he does look a lil better in this game i will admit. i'm not gonna sit up here and lie, he def has a HUGE wanker innit. so you didn't miss shit when you walked into his chambers

he would also demand your help. but if you have a lil push back just for fun, he'd eventually say please and be all soft and shit. why? cause it's you god damn it!

Baraka

let's be fr. truly i do not think mk1 baraka would masterbate simply bc he's like depressed all the time😭but for the sake of shits and gigs, ill humor y'all

let's say he hasn't seen you in a while and misses you dearly. he knew you were on a quest for a while, and he was very pent up... so what better way to release stress other than sparring! oh. not enough? time for another type spar 😈

if this were old baraka i'd say he has two 👁️ but since this version of tarkat is a disease let's say it made the skin around his wee like ribbed or something ya SO when you caught him he was in a straight up panic and apologizing profusely but once you calm him down and tell him you're glad he missed you so much, he's like oh shit...well help me out then...only if you want to!

a/n: i did it y'all FUCK. my bad for taking so long to release this i'm a perfectionist to a fault💀

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joshsjipple · 2 months

Text

Brother's Best Friend, pt 1

JOSH KISZKA X FEMALE READER

A/N: Hey guys! Happy Valentine’s Day! For those of you (me) who don’t have a Valentine and need a little spice, here's a two part series I'm gonna do:) I've had this idea forever and I'm so glad with the way it turned out. As always, this stuff is unedited.

Word Count: 4.9k

WARNINGS: 18+ this is very very dirty! graphic sexual content, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), LOTS of dirty talk and praise bc I love it, oral sex (m/f/ rec), face riding, fingering, slight hair pulling, slapping, slight choking, language, cum play if you squint, some degradation, minor cock warming, small daddy kink, p in v, dom (m) sub (f), fluff. Sorry if I missed any!

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

Your feet splash through the puddles of water resting on the cement. Rain drizzles down from above you, thunder crashing around you like drums in a rock n’ roll song. You cross your arms over your skimpy top you had been dying to wear for weeks and choke back another sob.

It’s late, probably around midnight. You left the party ten minutes ago after a run in with your older brother, Henry. You two had always been close growing up. But the older you got, the more controlling he became. You had only had one boyfriend your whole highschool career. Even though Henry was three years over you and graduated long before you did, he still managed to scare everyone off. Even tonight, even though you’re a twenty year old woman, he still glared at every guy who came remotely close to you.

“Men only want one thing.” He’d say after you’d beg him to stop interfering with your life. “As your brother, it’s my job to look after you.”

That’s how every conversation went. Every conversation up until tonight. Tonight, you’d finally had enough. After Henry shooed off your pursuer for the night, you’d marched over to him, anger bubbling in your blood.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you started.

“Y/N, what?” He played dumb.

“Why do you always have to control my every move? I’m a grown adult, I can fuck who I want!”

“Yeah, clearly,” he snorted.

“The fuck does that mean?” You raised your voice.

“Oh yeah, as if I have no idea about what happened on your senior prom night.” he took a drink from a can of beer in his hand.

You pause. “How-”

“Doesn’t matter. Whatever. I was trying to protect you from this kind of stuff, but seeing you’re a fucking slut anyways, what’s the point?” he growled.

His words slashed through the temporary walls you had built on the way over to talk to him. This man, your brother, who you had grown up with and loved your whole life, was slut shaming you. You could barely stand as your knees began to womble. Without another word you rushed out the front door.

Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea, seeing it was storming and you came to the party with Henry. But at the time, nothing was worse than staying there and facing his hurtful words. With his friends around him, you felt outnumbered and solemnly betrayed. It was better this way, although, you were pretty sure you felt worse about the whole thing than he did.

Now, the rain picks up again and drenches your already shivering body. Your hair is a wet mess on your head. You rub your eyes, smearing mascara even further. Fuck it. You don’t care.

You jump as you hear a car approaching behind you. Your heart pounds in your chest as you tell yourself it’s just passing by. When it slows, your body freezes in its place.

“Y/N?” a familiar voice strikes into the night. You turn around to see Josh, your brother’s best friend, driving behind you. His head sticks out the window, a worried expression on his face. “I thought that was you.”

You stand in silence, unsure of what to do. You’ve known Josh since you were a kid. But he’s only been a side character in your life. He was always there, but he never did anything significant. Occasionally, he would drive you to places because you were too scared to get your license. He’d help you with your homework and eat dinner with your family at least once a week. But you’d never really considered yourself friends. Especially after he started dating your mortal enemy his senior year. But that ended soon after it started. You never hated him, your feelings for him were the exact opposite actually.

Like any younger sister would, you developed a crush on your big brother’s best friend. There was just something different about him. The way he talked about stuff he enjoyed and remembered the little things that mattered to the people around him. It didn’t hurt that he was good looking as well. Your crush only intensified as you got older. It went from a harmless crush to an ache in your lower abdomen. Of course, nothing ever became of it as you were a few years younger than him. Once you turned 18 you were anxious to tell him how you felt, but as his band grew, you overheard him and his twin discussing.

“No distractions, Jake. If this is what we want, we need to put all of our energy into it.” Josh said, his hand carefully resting on his brother's arm. “That means no women.”

It was never meant to be, and you accepted it. Things got easier as you both gradually went your separate ways. Slowly, he stopped coming to dinners every week. It became a holiday tradition for him to appear, smiles on his face and gifts in hand. You started college and soon, your feelings for Josh weren’t as evident. That was, until you saw him again. Then, all the feelings and reasons on why you loved him came rushing back.

It happened every time, so you weren’t surprised to feel everything again when he came to the party tonight after his six month tour. He looked refreshed and well rewarded. All it did was remind you how happy he was away from home, and admitting your feelings would only give him a reason to stay.

“It’s me.” your voice shakes as you snap back to reality. You squint your eyes at the beaming headlights and pray you don’t look as bad as you feel.

“Sorry, I probably scared you. I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted to find you.”

“It’s okay.” You say, feeling a bit awkward.

“Can I take you home?”

“Don’t worry about it, Josh.” you shake your head and start walking away again. Josh only follows you, driving right beside you.

“Really? I have heat.” he says in a tempting voice.

“I wasn’t going to go home. I was just gonna walk around for a bit.” you admit.

He thinks for a second. “Okay, come to my place. Everyone’s out so you don’t have to worry about disturbing us. I know you always do.”

You pause and he slows next to you. He’s right, actually. You hate to make people go out of their way for you. Turning to him, you give him a soft smile and tug on the passenger side door. He was right, he did have heat.

The ride to Josh’s house was quiet for a while. The air was stiff between you two, which is odd because usually you two had no issues. It felt different tonight. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something changed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he finally asks.

You shake your head. “Nothing to talk about.”

“Okay,” he says. “But you can, if you want.”

You turn your attention back to the road ahead of you. “How was your tour?”

“Oh, you know. Lots of drinking, smoking, drugs, and women.” he says sarcastically, but for some reason it strikes a cord in you and you stop talking entirely. Josh notices and responds quickly. “Oh. I was just joking.”

“Yeah.” you say, rubbing your chin.

The radio plays quietly in the background, some old bluesy song fulfilling the silence. You turn to watch Josh, who has one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his thigh. You stare shamelessly at his hand. It’s large and veins protrude from the skin. Your eyes shift up and focus on his arms, the slight muscles and tones skin. You run your tongue over your bottom lip and glare at his side profile. His hair, once long, was now cut shortly on the sides with curls resting on the top. His jawline is sharp enough to cut your skin, his lips plump and full. If his nose didn’t have the familiar bump on it, you would have thought he was an imposter.

“See something you like?” he asks. His tone is both serious and joking.

“Yeah,” you sigh, a wave washing over you. “You’ve changed a lot.”

“Me?” he laughs. “You’ve changed. I mean, you used to have-” he stops and swallows.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing. You’ve just filled out. Like every woman does. Not bad-” he stutters nervously.

“So you’ve been checking me out?” you smirk. His eyes meet yours briefly before returning to the road.

“Uhm. Well. Your top doesn’t hide much.” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

He’s right. You look down to see the lace corset that is pushing up your boobs just right. Still cold and wet from the rain, your nipples press against the fabric. The view makes you shift in your seat, searching for friction.

“Yeah.” you agree and unbuckle yourself.

Josh’s hands grip the steering wheel, his eyes watching both you and the road ahead. You don’t know what has come over you, but the image of Josh looking at your tits makes your pussy throb. He’s changed alright, and his newfound muscles and hair has your mind thinking some inappropriate ideas.

You crawl slowly over the center counsel and watch his breathing hitch. He shifts in his seat and clears his throat. As your lips drag across the warm skin of his cheek, he lets out a breathy moan. Delighted with the sound, you tug on his ear.

“Jesus, Y/N. What are you doing?”

“You, hopefully. Unless you’re scared of my brother’s warnings.” you tease, your hand palming him through the black leather pants clinging to his legs.

Josh turns down the nearest gravel road and parks on the side, turning his lights on. He faces you in a haze, his eyes hooded and lazy. His hand finds your cheek and he runs his fingers over the soft skin.

“Oh baby. The devil himself couldn’t keep me from you.”

And with that, his lips slam into yours. You freeze for a second but soon reciprocate his actions. His hands tangle in your hair, yours in his. His tongue drags across your bottom lip, an invitation under seductive cover. You grant him access, allowing his tongue to dig into your mouth. You moan, and he quickly swallows the sound, supplying you with his own set of whimpers. He pulls back, his eyes filled with a mischievous glare.

“Are you a virgin?” he simply asks.

“I’m not a prude.” you scoff, taking offense.

Josh shakes his head. “Being a virgin doesn’t make you a prude. All it does is alter the way I’m fucking you tonight.”

You swallow harshly and squeeze your legs together at his words. “No, I’m not a virgin.”

“Okay.” he says before pulling the lever that keeps his seat up.

It reclines quickly so he’s almost horizontal. You smile and giggle as he smirks at you.

“Well, darling?” he asks in an accent.

“Maybe the back seat would be better?” you question.

Josh shrugs and opens his door. You do the same, meeting him in the back seat. You share the same goofy expression as you crawl to each other. His hands find your waist immediately and he hoists you onto his lap, earning a surprised gasp from your lungs. With your knees on either side of his legs, you connect lips. He tastes like alcohol and sugar and you grind your hips into him. He groans, and you can feel him hard between you. The few pieces of clothing between you two is all that keeps you apart. You rock against him again, your skirt riding up your thighs. Josh takes notice and pushes it up farther with his hands. As you bite and tug at the skin on his neck, his hands squeeze your ass. The gesture is strong enough to know it will leave a mark.

You let out a pitiful moan you didn’t know you had in yourself. He twitches against your leg, obviously finding it very attractive. Letting out a shaky breath, he distributes a soft smack to your ass. You jump and suck harder onto his neck, trying to muffle the sounds of your pathetic moans. Josh feels your vibrations and you can feel the smirk on his face.

“I think I have you figured out, doll.” he seductively says before smacking your ass again, this time, more firmly. You cry his name into the crevice of his neck. “Yeah? You like it when I smack you?”

You can feel your panties grow damper by the second. You had no idea you were into this. Or that he was.

“Answer me,” he hisses.

“Yes! Yes, daddy please!” you cry, the name leaving your mouth without thinking.

He whimpers and thrusts himself into you. You cry at the friction and find his lips again. You grind against his leather pants, desperately searching for friction. Josh watches you, his teeth biting his lip.

“Take this off, mama.” he tugs at your skirt. You unzip it and throw it up front. “Red lace? You filthy girl.”

He grabs your ass and lifts you up so all your weight is on your knees. He kisses your stomach and plants a kiss on the hem of your panties. His fingers that dig into your ass wander between your legs. The feeling of his digit sliding over your dripping core makes you shudder above him.

“So worked up, and for what?” he teases, enjoying the show above him.

“You.” you say weakly.

“How long?” he asks.

“Since I’ve known you.” You admit, feeling no shame considering you’re half-naked in front of him.

“What a slut, baby. And all for me?” he whispers, his finger dipping into you. “Take these off.”

You crawl off of him and do your best to gracefully pull the drenched material off your body. Once it’s off, Josh pulls you back onto his lap. You’re shocked and confused, but the look in his eye makes you ditch your expectations.

“You want me so bad? Fine, show me how bad and fuck yourself on my leg.” he spits. “While you’re doing that, you’re gonna tell me how long you’ve waited for this moment.”

You move to straddle his right leg, immediately working yourself onto him. He tears off his shirt. It’s dark in the car, but the full moon shines just right, showing you his soft skin and sculpted chest. His fingers move to your corset, toying with the back.

“As much as I love how little this top covers, I want the full view.” he unties the strings in the back. “Talk, or this is over. Tell me how bad you’ve wanted it.”

“So bad.” you cry. “Since you started tutoring me.”

“That long? You were what– a junior?” he slips your top off and leans back.

You pick up your pace, your arousal soaking into his leg. “I was so jealous of all those girls you would hang out with.”

His eyes absorb your breasts and how they look bouncing in the faint light. He brings one of his callused hands and teases the nipple. “So jealous of the girls who got my cock, huh?” He leans forward and begins to suck on the bead of your nipple.

“So jealous!” you say in a high-pitched tone. Your stomach tightens and you feel the familiar feeling grow in your stomach. “Fuck, Josh. I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it, mama. All over my leg like a good girl. Make a mess.” he encourages, moving to the peak of your other breast. “Bet you did this all the time. Fucking yourself with your fingers, imagining it was my cock.”

“I did, I did.” you say as your eyes fill with stars. You shake at the feeling of your release.

“Fuck. That’s so hot.” he breaths into your chest. “You’re a blessing.”

Pulling yourself off of him, you grab his face and pull him in. Your teeth knock together as you run your hand across his raging erection. He groans at the contact and fucks up into your hand.

“Suck my cock. I know you want to.”

You do. So, you pull away from his mouth and work at his buttons. His cock springs free as you pull both layers off his body. It rests on his stomach, glistening precum decorating the tip. You drool at his size, the length and thickness. Without another word, you dip your face between his legs and take him into your mouth. He shakes beneath you, giving you a sense of power you enjoy.

“Holy fuck. Just like that. Wrap your pretty lips around it.”

His hands find your hair and he forms a makeshift ponytail with his hands. Using this as a handle, he pushes your head up and down. You bob on him, hot tears streaming down your face. You take him as best as you can, gagging on him as your tongue messes with whatever area of skin it can find. He sounds so pretty above you, his breath hitches and sweet profanities being whispered to you. In one swift motion, he pulls you off of him and wipes your lip with the pad of his thumb.

“You take me so well, better than any other girl I’ve had. But I want to cum later, mk?” You nod. “I want you to ride my face.”

“Wha-”

“Please. I’ve waited for this too. I have dreams of you and I wake up so fucking hard, baby.”

His confession has you placing both knees on the side of his head.

“Tell me if I’m crushing you, okay?” you say seriously.

“Fuck that. Ride my face, hard.”

He hooks his arms around your thighs and pulls you onto his face. His tongue runs between your folds and circles your bundle of nerves strategically. He sucks on your clit pulling it between his lips and letting it go again. You grind into him, your hand smearing on the window like the Titanic. You’re a huge mess above him, crying his name and cursing. He groans into your core, the vibrations unleashing a whole new kind of moan from your lips. You pull yourself off him slightly and when you look down, you see two giant brown eyes staring back into you.

“You look so pretty between my legs.” you breathe.

His eyes stay burning into your soul as he slides a finger into your heat, his tongue flicking once over your sensitive bead. You cry out once. Then again when he slides a second finger into you. As if he's an expert, he finds your G-spot immediately. His fingers pump in and out of you at the same rhythm as his tongue. Rockstars are the fucking best.

Completely lost in the feeling, you grind into his face, your hands tugging in his perfect curls. You ride his face, chasing your own high. “Josh. I’m gonna cu-” The words barely leave your mouth. You scream and thrash above him, his arms keeping you glued to his face as he continues to lap mercilessly at your throbbing clit. The adrenaline and heat floods your bloodstream, making you extremely dizzy. If he wasn’t holding you into him, you probably would have fallen over.

After a few seconds, you detach yourself from your brother’s best friend’s face. It’s soaked with your cum and arousal, but his smile lets you know there’s no other way he’d have it. Crawling off of him, you straddle his cock. It’s pulsing between your legs. Having enough, Josh flips you onto your back. He leans over you wearing a shit-eating smirk proudly.

“Ready, baby?” he asks as he lines himself up. “Gonna fuck this tight little pussy and you’re gonna take it like a good girl.”

He pushes into you, not all the way, but enough. You cry at the feeling of being stretched, your hands clawing at his back. You both moan as he rocks his hips into you again. You’re dripping all over him, making a mess in his back seats.

“God, look at you. It’s barely in and you’re fucking withering.”

“Give it to me,” you beg. “Treat me like the slut I am.”

He pulls back before thrusting completely to the hilt. Your back arches, a cry leaving your mouth. It fucking hurts, but it feels like heaven.

“You feel like velvet.” his hips snap again. “Such a pretty, perfect pussy.”

Josh tucks his head into your neck, kissing and sucking across your collarbone. You wrap your legs around his waist, trying to keep him deep inside you. He snaps in and out of you at an insane pace. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, your mouth hanging open.

“So big,” you whisper. “Filling me up.”

With every deep thrust, you’re overcome with ecstasy. He twitches inside of you, causing you to squeeze around him. He cries in your ear, his lips tugging at the skin. His rough hand dances between your bodies, settling on your sweet spot. The pad of his thumb circles aggressively across your bundle of nerves. Your whole body is aching and arched at his touch.

“Do it, mama. Cum for daddy. Cum all over his cock, Y/N. Give it to me.”

Your body tightens as you cry his name like a story. Your nails dig and scratch at his back, surely to leave a thousand tiny cuts. As you pulse around him, he rolls you both over so you’re on top. You sink into his skin, the feeling of his cock still hard inside of you making you tired. As it twitches, you shoot up, you eyes wide open.

“You didn’t cum-” you hiss.

“Shh baby. Ride me?” He kisses your forehead.

The idea makes you smirk. You never did much with your first, or second. They weren’t into anything besides missionary and you giving them head. Josh wanted it. All of it.

You line him up and sink onto him as he throws his head back. With hands gripping either side of your waist, he pulls you down into him so you’ve taken every inch. His mouth hangs open as he watches you slide up and down slowly on his length, taking him as best as you can.

“I’ve never done this.” you admit in a sloppy tone.

“Like any of this?” Josh pauses and stares at you.

“I’ve had sex, Josh. Just not positions. Can you tell me how you like it?” You ask.

“Fuck. We don’t have to-”

“No. I want to. So bad. Just talk me through it.”

Josh, with both of his hands on your hips, guides you. You get the memo and roll your hips against him. “Yes, just like that. Ride it.” His words make you pick up your pace. As you figure things out, you add a few tricks to it. He’s whimpering below you, cursing your name as you fuck him just how he likes it. His hand harshly smacks the fat of your ass cheek and you cry his name. He twitches inside of you, letting you know he’s close. With one rough thrust, you collapse onto his chest. Your hands tangle in his curls, your rhythm matching his thrusts. “Your tits are so hot. Could watch you like this forever.”

He plants a sloppy kiss on your lips, the sound of wet skin filling the car. You feel yourself close again, noticing how your own body reacts. You squeeze around his length.

“Gonna cum again?” he teases. You mumble under your breath. Your hair is glued to your red, fucked out face as you take every inch. Josh wraps his arm around your waist to keep you from moving and his other hand connects with your clit. You’re done for. “Yes! Fuck yes!” he cheers as another mind blowing orgasm rips through your body.

You tremble above him and buck against him as you come down from your high. Your foreheads connect and stick together from the sweat. He leans up and kisses you softly, tucking hair behind your ears and wiping a few stray tears from your eyes. His cheeks are flushed and you cup them with your hands, admiring his state.

Once again, he flips you onto your back, his cock leaving you. You squeak in slight disappointment. “I can’t cum again, Josh.” You admit, eyes still closed.

“Wanna stop?” he asks sweetly, cupping your face.

“No.” you say honestly.

He flips you on your stomach in one solid, swift motion. “Good. I’m not finished with you. Stick your ass up, sweet girl.” He smacks it as you lift it off the wet seats.

You watch him from over your shoulder, his fingers toying with your entrance. He looks so pretty in the light you just want to fuck his face again. He fists his cock, stroking it while staring at your leaking pussy. He curses under his breath and circles your hole, oblivious that you’re watching. When he sees, he circles the head of himself over your sensitive clit. You shudder as he sinks himself back into you, this new angle unlocking a new level of pleasure.

He doesn’t move which makes you grow impatient. “Josh.” you cry, elongating the ‘o’ in his name. You push yourself against him, searching for movement.

“Awe. Pretty girl is so hungry for me even though she’s already came twice.” he mocks. “Show me how bad you want it and fuck yourself on it.”

With another crack at your ass, you bounce onto him, your boobs brushing against the seats below you. The friction makes you bite your lip. Eventually, Josh can’t handle it and he meets your bounce with a thrust of his own. You wither from under him, sweet noises dancing around you. He’s pounding into you at a vicious rate. Not a single thought circles in your head at the moment.

“Who’s pussy is this?” He growls loudly.

“Yours.” you whisper.

“Louder.”

“Yours! It’s yours.” you give in pathetically.

“Yeah it is. I’m fucking it like it’s mine because it is mine. Got it?”

“Mhm.” you cry, feeling his thrusts become sloppier by the second.

“Sorry, what?” he smacks your cheek and pulls you up so your back is pressed against his chest.

“My pussy’s yours, daddy!” you shake.

One hand wraps around your neck as the other cups your aching heat. He splits his fingers, feeling his cock pound into you. You tremble against him, your breathing quickening. “Josh, wait. I can’t. I can’t cum again, it hurts!”

“Poor little baby,” he bites your shoulder and squeezes your neck tighter. “Wants to play the game until she loses, huh? Not here, mama. Take it.”

His words have you bucking against him, using your own hand to circle your clit. He smacks it away and replaces it with his own. You both let out unearthly sounds as you approach your climax. With one final thrust, he spills into you which sends you over the edge yourself. You scream as your lips connect, his cock still spasming inside you. You fall flat on your chest and Josh pancakes you to the seat, his cock still buried inside of your walls.

“That’s my good girl.” he kisses your hair. Pleasure still floods through you, your brain barely processing a word he said. With hands planted on either side of you, he pushes himself off your body and pulls himself out. You feel the strands of cum fall from him and onto your thighs. “Jeeeez.” he says.

You flip onto your back, your chest still heaving. Josh is between your legs on his knees, throwing his shirt over his head before placing another kiss on your cheek.

“Does daddy just fuck you so good you can’t even get dressed?” he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. The aggressive act is gone and replaced with the loving Josh you’ve grown up with.

“So good.” you smile, pulling him in for another kiss.

He falls onto you, his curls brushing across your face. Using your tits as pillows, he lays comfortably. “You’re amazing, do you know that?”

You sigh and giggle. “You’ve already fucked me Josh, no need to be a suck up.”

He lifts off of you again. “I’m not sucking up. You’re perfect, and I want this.”

“What?” the words tumble out of your mouth. “What about tour and the girls-”

“It’s you, Y/N. It’s always gonna be you. They mean nothing to me. They never have and never will. With you it’s real, and I want it.”

“But, Henry.”

“Fuck Henry. I was done with him the second he called you a slut. Only I get to call you that.” he jokes, kissing your nose.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“Are you?” He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t seem too sure.”

“Josh I’ve been in love with you my whole life. You just fucked me so hard I won’t be able to walk for a few days and now you want me to be your girlfriend. I’m sorry if it’s going to take me more than a few seconds to wrap my head around it.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” he apologizes and lays back on your chest. “We have all the time in the world, darling.”

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