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momolady · 3 months

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Art the Orc

If you live in a small town, maybe you'll know this place. It's a little art store run by the same family for ages. It's not changed in all that time either. Picture it, feel it, you know it's the only place that sells that one supply you like. Now, imagine an orc behind the counter. Female Reader x Male Monster

The visage of the old place looked like it had once been a gas station. There was one of those big metal awnings and signs that gas pumps had once been outside. But everything else looked like the art supply store it was. The window was painted, done up with flowers and a flourishing font, but it hadn’t been touched in ages and was chipping and weathering away.

The old place had seen better days, you could tell. But you were excited to tackle such a special project with your own two hands.

Inside the place had a familiar smell of paint thinner, book pages, and coffee. You looked around the front as the bells on the door chimed. The old floor had seen better days and was worn out where you stood, even the welcome mat was hard to read.

“Welcome to Greengold Creative Station,” the deep voice came from behind the front desk where there was an open door. ‘I’ll be out with you in just a moment.”

“Take your time,” you replied. You continued to look around, noting the mismatched shelving and thrown together renovations dotting the place.

A moment later, a large orc came from the back. He was wearing thick glasses and had on a corded cardigan that covered a paint splattered t-shirt.

“Can I help you find anything?” He asked as he adjusted his glasses.

You approached the front desk again, extending your hand to him. “Hi! You must be Mr. Greengold, I’m from Regency Renovations.”

There was a surprised look upon his face as he shook your hand. “You’re the renovator?”

You smiled, half expecting some reservation based on your appearance. “I specialize in business and storefront renovations. That is what you wanted, correct, Mr. Greengold?”

He fumbled with his words for a moment, stuttering, touching his glasses until he spoke. “Call me Art, please.”

You held it in, but he knew where your mind went.

“It’s short for Arthur, but it's also my dad’s name so my mom calls me Art. Yes, I know, ha ha, very fun. A man named Art runs the art store.”

“It’s an easy target.” You tried to squash your giggling but a few came out.

He sighed and shook his head. “So, you’ll be handling the whole store. I want it updated completely. It was fine for my parents, but I need to bring in a new generation of artists and online shopping is destroying us.”

“It’s a common issue, Art,” you didn’t look at him as you said his name. “I already have some ideas brewing and I would be happy to discuss your thoughts for the business with you.”

He sighed heavily, gazing out at a store that was once his family’s legacy. “I would say I would like to keep some of what my parents did to this place, but I don’t think any of it is salvageable.”

“Well recycling is a thing.” You replied. “Like some of these old shelves, the wood can be reused to create a rustic facade for the front desk here.” You patted the worn out formica top. “And the vintage signage out from can be reused and framed, hung just right behind you there.”

Art made a face. “You can do all that.”

You returned his face, adding a smug smile to it. “I can do lots of things, Art. My father was a carpenter and my mother was a viper. Be careful of what you inflict about me.” You patted your chest proudly. You knew you were small and chubby, not many people expected much out of you, but your work spoke for itself. And that was how you told people off.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “I have a lot riding on this so-”

“So you hired the best. That I can promise you. Now I know you said you didn’t have a lot of funds, but I already have my plans made for how to help you with that. I plan on doing most of the work on my own, but for heavy lifting and other things-”

“I don’t mind helping with that,” he said with a shake of his head.

You had planned to bring in your brother for help, he enjoyed the destruction part of your job and he worked for free food. “Well uh…if you’d like Art, I wouldn’t say no.”

“I wouldn’t want you getting hurt on the job. It would be best if I helped out,” he said.

You couldn’t tell if he was being kind or underestimating you again, so you brushed it off and continued. “I would also like to film the process of the renovation. Stuff like that will help reach your new audience.”

He frowned, and his thick brows pinched together. “You must be joking.”

“I am not. You’d be surprised what the kids these days are watching.” You smirked up at him. “I know what I am doing, Art. Have some faith.”

His face read: easier said than done.

Discussion and planning was always the hard bit. You had to convince your employer of what needed to be done. Art was hesitant about some things, after all it was a family business and a place he had grown up in. But for the most part he was willing to go along with some of your ideas.

Art started the clean up process by first putting away his stock and setting most of the mismatched shelves outside. Once that was taken care of you began ripping up the old carpet and ancient linoleum.

“I remember when my dad put that stuff down,” Art said from behind you.

You looked up, eyes covered by goggles and mouth surrounded by one of those thick industrial masks. “Oh really?”

Art gave you a look. “Is all that necessary?”

“You’d be surprised.” You stacked another chunk of the linoleum to the side. “Lots of debris and who-knows-what is under these old floors. Decades of dirty shoes, dust, skin, and life are stored here.”

Art’s grimace deepened. “Skin?”

“Oh yeah, we shed like mad,” you laughed. “If you have dust in your house you can be assured it came from you!”

Art looked perturbed by this revelation but he continued in moving stock to the back and other store property outside.

Once the flooring was removed, you accessed what was underneath. It wasn’t marble or granite, but it was some type of stony tile that had existed when it was a gas station.

“Mom said it was inhospitable.”

You used a dust cloth to clean off a bit of the flooring. “But it’s easy to clean, and it’ll make the whole place appear brighter and bigger.” You turned and looked back at him, taking off the goggles. “It’ll be so much better in the long run. Plus! You won’t have to buy anything new except maybe a rug or two if you wanted.”

Art’s pinched brow was becoming the norm to see, but you could tell it was because the gears behind it were working so hard to process everything going on.

Once the tiles were cleaned and all the old flooring was hauled off to the dump, you started working on the walls, taking down slapdash shelving, and anything else hanging up. The old paint job, or jobs really, were layered on so thick and hadn’t been properly done. They had painted over the trim and electrical outlets, all of which needed to be replaced. The holes in the walls needed fixing too, and there were a few dents and scrapes from the years.

“You’re not hiring a painter?” Art asked one day.

You zipped up your coveralls and turned around to face him. “Not unless you want to shell out twice the money. Besides, I’m a good painter. A great painter even! Maybe not Rembrandt or anything, but I can handle a roller better than most.”

Art looked over your paint supplies. After days of you working on freeing the electric sockets and scraping the excess from the trim you could finally start working. You were painting the wall white, but you had found cheap sticker tiles to create a great accent wall, which could then be used for photo opportunities and special displays. Then another wall would also be painted white and used to display local artists and projects from the art class that Art taught.

“Mom always wanted to put wallpaper up,” Art murmured. “But said it wouldn’t be practical with everything we needed to hang up.”

There was a melancholy to Art’s face and tone as he said this. “What kind?” You asked as you poured your paint into the tray. “We could always find something close to what she had in mind for the office.”

Art glanced over his shoulder then shook his head. “I doubt I could afford it. I tried looking already.”

You put the roller into the paint, sliding it back and forth until it wasn’t too soupy. “Was this place your mom’s idea?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his gaze going all about the store. “I can’t believe how empty it is now.”

“It’ll be full again in no time.” You gave him a reassuring smile when his amber eyes returned to you. “Do you have any pictures of your mother you would want to hang up?” you asked. “I can plan a special place for it.”

He huffed, seeming put off by this suggestion. “Excuse me. The smell of this paint is giving me a headache.” He walked off, stomping his feet a little as he went.

Art came back by the time you were finished with the first coat of white. You were sitting in front of the checkout desk, leaned back against it so your foot propped the door open. He stepped over your leg and looked at your work.

“The white really makes this place look…different,” he murmured.

“Don’t worry, there will be some color back soon enough,” you sighed. “Is your headache gone?”

Art nodded, leaning against the desk. “Sorry if I’ve been…obstinate.”

You waved it off. “I’m used to you.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve been questioning and judging everything, all because I never really wanted to do this.”

You tilted your head up to look at him. “Then why are you?”

He let out that heavy, burdened sigh again. “Because it was in her will.”

You clicked your tongue. “Oh.”

“She left me money, but only if I used a portion of it to renovate the old store. She said it was mine after all, it deserved to reflect the new generation. Even in death she was still hinting I get married.” He scoffed at this, but he still had a smile on his face.

“Sounds pretty motherly.” You stood up from the ground, standing beside him. Not feeling much taller than you did sitting beside his great size. You motioned to the front window. “Did she paint that?”

Art laughed. “No. I did. That’s why she kept it so long.”

Your smile beamed. “Really? That’s pretty adorable.”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “For years upon years I’ve looked at that painting and wished every day she would wash it off and do something different. But I suppose her sentimentality was far too deep for that.”

“It’s a good painting,” you offered.

“I never thought she’d keep it so I barely tried,” he grunted and crossed his arms against his chest. “Boy, was I wrong.”

“Would you like to paint the new display? I was planning on just hanging a new sign and leaving the window clean.”

“I don’t know,” he muttered.

You patted his arm, and his eyes darted down to your hand, his brows unpinching for that one moment.

“I’ll wait till you decide then.” You stepped away from him, but his eyes still lingered on where you had touched him.

A few days later, as you were working on putting the sticker tile onto the wall, Art came from the back and offered you a ticket.

“A friend of mine has a gallery showing tonight. He gave me two tickets so I thought-” He hesitated and cleared his throat.

“How fancy is the affair?” You asked.

“Nothing too fancy. I mean, dress up, but not like black tie event or anything.” He cleared his throat again. “I was going to get dinner at my favorite restaurant since it was close by if you wanted to come.”

It clicked and you looked up at him. Your cheeks flushed and your mouth started to go dry. “Oh. Sure.” You tucked your hair behind your ear. “If that’s the case, maybe we should go in together. You know? Save the earth and stuff.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Smart idea. How about I pick you up tonight. Say…around six? Since the gallery is at eight?”

You nodded, biting down on your lip. “Yeah. Perfect. That should give me enough time to get ready after work.”

Art turned awkwardly away then back towards you. “Oh I uh, I guess I should get your address.” You traded info and the rest of the day went by in a jerky, tense sort of way.

That evening you waited in your living room until you heard from Art. You were wearing your favorite dress, and had even gotten your next door neighbor to do your makeup. You got his message and went downstairs to meet him at the front door.

Art was dressed nice in a dark purple suit and he had his long hair slicked back and tied into a bun. He didn’t have on his glasses, which surprised you. His eyes lit up when he saw you.

“Wow, you look great!” He said, a touch breathless.

You blushed and smiled. “Thanks. You look pretty great too. I’m not used to seeing you without your glasses.”

“Yeah, contacts tonight,” he said shyly. He then took your hand and led you to his car.

The restaurant was nice, the two of you had a clumsy start to it, but eventually you both started having an in depth conversation about color. From there, you both laughed and joked around, having a good time with great food and even better wine.

From there you walked to the gallery, meeting his friend then roaming through the show. Her artwork was lovely, but you noticed Art’s pinch brow had returned.

“A lot more nudes than I expected,” he whispered.

“I think it’s nice,” you replied. “I can see what her intent with the motif is. How it’s classic, it's natural, but also subversive.” You turned to Art, noticing him fidgeting and adjusting himself.

“Yes. I understand what she is doing,” he muttered. “I must have had just a little too much wine I think.”

You smiled at him, chuckling as your cheeks grew warm.

The car windows were fogged over, and in the dark all you could do was touch. His kisses felt rough but intimate. His tusks brushed against your skin, making your shiver. Every so often the darkness was halted by the motion light of the parking lot turning on. You’d still for a moment, then continue on with your youthful antics.

“We should stop.”

“We should.”

“Why aren’t we?”

“It’s hard.”

“Very hard.”

You kissed Art and breathed, looking into his eyes while you clasped your hands around his face. Maybe it was the wine or the nudes on display, maybe it was weeks of working so close and holding back so long.

“It’s hard.”

“Very hard.”

You smiled at him, kissing him again while his hands moved below. Your panties were pushed aside, his zipper brushed against your thigh. Big. Oh my god it was big!

You gasped softly and he stilled, watching your expression. You eased over him, taking as much of Art as you could stand. You pressed your palms to the roof of the car for balance, his strong hands kneaded into your thick thighs.

“Aren’t we a bit too old for this?” he breathed.

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we.” Your laughter turned into moaning. Maybe you were both a bit too old for this, but you’d never had so much fun before! He pressed deeply inside you, and his hands couldn’t stop touching your body. He roamed over the soft curves, and plump form, his desire seeming to grow the more he did.

The next morning you came into work, seeing Art standing in the middle of the room. You held your breath, wondering if it was all a wonderful dream. He turned and smiled, his thick glasses back in place.

“Hi” he said breathlessly.

Your smile bloomed. “Hi.”

Art motioned to the desk. “I brought coffee.”

“I see that.” You smiled and took a cup he offered.

He sighed then laughed and you laughed. “So uh…last night.”

“I liked your friend’s gallery. It was very nice. I also liked your favorite restaurant.” You took a sip of the coffee, testing it before you added anything.

Art nodded, his gaze drifted until it fell back onto you. “Is that all?”

You smiled over your coffee cup. “No. Just barely.” You looked into his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if it was an appropriate work topic.”

“Not exactly but uhm…I just wanted to check.” His eyes darted over you. “Were we really too old for that?”

You laughed and cupped your hand over your mouth. “A little. But I’m not too sore. Are you?”

“No. But I would prefer somewhere much comfier next time.” he leaned in close and you closed your eyes, accepting his kiss and the touch of his tusks against your cheeks.

“Yes, it would be nice.” You saw he had paints and brushes set on the front desk. “What’s this for?”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I thought I’d paint the window. I got a bit of inspiration last night.” He grinned your way. “Plus, I think mom would like to see how I’ve improved.”

You grinned. “I’ll be very excited to see how you work. Outside a car at least.”

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hellishjoel · 8 months

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burning desire

10.3k // pairing:dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3

summary: An argument with your mother before family dinner leaves Joel worried about you. He sneaks you away to grab a drink and talk about what’s on your mind.

warnings: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, dbf/neighbor!joel, soft-hot-protective!joel, rocky mother-daughter relationship (this one ain't for the weak - mommy issues galore) & discussions of verbal fighting, slight clues of abandonment issues, smut, swearing, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel in his 40s), pet names, praise!kink activated, unprotected p in v (yes finally, the edging is over), mentions of birth control, slight cockwarming if you squint, slight degradation kink

A/N: I crave three things after writing this chapter: Joel, Joel Miller, Joel fucking Miller. Also, I’m almost done with The Last of Us Part 1 :(( sad that it’s ending, but it’s been so much fun to play! Enjoy this chapter <3

Your parents make good on their invitation and ask Joel over for dinner. A steak dinner, to be exact. Paired with wine, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a pie your parents picked up from the local bakery in town.

You sort of hope Joel pulls out his long list of excuses to evade any awkwardness.

Sorry, can’t tonight. I’m finishin’ up somethin’ for work. Can’t wait another day.

Or,

Hey, maybe another night. Not feelin’ too hot.

When in reality, it’s more like,

I can’t come over for dinner tonight because I might bend your daughter over my truck if I see her again.

As active as you and Joel have been, you have yet to hit a home run in lewd baseball terms. In fact, all the bases in your and Joel’s game were totally screwed up. You hit third base before you hit first, and you weren’t even sure if there was a second base. It was all just so confusing now.

But you wanted the home run, you wanted Joel, you desired him in that light. You wondered if he was ready for it.

Screwed over by your father asking Joel over for dinner and screwed over by Joel agreeing, you had no other choice but to sit through it and act like everything was normal.

And everything was normal for the first half of the day before you and your mother got into it.

The argument was recycled. You wished she would come up with better material. But it always came down to what you wanted to do after this summer since you recently graduated. And that was an ongoing war.

After two door slams, your mother retreating to her bunker, and you finding shelter in the bathroom, you’d say today’s battle was over.

You sit on the floor, bare feet touching cold tile. In a way, it soothes your shaky body.

No matter how old you get, this feeling never seems to waver with its intensity. The feeling that no one’s listening, no matter how hard you scream for them to hear you. Regardless of how often you have these conversations, you become a small child again, being scolded and told that what you thought and wanted wasn’t right.

You managed to collect your journal expertly hidden in your bedroom before fleeing to the safety of the bathroom. You flip open the pages with teary eyes.

You wish you didn’t have to admit that this was your safe space. On the bathroom floor, back flushed against the dark wood door as you closed your eyes and tried to calm your breathing.

June 17th 2:28 P.M.

Mom started a fight with me about not traveling again. She says it’s crucial for me to start my career immediately. I don’t even know what I want to be yet.

You have to pause to blink back tears. You wish you had your life figured out like it felt everyone else did.

Why does she have to care so much that I want to leave for a little bit? It’s not like it’s forever. There’s so much more out there. I’ve studied miscellaneous classes for four years and want a break. Why do we always have to have this conversation over and over again? She always asks how I will take care of student loans and bills. I have repeatedly told her that I’ve been saving up for a while to do this. She keeps saying she wants what’s best for me and doesn’t want me to start my career too late. She says it’s hard to let me go.

I love her, and I appreciate her support through school, but school is what taught me about independence as well as academics. I want to live my life and have experiences you can only get by leaving home for a little bit. Maybe then I’ll better understand what I want for my future.

Your writing pauses, and you stare straight ahead at the beige wall, blurry eyes reading another cheesy sign. Bathroom - Open 24 Hours - Seat Yourself.

You decide to spare a moment of your mother’s casualties and pencil in something else that’s been recently stirring.

I’ve been seeing Joel Miller casually since the start of this summer. I can’t believe I’m even writing this. It’s weird -- but in a way, it’s also not? He’s older by like a mile, but he’s familiar, comfortable. Easy to talk to. It doesn’t feel like he’s judging me. I’m not trying to read too much into it, but this summer sucks less because of Joel. Whether he knows it or not.

---

You and your mother work around each other while setting up dinner in the backyard garden. She steps back inside to grab more wine glasses.

You’ve put on a nice summer dress. The hem lands somewhere on your thighs and flows with the breeze. After sobbing on the cold bathroom tile for an hour, you don't feel very pretty, but eating outside and soaking up some fresh air might make you feel better.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Joel Miller was the largest, broadest, lumberjack-est man you had ever met, but he moved as quietly as a mouse. Your eyes blink a few times as you haphazardly set down the bowl of mashed potatoes on the circular table.

“Hi.”

Your voice is raw and red, softer than usual. Joel seems to instantly take notice. You see it in the way his eyes soften. He moves a little closer, hands resting on the back of one of the white outdoor dining chairs.

Your face probably reads more panicky than intended. He picks up on your faulty mood and assumes the worst.

“Do they.. Do they know?” He asks, eyebrows knitted with a deep furrow in between.

Your eyes go doe-ish, shaking your head and occupying your hands with a spare cloth napkin.

“What? No. Why would you think that?”

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to. He takes one long look over your being and you feel it in the space between you.

Somethin’s wrong.

Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine, Joel.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing on you more.

Suddenly, you felt exposed. Like someone had ripped the curtain open on you. No one had ever seen right through you like this before. It was unsettling, but god, you just wanted to lean right into it.

If your parents weren’t just inside, you’d walk right into his front and curl your head in his chest just under the hook of his chin. You’d close your eyes and wrap your small arms around his waist.

He’d encircle you in his big, protective arms and shield you from the pain you’ve felt today. You’d listen to his heart thrumming against his chest, using the rhythm to try and slow down your breathing while he whispers to you in his sweet southern drawl.

S’alright, sweetheart. Everything’s gonna be okay. I see you tryin’.

His eyes flitter into light again, ease passing across his features.

“Like the dress.” He looks over you with a condescending little smirk. This man has never seen you in a dress in your life.

“Shut up. It’s just for dinner.”

He lets out a cocky little tut. “‘Cause you knew I was comin’ over?”

When you look up at him again, his hand gently rests over yours. You don’t have time to appreciate it; the sliding back door opens, and your father’s big booming laughter shakes the nearby lake. Joel’s subtle touch is instantly gone.

“Joel! So good to see you! Hey, great bonfire a few weeks ago.”

You take a deep breath and excuse yourself from the shop talk. You don’t want to be alone with your mother in the house, but the table still needs to be set up. You work around each other in silence. She grabs the salad, you grab the dinner rolls and green beans. You could hear a pin drop.

---

Dinner would have been better if you had an appetite. You spent the majority of your time making a tilled farm field out of your mashed potatoes. You’d flatten out your helping with a fork and then gently run the fork’s ribs through the moldable potatoes and create little crop lines out of it. You don’t always play with your food, but you weren’t really up for conversation. Your mother takes notice. She hates it. She hates that you were letting your personal problems exist in the company of others.

The only time you looked up even slightly was when Joel started talking. Sort of a calm in an unknown storm, you suppose. He looked so handsome without even really trying. You wore a crooked smile as you looked over the dark green button-up he was wearing. It was starting to be your favorite color, he wore it so well.

There were points where your parents would turn to each other. And Joel would turn to you. It was sort of a silent check-in.

Under the protection of the table, his hand found your knee, his big fingers lightly playing with the hem of your dress. It was the first time you cracked a real smile all dinner. Your hand ghosted over his, your nails lightly running soothing, slow lines on the underside of his wrist by his watch.

You doin’ okay?

Mhm.

It didn’t dawn on you that Joel might have felt he did something to cause your saddened mood. And this was his way of asking. You bit down on your lower lip, feeling his fingers lightly interlock with yours over your knee. Your eyelashes flutter at the warmth it propels through your body. It was just what you needed. Everything was going to be okay.

---

You’re working over a stubborn steak juice stain on a plate as the sun sets over the lake and glistens a soft yellow-orange hue through the windows in the kitchen. Your parents are moving around you while you rinse the dishes, back turned to them as they spoke in mundane conversation and pack up leftovers.

You don’t see him, but you can feel Joel’s presence as he enters the doorway. He watches you. He watches your parents. You wonder what he sees. The next thing you know, he’s shaking your parents hands and bidding them goodnight.

He stops at you. As the running faucet splashes against a few forks and a wine glass, you spare him a glance.

“Walk me out?” Your parents take notice of his ask. And not in the way you expect.

You tilt back and forth on your feet, looking back to the dishes. You really just wanted to finish what was left to clean and read in your room for the rest of the night.

“Uhm-”

“Go on and walk him out, honey. We’ll see you soon, Joel. Thanks for stoppin’ in.”

Your eyes go from Joel’s, to your parents. If they were anything, at least they were oblivious.

You and your mother share a look before she sighs and exits the kitchen. Your jaw loosens, not even realizing how hard you were grinding your teeth while looking at her.

“Yeah. Okay.” Your murmured voice is barely audible above the gushing sink faucet. After you set the plate on the drying rack and smear your wet hands on a dish towel, you walk Joel outside.

The night breeze off the lake sets in a layer of goosebumps up your arms.

Joel’s boots scuff against the gravel and dirt in his driveway, his footsteps pausing at his truck and turning to face you.

The rising moon and setting sun work in unison to highlight his aquiline nose and silver-sprinkled jawline. He’s charmingly handsome. Rugged features meet a stone facade.

You take a hesitant look back into the house. The kitchen light is still on, but no one is in the small windows.

“You wanna tell me what’s really goin’ on with you?” He crosses his arms, cocking his leg out as he leans his weight onto one of his hips.

You muster up a shrug and fold your hands around your arms to keep the light chill away. It felt like you couldn’t tell the truth, the house and your parents inside watching over you. The pressure of it all makes your shoulders lurch up a bit into your neck.

But Joel continues to press you. You’re making him nervous, you think, because he’s not accustomed to seeing you so quiet.

“Are you..” His words falter and fall off, and you can see the frown creased into his mouth. “You’re wantin’ t’stop seein’ each other?”

“What?” Now you’re the one frowning, closing the gap between you and Joel and taking him by his hand to the other side of the truck, using it as a shield between you and the rest of the world. Your back flushes against his driver-side door.

“No, I don’t want to stop seeing you, Joel.” You frown and squeeze his hand a little tighter in assurance. “Trust me. You’re kind of..” You struggle to make the words fit. Nothing seems right. You’re kind of the only person I want to be around right now.

Joel looks a little relieved. He doesn’t make you finish your sentence. He seems to connect the dots. Joel looks from your solemn face to the house behind you—the cause of your ill-stricken mood.

“How about we grab a drink n’talk.” It’s not a question, exactly, it’s more like a command.

You don’t want to talk about what happened, and you have a sneaking suspicion that if you two go off together, your parents will be asking questions.

You push the toe of your sneaker into the gravel and twist slowly back and forth.

“I should just head back inside. My parents are probably waiting up for me, anyway. Cleanup duty.” You say unenthusiastically with a dash of sarcasm. Joel’s eyes are looking past you, still at the house. You turn around to follow his eyeline. All the lights in the house have been turned off—even the porch light. Joel scowls at the sight, thinking how he always leaves the light on for Sarah.

The caged-in feeling returns, your chest tight as you look to your feet and try to breathe through the ache your heart held. You wanted to get out of here, and now.

“Never mind.” You bite down on your lower lip to hold it together. “Let’s go.”

You’re already swinging open Joel’s door, rust creaking at the joints as you slide into the passenger seat. These old trucks with no center console were so cool to you. Maybe you'd appreciate it more if you weren’t in such a shitty mood. But Joel’s already in the truck beside you, the warmth he’s radiating was welcome. His key turns in the ignition, and it clicks a few times before the engine roars to life.

You don’t talk, he doesn’t force you to. You feel at peace putting some distance between you and the lakehouse.

Joel drives past neighborhoods with funny street names. Thunderbird Lane. Firefly Drive. Sugar Loaf Lane.

As the sun just finishes setting, the whole town is covered in an orange glow that will soon fade to purple. Everything flies by your window, and moving at this speed feels like the cage is lifting around your chest, the clasps on your wrist snapping free.

Rolling down the window makes the breeze funnel into the truck and flow through your hair. Before you know it, your body is halfway out of the window.

“What ‘n God’s name do you think you’re doin’?” Joel’s tone was warning, his fist catching your dress in a fist around your lower back in an attempt to make sure you didn’t get thrown out of the truck. “Get back in here.”

You turned back so Joel could see you, eyes lit, and a smile from ear to ear. His hold slowly loosens at the sight before him.

Back arched out the window, he drives a little slower and towards the center of the road. You look up, arms outstretched into the night air as you breathe everything in. Fresh lungs, filled with a new perspective, no tears left to cry as you hang out of Joel’s window. The stars gleam, and the universe is vast.

Oh my god. You hear yourself mumble, feeling freedom reeling through your entire body. And like that, you were new again.

A satisfied sigh leaves your lips. You’re back in the truck now, and you roll the window up but not completely closed. The wind still tickles a breeze into your thrown-about hair. You look to Joel, his eyes already on yours.

Joel sees your fire has been re-lit, thrashing out licks of flame and building in intensity. He adores you wild and free.

“Better?”

You fix the space between you, your body melting into his side as your head lazily rolls onto his shoulder. His heavy arm finds its way around the tops of your shoulders to keep you sedentary.

“Much better.”

---

He ends up passing the central part of town. It’s better this way. Go somewhere he won’t be recognized with a woman half his age. He’s the one who lives in town throughout the year. You and your family only visit in the summer. It doesn’t help that the town is small, and Joel is one of a handful of skilled contractors in the area.

His rusted truck lulls to a jittery stop outside a small bar lit by a red neon sign reading, Past Lives. You wander inside, passing empty barstools and a glowing dartboard, while your sneakers crunch peanut shells littering the ground. You nearly slipped on a large pile of them, but Joel’s hand was firmly on your bicep before you could flail any further.

“You might be the clumsiest woman I’ve ever met.” He mutters, annoyance passing over his features.

You roll your eyes and scoot onto one of the tall barstools at a small square table against the wall. “I doubt that’s true.”

He shrugs his shoulders and cracks open a peanut, tossing it into his mouth. “You’re right. Your mother is the clumsiest woman I know. You get it from her. Once, I watched her glide five or six feet down the end of the dock and land in the water.”

An ill feeling passes over you again, pursing your lips as you trace your finger around the small bowl Joel is picking his peanuts from.

Joel halts his movements, chewing included, and watches as your eyes stare meaninglessly at the table.

“Never really seen you like this. Thought I’d like it if you were quiet for once. But now it just feels out of character.”

Joel’s boot teasingly nudges your sneaker under the table. His brown eyes look warm despite the lack of light in the dingy bar. Your stomach twists thinking about how he looked under the moonlight just half an hour ago.

Those pretty eyes of his meet yours. Soft. Kind. “Talk to me.”

A beaten-up sigh leaves your lips, tugging at the hem of your dress.

After a drink or two, you tell Joel everything he missed before dinner. How you and your mother fought. How it was all venom and tears, leaving you cold and alone on the bathroom tile. By the time the battle came to a halt, there was no clear winner or loser.

Joel’s an attentive listener. He doesn’t interrupt. He knows when to prompt you need a push. Joel’s pile of peanut shells has turned into a small molehill. The ice in your drink sloshes around as you start talking with your hands.

“I love her, I mean, she’s my mom. But she’s always fought me on this. This-this-...”

“The traveling,” Joel assists, his large hand nursing a small glass of whiskey. He looks amused like he enjoys watching you spew. You supposed he feels more relieved to see you explode like this rather than holding it all in.

“And-and it’s so much more than that! She fought me about leaving Texas for school, she fought me about doing a semester abroad, she just can’t let me go, it’s suffocating!”

You didn’t mean to sound so passionate, and you hadn’t realized how vocal you became until someone slowly clapped on the other side of the bar in appreciation. You stifled a laugh and put your head shyly in your hands.

He nods slowly, waiting to see what you’ll say next. You’re using him like you’re journaling at home, now it’s just interactive.

You sigh and pinch at the bridge of your nose, closing your eyes as you listen to an old country slow song humming throughout the bar.

“Didn’t even wanna come back this year.” Your words are barely above a murmur.

This makes Joel pause. “What d’you say?”

You sit up straight and sigh, crossing one leg over the other under the table. These stupid drinks are making you tell the truth. Be more vulnerable than you would ordinarily be. But it’s also because you’re talking to Joel, and he’s always been interested in what you have to say.

“I didn’t want to come back this year. These past few years, I didn’t come back to Danbury because I sort of- purposely- busied up my summer. Internships, work, anything to keep me busy and out from under their-their….” You pause to make hand gestures that are wide and all-encompassing.

Joel juts his jaw out to the side, lips pursed before he speaks again.

“M’happy you came back.”

There’s a moment of silence. Joel’s eyes aren’t on yours anymore. He’s swirling his glass around slowly and watching his ice rotate in a sloppy circle. You slowly start to smile as he looks bashful.

“What did you say, Mr.Miller?” You pry teasingly, reaching your hand over and gently stroking his watch band. The nickname makes his eyes narrow on yours.

“Nothin’. Forget about it.” He throws back the last of his drink, and you’re cooing for him to continue.

“Wha- Joel, come on! Why did you say that?”

He’s just trying to buckle down his smile, hiding it with his whiskey glass and shaking his head.

“Didn’t say nothin’.”

“Yes, you so did. Don’t even try to lie.”

“I’ve never lied a day in my life.”

Your eyes go wide, and now you’re smacking his forearm. He’s shoving quarters at you now, sliding them to your side of the table as a form of distraction.

“Can you just-” He scoffs under his breath and rolls his eyes, finalizing his quarter total to four. “-fuck off, go put a song on the jukebox.”

You sneer at him but obey. You look for something particular, pausing on Little Lies by Fleetwood Mac, smirking at him as you punch in his quarters. He seems confused as to why you stay standing at the jukebox.

The chorus hits, and you point accusingly at him as you do so.

“Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies,” you can’t even finish before your right foot catches on more slippery peanut shells, freezing like you were caught on ice skates and trying not to fall.

Joel’s hand has a vice grip on your bicep again until you regain your balance. God. Your face gathers heat as you snatch your phone off the table, and he lets out a laugh at your expense.

“Can’t sing,”

“Hey-”

“Can’t walk in a straight line.”

“I had like four drinks.”

“Two.” He corrects. There’s no hiding that you’re just unbearably uncoordinated.

“God. Just- get me out of here, Miller.”

Joel was biting back a smile. He likes teasing you, taunting you. Only because you know how to serve it back to him.

“Not until you see this. Wanna show you somethin’.” He sets down his whiskey and lays down cash to cover the tab.

You start your stride, and Joel’s already looking at you with instilled concern. You insist I’m fine. Go on. You follow him through a narrow hallway towards the restrooms, an exit door lit up with a red sign over it.

The walls are filled with signs, pictures, and letters, all illuminated by a soft flickering strip light. These were trails that people had left along the way, passing through the bar and leaving a piece of them behind for strangers to admire. It was like a memory wall.

Joel leans back against the men’s restroom doorframe, arms crossed as he silently admires the wall. And you.

Your fingers brush an old family picture timestamped from the late 80s. There were business cards, from bankers to bonds bailsman.

You feel Joel’s hand cast warmth on your hip, guiding you further down the hall. You follow his eyeline to a large yellow-light spoiled wall map. There were push pins all in different parts of the world.

“Look at all of these, Joel!” Your eagerness was evident as you stepped in front of him, finger flying from one point to the next, squinting past the tacks to read the cities people have visited.

“Bangkok, Thailand. Paris, France. Of course. London, Dubai, Tokyo.” Your voice trails off, finger-stopping around the empty parts of the map that some of the bargoers had yet to venture off to. The pins around the state of Texas were ironic.

You gently took a step back, Joel's broad and hardened front caressing your back. His arms gently wrap around you before they clasp at your front. You rest your temple against his bicep as you sigh. You found comfort in him tonight more than he could understand.

Your neck cranes to the side and up, observing his defined jawline from below. “Have you ever been out of the country?” Your face is lit with excitement, only to fall as he slowly shakes his head. You turn back to the map, your fingers gently holding onto his muscular forearm.

“Am I crazy for wanting to leave?”

You can feel a heavy breath leave through Joel’s nose, the air fanning over the top of your head.

“You’re not leavin’. You’re travelin’. You’ll come back, eventually.”

The muscle in your jaw twitches, and your eyes move to the Eastern side of the map, spotting the tiny European countries.

“Maybe my mom is so worried that if I decide to leave, I might not come back.” You say it as a joke. It makes Joel muster up a tut. But maybe, just maybe, you mean it.

---

You feel drops scatter from the dark black clouds overhead as you rush out to the truck, feeling the cold rain splash onto the exposed skin of your thighs.

Joel’s hot on your heels, doing his little side hop down the stairs and jogging lightly with his arms tucked into his sides. He’s already tossed you the keys to his truck. His body hovers over yours and shields the raindrops from landing on your head as you fiddle with unlocking the truck door.

“Any day now.”

His babbling thwarts your concentration.

“Fuck off, it’s like- rusted shut.” You tease before giving the handle one large tug, and it gives way with a creak. You slip in, dress hem tangling up on your upper thighs. Your hand flies to fix it instinctually, but you slow down when you see how adamantly Joel admires the exposed skin.

When you two make eye contact, he’s already cleared his throat and put the key in the ignition. He cranes his neck back to look out the rearview window, left hand cranking the wheel with precision while his right arm wraps around the back of your headrest. You swallow the lump in your throat, watching Joel reverse out of the bar’s parking lot and back onto the main road.

Your heart thumps, and you think he can hear it because his eyes are on yours when he turns back around. Magnetizing. And you have a hard time facing him without feeling a little shy. Because you’re thinking incredibly naughty things now.

On the drive home, the rain pelts the truck and hard. Joel’s wimpy wipers are working at full speed. He’s not concerned because he knows these streets with his eyes closed. He turns up the radio a little bit to drown out the rain. He does it for you to ease your nerves.

“You’re quiet.” He murmurs, his eyes still on the murky road in front of him.

You can’t help but be quiet. He looks so fucking hot. As dim streaks of lightning skitter across the sky, you see the silver hairs in his mustache and beard. His rain-dampened curls are recoiling, fresh, and wavy. His thick neck was lined with strong veins and muscle.

“So are you.” You murmur back.

His eyes catch you in sneaky glances. Your hair, pretty and dry since he shielded you in the bar’s parking lot. Dress half rumpled up your thighs, smooth skin of your legs exposed to his wandering pupils.

The truck suddenly shifts, veering off the main road.

“Woah,” you gasp, thinking the truck had slid at first. But Joel’s foot was still on the gas, cautiously guiding you off to a side road. You look around, covered by darkness and trees that shield your existence but do little to veil the obscene thoughts racing through your head.

Joel finally throws the truck into a parked position, your eyes watching as his hand snaps the keys out of the ignition.

He looks over at you expectantly. And you just deadpan.

“Get over here." He says between gritted teeth, voice drenched in lust as he snaps off his seatbelt and then your own.

His large hands pull you in as soon as you’re free. You don’t waste another minute, straddling his lap and resting between him and his steering wheel.

You clutch the collar of his dark green button-up, tugging him by his neck into your kiss. It’s messy and desperate, but you've wanted to taste him since dinner. His greedy hands are wrinkling your dress. The cold air tickles your warm thighs, and you whimper into his mouth.

Joel’s kisses are rough but fluent; he speaks the language of your lips. You take a moment to admire how different the two of you are and how it feels like he’s the key to your lock.

His warm palms slip up the front of your thighs as he kisses you, hasty and happy. He takes the hem of your dress with him. Joel is as warm as a furnace. He’s heating you from the inside out as your core begins to ache for him.

He pauses the kiss, large palm coming up to cup your cheek as his thumb traces along your lower lip. You take the time to catch your breath, feeling his own fog against the window next to you.

“Not exactly the most romantic spot.” His eyes shift with lust-filled guilt. “M’sorry.”

You work up a smile, leaning in to gently kiss his cheek and up his cheekbone.

“It’s okay. We’re not romantic.” Your clarification feels like a lie. He doesn’t need to know that.

The rain outside becomes blurred, and Joel’s looking through you again. Right through you. Your chest pounds under his watchful eyes. He sucks in the side of his cheeks, looks you up and down your face.

Don’t lie to me.

Don’t make me tell you the truth.

He decides to let you move on unscathed, your thighs clamping around his own with your knees at either side of his hips. His worry lines are stamped into his forehead as he looks over you cautiously.

You break into a smile, unable to stand him looking at you like you’re a lost puppy. “Joel,” you whisper into his ear, soft lips giving his ear a kiss as your nose lightly brushes against his soft curls. Your voice drops to a whisper, sweet and divine. “Don’t make me beg, Mr. Miller.”

Your lips suckle his earlobe and cast your tongue along the curve while his fingertips immediately dig deeper into the flesh of your hips. The sensation makes his cock twitch in his jeans.

You smirk as you grind your hips into his lap, a suppressed grunt leaving his parted lips. He’s into it. “You like this, Mr. Miller?” Your words are murmured against the shell of his ear, teeth gently catching his earlobe and lightly tugging.

Your words along with the rhythm of your hips over his lap have him in a tailspin.

“Knock it off.” He warns, teeth gritted, a low growl emitting from his throat while he grips you at the waist to pause any movement. He looks so sexy snarling at you like this. Your hand reaches between you two, palming against his cock until you feel it swell into the heart of your hand.

Joel is lazily planting kisses on the soft skin of your neck, he’s distracted by how good your hand feels.

You take turns half undressing one another. Joel pushes your dress up to your waist and loops his index finger into the band of your panties. He guides them down with your assistance. You kick the material off your ankles and move to pop open each button of his long sleeve. He goes to shrug it off, but you smile and tighten your hold on the collar.

“I like it on. Just wanna see your chest hair.”

His mouth tilts into a crooked smirk.

“‘lright, then. Good to know.” He leans back in and places messy kisses on your exposed neck. You can feel how badly he wants to sink his teeth in, but you share the mutual rule of keeping those things below the collar. Out of sight, out of other people’s nosy minds.

You struggle to admit that jimmying open his belt at this angle was pissing you off. You’re holding your breath until it clicks open, and you let out a sigh of relief. So does Joel.

A gasp leaves your lips as Joel lifts the both of you up purely with the strength of his hips, a low grunt leaving his pouted lips as he pushes his jeans down to his knees, along with his boxers. You sit back down over him and feel his heavy shaft pressing against your slick center. His girth makes you whimper.

The rhythm of the rain eases your racing heart. You take Joel’s pulsing member into your slightly shaky hand.

“Nervous?” It’s not cocky or concerned, just curious.

“M’not nervous.” You mutter, starting to pump his cock to get him to shut up. And it works. For a minute.

His head falls back into the seat as he watches you in admiration, his own hand wandering between your spread legs and gliding two fingers through your slick. His forefinger grazes against your clit, and he has you whimpering again.

“S’okay to be nervous.” His thumb slowly starts delicate circles into your bundle of nerves, and now he’s got your legs quivering.

You’re chewing at the inside of your cheek, shifty eyes meeting his. You pace your words this time. “I’m not nervous, Joel.” You pull away from him to create a line of spit from your mouth, landing on his pink tip already drizzling in precum. You swallow your nerve and bring yourself to meet his eyes. “Not with you.”

The mutual understanding links the two of you together, bound to the agreement in silence. You have a burning desire for one another. You’re scared, and he knows it. You push him to the limits, his heart beats for you.

Steam fogs the windows of Joel’s truck. The rain dances a fine line between pounding and pouring to slow and subtle.

Joel’s kisses lull you into a peaceful existence. You take off your dress, unable to stand anything between you and Joel. He’s warm as he wraps his arms around you, your tits flush against his thick chest.

You line him up by his base, Joel’s trying to hold himself still under you. You’re focusing hard, and he kisses your temple to ease your thoughts. He murmurs something, but you’re too busy concentrating.

His pink tip meets your warm flesh, and his tip slowly parts your walls. He’s seething between his teeth, how tight you are washes pleasure over his face. He wants you to go slow. You don’t want him to go easy on you. You can’t help but let his name tumble from your lips in desperation.

“Joel,” you whine, one hand clenching the fabric of his button-up by his shoulder while the other still weakly holds his base.

“M’here, baby.”

He’s rubbing soothing circles in your hips with his forefingers, trying to distract you from the stretch he’s creating inside you.

His breaths are coming out in hot puffs. The truck isn’t cold anymore, in fact, it’s only steaming up.

“So- fuckin’- tight.” He murmurs, eyebrows knitted together as his jaw was dropped open.

It was sharp at first, but the further you sank over him, the more you couldn’t contain yourself. As soon as his balls were flushed against your core, you were kissing him. Hot and heavy, desperate and needy, can’t get enough of each other sort of kisses. One of his hands holds the back of your head to keep you close while your fingers are delicately feeling up his chest and mazing through salt and pepper hair.

You smirk lazily against his lips, pulling away to rest your head on his shoulder. With this leverage, you start to roll your hips down onto his. Joel’s hands assist, squeezing your ass and guiding you smoothly up and down his shaft. You’re both moaning one another’s names, hazy eyes watching each other as long as they can before eventually drifting closed.

You wished you weren’t fucking in his truck, your riding skills were a lot better than this, but if you try and pop up, your head will just smack into the roof. And he’ll make fun of you for as long as he knows you.

“God- feel so good, Joel.”

You’re panting already a few minutes in. You don’t want Joel to think you can’t do this, you don’t want his help. But your body is crammed in limited quarters, and you’re already sweating.

He feels good. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s had sex. He’s not exactly the most outgoing of gentlemen. Thinking about him being with other women, maybe even women his age stirs a weird pit inside your stomach.

One hand steadies itself on Joel’s forearm while the other gently clutches his cheek. You leave a messy moan against his ear.

“Do you like fucking girls half your age, Mr. Miller?” You ask with a teasing smirk, messy kisses against his stubble and his ear ensuing.

He’s grunting every time you throw yourself back into him, skin clapping against his thighs, his hands slipping from your hips to your ass and squeezing the juicy flesh. “-like fuckin’ you.”

A low, extended groan leaves his lips as he holds your hips down, filling you full and having you sit with it. You throw your head back, and your eyes shudder closed with a loud moan occupying the truck.

You tell yourself that you’re both just fuck happy. You can worry about the depth of Joel’s words later. He feels too good inside of you for the first time to give a shit.

Joel’s thrusts bring you back to life, hand landing against his window and leaving a print mark against the steamy glass.

Joel senses your languid movements. He thinks you look pretty being fucked in his trunk during a thunderstorm. The darkness wraps the both of you up, only seeing flashes of each other’s features. He combs his large hand into your hair, catching your striking features with his hooded eyes. The slope of your nose. The curvature of your collarbones. Your pretty lips that he can’t stop staring at.

Joel enjoys the control too much for you to be on top for a second longer.

You collapse onto the truck’s long leather seat, lips parting in surprise as he maneuvers you to lie back without slipping from your entrance.

“H-Holy fuck, Joel-” You’re breathless.

Joel’s jaw clicks tighter as he flattens one of his large palms beside your head for leverage, hovering over you as he begins to methodically snap his hips into yours. Your desperate cries for more fill the truck.

Both of you are horridly cursing, some in the form of whines and moans and others in the form of whispered grunts.

Fuckin Christ-

Holy shit, Joel, please-

Feel so god damn good, princess-

Oh f- fuck me Joel, fuck me!

You’re already feeling the knots in your stomach tether tighter and tighter together, back arching as your chest brushes against his nose.

Joel takes the opportunity and licks a hot stripe between your breasts. You know he tastes your glistening sweat, but the trail from his tongue makes you clench tighter around him.

You catch Joel’s unfiltered groan in your mouth, his forehead resting against yours as his amber eyes grace yours.

He’s close, you can see it in the way his features contort and his thrusts become more unpredictable. You had no idea he could fuck this good.

Joel brings a hand up to your lips and offers you two fingers. You whimper but reluctantly take them past your mouth. You suckle and lather your tongue up and down each digit, it makes his cock twitch inside of you.

He plucks his fingers free with a pop, a trail of spit extending from your bottom lip to your chin as he reaches between you both.

Finding your swollen bundle of nerves doesn’t take him more than a second. You were so turned on it was almost painful.

Joel’s tip sweetly kisses your cervix at this angle, and you are so close to spilling over. Your hands cup his face, pulling him into you as you share a messy kiss. You think about how scared you were to kiss him before, but now it makes you feel a sense of protection and safety. You wrap your arms around his neck, you need him close.

“Joel,” you whimper, clenching your eyes closed and dropping your jaw as he finds the perfect rhythm circling your clit.

“Can’t hear ya, baby,” He grunts into your ear. You can feel him tiredly smirking against your cheek, knowing he’s fucking you so good you’re struggling to find the words.

“Fuck,” you mutter, your legs clenching tighter at the sides of his hips. “M’on birth control, finish inside me,” you whisper against his ear.

You can hear him let out a short, breathy chuckle against your ear. It only drives him more, knowing he can fill you up.

“Y’sure, sweetheart?”

“Want to?”

His teeth are gritted as he growls into your ear. “Course I wanna fill your sweet cunt up.”

It was hopeless after that.

A crack of thunder and a strike of lightning conspire, your view of Joel illuminating his gorgeous face in a white-silver flash.

The tight coils inside you snap free, a broken moan of his name being the last thing you remember saying before white stars filled your vision. Your hold on Joel loosens as your orgasm crashes through you ungracefully, making you twitch and rut your hips below him.

His fingers and his thrusts don’t stop. He rides out your orgasm, following suit until he flushes his hips against yours and lets out a heavenly groan of your name. You’re still under him, vision blurry and hearing fuzzy. He finds solace in the crook of your neck, nuzzling a home for himself in the space and losing himself deep inside you.

His body shudders lightly as he finishes, spilling white streams into you for who knows how long. Your hand is gently stroking the hair at the back of his head, fingers combing through dark curls as he breathes hot air against your neck.

You both slowly blink back to life. He’s complimenting you, but you’re too blissed out to hear the details.

So good, baby… Such a pretty fuckin’ girl... So lucky.

Joel tuts softly as he attempts to free his softened length, but you whine and tighten your legs around his hips to keep him stationary.

Your eyelashes flutter as you feel gentle kisses by the corners of your eyes, tiredly smiling as you open them before slowly sitting up onto your elbows. Joel takes the opportunity to pull out and yank his boxers and jeans back into place, securing his belt last.

He still keeps his shirt unbuttoned for you, partially because you have a hold on a random corner to keep it so.

With the absence of your pants hotboxing the truck, you slip back into your dress with a light shudder. You reach past Joel’s leg to retrieve your panties and pull them up your stems to keep his spillage to a minimum.

“Good?” He asks, a smile slowly growing on your lips. He looked so fucked out. You both probably did. You attempt to fix Joel’s hair, and he takes his thumb to swipe away the saliva trail on your chin.

“Good.” You agree. Quiet and sapped, but good.

You force Joel to play a few games of tic-tac-toe on the foggy glass before the storms lighten up, and you can actually see more than a few feet in front of the road.

You’re picking at the skin around your nails the entire drive home. So many questions compile in your worn-out brain.

What if your parents noticed you were gone? What if they were awake, waiting for you by the kitchen window, and they see you slip out of Joel’s truck? Try explaining yourself after that one.

As Joel pulls into his driveway, you observe the lake house is still dark and silent. Empty but also not. Joel’s warm palm is on your leg. It draws your attention away from the window, focusing just on him.

“Joel?”

“Hm?”

You shift your jaw before you lay your head back against the headrest, gentle pitter patters of the last rain cloud splashing on the window.

“What do you do when you’re not working? Like on that Saturday when I talked to you at your truck.”

He musters up a half-mouth smirk. “Didn’t do much talkin’ that I recall.”

You roll your eyes and slam a closed fist against his shoulder. It barely rocks his arm, let alone his body. “M’serious.”

He lets out a long sigh and looks out the windshield. “I do stuff around town or- for the town.”

He’s so hard to push details out of. He’s like a jammed stapler.

“Go on. So, like, volunteering?”

Joel rolls his eyes and shrugs. “S’not really like that.”

“That’s what it sounds like.”

He doesn’t say anything, just sort of starts smiling. “Just like keeping myself busy. But now I have you on my plate.” He teased. Your chest felt warm, knowing he kept a place for you in his hectic life.

“What sort of stuff are you working on right now?”

He takes a long, deep breath through his nose. You can hear it whistle before he lets it all out of his mouth, followed by clearing his throat.

“Y’know that old church past that big field on the east side of Danbury?”

You mindlessly shake your head and shrug.

“When I was a kid, I used t’go to that church-”

“For God?” You can’t help but blurt it out in shock.

He narrows his eyes on you and smirks.

“M’not exactly the Godly type.” You look over his chiseled jawline and beautiful, robust features. You’d have to disagree. He looked like one of God’s favorites.

“So.. why are you trying to fix an old church?”

Joel slowly smiles, eyes mindlessly on the dashboard of his truck before he answers. “I have a thing for the broken, used, and abandoned.”

Your head cocks to the side, and you give him a look, pressing him for an honest answer. Or maybe it was an honest answer, and you’re just looking for a better answer.

He shuffles around in his seat before he continues, hand still aimlessly circling on your thigh. “It wasn’t operable when I was a kid, just rundown, abandoned. There used to be a stained glass mural on the-uh... east-facing wall. So when the sun came up through it, the whole place just- lit up.” He pauses and shifts his focus to you.

“Now, y’know, it’s fallin’ apart. Dumb kids throwin’ rocks at it and chipping away the glass, age makin’ it all dust-covered.” Joel shrugs and falls back into his closed pit of secrecy.

“So… you’re fixing up the town.”

A pause. “More or less.”

“You know how to make a stained glass mural?”

He shakes his head and purses his lips. “No. But I can figure it out.”

You twist your lips and slowly climb over his lap once more. His eyes watch you curiously while his hands settle on your hips. You cup either side of his neck, fingertips lightly brushing up against messy curls.

“Can I see this mural you’re working on?”

He takes a long time to answer. So much dead silence fills the truck you start to feel a bit awkward about asking, like maybe it was too far.

“Please.” You ask or tell rather. You kiss his lips lightly to try and sway his pending decision. “I won’t judge, I think it’s cool.”

“Cool?” He instantly chirps, cocking an eyebrow up at you.

“I didn’t say you were cool-”

“You most certainly did.”

You’re shaking your head, and his pointer finger is prodding into your side to get under your skin. “I said that it’s cool. The stained glass stuff, that is what is cool.”

He’s already sneering at you. “Whatever you say, princess.” You can feel your cheeks singe with heat. Your hand anxiously scrabbles for the door handle, letting the rusty door creak open for your exit.

Sneakers scrape gravel after you climb out of Joel’s lap, his boots landing suit.

He smoothes a hand down your dress, your eyes watch before you face him.

“You gonna be alright?” Joel's face is laced with slight concern, his head cocking past you and looking to the house.

You shrug and shake your head. “Yeah. We’ve had this fight before, and we’ll have it again.”

He doesn’t seem satisfied with the answer. He’s teetering on his heels as a stray raindrop lands on your cheek.

“You can..” He trails off as his thumb comes up and brushes away the droplet, hand lingering before he cups your cheek. “Y’know, can always stay with us if you need a break. M’sure Sarah would love the company.” And so would he.

Your eyes soften, the gesture warm and safe. You couldn’t even imagine the trouble you’d stir up at Joel’s house. Sure, you could occupy yourself with Sarah when she returned from camping, but what would you and Joel do? Well, besides the obvious…

Your lips curl into a tight smile, not wanting him to reel in his invite out of pure bashfulness.

“Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind.” Your eyes are on his until he sighs, his shoulders reset into that of a broad lumberjack once more. His eyes looked like they were scheming. It’s fast, like a flash, and before you know it, the look is gone.

“Take care of yourself.” He leans down and plants a kiss on the crown of your head, thumb skimming up the line of your cheekbone. Suddenly, your heart is racing again.

You cup his cheeks and pull him down for a real goodbye kiss, two sets of pouted lips against one another, unwilling to let go until you have to.

---

“What are you doing after work?” You’re on a call with Joel, phone pressed between your ear and hunched shoulder.

“What are you wearing right now?” He taunts, voice crackling in and out of connection since he was currently working at a house out of town.

“Ha.” You deadpan, closing the sliding glass door behind you as you step back into the empty lake house, skin sweltering from being in the sun for the better half of the afternoon reading on the dock. “No, really, I could use your help.”

The phone volume shrills in your ear as you hear an electric saw roar to life, Joel cursing repeatedly as he walks away from all the noise. “Jesus fuckin-.. so damn lou- Can you hear me better?”

Once the saw dulled, you put the phone back to your ear. “Yeah.”

“What do you need help with?” His voice sounds a little preoccupied like he’s trying to focus on you, but he’s got a million things running through his head.

“My window.” You say with a frown, stepping into your bedroom and cursing at the sight of it. “Won’t open. Maybe you can crack it open with some of your handy dandy tools.”

You smile as he musters up a little laugh at your hardware knowledge or lack thereof. “I don’t know about today, baby.”

“You are the property maintenance guy for our lakehouse now, right? You have a duty to help me.” You tease, stepping back outside with a fresh bottle of water and an apple. Your teeth pierce the skin, and the apple’s juices gush past your lips.

“Jesus, fine. I’ll be over. I’m almost done.”

You purse your lips to hide your smirk. God, he can’t even see you, but you don’t want him to know he’s got you flustered.

“Parents are running errands today... If that’s extra incentive for you to hurry up.”

Joel pauses on the other end. He’s probably got that stupid smirk on his face. “In that case, I’ll leave now.”

“I knew you’d see things my way. Thank youuu.” You playfully coo.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.

An hour later, Joel’s outside your window while you assist from the inside. His face is twisted in concentration, eyes narrowed on a misaligned hinge that he works free with a screwdriver, realigns, then screws tight into its proper place.

He looks stupid hot so focused like this. Tanned skin, hair a little dusty from work. The veins in his forearm were bulging as he uses pressure to keep the hinge in place. You had to blink a few times to keep yourself from staring. He feels it.

“Can I help you?” His voice was thick and echoing since he was speaking to you between a glass pane.

You bite back a smirk and shake your head.

He pulls off the hinge and nods, pats it a few times before looking at you and giving you a thumbs up.

You decide to let him come inside before you open the window yourself, twisting at the string of your bikini bottom as you wait. He took in your appearance as soon as he parked in the driveway.

“What?”

“...Nothin’. Like the outfit.”

“Joel, I was sunbathing. And reading. It wasn’t an intended distraction.” It was.

“Mhm.”

Joel appears at the entrance of your bedroom. You silently curse yourself for not updating it more. It still looked like a sixteen-year-old fangirl lived in it.

He appreciates the posters and magazines, checking his handiwork at the window.

“Wanna give it a go? Open it?”

You eagerly smile and step up to the window, playfully tugging on it and heaving.

“I-.. It’s still stuck.” You say with a frown. “Joel, you said you fixed it.”

“What? Shouldn’t be-” He’s already got his hands on the frame and tugs, feeling it easily slip up and open. You’re giggling as his face deadpans.

“You think you’re so funny.” He taunts, his body turning towards you as he chucks his tools haphazardly on your bed. You’re already attempting to take leaps and bounds away from Joel, but his arms are long, and so are his strides.

His rough hands capture you by your waist, dusty and calloused fingers ghosting over your warm skin.

Joel’s lips eagerly greet yours, both of you grinning into the kiss. It’s slow as you let it envelop you. Your heart races. He’s not supposed to be here, your parents could come home any time now.

You bite down on your lower lip, feeling butterflies in your stomach as he backs you up against your wall, foreheads gently pressed together. His eyes flick behind you, and your head follows his gaze.

“Boybands, huh?”

You roll your eyes and smirk, fingers moving to the button of his jeans.

“Shut up, Joel. Leave the boybands out of it.”

A car door slamming catches both of your attention. Heads whip on instinct, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Your parents are home, and Joel’s half-hard in your palm.

“Oh, shit.” You curse.

Joel’s already moving, grabbing his tools off your bed, and adjusting his jeans. “Lemme handle it.” Your heart pounds as you and Joel greet your parents at the door. They walk in with fresh shopping bags. A cheesy sign for the living room sticks out from one of them.

“Joel?” They both ask in unison, looking between the man beside you and you in your bikini. Your mother’s face lightly flushes.

“Hey, Joel! Good to see ya!” Your father sets the bags on the table and grabs a beer from the fridge. You shift on your feet and just let Joel lead.

Your dad’s oblivious, your mother is more curious

“What are you... What are you doing here?” She tries to ask casually with a little smile.

Joel raises his screwdriver, strategically keeping the toolbag in front of his lower half. You try not to smirk.

“Was fixin’ your daughter’s jammed window.”

Your mother's face softens before she smiles. “Y’know, that thing has been jammed for… years. Thank you.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile and nod. “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Miller.” The light glare he sends you means you’ll pay for that one later. Joel clears his throat and nods, too. He turns to you now, and you share a look.

“Just… let me know if it happens again. Might need to replace the hinge entirely. Small piece of it could be broken, might be why it keeps slippin’ out of place.”

“Yeah. For sure. Thanks.”

You walk past your mother and open the door from him, but he still stands between your parents. What the hell is he doing?

“While I have you both, I was just tellin’ your daughter ‘bout a business trip I have comin’ up.” Huh? “ It’s not for Miller Contracting. It’s more for the town. I’m gettin’ materials for the old church-”

“Oh, the one with the broken stained glass mural on the east side of town?” Your mother chirps in. “We just drove past it. Just saying how someone needs to fix it up.” Joel’s lightly nodding to your mother’s words, her face soft as she listens to him with curiosity.

“Well, I was tellin’ her about it ‘cause I could use some help getting materials from a supplier in Houston. I’d normally ask Sarah to tag along and help, but she said she’s got some graduation parties next weekend that she doesn’t wanna miss. Would it be alright if-”

“Oh, of course! Yes, please, if you need her help and she wants to go, she’s all yours.”

Your eyes are wide, trying not to seem too shocked by Joel secretly sweeping you out from under your parents without them even noticing.

Joel turns to you, eyebrow cocked. “That okay with you? Next weekend. Friday to Sunday sort’f thing.”

A whole weekend alone with Joel? Your insides are bursting, but you have to seem apathetic.

“Mhm. Sure.”

Joel sneaks you a private smile. “Really appreciate it. Ya’ll have a good rest of your evenin’.” And with that, he’s out the front door.

You couldn’t believe what just happened.

You try to act casual before you make it off to your room, but your mother’s voice pulls you to a halt.

“Ah-ah, not so fast. Back it up.”

You quietly sigh before coming back to the main part of the kitchen. She narrows her eyes on you and lightly crosses her arms. Your fight with her from yesterday is still fresh, and it makes holding prolonged eye contact difficult.

“Are you seeing a boy?”

Your eyes widen on instinct. Your dad pauses the sip of his beer and watches you carefully. You try to hold together a poker face as best as you can, but you’re worried your shock is already seeping through.

“Wha- A boy? Why would you think that?” The laugh you force out sounds too fake. And you’re a terrible liar. You feel so hot all of a sudden. You wished Joel was still here to talk you in and out of shit. It was a skill of his you’d surely have to learn.

“Well, we heard the door close really late last night after you walked Joel out. We were just wondering if... You know, there’s a special someone that you’re seeing.” Of course, she hoped you would tie yourself down to someone in Texas.

“Yeah, did a boy pick you up after dinner or somethin’?” Your father presses, eyes narrowing protectively over you. “You seein’ a boy or not, honey?”

You didn’t want to lie, but you certainly weren’t ready to tell them the truth about you and Joel.

“Uhm.” Your brain scrabbles for an answer and ultimately chooses poorly. “Sorta. I don’t know. Kind of?”

Your mother tightens her lips in a smile and nods a little. “We’ll let it go for now, but-”

“God- Mom, please.” You groan and put your face in your hands, closing your eyes and wishing this nightmare was over.

“But,” she annoyingly emphasizes, “If it gets serious, we want to meet this young man.” She says with a firm nod before turning back to your father and putting away the items in their shopping bags.

Meet him? They want to meet the boy you’re seeing? What will they do when they find out the boy is actually a full-grown man, a forty-something-year-old with a teenage daughter? And that man was not only their friend and neighbor but Joel fucking Miller. Fuck. Your luck was running out.

---

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fortheloveofallthings · 1 month

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Steddie Florist AU - mini fic (inspired by a twitter prompt)

Eddie never bought flowers. Not once in his life had it even crossed his mind. But every afternoon before he heads into his shift at the bar he steals a glance at the perfectly styled man through the window organizing the bouquets. Every once in a while, Eddie would catch himself stopping dead in his tracks staring between the guy and the flowers, and every once in a while they’d make eye contact. His face would flush red as he quickly buried his face back in his leather jacket and rush into work.

Steve loved making bouquets. He loved flowers, and the chill of the cooler they were kept in. He loved sharing holidays with the strangers that came and went. He loved the curly hair and leather that floated across the windows from the storefront. And he loved that stranger’s rich chocolate eyes even more. The deer in the headlights look he’d stumble upon when their views locked. One afternoon, the man finally walked in and after all his failed attempts at love here he was ready to try again. He stood from where he was kneeling, “What brings you in?”

Eddie practically burst into the shop with no game plan in mind and stopped immediately at the entrance. Thankfully the man, much more gorgeous without the glare of glass between them, spoke first. “Oh um, not sure? I walk by everyday and uh thought id look around?” A small giggle escaped the florist, “sure man, look all you want. I’m here if you have any questions.” He flashed a well executed customer service smile then went to tend to some of the house plants across the sales floor. Eddie waded through the aisles curiously examining the buckets of roses and countless other flowers he didn’t know the names of. He lingered around the… “Seems like you like the dahlias” the florist said, lingering next to Eddie making him jump. “Shit man! You have a quiet step” “I’m sorry, Robin scolds me for scaring her all the time.” He looked away sheepish. “Well at least you can make it up to her with all these lovely flowers,” he nervously chuckled, “She must love that quality in her partner at least.” The florist laughed, “Shes not my girlfriend, no. Shes my best friend… and co-worker.”

Steve could’ve watched this man walk around the shop for hours. The curiosity he wandered with held a child-like wonder, an interest in the unknown and he had to go and scare the guy. The man sighed relief and got back to the flowers, “wait? These are dahlias? Like the murder?” Steve lost it at that, “like the murder!?” He laughed, held his stomach and everything. “Yes like that, but it was a flower first.” “Oh right, well maybe ill get one of these?” The man asked so unsure if that was even ok. “Of course, you want just a single one?” The man combed his fingers through his curls then rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh ya just one of the purple ones. Im sure theres an empty bottle at work I can put it in. Might be nice to have it on the bar.” They walked over to the counter and Steve wrapped the single dahlia in a sheet of black tissue paper. “This one is on me,” Steve winked. The man’s cheeks flushed pink and the guy avoided any eye contact like the plague. “You sure? I don’t mind paying,” He offered. “I’m sure, least I could do for scaring you.” The man took his single flower with utmost care turned towards the door and just before leaving he turned back to Steve. “If you’re free later, head over to the Red Dragon. Its only a block down the street, I’ll get you a drink on me. Just ask for Eddie if you don’t see me, sometimes I get stuck recycling the kegs in the back”

Part 2

#steddie fanfic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #florist au #tempted to make this longer

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hellfirexhoe · 2 years

Text

Thursdays | Eddie Munson x Bitchy Reader

summary: This follows the events of part 2 directly. Eddie and reader are enemies who hate fuck.

1,900+ words

warnings: 18+ only, minors dni, swearing, name calling, mention of drugs, reference to roofies, enemies to lovers fuck buddies, rough sex, p in v with a condom, sex in a semi-public place, ANGST, female reader

Series Masterlist

It had been less than 24 hours since you left Eddie's after a quick detour to the pharmacy. The usual routine goes something like screw Eddie until you're both exhausted, go home, shower and then continue to ignore his presence the following day.

So with these two things considered why has Eddie Munson been staring at you with his ridiculous baby cow eyes throughout the whole day? No one else had really noticed thankfully, except Chrissy.

"What did you do to that poor boy last night?" Chrissy asked as she followed Eddie's burning gaze across the canteen straight to the back of your head.

"I swear, I didn't do anything."

Chrissy shakes her head, "No, somethings up. Did you guys do butt stuff?!"

"Chrissy I am begging you to please shut the fuck up." You manage to speak through gritted teeth, pointedly looking at the rest of the table who are all in earshot of your conversation.

"Oh right. Sorry." Chrissy then speaks louder, "Hey, do you have that textbook I leant you last week?"

"What textbook? What are you talking about?"

"You know, the physics textbook that you said you would bring in for me today?" Chrissy's eyes are about to pop out of her skull as she gives you a stare so intense it rivals Eddie's.

"Ohh, yes I have the textbook, I think I left it in my car."

"Let's go for a walk."

Neither of your performances were particularly Oscar worthy but thankfully they were all discussing Jason's party on Saturday so no one paid much attention to you both leaving.

The parking lot was virtually empty so Chrissy rounds on you the second you were outside,

“Spill.”

“Nothing to spill Chrissy, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Just a small hiccup.”

“A hiccup?”

“Turns out he’s not so hot on date checking condoms.”

“And?”

“It split?”

Chrissy starts laughing, “Oh, my god. I can’t believe I’m going to be an auntie to a little Munson.”

“Fuck off, that’s not happening. Morning after pill.”

"If it works."

"So not funny, Chrissy."

"That doesn’t explain why he’s looking at you so weirdly.”

“I don’t know, maybe the freak is hoping I didn’t take it. He made a comment about wanting to see me with a small bump in the uniform.”

Chrissy is helpless with laughter as the bell rings, in fact your whole walk to Spanish is accompanied by a soundtrack of snickers.

Your usual desk mate is back so Eddie is forced to his normal seat at the back of the classroom, its not much of a reprieve since you can feel his stare burning a hole through your head. Determined to keep ignoring him, you don’t turn, you stay focused on your lesson. Until a balled up piece of paper smacks into the back of your head, you whip round, ready to speak but your teacher beats you to it, stooping down to pick up the ball of paper,

“Mr Munson, something you’d like to share with the class?” You hold your breath as the ball of paper is unraveled, your mind spirals as you contemplate all the incriminating things Eddie could have possibly written,

“Please focus on your work instead of distracting students who have a hope of passing this year.” The ball of paper is thrown into the recycling bin, evidently blank of any words. Eddie fidgets some but returns to his work. He’s first out of the door when the bell rings, and you begin to relax, thinking maybe he’s just been messing with you. You catch up with Chrissy in the hall and begin your walk to the next lesson, when you are suddenly yanked from the hall and into a closet.

“Okay you are seriously pissing me off now, what the fuck do you want Eddie?”

Eddie chews his cheek, “Hi?”

“You have not been staring at me like a psycho all day and grabbing me into a closet to just say hi. Is this about last night? I took the pill when I got home.”

“Uh, no not about that. Glad to hear it though, your body your choice, girl power.” Eddie is being infinitely more awkward than usual.

“What is it then? You’ve got like a minute before I’m late.”

“Are you going to Jason’s party this Saturday?”

“Please. Please tell me you are not about to fucking ask me to bring you to that party.”

“No, I was more wondering if I could convince you not to go.”

“And do what instead? Sit in on your fucking d&d game? Hang out in the trailer watching movies? Piss off. Why can’t I go?”

“Some of the guys were, uh, placing an order.”

“Okay?” Drugs were commonplace at Jason’s parties, it wasn’t exactly some huge secret.

“Some of that shit I’m not going to supply. But I know that there are some dealers who don’t exactly have any moral codes.”

“Eddie. Everyone knows there are drugs at parties, I’ve taken drugs at parties. I really don’t get why you’re freaking out about this. It’s not like I’m your girlfriend, we’re not even friends.”

“Okay fine, just. Watch your drinks ‘kay? Don’t let anyone get your drinks.” Eddie offers you a weak smile and you rolls your eyes,

“Do you think I’m stupid Eddie? Let me tell you someth-”

The second bill trills outside.

“Shit, now I’m late.”

“So ditch?”

“Its this attitude that’s the reason you’re going to miss graduating again.”

“You wound me. C’mon I’m sure the two of us can find something fun to do instead of going to those boring lessons.” Eddie steps closer to you,

“We’re not fucking on school property.” You open the door but Eddie easily shuts it against your strength.

“Okay, so what is your excuse going to be for being so late? Plus if people happen to look out of the window and see us leaving this closet together they’ll know. They’ll know that you’re my easy slut.” Eddie whispers the words you spoke last night against your ear, the darkness in his voice making you shiver.

“You’re such an asshole.”

“That’s a yes then.” Eddie picks you up, big hands cupping your thighs as he places you to sit on a cabinet. You go to start taking your uniform off and he shakes his head,

“No time for that.”

“Liar, you just want to fuck me in my cheerleader uniform.”

“Guilty.” As he speaks Eddie is undoing his jeans with one hand and teasing you through your underwear with the other, his skilled fingers tracing circles around your clit as you shut your eyes and lean back against the wall. You hiss at the sudden cold feeling as Eddie’s rings touch your sensitive skin when he pulls your underwear to the side, now teasing your bare pussy with his cock.

“You’d better have a condom with you.”

“Hmm, what if I want to try bareback with you?” Eddie whispers in your ear,

“Absolutely fucking not.” You tense up and begin to push him away, closing your legs.

“Relax. I was kidding.” Eddie rolls his eyes at you as he rummages through his wallet to find a condom, before he can rip it open you snatch it from his hands and eye the date.

“We’re not having a repeat of last night.” You glare at him as you return the satisfactorily dated condom to him, “Also its bad to keep them in wallets.”

“Jesus christ, do you ever shut up?” Eddie grunts as he rolls the condom on and pulls your body flush against his, his cock immediately bottoming out in you, earning a quiet whimper from you in response to the sudden fullness. Eddie gives you a moment to adjust and places his hand over your mouth with a cheeky grin as he starts to roughly pound into you, making you moan loudly against his hand.

“Such a good little slut for me, taking this big cock instead of going to a boring lesson.” Eddie purrs at you quietly, eyes focused on how good his dick looks covered in your slick every time he withdraws. He looks away for a second just to admire how undone you’re becoming, he can feel your drool against his palm, hear your muffled cries. He takes his hand away from your mouth and shushes you,

“Naughty girl better be quiet, otherwise someone might come looking for those pretty little sounds you’re making and see you getting fucked by the freak in your uniform.” You bite your lip as he starts rubbing your clit with a smug smirk on his face, “Am I still bad at this?” His thrusts do not falter even for a second as he waits for your answer,

“ah, uh... fucking... awful.” You manage to pant out unconvincingly as Eddie laughs quietly,

“Aw, maybe I should stop if this is so terrible for you.”

You shake your head frantically, “n,no stop...ping. Practice.”

“If you weren’t such a bitch I’d say you look cute when you’re begging me not to stop fucking you.” Eddie is picking up the pace, feeling how close you’re getting by how tight your walls are around his cock, hands pulling up your top so he can watch your tits bounce with every thrust and he groans at the sports bra he uncovers,

“Hate these fucking things. Keeps you far too un-bouncy.” Eddie unclasps it with ease, not removing it just pulling it below your tits so he can get his favorite view, “You like being my little cock sleeve don’t you?”

“ ‘m not yours.”

“No?” Eddie slows his thrusts, a small smile on his face,

“N-no, I’ll never be yours. T-this is all there is.”

“So I really can’t make you not go to that stupid party on Saturday?”

You shake your head, “An’ you can’t stop me from fucking someone else at the party.”

Eddie grabs your jaw angrily, almost possessively,

“Then I’ll just have to fucking ruin you for anyone else then.” He pulls you off the cabinet and turns you around, forcing you to bend at the waist over the cabinet and wastes no time in slamming back into you, hands gripping your skirt so tight you faintly hear some threads breaking. You start to moan in spite of yourself, volume increasing the closer you get to finishing, everything around you starting to fade away,

“Fucking shit, shut up!” Eddie hisses as he sticks his fingers in your mouth, muffling the sounds elicited by you, with his other hand he’s rubbing your clit roughly, until finally your legs are shaking, you’re biting down on his fingers and clamping around his cock while your orgasm takes over, your still shaking slightly when Eddie lets off a string of curse words as he cums, his cock twitching violently against your sore walls. He pulls out slowly, determined to make you really feel the loss of him. Once he’s out, he tucks your underwear back over your sore and soaked pussy.

“Think you’ll be able to walk for the rest of the day?” He teases you as you straighten up and readjust your clothes.

“Fucker. You know I have practice after school today.”

“I do indeed.”

The bell chimes from the hallway and you step out into the wave of students that passes. Eddie waits a few more minutes, straightening his clothes, waiting for the chatter to quieten. Once he’s certain no one who saw you leave the closet would see him leaving the same closet he steps out.

#eddie munson #eddie fucking munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #eddie stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #munson-trashcan #eddie x bitchy!reader #eddie munson enemies to lovers #eddie munson fuck buddies

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atinylittlepain · 3 months

Text

Me Too

college!steve harrington x f!oc

part of the girl boy series

18+ references to smut, idiots in love, emotional constipation, strep throat, lovey doveys in general

...............................................

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“That’s kind of interesting, don’t you think?”

“The colors are nice.”

“Nice.”

“What? They are. And hey, Robin told me to tell you to stop putting your name down on every silent auction sheet. She said people are noticing that one Andy Broder is trying to sweep the whole show.”

“Oh please, Steve, I can’t help it. The sad student artists look at me with their sad student artist eyes and I feel bad if I don’t put my name down, sue me for having a heart.”

“Can you afford to have a heart?” She scoffs, a little tug back when he tries to take the wine glass out of her hand, though she relents, her smile simpering while he finishes off the last sip.

“I’m only getting things started. Ten dollars, tops. I doubt I’ll win any of the pieces.” He’s hoping she’s right, because he’s not sure how they’ll get even one of the pottery sets she bid on back to her place if she does win. Sets of plates and bowls and goblets, because apparently this semester’s pottery class was really, really into making goblets. Robin has a set of two bowls and two goblets up for auction. Steve put down twenty dollars on it, to which Robin scoffed and told him you don’t count, you’re family.

“I guess we’ll see if your logic works.” Maybe he’s being a little much, his hand curling around the plush of her waist, wrapped up in a dark knit dress that’s scattering his mind just a little, pulling her into his side and soft murmuring want another glass? And her humming no, long walk home and all, her palm smoothing out beneath his sternum, warm brown nail polish that he watched her put on in a curl on her couch. Maybe a little much when he tips his chin to press a kiss just beneath her ear, warm rasp of did I tell you how good you look? She sighs, laughs a little, how very male gaze of you, baby, but thank you, and that thank you is soft, slight, a secret that makes his heart feather and fret against his ribs for a breath.

He gets to be a little much now, because they’re official now, a thing now. Had the conversation last weekend and he nearly pulled his hair out working up the nerve to tell her yes, old fashioned, yes, he wants that old fashioned thing with her, wants to be hers, and wants her to be his. And her eyes had widened, a slight blanching, before he realized that he was making it sound like the ring and the dress and the suit thing, quick back pedal, not quite that, at least not yet. But he left the not yet part out. And she had smiled, softened, collected his wrists in her hands to stop him from tugging at his hair, her thumbs stroking the quick jump of pulse beneath his skin. Yes, she told him, she had been wanting the same thing too, with him. So yeah, he gets to be a little much, his palm lingering on the hilt of her spine as they walk around the gallery, both of them tucking into the other. And when she ends up winning three of the bowl, plate, goblet sets she bid on for a grand total of thirty dollars, they take turns hauling the recycled moving box full of ceramics, switching off at every block and laughing at themselves, breaths puffing out like curled smoke in the cold night air.

“Eddie wouldn’t want a goblet, would he?”

“Actually, considering he takes his diet coke in a coffee mug, I think he’d probably be into it.”

“Great, he can have three of them.” They leave the box next to her front door, shrugging out of coats and shoes, intent on sleep after a late night that really shouldn’t have been a late night for either of them. Finals, the end of the semester, and it’s certainly feeling like it. He doesn’t mind though, all but setting up permanent shop with her in her apartment. Has a few hangers in her closet, and a drawer in her dresser, and Sylvia doesn’t even pay him any mind these days, padding right past him up to the box and sniffing a bit disinterestedly at a bowl.

No classes for the last week, just prep for exams and deadlines. They’ve spent the majority of their time in a quiet comfort on her couch studying and working on their respective coursework, only breaking for light touches and meals and the occasional walk amongst melting and refreezing snow.

All this time with her is making him a little giddy, a little greedy, already feeling an anticipatory ache for when he leaves on Friday with Eddie and Robin to drive back to Hawkins for the holidays. He had thought about it, he had, but he’d firmly decided it’d be too much to ask. Only just a thing, only just official, and he didn’t want to overstep, come on too strong, too bold. Learned that somewhere along the way, and he can’t remember whose bed he was warming when he did.

So he’ll go back to Hawkins, and Andy will go back to Boston, but not for another week because the less time I spend there, the better. He can understand that.

“What do you have tomorrow?”

“Oral exam for my global inequality class, and a paper to turn in for mental health policy. You?”

“Business policy and strategy paper, and a calc exam.”

“Hmm, better you than me, babe.” Steam starting to rise and fog in her bathroom and both of them stripped down to threadbare underwear, not trying to impress each other any more. She presses a quick kiss to the round of his shoulder and murmurs something that sounds like almost done into his skin. And he feels pathetic, pitiful over the fact that almost done makes his heart pinch and pull into a sort of nauseous swoop. It’s ridiculous, he knows, only a few weeks, he knows that too. But still, but still, he doesn’t want to be almost done.

Moving over and around each other in the bathroom, skin still damp from their shower, that oatmeal and chamomile soap she uses flooding his senses, and it feels like the most natural thing, like it has been like this all along. He lets his palm run up and down the track of her spine, feeling the notches through the thin fabric of her t-shirt while she sits up in bed, proofing her paper one final time, printed, with red pen poised. She won’t find anything to fix, he knows, worked hard on it all of yesterday and then they both trudged to the library to type up their respective work and print it out. And when she has decided that she is content with her work, she gets up and tucks it into a folder that she tucks into her bag. He watches the plush shake of her thighs, one-track mind and he’ll admit it, his hands finding bare skin when she comes back to bed, back to him. Curling close under the covers and maybe, maybe, he holds her a little closer, tucks his face into the stitching of her throat and breathes, and breathes to keep himself from saying words that wouldn’t be fair to say right now, not when he’s leaving tomorrow night.

They both sleep hard and late, and he’s pretty sure she meant to be up earlier, little snit, little snap when he wakes her up, her shoulders hiking up to her ears and she’s already out of bed and out of his hands before he can say anything. And he’s not sure what this is, a cool prickle of worry simmering and slipping up his spine as they both move through getting dressed, distant and silent and her hardly looking at him, and he doesn’t know what happened in the last twelve hours for her to change so much. Stress, he tells himself, she’s stressed, and frankly so is he, and they’re both tired, and they’re both running late, and that must be it.

“Are you gonna be around this afternoon?” She asks it light as air as she’s wrapping a scarf around her throat, more business associate than anything else and it almost makes him laugh.

“I, well, yeah, unless you don’t want me to be? But I’m leaving tonight, so.” The so feels lame even as he says it, maybe even a bit bitchy, her brows pulling together and then smoothing out all over again, unreadable.

“Okay, I know. So I’ll see you later then?” And there’s little room for an answer, already out the door, and ushering him out too, and he feels like he’s going to throw up even as his body does all the necessary things, down the stairs and out the door and it’s too late to say anything other than mmhmm because she’s already walking in the other direction to her exam that’s on that side of campus, away from his exam on this side of campus.

No, not how it went yesterday. Yesterday, he had almost been late to his accounting exam because they just couldn’t quite seem to let go of each other, slipping and skidding over icy sidewalks all wrapped up and laughing and whispering little luck to each other between kisses. Not like today, not how it went today. And maybe, he thinks, maybe this is just that thing that seems to happen to him every time. Maybe this is the getting tired of him. Maybe this is the leaving.

He sits for his exam, turns in his paper, goes back to his apartment to pack a bag for home, and he’s grateful that neither Robin nor Eddie are around so that they can’t clock the strange fugue state he’s sifting through. But he still returns to her apartment, that want to feel whatever this wound is ache a little more. And plainly, he still wants to see her.

There’s no answer when he knocks on her door, calls out her name, her real name, and it feels weird in his mouth because these days she’s honey, sometimes baby, but always honey. And it feels weird too, using the key she gave him for the first time, but there’s an admitted pang of worry flickering in his chest because she should definitely be back by now.

He’s greeted with the curl of her back, tucked into herself on the couch and perfectly unmoving. She still has her coat on and he’s never seen her like this before. He kneels down next to the couch, rests his palm on her shoulder and runs a soft track down to her elbow and back up again. And this time it is honey, quiet and almost cracking with how he whispers it, though she stirs, makes a noise that he thinks sounds a little like Sylvia, mmm?

She turns to look at him, eyes held in dark shadows, a little red, a little weepy, and he has to resist the urge to brush the back of his hand over her forehead because he’s pretty sure he knows what this is, pretty sure he’d find a little too much heat beneath her skin.

“I thought you’d already left.” And yeah, definitely what this is, her voice somehow dissolving and splitting into a gravelly rasp since this morning. She winces a little with the sound.

“You really think I’d leave without coming to see you first?”

“I don’t know, I was a dick to you this morning.”

“Yeah, you kinda were.” She sits up, and he has to resist the urge to help her, his hands settling instead on her knees, and there’s a guilty tuck to her chin, the fan of her lashes dropped down to her cheeks. His thumbs rub circles into her joints, something soothing, coaxing.

“I’m sorry, Steve, I was being stupid.” Her coat has shrugged down to hook around her elbows, a little pitiful, her palm curling at her throat like she could feel the ache through her skin.

“You’re sick.”

“Well that’s a little uncalled for, I think.”

“No, I mean like, you’re not feeling well, are you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m just tired, need to sleep exams off for a few days.” Her eyes close when he cups her cheek in his palm, little lean into the touch while his fingers creep up to her temple, and his suspicions are confirmed, a thick wash of heat.

“Have you taken anything?”

“I took some advil when I got home.”

“Did it help?” She shrugs, a little, while he’s already made a decision. He asks if he can use her phone, really quick, honey, and she shrugs again, already slipping back in between asleep and awake with her head tipped back on the couch cushion. He calls his apartment and Eddie picks up, tells him that he and Robin are going to have to leave without him because he’s needed here. Eddie makes a joke about Lord and Lady Harrington throwing a fit and Steve sighs, not really caring about that. He’ll deal with them when he has to. And then he’s back in front of the couch and coaxing Andy up despite her quiet protests because he’s pretty sure they need to go to Urgent Care. And they go to Urgent Care, and she’s apologizing the whole time and asking doesn’t he need to go? No, he says, not going anywhere.

Strep throat, and he’s not surprised, and they catch another cab to stop at the pharmacy for her antibiotics. She keeps saying that she doesn’t want him to catch it before he goes home and he has to laugh because honey, if you have it I definitely have it, just a matter of time before I go down. And by the time they get back to her apartment, she seems to have accepted that he’s staying with a sort of sheepish acquiescence, lets him boss her around a little into a shower and then into bed, meds taken with a glass of water and her socked feet slipping against his ankles. She says sorry again into his chest, quiet and small, and he asks her what she’s saying sorry for.

“You should be with your family.”

“Nah, I like being here better.”

“Even though I sound like I have smoker’s lung?”

“It’s kinda hot, actually.”

“Sure, okay.” The slightest laugh that’s more like a caught breath, and then a long enough span of silence for him to think that she’s fallen asleep, but then.

“I really am sorry about this morning.”

“You weren’t feeling well.”

“I mean, yeah, but, I guess I thought it’d be easier.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re gonna think this sounds dumb.”

“Not with that sexy smoker’s lung rasp I’m not.” Trying to lighten it, lift it, but she scoffs, Steve, serious, not kidding, her eyes unwavering, mouth tucked in the slightest frown, washed thin and pale in the slants of moonlight.

“You weren’t even gone yet, and I was already missing you, and I felt insane for it.” He’s silent, a thick heat curling in his chest and blooming up and up and up, only feeling a little like an asshole when she says his name like a question, her hand curling in the fabric of his t-shirt. He has to clear his throat before he speaks.

“It’s the same for me too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, except I wasn’t a dick about it.” Not serious, and she knows it, nose scrunched and a roll of her eyes.

“You can make it up to me by taking me to Urgent Care in about two days when I start sounding like you.”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“You should sleep, honey.”

“So should you.” She tucks back into his chest, easy, and he just hopes she can’t hear the catch and jolt of his heartbeat, because it’s the same for her as it is for him.

They don’t leave her apartment for three days, and when they finally do, it is, as he predicted, so that they can take him to the Urgent Care for the exact same thing she had. And by the time he’s halfway finished with his round of antibiotics and she’s done with hers, and they’re both starting to feel like actual real people again, it’s December 24th, and it’s become very clear that neither one of them is going home for the holidays.

He calls his mom, and his voice is still hoarse enough that she’s only mildly disappointed he won’t be home to make his requisite appearance at the family Christmas party. Meanwhile, Andy can hardly hold in a laugh at oh Steven, it’s not one of those, you know, sexually transmitted things, is it? No, mom, it’s not, yes, mom, merry Christmas. Andy’s conversation with her dad is even shorter, even curter, something about shipping presents, and her sisters asking questions. The youngest of five, she told him, more afterthought than anything else. And when they’ve both hung up there’s a giddy realization of their shared freedom, smiling at each other in her kitchen, crowded around the receiver hooked next to her fridge.

“Are we bad people for doing that?” Trying to be cute in his lean against the fridge, taking the phone out of her hand and hanging it back up on the wall, but he can’t quite fight off the urge to cough first, tucking his face into his elbow before looking at her again, smiling small.

“We’re sick, honey. Our hands are tied, nothing we can do.”

“Right, uh-huh. In that case, what do you want to do for dinner, my darling invalid?”

And so there is no tree, and there are no presents, and there is no family this Christmas. They order takeout from a Chinese place a few blocks away, hot and sour soup and fried rice and crab rangoons that Steve offers one of to Sylvia, curled up on the arm of the couch where they have their holiday meal. She sniffs it, holds it briefly between her teeth, then spits it out on the carpet, though she seems to thank him for his consideration with a slow twine between his legs when he gets up to throw it away.

They don’t get out of bed until the middle of the afternoon on Christmas day, Andy coaxing both of them into a shower, and then into real clothes, and they leave her apartment as the sun is starting to set, catch the train going toward Navy Pier, and brave the cold to walk around beneath the blossoming lights display. Both a good and bad idea, they return with a kicked-up cough shared between them, rattling lungs, rattling ribs, warmed up and smoothed out with tea and buttered toast for dinner. They go back to bed full and content, and sleep off what remains of their sickness.

The rest of that liminal time before the new year is spent simply, sweetly. They do a deep clean of everything, haul all their laundry down to her complex’s basement, him in a pair of her sweats and his own t-shirt, and her in an old flannel and a pair of his basketball shorts that are only just a little obscene because they’re too tight, you and your slutty waist are trying to kill me, nonsense, no sense. Afterward, when there’s a stack of fresh and folded clothes on her newly made bed, and the apartment smells like lemon and cold air from the window they left cracked, she kisses him again, and again, and again, in the kitchen until they’re both slumping down onto the checkerboard linoleum, sweet want, sweet melt, left panting and giggling in the aftermath.

And when New Year’s Eve arrives, neither of them make it to midnight, dead to the world in a tangle on her couch, both of them still a little snotty, a little sleep-worn. He wakes up early in the first morning of 1991 with a stiff neck and pins and needles in his foot where he’s pretty sure Sylvia is sleeping. Andy, still asleep, with her leg slung over his and her shoulder tucked in beneath his, and he decides now would be the perfect time to try those words out. So he does, words that have only been offered to Robin, or Eddie when he’s really drunk, for many years. He whispers them like he’s getting away with something, and she doesn’t even stir, and he’s grateful for that as heat blooms and buoys in his chest.

The next time, he’ll say those words a little louder. He’s pretty sure she’ll say them back.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington angst #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington au #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington series #girl boy

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lunargambits · 7 months

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You’re a zero; what’s your name?

(Yes I’m art blocked again and yes I partially recycled a pose fight me)

#fkmt #kaiji #カイジ

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forbidden-sunlight · 2 years

Text

Pink Venom

yandere! Calix Rochester x Loure!reader headcanons [I’m a villainess but I became a mother]

warning: spoilers from the manhwa, obsessive behavior, implied sexual references and implied references to k-pop music. Please take caution.

Note: this is a work of fiction with the intention of entertainment purposes only. The behavior exhibited here is inappropriate and unhealthy, hence it should not be encouraged. Special thanks to @soleilician and @d10nsaint for their feedback during the drafting phase.

So without further ado, let the show begin! :)

Calix Rochester. Everyone in the Eclair mansion had assumed that it was a matter of fact that you knew the name of your fiance because the engagement had already been announced, hence why you cried upon first meeting him. But that was not the truth at all. Quote the opposite.

The only reason you knew the identity of this young boy is because who wouldn’t recognize the male lead of a shitty romance novel you read in your past life? Definitely not you, who had bought the book series with your hard-earned money in another life at a friend’s passionate recommendation before it all came to an abrupt end thanks to a speeding truck at an intersection on a rainy afternoon. If you were given the choice, however, you’d do it all over again. You couldn’t have lived with yourself if that little kid had gotten hit instead of you.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand: the boy you were now engaged to. In the future, Calix Rochester would inherit his family’s duchy and rise to become a prominent figure in the Empire. He was arranged to be married to Loure Eclair, share one passionate night with her and then dump her for the saintly female lead.

To sum it up, he was scum. A piece of trash who did not care about his fiancee and divorced Loure so he could deepen his relationship with the woman who had stolen his heart. Uh-huh. Right.

He might not have cared for Loure, but damn it all, this was your new identity. The villainess in a novel that had so much potential before it recycled so many old tropes and cliches in the last two books that it had made your head spin. Hell, even you could have written better fanfiction than this garbage!

Yes, you were a fandom writer and proud of it. Shush.

Now fully aware of the fate that lied ahead of you, there is no way that you would allow yourself to become enthralled with Calix if he was just going to dump your sorry ass once the female lead arrived. That’s a recipe for heartbreak and unnecessary drama, which you really didn't need again in this lifetime, thank you very much!

Plus, in this world there were young women who would secretly write sensual novels for money and even attend masked soirees to recite the aforementioned tales in front of an all-ladies audience. Do you hear money or did you hear the crowd asking for an encore? Heck yes.

You had a plan. Now all you needed to do was dive head first into the well of creativity and start zero drafting some ideas. There is the saying that nothing is ever original in art, but you would not stoop so low as to steal the stories from your own world and publish them here under your name.

Plagiarism is plagiarism no matter what the isekai manga have said or did. And it was about time for you to step out of your comfort zone for the sake of your own survival. You’d figure it all out as you went along.

Still…what could you do about Calix? As much as you wanted to stay as far away from him as possible, he is your fiancee now. But isn’t there a saying in your old world, to kill someone with kindness?

As much as you wanted to not marry him and avoid being burnt at the stake for trying to kill the female lead, this was a political arrangement between your respective families. You could not simply beg your father to call off the engagement unless there is enough evidence to appeal to the emperor that the Rochester’s heir was an unfit match for the Eclair’s only daughter. The love affair between the main characters would not happen until after you turned eighteen. Twelve years from now.

There was no choice but to go along with it. Shutting his invitation for outings would only make him more persistent.

So you will have to play along; be cordial, be pleasant, and all that jazz. Furthermore…you’ll have to open with Calix. Letting yourself be vulnerable around someone who would cast you aside in the near future….it sucks. But you were not going to experience the misunderstanding troupe, thank you very much. Communication, in any relationship, is crucial.

You were going to be honest with the male lead, even if it might kill you in the end.

Time flew by quickly. Lessons in the morning, tea in the afternoon, and writing manuscripts until late at night for your maid to secretly spirit them to the publishing house you worked for under the pseudonym Black Rabbit. It was a comfortable cycle, and you were delighted to see your hard work being paid in gold coins with an occasional participation at a literary soiree.

Of course, you spent some time with Calix, watching a performance at the opera house or dining out at a fancy restaurant. He was a courteous gentleman in public, appearing as a man who adored his fiancee very much. And that is what is bothering you.

In accordance with the original storyline, he never once shared any concern towards Loure Eclair. She had been his fiancee in name, nothing more. He minded his own business until the female lead arrived and turned his dull, gray world into a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors. And yes, that is a direct, gag-worthy quote from the novel. However, in this timeline, he showed concern.

He smiled at you, laughed, cheeks flushed a bright pink or red. He was the sweetest man in your presence. And that bothered you a lot. It shouldn’t have, in fact, you should have felt relieved that your actions had changed the course of the novel for the better.

So why was your gut telling you that this was all an act? A mask he wore to keep you close until he would cast you aside for the female lead? You didn’t like it. Not one damned bit.

It looked like you were going to have another talk with him, again. You already asked him to be honest. Pleaded to speak his mind. Get angry with you, damn it, don’t just smile!

Why does he keep acting like this, as if he were afraid of you? It’s supposed to be the other way around, you being afraid of being abandoned by him? You already voiced your concerns about it, how many more times do you have to repeat yourself?!

So, you sat down with him and talked about it. A heart-to-heart conversation that ended with a promise to do better. Although it went better than you initially thought…why did it seem like the novel’s plot was about to deviate even further?

From the moment he met the pink-haired girl known as Loure Eclair on a sunny afternoon, Calix’s initial thought had been the following: she was adorable. Even when she cried out to the servant that she did not want to marry him, being betrothed to her had made him incredibly happy.

At first, she kept her distance from him. But then, slowly, very slowly, she began to open up. She told him what she liked, what she disliked, and some of her hobbies. She had even gotten feisty on occasion, growling in annoyance like a puppy baring its fangs.

So cute. He thought. Every expression she wore was absolutely charming. She seemed more real to him than the image of an ethereal fairy princess waiting to be swept off of her feet by a knight in shining armor.

He cherished these small moments when Loure opened herself up to him as much as he cherished the time that they spent together. As the heir to his father’s duchy, Calix could not go out very often with his fiancee and spoil her, much to his annoyance.

But Loure understood. She reminded him to take care of himself and not work too hard, occasionally sending over some sweets from a famous bakery to cheer him up. He still kept the ribbons of those pastry boxes in his desk.

When he wasn’t by her side, his servants kept an eye on her. Imagine his surprise when he discovered that she was a writer. Not just any writer, but the infamous Black Rabbit herself! The harlequin whose words enraptured the hearts of young maidens and books flew off the shelves as soon as they were available.

Calix did not spare any expense in purchasing all of Loure’s books. They were not just for his own amusement; he read them as well, devouring one novel after another. His beloved was incredibly talented, there was no doubt about it…but why put in so much effort when they were to be married soon? Once she becomes his wife, she will have enough money to be comfortable for three generations even after shopping in the capital’s shops.

When he asked her one evening after attending a piano recital, she flinched. Flinched, in his presence, when he would never dare to harm a single hair on her head. He did not like that at all. But he sat in silence, hearing their carriage rattle beneath the cobblestoned streets before she made an unlikely confession.

Yes, she enjoyed writing novels…but it was also a failsafe. A nest egg in case something happened to her father’s estate…or their engagement. She was afraid of being abandoned with nowhere to go. That was the truth.

Why? He thought. Why would she even think of such a thing, when all she had ever done is shown him kindness? It was unbelievable. And yet…the confession made him so happy. Elated he had discovered another secret of hers, building up the trust between them. It made her even more desirable to him.

Ah, he wanted them to be married soon. He wanted to wake up every morning by her side, seeing things that he would never let another man see.

No, no. He cannot think like that. Loure had made it clear to him that she was not interested in another man. That was one of their many conversations that they had when he got jealous of someone being near his woman.

He had nothing to worry about. Yes, there were men she had to meet, investors and representatives from the publishing house. But that’s all there was to it. Just business.

Hmm…perhaps he could purchase a failing business and turn it into a publishing house under his name? It wasn’t a bad idea. He’ll ask her when she comes to visit him for tea.

First, he needed to have a small chat with the crowned prince. That brute believed because he was the heir to the throne that he was entitled to take any woman as he pleased, including his Loure.

She belonged to him, as his heart and soul belonged to her. He had been infected with the sweet pink venom known as ‘love’.

A love so brutal that he would not allow anyone to touch his beloved. Royalty or not.

#yandere manhwa x reader #yandere #x reader #i'm a villainess but i became a mother #calix rochester #yandere male #ns.fw #headcanons #forbidden-sunlight #acuriousmoon

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bywrios-moved · 20 days

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recycling some old wrio works to kick off this little sideblog... imagine the people of the fortress starting to call you duchess. you blink the first time you hear it slip from the lips of one of the inmates, your brain taking a moment to process it. you ask the guy who said it if the duke knows, and he says, “sure thing, my lady, the duke knows everythin’ that goes on ‘round here. he even encouraged it." that last part makes you raise a brow but you keep it yourself for now.

you only confront wrio later that night when you’re in bed together, you lying on his chest and him running his fingers through your hair. you ask him and he laughs, a low rumble in his throat. “really? i had no idea.”

you give him a glare and pull the full name card and he folds. “okay, okay, maybe i know a little bit about what you’re talking about… do you not like it?”

“i mean— it’s not like we’re married,” you mumble, cheek smushed against his firm chest. wrio hums at that and then tilts your head up to look at him with a gentle finger beneath your chin.

“we could be,” he says softly, ice eyes so soft as he looks into yours—soft in a way only you will ever know. his suggestion makes you still, and you tell him not to joke around about things like that, and his expression turns serious.

“i’m not joking, sweetheart,” he says, firm but not overbearing, though you don’t miss the uncharacteristic way his voice falters, like he’s nervous. his hands go down to squeeze your waist as if to steady himself. “i’m— i would be honoured to be your husband. if you would have me. we don’t have to, of course, because i love you and you know that i do and a marriage will just be a piece of paper legalising that but i—“

you cut off his ramblings by kissing him and saying yes directly against his lips.

(as if you would ever say anything else.)

#muse.wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesely

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q-gorgeous · 28 days

Text

Local Traditions

fanfiction

ao3

word count: 2026

Amity Park has a lot of strange local traditions that baffle outsiders.

phic phight lets gooo

“Why did we come back here?”

“Come on, Parker. We’re finally gonna catch us some ghosts in this city.”

Parker followed slowly behind him. “I thought you said this wasn’t the place we were looking for? And we weren’t able to get anywhere near any of the ghosts. What would make this time any different, Don?”

Don turned around with a big smile on his face. “Because we’re gonna start how we should’ve started in the first place. We just came in assuming we were gonna be able to find a ghost to capture without knowing what any of the patterns are. Where the ghost attacks happen, how often, which ghosts are attacking.”

He pulled a notebook out of his pocket and shook it around. “We’re going to observe first and then make a plan on how we’re going to capture our ghosts. This time I’m sure we’ll get it.”

Parker shook his head. “What are we starting with?”

Don continued walking down the sidewalk. “We’re going to observe what the residents are doing in relation to the ghosts. They’re gonna know best the patterns of the ghosts. Which ones are a danger and which ones they don’t have to worry about.”

“Okay. We’re going to use this to try to predict when a ghost attack will happen?” Parker asked.

“Yes. Exactly.” Don pointed at someone stepping outside of their house. “There’s someone now! Observe.”

This person who had just exited the house was carrying a cardboard box. They were sure they were taking the box to the recycling bin, but instead it was placed in the grass by their garage. Parker and Don waited until they made their way back instead before they headed across the street to see what was in the box.

Parker knelt down and started rummaging through it. “We have a box of… Smaller boxes? Bubble wrap, sandwiches, and.. A single left shoe? What is this?”

“Maybe-” Don was cut off when a booming voice started talking behind them.

“Beware!” He shouted. “I am the box ghost! And how dare you, foolish humans, plan to steal my offerings!”

“Offerings?” Don asked. “People give offerings to the ghosts?”

“The people of this town understand how powerful and terrifying I am! With my sharp corrugated corners and the booming pops of my bubble wrap! They offer me items in exchange for me not releasing my wrath on this little mortal city!”

Don and Parker exchanged a look together before looking back at the ghost. The ghost stared at them for a few more moments.

The ghost blinked at them.

“I am the box ghost!”

He suddenly grabbed the box out of Parker’s hands and flew away, disappearing in between the buildings of the city.

Don opened his notebook and wrote out the box ghost’s name. “He must be a powerful ghost if they’re offering him things in exchange for him not attacking them.”

“I think he’s annoying.” Parker said.

“Let’s go observe more things. This is a good start.”

They were walking down another street when they caught a whiff of something.

Parker groaned. “What is that smell? It smells like a sweaty cookie.”

“I actually think it smells like gym socks and snickerdoodles.” Don said, scrunching up his nose.

“I think it might be coming from that house over there.” Parker pointed at a blue house. Outside, a teenager was spraying something on the bushes outside their windows.

They walked up to the boy. Don smiled at him. “That sure is some pesticide. We could smell it from all the way over there.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Glad you caught the smell. It’s my cologne, Foley. By Tucker Foley.”

Parker's eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up. “Why are you spraying cologne all over your bushes?”

“Gentlemen.” Tucker walked over to them. “Have you ever wanted a cost effective ghost repellent that also acts as the most womanizing cologne ever? The Fenton’s make all sorts of equipment and weapons, but most of them are not for public sale. And if they are, they’re very expensive! Foley by Tucker Foley is only a fraction of the cost! And it works just as well as a ghost shield!”

He leaned forward. “If you’re interested, I can even give you a deal. Two for the price of one. Or half off a gallon bucket with a pesticide wand. What do you say?”

“Sorry, but I don’t think pesticide cologne is really my thing.” Parker said.

Don was busy scribbling in his notebook. “How did you discover this mix of ingredients was a ghost repellent?”

Tucker puffed out his chest with the proudest look on his face. “Lucky shot. Got it on my first try. Discovered it when the school got infected by ghost mosquitoes. It works on regular mosquitoes too, if that convinces you at all.”

“This is how they got rid of the mosquitoes?” Parker whispered to Don. “Weird.”

“Thank you for all this information. Maybe we’ll have to think on it and come back. Have a nice day!”

“You’re not serious are you?” Parker gaped at Don. “This kid’s cologne is probably just so rank that the ghosts wanted to get as far away from it as possible. I can’t believe people are spraying it outside their houses. That’s probably what I’ve been smelling this whole time.”

“We’re observing, Parker.” Don looked at him. “We could get the cologne and compare it to the Fenton’s anti-ecto weapons.”

Parker shook his head. “Anyways. We’ve been at this for awhile, should we head and get some grub? I’m getting hungry.”

“Sure. I could go for some food. You up to burgers? I saw some place called the Nasty Burger and it looked kinda cool.”

“That name does not bode well for us.” Parker typed the name into his phone. “Let’s go.”

It was busy when they got to the Nasty Burger. They walked inside and saw that the line was long. As they walked through the building towards the end of the line, they couldn’t help but notice one strange delicacy that everyone seemed to have on their tray.

“What are they eating? Roses?” Parker leaned forward to whisper in Don’s ear. “That’s so strange. What a weird item for a fast food place to carry.”

“Sam, you have to go get my food for me. I can’t go up to the counter.”

“You just don’t want to order for yourself.”

“No, Sam. The flowers! It’s flower friday.”

“Flower friday?” Don questioned.

“Fine. Just go save our spot. Tucker can order when he gets here.”

“Next!” The cashier called. Don walked up to the counter.

“Hi! Can we get two mighty meaty cheesy melt meals?”

She punched their order into the register. “Anything else?”

“No, thank you! That’ll be all.”

She hit another button and looked back up to them. “Your total is $14.77. Would you like a complimentary blood blossom with that?”

“A what?” Parker frowned at the name.

She looked at them like they were dense. “A complimentary blood blossom. It’s an edible flower with anti-ghost properties. Eating them helps ward against overshadowing.”

“Uh..” Don hesitated. “Sure. We’ll try some.”

They paid her and she printed their receipt out. “Your order will be ready soon. You can wait over there to pick it up when it’s done.”

“Thank you.”

“This town is strange.” Parker’s eyes widened as a realization came over him. “If all these people are developing their own ecto-signatures, do you think they’ll ever get to the point where they won’t be able to consume these blood blossoms anymore?”

Don’s eyes opened wide and he turned to face Parker. “That’s such a good question. I don’t even know.”

The girl who was behind them in line laughed as she was talking to the cashier.

“Sorry, no blood blossoms for us today, Valerie. You know how Danny’s allergies are. He won’t even order his own food on flower Friday’s.”

Valerie barked out a laugh. “I can understand that though. Tell Fenton I say hi, will you.”

“I will. Thanks.”

“Fenton? That Danny kid is the one who registered as a level eight ectoplasmic entity the last time, right?” Don asked.

“Yeah.” Parker looked at the table the Fenton kid had sat down at. “Weird that he registers as a level eight ghost and he’s also allergic to the ghost repelling flowers.”

“Yeah. That is weird.” Their food came out to the counter. Don grabbed the bag and started walking toward the booth the Fenton kid sat in. “Come on. Let’s see if we can overhear any information.”

They slid into the booth next to the teenager and started digging into their food. Even with the offputting name of the restaurant, the food was pretty good.

Sam walked over and slid into the booth behind the. “Valerie says hi.”

Danny sighed. Don peeked over the top of the booth to see him lovingly looking towards the counter. He could practically feel the eyeroll Sam was giving her friend followed by a snort.

“You better not let her catch you looking at her like that during patrol again. The last time she almost got you pretty badly.”

“Come onn, it wasn’t that bad.”

“She broke your nose.”

Don shot Parker a bewildered look at that. Parker stopped mid chewing to make a face.

“Whatever. I just have to be more careful when I’m looking at her.”

“Danny-”

“What is up my dudes.”

“That Tucker kid is friends with him too?” Parker asked.

Don stood up and tried peering over the top of the booth again and looked eyes with the girl. She frowned at him.

“Can we help you?”

Don jumped. “Ah, sorry. I was just, uh, you’re the Fenton kid right?”

He nodded. “You guys are the weird ghost hunters from out of town that didn’t know what they were doing, right?”

“What, we knew what we were-”

Sam barked out a laugh. “You thought I was a ghost and just grabbed me. As if that would do anything to restrain a ghost. How’d the pepper spray feel?”

Don’s eyes widened again. “Not great.”

“Good. Now how about you guys leave us alone. Unless you both want to get sprayed this time.”

“Leave me out of this. I'm sitting in my seat minding my own business and eating my food.” Parker said. Don glared at him.

“Now, now, Sam. Maybe they were interested in buying some Foley. By Tucker Foley. I was giving them my pitch on my ghost repellent slash cologne earlier today.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “We do not need any more people spraying that stuff all over town. It stinks.”

“But my profits are-”

Suddenly the Fenton kid stood up and ran towards the bathroom. Then the whole restaurant went silent.

People started standing up and packing up their food. Don and Parker looked around, unsettled.

“Hey, kids. Where’s everyone going?”

A jock was walking by their table and overheard them. “What are you new here? Everyone knows that if Fentina runs to the bathroom like that a ghost attack will follow.”

“Are you serious?” Parker asked. “Everyone just takes that as gospel?”

“Yeah.” Don looked towards the bathroom. “That’s strange.”

Sam shrugged and packed up her food. “That’s fine. You don’t have to believe us. Stay if you want.”

Don nodded. “We will.”

Tucker snickered as they walked away and soon the restaurant was empty except the two of them.

“They can’t be serious.” Parker took another bite of his food. “Why would the Fenton kid’s potty breaks be any indication of when a ghost attack is going to happen?”

Don shrugged. “Maybe none of their traditions actually do anything. Except for the Box Ghost one. He actually took those things.”

“Maybe everyone here is just-”

“Feel my fury!”

The voice of an older woman emanated through the room. The doors to the kitchen burst in and a meat tornado flew out. It only lasted a few seconds before it moved outside, but when everything settled and went quiet, Don and Parker looked at each other, both covered in meat.

“Don.”

“Yeah, Parker.”

“Can we go home?”

#gorgi writes #danny phantom #phic phight #outsider pov #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #phic #phic phight team ghost

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rosewaterandivy · 7 months

Text

a fool without a cause | track 1: the plan (fuck jobs)

🎶 My body is a temple, how much d’ya think I could get for it? 🎶

summary: a meet ugly

word count: <700 words

warnings: 18 + for eventual smut, empire records AU | The gang are in their early twenties, college-aged, cursing, name calling, vague mentions of crime

a/n: ah yes, this brainrot sees the light of day. here we go!

Series masterlist | Playlist | Currently spinning:

Eddie Munson was decidedly not a morning person.

So his presence at the old opera house of Recycled Books & Records before his usual shift was startling, to say the least. Even more so was the fact that he seemed to be awake.

Smoking a cigarette by the service entrance of the building as the sleepy town of Hawkins rose to greet a new day. Leaning against the wall like he could not be bothered to hold himself upright in his usual spot near the graffiti’d red devil. Just minding his own business, enjoying the last drag from his cigarette when a Prius careened around the corner like a bat out of hell.

He stubbed out his cigarette in an abandoned planter that had long ago been sacrificed for the cause. RIP Audrey II. Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the wall waiting to see who emerged from the car. It was well-maintained, from what he could tell, a ding or two on the bumper with a sticker that proclaimed ‘Ask me about my lobotomy!’

It also had an above-average stereo system, based on the volume and reverb of the baseline thumping from the car. Eddie could just make out the driver in the front seat singing to themselves as they flipped the visor down to mess with their hair. He can faintly hear the impassioned exclamation of “There will be feasting and dancing in Jerusalem next year!”

The driver bopped in their seat to the rest of the song and donned a pair of wayfarers that would give Harrington a run for his money. The engine was finally cut, and the door opened and you stepped out, still singing the final verse of the song you made your way to the sidewalk in front of the store.

Eddie straightened up a bit at that. Around his age, if he had to guess, give or take. Sporting denim cut-offs, Converse that had been beat to hell, and a flannel tied into some sort of cropped thing which he very much approved of. Now, it wasn’t that this mystery girl hadn’t intrigued him, just a rather unfortunate case of foot-in-mouth-syndrome.

Case in point:

“What the hell were you listening to?”

And yeah, that was on him. His tone could’ve been more genial and less frustration laced with exhaustion. He scrubs a hand down his face, mortified at his implication.

A slow turn accompanied by a withering stare. “Excuse me?”

“Sounded like some indie shit.” He leans against the wall again, “Weird choice of hype song s’all I’m saying.”

“Huh,” You scoff. “Well, I don’t recall asking for your opinion, dickbag.”

“Woah there, sweetheart! Wouldn’t wanna give a guy the wrong idea there.” He shoves his bands in his pockets, “I mean, at least it wasn’t Fall Out Boy or something.”

“Fall Out Boy is pop-punk, first of all.” Followed by a huff, an arched brow and crossed arms. “My apologies for not rolling through with Between the Buried and Me or some other prog-metal bullshit, I didn’t realize I’d be in the presence of the arbiter of taste this morning.”

Oh.

Eddie likes the scathing bite to your retort more than he should. He appreciates a good banter, thinks you can give as good as you can take.

He shrugs, benevolently. “S’not your fault you don’t have good taste. Can’t win ‘em all.”

“Isn’t it time you drop dead from emphysema or something?”

And before he can reply and dig himself in deeper, Hopper unlocks the front doors of the store. Without so much as a goodbye, you turn on your heel and leave.

Great job Munson, another successful human interaction!

Eddie yanks open the service door and stomps into the employee lounge. And makes himself comfortable on the couch, mentally replaying the interaction and highlighting everywhere he’d gone wrong.

On the bright side, at least he’d never have to see you again.

Famous last words.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #modern!eddie munson #nightmanager!eddie #fic: fwac #Spotify

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rottingcorps3s · 1 year

Text

"Mistaken Friendship" Part 2 - S.R.

Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader (they/them pronouns and no identifying features are used)

Simon is put off by how friendly the local barista is and hurts their feelings when he turns down their ‘friendship’ he refused to admit that they had.

Rating: Right now, like 13+, but may be subject to change.

Word Count: 850 ish words

A/N: This part is very short short so I decided to post them back to back. I'm planning to have part 3 written out by next weekend and will hopefully be posting it around then. Part 3 should be longer!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

The next time that the pair would come into contact again was about 2 months later. Simon had been in a similar situation to last time forced awake by yet another nightmare, this time at a much, much later time of night. 2:34am read the clock that sat idly on his nightstand to the right of his bed. He was up and out of the confines of his plush covered heaven in a flash, same emotions as last time and every other time before that. Anxiety, fear, stress, stress, stress, stress, stress.

Rinse, recycle, repeat.

Phone, shoes, jacket. He was down the street faster than he had been in a while, his mind still sitting at home in his bed shivering with anxiety. He opted for taking a longer walk compared to the last time, causing the 10-minute trip to turn into 35 minutes. By the time he was walking down the familiar street it was now a quarter past 3 am. The neon sign that he had once seen before seemed to shine brighter tonight, which in hindsight made sense, considering that it was later than usual and most of the businesses had closed for the night. He slowly approached the door, slightly hesitating as he was brought back to reality with how late it really was. The inside of the store was empty. The lights to the front of the store were shining brightly creating the illusion that they were in fact open and running. He glanced over at the sign that should’ve had their store hours posted on it, but it was blank, giving him no helpful information. His next step was to try the front door, which he did. He pushed against it, and it resisted his attempted intrusion. There’s you’re answer, he thought. He slowly turned away, opting to try again another time when he inevitably had another night terror.

“Excuse me!” A familiar voice rang through his ears; he slowly turned around. “I’m sorry, we’re open,” said the same voice which he had heard say something similar once before, “I just needed to run to the convenience store for a few things.” He nodded silently in agreement; his hands shoving themselves deep into his coat pockets.

“If you’re okay with waiting a few minutes, I can still make that drink for you.” They offered. They stood a few feet away from him in front of the door to the café, keys in one hand that was shoved into the keyhole unlocking the door, the other held a few plastic bags that had a variety of products shoved into them.

“Sure.” He said simply. The glass door was shoved open in front of the pair as they both entered. Simon took his place in front of the register while they raced behind the counter and to the back area of the store. The swinging door closed behind them but did little to block out all the noise. A few curses here and there, the slamming of what he assumed was the fridge door and an excessively loud sink faucet that creaked with the turning of the knob. They approached a few minutes later, now wearing a simple black apron.

“Sorry about that.” They apologized whilst rubbing their damp hands against the front of the apron. “I don’t get many visitors this late at night.” They humored to themself.

“Oi, no problem.”

“What can I started for you?” They asked, that sweet smile once again on their face just like the last time they had interacted.

“Uh,” Simon hesitated for a moment, “hot americano, please.”

“For Simon, right?” They asked, which caught him slightly off guard on hearing his name.

“Simon,” he agreed, “yes.”

Like last time, they disappeared behind the machine and appeared a few minutes later, drink in hand. Simon reached to his pocket where he tended to keep his wallet, his fingers dug around for a moment before being met with…nothing. Fuck, he thought. They must’ve been able to tell that something was wrong as they furrowed their brows in concern.

“Is everything alright?” They questioned, already knowing the answer.

“Uh, I don’t have my wallet.” He stated simply; averting his eyes to avoid looking directly at them. Embarrassment flooding his veins.

“Oh!” They exclaimed, “Don’t worry about it, I owe you one for making you wait anyway.” They chuckled quietly, their laugh sounding like velvet to his ears. He looked back up at them; their eyes were squinted with the small smile that resided on their face.

“I-I feel to bad,” Simon said which caused them to contort their face in confusion, “I’d hate for you to get in trouble.” he rumbled out, “You also gave me my last one on the house.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Simon?” They asked; he nodded silently in response. They craned their neck forward slightly, observing their surroundings for any potential eavesdroppers before finally speaking, “I’m the owner…” They whispered a fake expression of shock on their face at their confession. Simon rolled his eyes in response, a small half-smile taking over his features. “So please,” they started whilst gently pushing the drink over to him, “I insist.” Simon didn’t question the action any further, plucking the drink out from in front of him and bringing it to lips to take a swig.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod modern warfare #cod ghost #call of duty #modern warefare 2

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metamorphosisff · 1 year

Text

|Eight| Windows to the Soul

My father is drinking a Corona when I enter the backyard after picking Ariana up from dance practice. Saturday’s are when he gets things done around the house. The lawn mower is still out by the garage as I take a seat by him. He nods his head towards the cooler and I nod my head. Soon a cool bottle is passed my way and I use the beer opener on my keychain to crack it open. We drink side by side in silence for a few moments as we each try to figure out what to say to each other. Like his father, my Pops headed to the military straight after high school. They share the same stoic demeanor except Granddad is a bit more personable. My father is a leader, true and thorough leader. If he isn’t giving directives then he seldom has anything to say unless he is in a big group of people. With us, he’s laid back, allowing us to say what was on our minds when we were ready versus prying it out of us like mom does. So it doesn’t take long for me to strike up a conversation.

“Is having a family something you always knew you wanted?” I asked, causing him to chuckle.

“I can always count on you to keep me on my toes boy I tell you,” he says, using a washcloth to dab at his brow. “But to answer you, to some extent yes. You tryna tell me something?”

Catching his meaning, I cough, and damn near choke on my beer as I shake my head. “No sir, I was just wondering.”

“You always just wondering,” Pops says with a chuckle. “Most curious child on this side of creation.”

“Can’t help it,” I grin, taking another swig from my beer.

For as long as I could remember, I had questioned everything, and for the most part my parents always answered my questions to the best of their abilities. Whenever they did not know something, they encouraged me to research the answer on my own. I was crafting a lecture about learned behaviors and wondered if creating a family was something people all learned to want or something we actually desired.

“Working out some learned behavior scenarios for my class. Thought I’d test one out on you.”

“Sounded like it was connected to some type of bigger message. You really like being a teacher huh?” Pops stated more than asked.

Some part of him always hoped I would join the army but those hopes were dashed once I got a record. To be honest, military life never appealed to me anyway. If I joined, I would have never been fulfilled, and living up to his reputation would have eventually proven to be too much pressure.

“I do,” I replied, taking another swig. “Crafting young minds and helping others with one career is pretty much all I could ever ask for.”

“Which is what I respect about you X, you stick to your guns, for better or worse,” Pops said with a head nod. “Now that sister of yours…rides the wind.”

“She’s a teenager, it’s what they do, it’s what I did,” I chuckled.

He grunted in response and I grinned as I stood to my feet. My sister had been working my parents’ nerves lately with her attitude. I was supposed to give her a talk when I picked her up but I figured she’d been lectured enough. Their talks never worked when I was her age. It was better to level with her by reminding her the better she behaved, the more freedom they would give her. She promised she would try and that was good for me.

“I have to head out of here. Got plans this afternoon,” I said, before finishing off what was left of the beer.

“What’s her name?” Pops asked, raising a brow. At this moment, it’s like I’m looking into a mirror because we share the same face but seldom the same expressions.

“What makes you think I’m meeting a girl?” I replied, walking over to the blue recycle bin not too far away.

“Cause you wearing cologne and you got a haircut,” Pops noted. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t lived at home for almost ten years, he still had me pegged.

“I can’t look nice?” I laughed.

“I ain’t asking that, I asked about who you looking nice for,” Pops said.

“Myself.”

“Bullshit.”

“Bye Pops,” I chuckled.

“See ya son,” he said with an amused shake of his head. “Whoever she is, I hope to meet her one day.”

I nodded my head before giving him one last wave. Jamila wasn’t a secret but our friendship meant a lot to me. I didn’t want to let any outside voices or influences, providing unnecessary commentary or advice. It was still new, the foundation not yet dry but molded with potential which meant it was susceptible to damage if I were not careful.

The sun is beaming as I wait on the corner of Fulton street, facing outward as I look for Jamila who texted that she had just got off of the three train, and was headed my way. My hands are tucked into my cargo shorts as I scan faces. Not even a full minute passes before she comes into view. Braids are piled onto the top of her head in a cute messy bun, she wears a printed short sleeved midi dress that has a cool design of tigers against an olive backdrop, and a yellow pair of Converses. On her shoulder is a tan tote bag that has an image of a hand positioned with the middle finger up in front of a pair of red painted lips. The sight of it and her make me smile as she approaches. This time I don’t have to ask for a hug as she slides her arms around my frame briefly in greeting.

“‘Sup Mila,” I said, giving her a quick squeeze before she slipped out of my embrace.

“Nothing much, sorry for the delay, Papi was following me and was about to get on the train too,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

“I wouldn’t have minded,” I chuckle as we fall into step. We don’t have to walk far, where I want to go first is only a few steps away.

“Trust me you would have. I had to promise to bring him something back to get him to keep his little ass above ground,” she huffed, as I opened the door to Midtown comics.

“What is he into?” I asked, as lead us to the new release wall. There was a new The Batman compilation volume out that I wanted to get my hands on.

“He said verbatim ‘something with Spiderman or X-Men will suffice’,” she says, causing me to laugh.

“The kid has taste. I’ll get him one of the series books so he’s not left hanging about what happens,” I said.

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that. He’ll get a single comic and be merry trust me,” she said, eyes flickering to mine from the display.

Stepping closer to her I say, “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. Thought we got that understood the other night?”

She rolls her eyes causing me to laugh again knowing that I’m messing with her. “For real though, it’s not a big deal, so you're going to let me do this.”

“Fine,” she says fighting a grin. “What did we come in here for anyway?”

“This,” I say as I make a beeline for the cover I had been looking at since its announcement. I didn’t get to read much for fun anymore but I tried to make room for some light reading. Plucking it up, I pass her the volume which has some weight to it.

“Batman. I pegged you for more of a Captain America type but color me surprised,” she says, as she flips the volume over to read the back.

“You’re only saying that because I told you to watch the show,” I said.

“Perhaps, either way it’s true but this looks good, seems interesting,” she says as she passes it back to me. “Looking forward to you telling me all about it.” There’s a small smile on her lips but she heads down another aisle before I can fully appreciate it. I follow behind her wearing one of my own.

We aren’t in Midtown long, only a half hour as we browse for Papi, and I give brief synopsis of storylines until we find what we both think he’ll like. Then I take her to my favorite bookstore that also doubles as a record shop as they also sell vinyls. After pursuing the stacks and finding no novels of note, we start digging in crates side by side. Occasionally our fingers brush as we flip between the records but the slips don’t slow us down. I’m looking at a The Whispers album when I hear her say, “Oh wow.”

In her hands is Mary J. Bliges second album My Life.

“That’s a classic right there,” I said, remembering all the times we had to clean the house to this album.

“Truly. My mom loved this cd so much. I didn’t know they made it as a vinyl though,” she said.

“They’ve been remaking a lot of old albums into vinyls as record players have come back into style,” I said.

“I see,” she said, as her fingers trail over the price sticker. It’s thirty dollars and for someone on a job hunt, seems like an unnecessary purchase which is why she was attempting to put it back before I slipped the record from her hand. I place it under my arm along with The Whispers. “Xavier, it’s fine I don’t need it.”

“Maybe but you want it which is reason enough. Now help me find one more. I try to grab something out of my usual norm to expand my musical palette,” I said, as I moved to the next set of crates.

“Genre matter?” she asks, deciding to go along with me instead of fighting against me. I’m glad because I saw her eyes when she brought up her mother. This wasn’t just a vinyl, it was a good memory, and I wanted her to hold onto it anyway she could.

“Not at all. Whatever you think is interesting,” I say.

She nods her head and then we fall back into concentration. Time slips by but we don’t notice as we take our time. Eventually she plucks out a A Night at the Opera by Queen. The cover and titles of the songs are enough to add to the pile under my arm. I also grab Prince’s Purple Rain and Wu-Tang’s 36 Chambers, making it a total of five vinyls added to my collection before we head to Habana Outpost to grab a quick meal of tostones and fish tacos.

“I meant to ask you earlier but what made you start collecting vinyl?” she asks, wiping her hands on a napkin.

“Nothing in particular really. I love music and my friend Rah got one. I liked how the music sounded coming from it and got one for myself. Now I like finding random music to listen to,” I reply as I finish up my last taco.

“How many do you have?” she asked next.

“Um maybe forty something now,” I answered with a shrug because I wasn’t fully sure. “Would you like to see my collection? We can listen to a few and just chill.”

“When?” she asked, taking a sip of her frozen mojito that was partially melted from the heat that hadn’t let up even with the start of sunset.

“Now,” I chuckled. “I’ll get you an Uber back home.”

“I was going to say yes anyway but now that you’ve sweetened the pot…,” she trails off.

“Just trying to fulfill my Prince Charming duties,” I say, which causes her to laugh.

It’s a musical sound, light and airy, as she shakes her head at me. I thought her smile was something on its own but paired with her laugh it’s infectious. I smile back as she calls me corny for the thousandth time.

“Welcome to my home, make yourself comfortable,” I said, as I turned on the lights.

Behind me, Jamila toed out of her sneakers before padding into the hallway that led into the newly refurnished living room. As she nods her head in approval while looking around, I make a mental note to tell Rah he was right about the style choice. While she eyes the pictures I have on the mantel, I grab us two bottles of water from the kitchen.

“Thanks,” she says as I pass her one. “You have a nice place.”

“My best friend helped me redecorate. I needed a reset,” I replied, as I set mine on the coffee table.

“From what?” she questioned, watching me go to retrieve the bag that held the vinyls. She’s level with the crate beside the record player eyeing the collection.

Skimming through the bag in my hand, I pulled out hers first. Since she didn’t have a record player, I wanted her to hear how it would sound once she did.

“My ex. Felt like she was too entwined in my space and I couldn’t have that any more,” I said, walking back.

“That’s real. This feels like you, expressive yet centered,” she said.

I hummed my agreement as that was the vibe I was going for as I placed the vinyl on the platform and dropped the needle before going to lay down beside her. Jamila had stretched out on the carpet and was putting her phone away. We’re head to head as our bodies stretch out in the opposite direction. We lay side by side, enjoying the album in mostly silence. One of the things I like most about hanging out with her is that I don’t always have to speak. In fact, I spend most of our time listening with intent because learning about her has become my new favorite thing. I’m always finding different ways to get her thoughts and it usually takes me a while to figure out what to ask. It isn’t until we reach the title track that a question comes to mind. “What do you think when you hear this song?”

“I think of the pain because it’s what I hear, the emotion…the unquelled hope. If I knew how to any more, I might be moved to cry.”

“How does one forget to cry?” I ask next.

“When one learns it changes nothing. That even after the last tear is shed reality remains and all of that effort could have been spent towards figuring out another solution. I taught myself how not to cry, how to just roll with the punches, and now I think if I ever do cry again, I might not ever stop,” she said, causing my head to turn in her direction.

She knows I’m watching her but her gaze remains towards the ceiling. I study the way her eyelashes brush her cheeks as she blinks a few times. It’s something she does when she’s nervous in addition to playing with her hair. I’m sure if I raise my head a bit, I’ll see her fingers wrapped around a braid. While I watch, I consider her words before responding.

“It’s not a question of ‘if’ Mila, it’s when. You right in the fact that crying changes nothing but it’s not supposed to. Crying is cathartic. Crying isn’t a way out of our problems…it’s a way through them,” I muse, letting my eyes glide across her face.

Her brows are pulled inward letting me know she is processing that line of thought. “Maybe. When was the last time you cried?”

“I think it was three weeks ago to be honest. It was my turn to watch my Granddad but my cousin Ryan joined me. We all fell asleep watching a game but Grandad had a really bad nightmare, reliving something from Vietnam. I uh, had to tackle him because he started choking Ry, and then GiGi my grandma started yelling at us. It was just a lot,” I breathed out.

“I can only imagine, dealing with dementia is hard. The person you know is slipping away in real time,” she said.

“What actually makes it worse is the times when he is completely lucid because for a second you hope the doctors were wrong or that a miracle is happening but then within a blink you can see the confusion creep in,” I said.

“It’s good that you don’t have to go through it alone and that y’all are helping each other through this experience. Your grandma was probably scared that day,” she said.

“She told me as much but I wasn’t going to hurt him or at least I wasn’t trying to. I couldn’t standby and watch Ry die either,” I said.

“No you couldn’t have. It was a tough choice to make but you made the right one for everyone involved,” she says, words soothing a wound that was still in the progress of healing. The guilt from that incident remains a main focus in my therapy sessions.

“As for having a big family, it helps but it also makes it hard because sometimes our love stops us from making the best decisions for him. I’ve recommended he goes to a facility that specializes with dementia because he needs full time care but no one was trying to hear me. Accused me of not loving him because that’s not what family does,” I said, clenching my jaw as I thought about that night a year ago when the whole family ganged up on me.

No one wanted to accept that the help and care that Grandad went beyond any of our capabilities. It didn’t matter that my degree was in social work and I saw the signs clear as day. Saw the strain it was putting on GiGi who took everything with a silent grace that was sometimes unsettling. Saw how my own father regarded his father with sterile hospitality and how his siblings followed suit since he was the oldest. Saw how the weight of the situation might be on all of our shoulders but only a few of us were willing to carry it for real. Saw how the outcome regardless of who did what would destroy us all.

“I go over there more than anyone else even though I live the farthest. I’m the witness to most of his violent episodes that they like to pretend don’t occur. The anger of feeling helpless and frustrated pushes me over the edge after a while,” I said.

“I felt like that with my parents. For a while, I thought that I could save them but my grandma had to explain that what I was doing was enabling not saving. That nobody could save them but themselves,” she said, pausing to swipe her tongue over her bottom lip.

“The demons they fought were internal and no amount of money or love could slay them. Watching them succumb to their addictions made me feel the same way. The last day I cried was because they had robbed me. Took anything that wasn’t nailed down outside of my clothes and important documents because they overpowered my grandma at the door. She only had it open a sliver but they broke the chain and barged in.”

“That was recent?” I asked.

“Nah, right before my high school graduation,” she replied.

It didn’t take me long to do the math. “That was…

“Eleven years ago,” she said, filling in the blanks, turning her head in my direction.

There are eleven years worth of tears, an ocean’s worth really, pent up inside of her. The realization dawns on me the same moment our eyes lock and for the first time I see the anguish in them. It wasn’t buried under layers of anger and snark. It was right at the forefront as she opened herself to me. Next to the anguish was fear of this…of being open but some part of her knew she didn’t have to be afraid around me. Knew that I could be a safe space to land and it’s not something I take lightly. There’s a protective nature that rises in me around her, stronger than anything I have ever felt. I don’t need to dissect it to know that it’s innate and neither does she as our hands stretch towards each other at the same time. Another understanding has passed between us as Mary’s vocals fill the air.

If you looked in my life and seen what I’ve seen…

#metamorphasisff #slow burn romance #black fiction #black romance #zendaya x mjb

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