Tumgik
#He Belongs In Boston
kelseys-version · 30 days
Text
I can’t sleep in peace until the trade deadline is over and linus is still safe in jeremy’s arms
50 notes · View notes
jimmyspades · 4 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
2007 | 2018
14 notes · View notes
jerepars · 1 year
Text
Bertuzzi stealing Cousins' stick just to stomp on it though. Playoffs-worthy pettiness.
11 notes · View notes
bet-on-me-13 · 2 months
Text
The Villains Daughter
So! Years ago, back when the Justice League was only just starting out, only a year or two after their initial team-up, they had one of their biggest battles to date. A group of Extra-Dimensional Beings had burst into their reality, hellbent on destroying a Government Facility and the nearby small town in Illinois.
They barely managed to beat the Invading Army back, although the Government Facility and a part of the nearby Town had been destroyed in the battle.
Later, they would learn about what had happened. Apparently the Government Base, called a GIW Facility, had managed to finally Crack the secret to Interdimensional Travel a few days earlier. Unfortunately, they had opened a Portal into a Dimension known as the Ghost Zone, ruled over by a Tyrant King who wanted to enslaved all world under him. Their Breaching of the GZ had alerted the Tyrant King to the existence of their Dimension, and he had launched an immediate Invasion to try and take it over.
And the evidence supported this.
Wonder Woman shared Legends of her People, telling that their Founding Ancestor had fled the rule of a Tyrant King when she passed into the Afterlife.
Zatara shared his Magic Tomes, showing them passages detailing the horrific Rule of the Tyrant King of the Infinite Realms.
They even asked Boston Brand, the Deadman and resident Ghost about it. He hadn't been the the Ghost Zone in Years, but even he told them that he had personally fled the Tyrant King.
And they also learned that when the Tyrant King set his eyes on something, he did not falter on his Warpath to acquire it. The Tyrant King, Pariah Dark, would be back for their World, again and again.
And they needed to be prepared. This Battle was what kickstarted their true Commitment to the idea of a Team. They knew they could not defeat Pariah Dark alone, so they needed to remain as a Team.
But there was another thing that came about from the Battle.
While the JLA had been helping clean up, Wonder Woman came across a strange sight. A Baby had been left in the rubble of the GIW Building.
She asked around, investigated, and did all she could to find the babies parents. At first she thought that one of the GIW Agents had brought their kid to work that day, but their records indicated that none of the Agents had children of that Age. And Neither did any of the other workers who worked on the base, like the Janitors or the Kitchen Staff. And of they did, all of their children were accounted for.
She eventually came to the conclusion that the Baby must belong to somebody in the nearby Town, but that lead led nowhere either.
She finally came to the conclusion that the Baby's parents must have died in the Invasion, a very unfortunate but very real possibility. She was going to place her into the System, but over the course of her investigation she had grown fond of the Child.
She decided to Adopt the baby herself. She didn't know the child's name, so she had to come up with a new one.
"How do you like the name, Stella?"
The baby gurgled in delight.
...
Over the next decade of their Teams Existence, the Justice League had to fend off the Legions of the Ghost King's Army many more times. It seemed that Pariah had grown wise to the fact that they were the ones defending the Human Realm, as almost all of the later attacks were directed on them personally.
It made sense, they were the First Line of Defense against his Armies, if he managed to defeat them, their World would soon fall.
But they dealt with the attacks as they came. They had made it their mission to defend their Home from the Forced of Pariah Darks Army, and they would not falter now, or ever.
In the case of Wonder Woman, he Daughter had grown to be a fine little lady. Stella had eventually developed Powers similar to her mother, in that she could fly and had super strength, and had begged to be trained as a Hero.
And who was Diana to deny her Daughter her greatest wish? Over the next 5 years, Diana trained Stella in the ways of the Amazon's. Then, when Stella was 15, she had her join the newly formed Young Justice.
She made a great group of friends on that Team, and even started going by Ellie as a Nickname. Her best friend was by far Conner, though she didn't know why she felt such a strong connection to him? It felt like she could relate to him, but her situation was completely different?
Ah well, her Mom wouldn't mind having another kid, would she? She always wanted a Brother!
...
Meanwhile in the Ghost Zone, the Ghost King was getting anxious. After 15 years, his Agents in the Human Realm had finally managed to set up the Ritual needed to Summon Him into the Human Realm.
Who knew that accepting the Ghost King's Throne would bar him from entering the Human Realm through normal Means? He couldn't even use the Portal, he needed to be summoned or he simply wouldn't be able to leave his new home dimension.
But now, it was almost time. Just another year or two, and he would finally be able to enter the Human Realm. He would finally be able to Find Her. His Daugther.
Danny would finally be able to reunite with his daughter, Ellie.
2K notes · View notes
nhlclover · 2 months
Text
how you get the girl | gabe perreault
Tumblr media
word count: 1.17k
summary: after six months broken up, gabe realizes he can't move on from you decides he has to win you back.
warnings: like one instance of cursing, not proof read
notes: based on 'how you get the girl’ by taylor swift. literally in love with my sherbrooke boy so i had to write for him
The rain slapped against the window, a loud patter sound echoing through the home you shared with 3 of your friends. It was the beginning of spring in Boston and the end of the school year was right around the corner.
It was slightly weird for you to be at home on a Friday night. At the beginning of last semester, you would’ve found yourself at Conte Forum, cheering on Gabe from the stands. However, that hasn’t been your reality for nearly 6 months. 
At the beginning of last semester, you and Gabe had split up. Gabe, having had an all-time year with being drafted, starting at Boston College, as well as the upcoming World Juniors had left an unbearable weight on his shoulders that he couldn’t quite seem to shake. Feeling overwhelmed and lost, it began to take a toll on their relationship. Ultimately, the decision to break up had been painful but mutual. Gabe, unsure of what he wanted in the midst of all the chaos, needed space to navigate everything. Although heartbroken, you recognized that, allowing Gabe to have said space. So you went your separate ways, trying to move on from each other.
However, there was now a void in your heart, brought on by the absence of Gabe. The ache of missing him never faded, and the realization that you two truly belonged together deepened. What you didn’t know was that Gabe, too, had been feeling the ache. He missed the girl that was his first love. 
In the meantime, the regular season had come and gone, the mens hockey team now on the verge of heading to the Frozen Four. Gabe, despite the recent success in hockey, was finding that nothing was making him completely happy. The memories of you still hung in the back of his mind and the guilt from having hurt you was still weighing on him.
Hollers and shouts filled his ears as he came off the ice and into the locker room. Gabe and the rest of the team were fresh off of a win that was set to send them to the Frozen Four. Like the rest of his teammates, Gabe should’ve been celebrating, relishing in the victory. However, Gabe couldn’t help but feel like something was missing.
 It was you. You were what was missing. Gabe felt he couldn’t relish in his success unless he had someone to share it with. Unless he could share it with you.
Gabe peeled his equipment off, tossing it in his stall. Will approached his friend, watching as he frantically changed. 
“Hey Gabo, whatcha doing?” He asked
“I’m going to y/n’s.” He said, tossing the jersey into the bin at the center of the room.
“You’re what?” Will asked.
“I’m going to see y/n.” Gabe said. “I need to get her back man, I’m miserable without her.”
Will could attest to that, having dealt with a heartbroken Gabe for 6 months now. He was no longer his usual self. However, Will didn’t know if you still had room in your heart for Gabe. 
“Is she gonna take you back?” Will asked.
“I don’t know man.” Gabe shrugged, pulling on his gameday suit. “But I gotta give it a shot.”
Gabe shoved his belongings in his bag, shoving the bag in Will’s hands. “Take this back to our dorm for me?” Gabe asked will.
Will furrowed his brows. “You’re going right now? It’s fucking pouring out man.” Will told him. It had been pouring all day and hadn’t let up. Gabe nodded, pulling on his BC hockey jacket.
“Dude let me give you a ride at least!” Will tried to shout to Gabe, but he was already out the door, heading to your place.
A knock at your front door pulled you from your show. It had you confused as to who could possibly be at your door in the middle of a thunderstorm. Curious none the less, you got up and walked to the door, your slippers shuffling against the hardwood. 
You opened the door to a drenched Gabe wearing a Boston College hockey jacket. His usual curls were flattened to his head, the rain taking away the volume. His eyes shone of determination, cutting through his rain-soaked image. 
“Gabe?” You asked, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What are you doing here? Did you walk here? Are you insane?”
Your questions flowed out without giving Gabe a chance to answer them. Gabe, however, didn’t respond to them when you stopped. “It’s been a long 6 months without you.” He says. “I miss you so much, and I was so stupid earlier. I was just too afraid to tell you what I wanted.”
You go to speak but Gabe continues. “I want you for worse or for better,” Gabe began, his voice carrying the weight of sincerity. “I know I broke your heart, but I promise you I will put it back together. I know I messed up but please give me the chance to fix it. If you’re not ready, I get that. I’ll wait for you. I would wait forever and ever.”
You couldn’t find the words but your brain was going a million miles a minute. 6 months you and Gabe had been separated. 6 months it had taken him to come to this realization. But the look in his eyes. The vulnerability in his eyes and in his words moved you. Finally having Gabe in front of you, physically seeing his face and not through a screen as you would go through your photos of him, you’re reminded of the love you’d once known. Your shared joy and smiles rushing back to your memory.
You think to the framed photo of you and Gabe that still sits on your desk, the only testament to a love that once was. The ornate frame that was a gift from Gabe contained a photo of the two of you from the summer. In it, you’re stood in front of Gabe, his arms snaked around your torso and his lips pressed to your cheek. The pair of you significantly more tan than you are now, Gabes faint freckles appearing from sun exposure. Your favourite moment was frozen in time in that photo.
Gabe's words, coupled with the visual reminder of your love melted away any skepticism that you were harbouring. You still had yet to find the proper words, but you opened the door and stepped aside allowing Gabe to step inside. He was dripping all over your floors but you didn’t quite mind. He shrugged off the drenched jacket, it landing on the floor with a slap. Your arms snaked around his neck, his wrapping around your body. His wet hair dripped onto your face, his body shivering slightly. Having him back in your arms felt right. As you embraced one another, it felt as if the flame was rekindled, although it had never truly extinguished.
You pull back slightly, placing a delicate hand to Gabe’s cheek. “I missed you.” Gabe says softly.
“I missed us.” You reply.
299 notes · View notes
sinsofsummers · 9 months
Text
cool about it
3.4k | boston!joel miller x f!reader
Tumblr media
summary: it’s that day again. you don’t know why joel’s so withdrawn, but you help him manage it in the best way you know how. based on 'cool about it' by boygenius. warnings: angst angst angst, angsty smut (sorry), 18+, mdni, implied age gap (joel 50s, reader late 20s) grumpy & sad joel, drug use, alcohol use, oral (m receiving), p in v, creampie, shoulder kisses, pet names & slight praise, body worship kind of, feelings but also joel is bad at feelings, established...situationship. thing. pining (but don't tell them that). romance?? how dare you accuse them of such treachery note: i am so sorry...this is pure unbridled self-indulgence. pls forgive me. also this is set in boston qz, reader and joel have a similar relationship to the one he has with tess, but she doesn't exist in this au (i'm so sorry). also i am kind of so proud of this one
It's been years since you met him, since you've begun to crack his otherwise hard exterior, helping him shed every icy layer to reveal the tired, aging man beneath it all. You've both gone to unbelievable lengths to protect one another against any trouble, or enemy, or plague, that has cast itself in your way. Each night concludes with your limbs tangled together, hands tucked safely within each other's reach. A promise, so quiet it's hardly binding—I've got you.
You've never defined exactly what it means when he calls you sweet pea, or when his lips drop a chaste kiss to your forehead in the morning, or when his hand lingers on your elbow a little longer than normal in the QZ. It never needed to mean anything, so the two of you never spoke about it. You belong to him; he belongs to you.
And yet, every year, on the exact same morning, Joel Miller wakes up a stranger to you. His eyes return to the icy dark depths that you met him with, and his hands find purchase in his pockets rather than absentmindedly rubbing circles on your skin. Every year, without fail, he retreats to his past, a place he won't ever let you see, despite your every wish.
i came prepared for absolution, if you'd only ask
A few years after you met him, you had tried asking him to explain, to let you into his head. It wasn't an attempt at intimacy, or a vulnerability that resembled anything that you hadn't seen from him before, but he'd done nothing more than shake his head.
"M'fine," he'd said. The entire day, every time you asked, no matter how softly, his answer remained unchanged. "Don't feel much like talkin'."
So instead of talking, you'd resorted to letting him come back to you on his own time, in his own way. With rough hands pushing you down to lay on your back, his eyes far away even as he brought you to the edges of bittersweet ecstasy. His kisses were always softer, more distracted. But it was the only communication you ever got out of him on those days.
When he rolled over at night, his hands curled into loose fists, you let him be. He never refused your touch, but you knew enough to recognize when it wouldn't come as any comfort to him. Not on those nights. Never on those nights.
The closest you'd get to falling asleep in his arms on those nights was with a hand placed purposefully between your chest and his back, just close enough that he might lean into it, should he shift in his sleep. And in those soft brushes of skin against cloth lay a million questions.
Forgive me, you'd begged inwardly one night. Forgive me for not understanding, and I'll forgive you for not sharing.
When the sun rose on a new morning, he was always back to the man you were used to, that you had grown dependent on. When his hands reached for you, and when his mouth painted swirls on your chest, you knew that it was out of want for you, not to distract himself from the ghosts of his own past.
He always praised your body's reaction to him, and you always relished in the way that his hips rocked against yours, stretching you out for him—tongue, fingers, his hard intrusion—on those mornings after.
You'd left it at that, for a year or two.
once i took your medication to know what it's like
He'd been resorting to more intense solutions when you decided to do it. When that day came as it always did, you watched as he drowned out the hours with whiskey and pills. You never knew where his supply came from or who was responsible for getting him his drug of choice; you could only sit idly by and watch his features droop from the effects of the dangerous combination, shuffling to your shared bed before he'd pass out until the sun rose on the next morning.
It only took three instances of this before you'd resolved to go through the day exactly as he would, as if it might help you understand. Perhaps it wasn't anything you were meant to understand, but you'd grown weary of seeing him motionless for hours on end. Usually, you never said anything. You didn't really believe he would take enough to cause any real damage; you were blindly faithful in his will to live.
"Joel," you'd said one year. That was all. One syllable, so familiar, and yet it bled with enough warning in your tone that he paused. Don't.
Glass raised, the rim already pressed to his lips—the lips of which you knew every crack and curve—pills already dissolving on his tongue, he'd paused. His eyes never looked at you, though. He sat there, frozen but for the whiskey sloshing gently in the glass before he resumed, swallowing the dark liquid in one go. With hardly a glance in your direction, he'd collapsed to the bed.
You didn't know exactly why you did it, or why it had been that year that you'd become fed up, but you couldn't ignore the fear that struck your chest when you saw him hit the mattress. Before you knew it, you'd swallowed the pills, scowling at the burn of whiskey down your throat.
It had never been your choice of liquor, but you braved the sting in your foolish hopes that it might tell you something about the gray-haired man in your bed. Like drinking his whiskey might envelope you in his arms and whisper his secrets to you.
Laying down beside him, you'd curled up to his side. He was already deep in his drugged slumber; he wouldn't be conscious enough to move from your touch. With a hand on his chest, poised over his heart to reassure yourself that he still had one, you closed your eyes and succumbed to the heavy press of sleep.
When he woke, saw your own empty glass and pill bottle left open on the table, he shook you until you startled awake. Eyes bleary, the effects of the drugs wearing off, you caught him staring down at you, his nose brushing your cheek and his lips a hair's breadth from touching yours.
"Don't ever fuckin' do that again, sweet pea," he snarled, but his words held no malice. You tried to ignore how big his eyes were, pupils blown wide.
You'd wanted to snap at him, to tell him the same thing, but you heard the desperate begging in his voice. The unspoken please. So rather than causing a scene, you'd nodded slowly and let your fingers brush the hem of his shirt. "Okay," you'd whispered. "I won't. Never again, Joel," you repeated, a mantra as you slipped your hands underneath his shirt.
Sliding his arms under your body and pulling you to him, he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, then your cheeks, both of your eyelids. He finally bent to your lips, chasing the taste of you and finding only his own mistakes on your tongue.
The day had passed. He had survived. With the gentle lull of his hips slotting against your own, he had breathed shakily into your mouth as your hands wandered along his skin. Like clockwork, Joel Miller had returned to you, if only for a short while.
i ask you how you're doing, and i let you lie
One day, the pills ran out. The whiskey didn't do anything on its own, so Joel was stuck to find something else to distract him. Whether you were the one that flushed his pills or found who was supplying him, you'd never admit. It was much too close to a confession of something than either of you were comfortable with, so you'd stayed quiet. Helped him find a new vice.
These days, you've lost count of how many years you've seen him withdraw into himself, a shell of the man you know. You've stopped trying to follow where his mind goes when the sun rises on that early autumn day, and he's never made the attempt to explain. For just one day a year, the two of you are silent except for a few mumbled words. Your hands rarely touch on those days, always a few centimeters from each other as he sits at the table.
A reminder. That you're there, that he's there, and that the day will pass. It always does.
His new vice becomes you before long, and you can manage that. He's never particularly rough on those days, anyway; he just needs your body to distract his mind. It takes him a bit to sink into the comfort of your curves, but you always help him get there. Until he's twitching under your hands and letting his eyes flutter closed as you expertly undo his jeans.
You never make him fuck you when he's like this, but you're happy to oblige when he slips a hand between your thighs, reaching for your core and always finding it ready for him. If it pleases him, you let him take whatever he needs.
With whispered moans that make your chest constrict and rough fingers pressing bruises to your hips that he'll kiss away the next morning, he gets through the day.
Today, you know it's not one of those mornings. He's already been awake for a while when you open your eyes, based on his tense posture as he sits on the edge of the bed. He's facing the window, which means his back is to you, withholding his face from yours.
Of course, you don't need to look at him to know what his face will look like. His chin is tucked toward his chest, and his eyes will be closed, hands clenched together as if in prayer. But you know better than to think of Joel Miller as a spiritual man. Whatever faith he might have had all those years ago has withered into scraps. His only faith is in your constant presence in his bed each night.
You sit up slowly, and the sound of rustling sheets makes him twitch his head to the side, the sight of his jaw ticking the only acknowledgement of you being there. With slow movements, you move to sit behind him, your legs on either side of his hips but never close enough to touch. He's gotten better at allowing for a few more moments of contact, and you think this means he's making progress.
How could you ever be sure, though? When he still won't reveal the pain of today?
"Did you wake up to see the sunrise?" you ask gently, leaning forward and bracing your hands in front of you, waiting. His response will determine how you'll distract him for the coming hours.
As usual, Joel doesn't say anything, but his back reclines an inch. It's all you need.
"I'll bet it was real pretty," you continue, trying to keep your voice soft. This is one of your many routines; you lift your hands and press them to his back, just enough for him to feel your fingertips. You don't know if he listens to anything you say, or if he even cares. This part is just for you. This is how you get through these days.
You lean just a bit further, letting your forehead rest on his shoulder. Your hands slide around his middle and your stomach flips selfishly at the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath your featherlight touch. Reaching down for his lap, you rest your palm against his jeans, feeling him twitch against your hand. There he is.
Maybe it's sad, maybe it's fucked up, but fuck what anyone else would say. This is what he needs, the only thing that helps him stay out of his nightmarish memories, whatever they may be. You'll never ask him to show that side of himself, not anymore.
Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, you deftly work the button on his jeans, pushing the zipper down and reaching into his waistband until his half-hard cock comes free. It rests heavy in your hand, and you're comforted by the weight of it. His shoulders are too broad for you to see it, but you're not bothered by this. With another kiss, this one landing on the soft skin of his neck, you give him a languid stroke.
Joel's chest rises and falls as he breathes, and you can feel his arousal stirring as he grows firmer in your grip. His hands begin to unclench, but his fingers remain flat on his tights, never touching you outside of where your legs are hooked to his, your chest flush with his back.
The room is silent except for his breathing, every second getting more shallow. You can feel the tension in his back release a little, and you let your thumb rub a slow circle over the slit on his tip, precum just starting to leak onto your hand.
You stay like this for a few minutes, one arm wrapped around his stomach and your other hand on his cock, tugging slow enough not to overwhelm him, and fast enough to keep him pulsing in your hand.
Only when his hips buck involuntarily do you let go, moving from your place behind him to the floor. Your knees hit the wood hard, but you ignore the pain as your hands slide up his thighs.
His own hands remain still on his jeans, and he lets you interlock your fingers with his own. A small mercy. Today might not be as bad as the years before, and you dip your head to lick a stripe from base to tip before closing your mouth around the head of his cock.
Joel's fingers twitch in your grasp, and you squeeze back, hardly noticeable. Just enough to act as thanks. Thank you for letting me do this. For you.
You never look up, afraid of what his eyes will betray when your mouth is around him. You know this is only a distraction, a slow respite from his thoughts. So you ignore the impatient pulse between your thighs and take him as deep as he'll go, your hopes lifting when you hear his shaky sighs.
One of his hands released yours and lands on your head, smoothing your hair as his hips fight to keep still. Your head bobs up and down, your spit mixing with his precum to leave a shining mess on his shaft.
He pats your head softly, the wet sounds of your mouth on him the only noise in the room. But then he's opening his mouth, and he's combing his fingers through your hair, and he's mumbling, "thank you, sweet pea," just quiet enough that you think you're imagining it.
Maybe you did. He doesn't say it again, and you don't look up to see how wrecked he looks. You're content to remain on your knees the entire day if it means he can relax, let go of whatever's haunting him.
But then he's pulling your head back, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet pop. Hands under your arms, he tugs you to stand in front of him. This time you do let yourself look at him, but his eyes don't lift to meet yours. He tugs your shorts and panties from your body, and once you step out of them he splays his hands on the backs of your thighs to pull you onto his lap.
His head is still tipped toward where your bodies rest against each other, rocking your pelvis against the length of his cock with a shuddering sigh. But you don't mind the view; you sit just a few inches taller than him in this position, so you can brace yourself against his shoulders, your chin resting against the top of his head.
He reaches down to rub a few quick circles on your clit, and you let him move your hips when he's ready, lodging his cock at your entrance. You're dripping, you have been this entire time, but you'd shoved down the heady desire that had punched its way through your body until he was ready. Now, with his hand guiding his tip into your sopping cunt, you let out a breath. There he is, a voice in your head repeats.
He pushes your hips down at an agonizingly slow pace, your pussy swallowing every inch of him, the sounds of your moans colliding at the feeling. "So good to me," he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your sternum and tilting his head back, closing his eyes. "Perfect."
You know that he doesn't think he deserves your praise, but you give it to him anyway. "That's it," you hum, squirming with his cock buried to the hilt. It's all you can do not to lift your hips and drag yourself up and down his length. "Take what you need, Joel."
He never lasts long when he can feel your walls squeezing his cock for all it's worth, your body betraying you when your mind just wants to remain warm and wet and ready for him all day long, until he's ready to be done with you. But with one look at you, his dark eyes finally connecting to yours, he blinks. "Thank you, sweat pea," he murmurs again.
You lift your thumb to his forehead and you trace the lines on his weathered skin, watching as your touch releases the tension from his face. All that's left is his desire, his need for you, however distracted it may be.
Joel lets himself enjoy this, as he rocks his hips into yours, the head of his cock brushing that spot deep inside you until you're shaking in his hands, forehead tipped against his as you let your moans fill the space between the two of you. He lifts your hips, pulling you nearly all the way off of him until he shoves you back down, the delicious squelch of your pussy on his cock wrenching a knee-buckling groan from his lips. "Where?" he asks, as he does every time.
You don't need to tell him, but you do. "Fill me up, Joel," you coo, a shot of pleasure spreading throughout your entire body. "Come with me, I'm right here with you."
"That's it, darlin'," is all he groans before he's wrapping his arms around your back, tugging your chest to him in a tight embrace. His face disappears into the space between your breasts and you feel his entire body quiver with yours as you reach your peak. Warmth floods your core as he spills his release into you, your walls fluttering with the intensity of your orgasm. You pull him to you, returning his near-painful embrace.
You're as close as lovers, as close to one another as you can physically get, but it'll never be enough.
The high after he comes inside you is fleeting. Only a few minutes pass before the line inevitably returns to his brow and his frown deepens after he softens. He doesn't lift you off of him, though, so you soak up the feeling while you can.
"Better?" you whisper, eyes locked on his.
He nods slowly after a moment, his mouth set in a grim line. "Always," he mumbles gently, his hand cupping your jaw as his thumb strokes your bottom lip. He presses his thumb into your mouth to the first knuckle, letting you taste salt and old sweat and your nectar on his skin.
You know better than to believe him, but you don't argue. Not today, never today. So you lift the corners of your lips in a sad smile and pretend that it doesn't feel like water rising in your lungs every time this day comes.
but we don't have to talk about it
i can walk you home and practice method acting
i'll pretend being with you doesn't feel like drowning
tellin' you it's nice to see how good you're doing
even though we know it isn't true
Joel will never tell you what's on his mind. Never today. September 26th won't ever mean anything to you, so why would he bother? For him, it's everything and nothing all at once. Brown curls and sparkling young eyes and blood crusted on his arms and the unforgettable weight of death in his arms.
Another year older, he sighs, his heart clenching in grief. Another year older, and another year further from everything he's lost.
tysm for reading, here's a box of tissues. :') i love u all
1K notes · View notes
covetyou · 30 days
Text
no shortage of sordid
Tumblr media
ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist
pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader, Joel Miller x m!OC (unnamed) rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: very dubious consent (not from reader), oral sex (m receiving from m), voyeurism/exhibitionism, degradation, brief mention of food and allusion to hunger, unnamed m!OC, m/m, Joel is not exactly gay he's just a domineering asshole, drug reference word count: 3.1k summary: Your deal with Joel has changed into something else, something different to when you first came to his door asking for help months ago. But, when you try to take him up on your new arrangement, you're met with something you never expected.
A/N: this was originally a much shorter deleted scene from the start of the dark caress of someone else. I took it out because it was too much and after writing that chapter I told myself I would avoid writing threesomes for as long as possible, because god damn it there's too many body parts. well, me, fuck you, this is threesome adjacent and not technically a threesome at all.
follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics
Six days. That's how long it takes for you to cave and admit you want him. It takes you another two to do anything about it.
The first time you make the trip to Joel's apartment, no pills necessary, you're faced with silence and a door that won't open.
With an hour break between your jobs the next day, you make another attempt. But, you barely make it through the market when you see him trailing behind Tess, hulking figure parting the crowd with ease. You don't stop to see where they're going, instead choosing to turn on your heel and head back the way you came. The less you know, the better. Using the cards he handed back to you nine days ago, you stop by a street food vendor on your way to your next job, eating your first hot meal not only of that day, but that week, the warm food soothing more than just the emptiness in your stomach.
It takes you much longer to convince yourself to try on the third day. Your thoughts hadn't immediately gone to Joel Miller that morning. You had toyed with going for a walk, with seeing if you could pick up more work. But soon your hands ache, bones creaking in their joints as you clench them once again, trying to stave off the want in your belly with the pinch of nails digging into your palms.
Fuck it. You're going. Whether he's there or not, the need to get out of this apartment far outweighs the desire to stay warm inside it.
So, one gray trudge across a gray Boston to a gray apartment block later, you're at his door. Again.
Only this time there's not silence on the other side.
You can hear a murmur - undoubtedly Joel by the heavy rasp of a wry laugh that follows it - and a garbled whimper.
And, of course, you could leave. You could turn your back and leave Joel up to whatever it is, whoever it is, he's doing in there, but you don't. You knock, wanting him to know that even if he's occupied, you showed up. You came to him, not for pills, but for sex. For want, for desire, for the ease of the ache between your legs and the itch in your palms that just won't quit no matter how much you make yourself come.
Even with company, he doesn't make you wait long.
So it's not that you're not expecting the shuffle of two sets of feet. Or the thud on the door, heavy and dull like something big had caught itself before falling down. You knew he wasn't alone and, after all, the only thing you could really expect when visiting Joel was that nothing would be as expected.
No, that's not what surprises you at all.
What surprises you is when the door drifts open a fraction, a disembodied hand reaching through and pulling you through the gap, dragging you inside. What surprises you is tripping over his shoes, only they're not his shoes, the feet turned the wrong way up to belong to the all too familiar man standing before you.
What surprises you is seeing a man on his knees in front of Joel Miller.
It surprises you so much, you don't even notice as the door clicks shut and the hand that dragged you inside pulls you once again to stand at his side.
From here you can get a full view. There's a man on his knees in front of Joel. Joel's pants are unbuckled and pulled low on his hips. And then, the entire scene becomes very, very clear.
There is a man on his knees in front of Joel with his cock in his mouth.
So, when Joel looks at you with a glint in his eye, you're suddenly rooted to the spot, staring between him and the man beneath him. A smirk from Joel tells you you've been looking a little too long so, embarrassed and not quite sure what to do with yourself, you spin around, turning to inspect the back of a chair as if it was the most interesting thing in the room, not the man currently bobbing his head up and down on Joel's length.
"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he drawls from behind you. "Ain't no fun for me if you ain't lookin'."
As you always do where Joel is concerned, you do as you're told, taking a deep breath as you turn back to watch the man swallow down Joel's cock. You'd seen this kind of thing before - turned down the wrong street at the wrong time more than once only to see someone on their knees for someone else, earning yourself a wink or an insult for the privilege. But you never stayed to watch. Yet, here you are, staying and watching either because it was Joel, or because he asked, you weren't too sure.
The why doesn't exactly matter, you figure, not when your cheeks were rapidly heating and the wet patch in your panties was doing nothing but grow.
"Think he likes the audience too," Joel is saying, nodding down to the guy on his knees. "Don't you?"
You can see that he does. There's a hard bulge in the front of his pants, a bulge that looks much harder than the cock currently in his mouth.
"Dick always so hard for a straight guy. Think you like being a cocksucker." Joel gives the man an awkward pat on the head and huffs out a laugh, looking away from him to look back at you.
"Likin' what you see, sweetheart?" he jokes, casting dark eyes up and down your body. He can't see much. It's still fucking freezing, which is no surprise for a February in Boston, and you're still wrapped up against the elements because of it. But you know his gaze is looking through all of it, seeing through the layers straight down to your flesh, to your hard nipples and the wetness between your legs. He raises that infuriating, knowing, eyebrow at you and you roll your eyes.
"'m serious, you gotta keep lookin' or I'm never gonna come," he says then, and you drag your eyes back in an instant. You briefly wonder why - how - he would never come from this until it hits you.
Having a man suck his dick isn't Joel Miller's idea of a good time. Whoever the man on his knees is, he owes Joel. Maybe just like you did, or maybe worse. It doesn't matter, because you're not witnessing a blow job, you're witnessing a fucking business transaction.
And so you laugh - not at Joel, or the man, not really, but at the entire fucked situation and the world that brought you to this place.
"Y'hear that?" Joel growls down at the man. "She's laughin' at you."
Pinching his eyes shut, the man groans, and you swear you can see a dark patch starting to form on the front of his pants. It almost feels wrong, looking at another mans bulge like this when Joel's cock is right there, disappearing in and out of the strangers mouth at a languid pace. You can't even ask his name - his mouth too full to get out more than a garbled moan. Maybe names don't matter either.
Joel's eyes haven't left you, and yours haven't left the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. He's harder now, softness completely gone now that you're here to witness it. Giving and watching a blow job are so much different to what you expected. There's a wet sound in the air, for one. That rhythmic, wet noise of a throat being fucked was usually masked by your own moans, made easy to ignore by the distraction filling your mouth. But here, several steps away, it is loud.
"That's it. Keep your eyes right there," Joel murmurs before pointing to your outer layer. "Unzip your coat, lemme see. Get those pretty tits out for me, sweetheart. Don't mind him. He ain't gonna look. Are you?"
The man groans again, keeping his eyes shut as his head bobs on Joel's cock, taking an impressive amount of him down his throat with each movement. There's a small shake of his head, and while you don't believe him, you find you don't care either. You don't know the man on the floor any more than he knows you, and you have a feeling he's likely to keep his mouth shut once he leaves Joel's apartment today anyway.
A fraction of a second later, you're pulling your jacket open and yanking your sweater up above your tits, baring them to Joel. He murmurs something to himself, fisting his shirt tightly as he holds it up, exposing his belly. It strikes you then how damn distracted you had been every time before now - Joel's fingers, or tongue, or cock working you in such a way that you were brainless and oblivious to the physical affects you had on him. Now, its obvious. Like a man possessed, he watches you with blown eyes, his cock in full hardness now as the man below him works him over with his mouth and tongue.
Dragging cool fingers down your exposed chest, you meet your already pebbled nipples, pinching them and holding back a soft gasp. It's as much for you as it is to get a reaction from Joel, and if he didn't know you were wet before, he does now.
"That's it, play with 'em. And keep watching, sweetheart. Want you to watch when I come down his throat."
It's a struggle to keep your eyes open, but certainly not a chore. The man has picked up his pace, sucking and moaning around Joel's length as he slurps it down. He holds back a splutter when Joel's hips buck forward just as you pinch your nipples harder again, squeezing the flesh of your tits in cold palms.
"Fuuck, that's it, keep watchin'. You like that? Bet you want a taste of this dick too, huh?"
You nod, words stuck in your throat as Joel presses the mans head further into his crotch, rocking his hips to fuck lightly into his mouth.
"You needy and dripping over there ain't you?" he growls. He doesn't wait for you to nod, he doesn't need to. "Yeah you fuckin' are. Dirty fuckin' girl, watching my dick gettin' sucked. You like watching, don't you? Say it. Wanna hear it."
"I like it. I like watching, Joel," you say, barely more than a whisper as you become more and more entranced by Joel's cock in the mans mouth.
"Shit. Keep watchin'. Gonna come. Need you to watch."
It's all you can do to hold back a moan, your panties now probably ruined by your dripping, neglected cunt. This was not what you came here for, but watching Joel mumble obscenities and growl filth to you and the man on his knees as he gets his cock sucked was something you never knew you wanted before now. Sure, you want to touch, to play with him yourself. But watching is getting you wetter and wetter without even a finger or the press of your thighs to help you along the way.
"That's it. You keep suckin'. Fuck. Gonna bet you want this load in you not in him, right?"
Nodding frantically, you move a hand to your waistband, a soft plea on your lips, ready to pull your pants down any second. "Please - "
"Fuck - shit - well too bad, sweetheart. You look at that dick gettin' sucked. Shit - gonna come. Look at me. I said look at me."
Your eyes meet his just as they flutter closed. Joel groans a curse, his balls starting to empty into the throat of the man in front of him until he's suddenly tugging the mans hair, pulling his mouth off of his cock. The man gasps, swallowing down what he can as Joel rapidly strokes his spit soaked length, jerking the remains of his spend over the mans face and mouth. His eyes immediately flick to yours, a soft moan having left your own lips the moment Joel started to come, and he groans again, a final spurt coating the mans chin, soaking his facial hair. It's filthy. Not the most filthy thing you know Joel's done, but the most filthy thing you've ever seen him do from the outside. You can't help but stare on in silence, too captivated by the spurts of milky white dripping over the mans face, his eyes still screwed tight. You're aching and desperate to stick a hand down your pants, to feel how wet you are, to touch your clit and make yourself come as you try to hold yourself upright on shaky legs.
Through syrupy blood pulsing in your ears you hear Joel growl down at the man, removing his hand from his hair like it's burned his palm. Then, he's looking to you again, deep brown eyes searching your own before falling down, down to where your hand cups your breast and your other fists the waistband of your pants in a tight grip. He knows - knows that even if you came here already wet and wanting, you were even more so now.
And it's with a smirk and a sharp snap of his fingers that he pulls you back into the room. The man's eyes are open now, avoiding yours as he wipes cum from his face with his sleeve, covertly licking his lips for any remnant taste of Joel. You can't blame him, fuck knows you'd done the same when Joel had swiped a taste of himself over your own lips, but you can't help the jealousy at wanting to taste again too.
It's then you remember your exposed chest, and you yank your sweater back down without another glance to the man on his knees. Joel shakes his head, a shit eating grin spreading across his face as he strides across the room. He goes to the cupboard where you know he keeps a small amount of his stock, rifling through for a second before coming back with a baggy and tossing it down on the floor at the mans knees. He scrambles for it immediately, climbing to his feet and grabbing the door. Joel doesn't look at him again.
"Say hello to your wife for me," Joel calls over his shoulder, and the man scurries away without a word.
Now it's just you and him, his unbuttoned pants the only remaining evidence of what just happened.
You hesitate, partly in stunned silence, partly your brain having turned to liquid between your ears, all coherent thought lost the moment Joel's cum spurted across the mans face. But there's still that unsatisfied ache between your legs, throbbing and making your hand twitch, willing you to reach for him now that he's so close.
Joel sees it, he knows, knows what you came here for and knows what you won't be getting.
"Not today, sweetheart. Couldn't even if I tried," he says gesturing to his spent already dick tucked back into his pants. "Gotta head out again too, so whatever you got goin' on in those panties, you gotta deal with it yourself." He finishes with a wink and a tap to your chin before grabbing a small gym bag from the couch. You hadn't even seen it there, brain too occupied by more interesting things happening in this room at the time.
So it's no surprise, really, when your mouth starts running before your mind can process what it's doing. There's only one thing you're thinking of. One thing, aside from the throb in your core, that you can't stop thinking about, that envy won't let you give up.
"Would you - " your mouth gapes, opening and closing like a fish while your mind stutters and stops. You shouldn't even ask. There's no answer that can satisfy that particular itch. Not as quickly as you'd want it, at least. If he said yes, he'd already said nothing could happen right now, and if he said no, well... there was something about the thought of him denying you that did something to you too. There was no winning.
"Would I what?"
Of course, Joel had already heard. Even as he potters about the apartment, dumping stuff into the bag from places you've not been paying attention to. He stops, prompting you to go on.
"Would you... Would you come in my mouth like that? One time?"
He stares at you with his mouth open in disbelief. "You want me to come in your mouth?"
You nod, your mouth suddenly so fucking dry you can't speak anymore. You'd been salivating, able to practically taste the phantom flavor of Joel's cum on your tongue just a moment ago. Now, it was like you'd been chewing on bricks, tongue sticky and dry and your teeth feeling like an awkward jumble in your mouth.
"Well, shit. Call the press. Respectable good girl wants to be my little cocksucker -"
"Fine, if you're going to make fun, I don't -"
"Woah, hold on, I'm fuckin' with you. I ain't gonna turn down shutting that pretty mouth up with my dick. Gotta do it more than one time though, sweetheart. You around tomorrow?"
Between jobs and your dad having a day off, it would be a few days before you could come back. Shaking your head, you offer up Thursday instead. It's only three days away. You can make it three more days. Right?
"Thursday works for me. Come by in the afternoon. I'll come in that mouth, and then I'll play with that pussy while I get worked up again," he says before adding, with a cock of his head, "Then I'll come in that too."
And you're dumbstruck - the fantasy you concocted in your own head far surpassed by Joel's own, seemingly thought up right on the spot as he maneuvers you out into the hallway.
"See you then, sweetheart."
He pushes you out of the door, fingers electrified where they touch your shoulder. You expect the door to snap shut behind you, like it has so many times before, but he follows you out into the hallway, locking the door behind him. With a wink, he stalks off down the corridor, legs carrying him out of the apartment block too quick for you to keep up.
Later that night, alone in bed and wondering how the hell you're going to last two more days like this, you rub yourself stupid to thoughts of Joel's cock in a mouth that isn't yours.
taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr
269 notes · View notes
sidekick-hero · 30 days
Text
Tumblr media
(steddie | mature | 2k | tags: established relationship, post-s4, Valentine's Day, Robin is the best, fluff | summary: Steve loves Eddie, he really, really does. He just can't say it. | @steddielovemonth prompt Love is just a four-letter word by @sal-si-puedes | AO3)
Tumblr media
"He probably thinks I don't love him, Robin. Which is... ridiculous. I do! I really, really do. I just can't say it." Steve is pacing around the blissfully empty Family Video Store, his hands making a mess of his hair as they run through it in frustration.
"This is so stupid. I* am* so stupid, it's just four stupid letters, even a preschooler can say it," he rambles, his eyes wild as they look at Robin. "Why am I like this, Robbie?" His voice breaks, along with his heart, at the thought of Eddie doubting Steve's feelings for him for even a second.
Robin walks over to him and grips his shoulders tightly, her blue eyes boring into his as she says in her firmest you-listen-to-me-now voice. "You're not stupid. This is my best friend you're talking about, so watch it." That earns her at least a half-smile, which counts as a victory considering Steve was already pinching his nose to hold back tears.
"I know you love him, Steve. Everyone knows it. One look at you when he's in the room, or even when you're just talking about him, is enough to know you love him. And I'm sure Eddie knows it too. He has to."
Robin's words soothe some of the fear in Steve's heart, knowing that she would tell him if she really thought he had messed up. But even though it's okay now, Eddie won't wait forever for Steve to say those three little words. No one would. Steve knows that his heart couldn't take being with Eddie, loving Eddie and telling him that, only to never hear it back from him.
"I don't know. Even if you're right, I feel like I'm losing him. That something in me is broken, and one day he'll realize that too, and then he'll leave." With an even smaller voice Steve adds: "I can't lose him, Robbie".
They don't hug very often. Robin shows her affection in many ways, but most of them aren't overly physical. That's Eddie's job, clinging to Steve like a koala most days, always touching Steve in some way, even if it's just his shoulder nudging Steve's. Robin pulling him into a tight hug now means a lot to him, but it's also a testament to the gravity of the situation.
With their arms around each other between the horror and action movie sections, Steve takes a moment to just soak in the comfort she offers. What happened at Starcourt messed them both up, caused them both more trauma than any teenager should have to deal with, but on a very selfish level, Steve can't help but be grateful that it happened. A life without Robin Buckley sounds like the greater horror to him.
After a few minutes, Robin gently pulls away from Steve to look at him. He's reluctant to let her go, even though he knows this is an even longer hug than the one she gave him when Nancy told him they weren't getting back together after defeating Vecna. She wanted to go to Boston, make a career, see the world. And Steve? Steve wanted a home, a place to belong, and someone to share that home with. They wanted different things, he realizes now.
That doesn't mean it didn't open old wounds, memories of how it felt to be rejected by her, his love for her thrown in his face like it was worthless. Bullshit.
As attuned to him and his thoughts as ever, a true testament to the fact that they share a brain cell, Robin says, "I think it's understandable that you can't say it. The last time you told someone you loved them, you were hurt, badly. Your heart is probably just trying to protect itself. Like a kid who touched a hot stove and got burned wouldn't touch another stove, you know?"
Steve nods, because in a way it makes sense. It just doesn't help him to know.
"But what am I supposed to do, Robin? It's not Eddie's fault that I'm broken."
"You, Steve Harrington, are not broken. Just a little bruised. There is nothing wrong with you just because you got hurt and have the scars to show for it. Like Max, because of the injuries to her leg, she cannot walk like she used to before Vecna, so she uses her crutch. She's not broken. Is she?"
"No, of course not. If anything, she's even stronger now, I saw her hit Lucas with the crutch and tell him to hurry up on the way to the movies," Steve says, smiling at the memory.
"See!" Robin waves her hand at him in excitement, almost bouncing with it. "All you need is a crutch!"
They look at each other wide-eyed before matching smiles break out on their faces, Robin's giddy at having found a solution, Steve's reflecting the tentative hope blossoming in his chest.
Tumblr media
His talk with Robin certainly helped, but as Valentine's Day approaches, the fears and insecurities start to creep back in. It's not even like Eddie is giving him any indication that he's not happy with Steve or their relationship. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Eddie tells him he loves him almost every time they see each other, at the most random moments. Some days he whispers it in Steve's ear to wake him up, other days it's his way of saying good night to him with his arm around Steve's waist and his hand over Steve's heart in a protective grip. He says it casually when Steve brings him breakfast in bed or lunch to the record store where he now works. Just yesterday he said it while Steve was buried deep inside him, their hands intertwined beside Eddie's head and brown eyes looking softly up at Steve.
It's not meant to make him feel bad about himself, he knows that.
He still does.
So when he opens his front door to the sight of Eddie standing on his doorstep in his nicest jeans and a forest green button-down Steve has never seen before, clearly having put some real effort into his appearance, Steve almost crumbles.
He's a shitty boyfriend, isn't he? There's this amazing guy who goes out of his way to look nice for Steve, even though he doesn't even like Valentine's Day, just because he knows it's important to Steve. And he can't even tell him he loves him.
Some of what he's feeling must be showing on his face, because Eddie's cheerful smile falls and he hurries into the house to pull Steve into his arms, slamming the door shut with his foot.
"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, I told Dustin green wasn't my color, but he insisted. I look hideous, don't I?"
That makes Steve snort wetly into Eddie's neck before muttering a fond "Idiot" into it.
Eddie just hums, obviously pleased with himself for making Steve laugh. "You can tell me. You know I don't mind getting naked for you."
"You're getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?"
Eddie grinned wolfishly at him. "I don't know, the tear in my Hellfire shirt from when you ripped it off me begs to differ."
Steve blushes at the memory, even as he laughs at Eddie's words. Instead of saying anything else, Steve pulls him back into his arms and Eddie goes willingly.
"Hi, baby," he says, his nose brushing behind Steve's ear.
"Hi." Steve breathes him in, the smell of cigarette smoke and his shampoo strong where his nose is buried in Eddie's hair.
They don't let go for a long time.
It's Eddie who pulls back first, and Steve does his best not to read into it. "You want to tell me what's going on?"
The Steve from before the Upside Down would have just shaken his head and told Eddie that everything was fine before pulling him into the bedroom to reassure them both that it was. Not talking about his feelings, fears, and needs might have worked for hookups, but he learned the hard way that it doesn't work when you want to be in a relationship.
So Steve takes Eddie's hand and leads him over to the couch where they both sit facing each other. They don't let go of each other's hands.
"I know you're probably wondering why I haven't told you... why I haven't said it yet."
Eddie's eyebrows disappear behind his fringe. "It?"
Sighing, Steve watches his fingers run over Eddie's knuckles. "You know. That I love you."
"Oh."
It's hard to place Eddie's tone, and even harder to place the silence that follows, but it makes his knee jiggle with nerves and his stomach churn. Usually it's Eddie who tends to fill the silence between them when it feels too big, too heavy, but today it's Steve.
"It's not because I don't want to, I swear. It's just," another frustrated sigh, the hand currently not held by Eddie's rubbing over his face, "I just can't say it. And I am so, so sorry, because you deserve to hear it. Every day. But I can't... I can't. So I understand if you don't want to do this anymore. You deserve better, Eddie. You really, really do."
Eddie lets Steve's words settle between them, aching and raw, but he never lets go of Steve's hand.
"You're right," he finally says, and the sound of Steve's heart breaking is deafening to his own ears. Pinching his nose, he tries to take his hand back from Eddie, but his boyfriend (if he can still call him that) won't budge. "You're right about me wondering, Steve. But that was before."
Looking up, a frown forming between his eyebrows, Steve asks, "Before?"
"Before I realized that you do tell me that you love me, every day. You say it when you tiptoe around the trailer in the morning to make breakfast without waking me. You tell me every time you pack an extra blanket or sweater when we go to the quarry because you know I always get cold. I hear it loud and clear every time you bring me lunch, even though it means you waste most of your own lunch break driving around town. It's in the way you try so hard to make Wayne like you because you know how much that means to me, and in the way you hold me after another nightmare, and in the way you kiss me sometimes like there's nothing in the world you'd rather be doing, without it having to lead anywhere, just because you like kissing me."
Eddie scooted forward and bridged the gap between them by taking Steve's face in his hands.
"Steve, you've been telling me you love me for months with everything except words. I don't really need them. It's just a four-letter word."
And, fuck, now Steve is crying. Eddie wipes away his tears with his thumbs, and when that's not enough, he kisses them away with his lips.
Steve is so in love with him that he has no idea how the feeling even fits in his body.
"Damn," he chuckles wetly, "that means I didn't even have to find a crutch?"
Now it's Eddie's turn to look at Steve in confusion, clearly worried that his boyfriend might have lost his mind. "What crutch? Is this a sex thing?"
Laughing and shaking his head fondly, Steve raises his free hand to his head, palm facing Eddie. Then he brings his thumb, index finger, and little finger up, keeping his ring and middle fingers down, before moving his hand back and forth slightly.
"Robin came up with this. She said if I couldn't say the words with my mouth, maybe I could say them in a different way. I thought of trying sign language," Steve adds sheepishly.
Before he knows what's happening, Eddie is on top of him, pressing him into the couch with his body weight and showering his face with kisses.
"You're so smart," kiss, "and beautiful," kiss, "and wonderful," kiss, "and I love you so much." The last part is accompanied by a lingering kiss on his lips and Steve melts under it.
Even though he obviously didn't have to tell Eddie this way, Steve is glad that he did.
He also thinks it won't be long before he can say those words, too. If anyone can help him walk without a crutch, it's Eddie.
207 notes · View notes
wolfjackle-creates · 8 days
Text
Answer My Call Chapter 3 part 1
Happy WIP Wednesday! Answer My Call won by all one one vote last week. I was a bit nervous since I'm starting a new POV and I wasn't sure if I wanted to write from Tucker's POV or Tim's, but I settled on Tucker because it would let me dive into the action a bit sooner.
Story Summary: Danny's missing. The GIW have taken over Amity. Jazz, Tucker, and Sam are under constant surveillance and have been scattered across the country.
When Jazz's messages to Danny go to the wrong number, Red Hood decides to step in.
First, Previous
Word Count: 1.6k
-----
Tucker was alone in his dorm room working on homework. His desk was in the corner in a way that meant his computer screen faced the wall. It meant he had barely three feet of space to sit in, but after everything that had happened, he couldn’t let anyone sneak up behind him to spy on his work.
His roommate hated him for it because it took up so much extra space in their small room, but he was never around anyway, so Tucker didn’t really care what he thought.
He jumped when a loud knocking sounded on his door.
“Coming!” he called out as he took the time to save everything he had open and close all programs. He slammed it shut and squeezed out of his chair, half running to the door. “Sorry ‘bout the wait. Tyler isn’t here right now, I think he said something about spending time with Liz?”
Then he actually looked at the people at his door. The one was a broad boy wearing a spiked leather jacket over jeans. The other had a bulky sweatshirt on and a baseball cap. His face was shadowed as he was looking down at a tablet, typing away.
The bigger one was grinning at him. “You’re Tucker, right? We’re here to see you, not Tyler.”
Tucker blinked at them. “Why?” he asked, confused. People had given up on being friendly with him weeks ago.
The boy with the tablet huffed. “We’re here to invite you to our club.”
Tucker looked between them in confusion. “What?”
Tablet guy still didn’t look up. “We heard you like ghosts. We’re the officers of the student horror club and wanted to offer you a spot. Mind letting us in so we can tell you about it?”
Tucker rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m not interested in joining any clubs right now. Thanks, but no thanks.” He went to shut the door, but leather jacket stuck out his foot, keeping it from shutting.
“Just hear us out. We think you’d be perfect for it as an expert on ghosts.”
Tucker clenched his fists to hide their shaking. What did they know? Who sent them? He glared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tablet boy raised his head slightly, revealing a domino mask covering his eyes. He grinned, more a baring of teeth than anything. In a tone just loud enough to be heard, he said, “One of my associates is currently in Boston. I decided to come here instead.” In a normal ton he added, “Let me tell you about the horror club.”
Tucker’s mouth fell open. How? Boston? What had Jazz done? His eyes flitted down the hallway. But they were blocking his path and he wouldn’t be able to get past them. Dumbly, he stepped back, opening the door further.
Leather jacket grinned at him. “Thanks, dude,” he said.
Behind them, Tucker shut the door. His hand fell to his pocket where a lipstick laser was hidden.
Tablet boy was already pulling the blinds down over the window. When done, he handed his tablet to Tucker. It was open to a message that said: “We’re on your side. Turn off your devices. I’m going to set off a EMP and signal jammer.”
Tucker nodded and handed the tablet back.
Leather Jacket cleared his throat. “So, with the horror club, we meet once a week…”
Tucker only half-listened to his spiel. He used his phone to send a coded warning to Dani before turning it off. Then he went through his belongings and did the same to every laptop, PDA, tablet, and gaming system. If he turned on a ghostly recording device hidden inside an action figure, however, no one would know.
As soon as he was done, he nodded to Tablet Guy who pulled out a black cube from his backpack and pressed a button. The he pulled out another device and turned that on as well.
“That’s enough, Kon,” he said, pulling off his cap.
Leather Jacket—Kon?—grinned. “What, you don’t want to hear about my favorite horror movie, Rob?”
“I introduced you to your favorite horror movie. I know it as well as you do.”
Kon just laughed. Then he unzipped his jacket, revealing a blue outfit with Superman’s “S” on it.
“Holy shit,” breathed Tucker. What had Jazz done?
Tablet guy followed, pulling off his cap and removing his hoodie, revealing a red costume with a gold bird medallion in the center of his chest. “Nice to meet you, Tucker. I’m Red Robin, and this is Superboy. I’ve got some questions for you.”
Tucker’s eyes jumped between the two. “Holy shit,” he repeated.
Superboy laughed. “Didn’t expect to see us?”
Tucker could only shake his head. “You said Boston?” he asked.
“Red Hood is with Jazz as we speak. She asked for our help in rescuing Danny. We agreed.”
Tucker tensed. He was lying. They’d talked about reaching out to the Justice League dozens of times, but had decided they couldn’t be trusted. Jazz wouldn’t have gone to them. He reached into his pocked and pulled out the lipstick.
Both heroes tensed, though their wariness turned to confusion when they saw he only had a small lipstick tube.
Good, let them underestimate him. “Jazz wouldn’t go to the Justice League. We agreed it wasn’t safe. Why are you really here?”
Red Robin grinned at him and held up his hands. “All right, you’re right. I simplified for time’s sake. Jazz has been sending messages to a phone number she thought belonged to her brother Danny. But really, they were going to Red Hood. He’d been getting them for ages now, but was…out of town. As soon as he got back, he began looking into Amity and the GIW. When he couldn’t find anything, he brought me in on the case. When that still didn’t work, we called Jazz back. She decided to take a chance on us since Red Hood doesn’t work with the government. And, honestly, I’ve done quite a bit outside the law, too, even if I’m not as public about it.”
Tucker’s grip on the lipstick tightened and he stuck his nail under the cap, ready to flick it off at a moment’s notice. “Prove it.”
Red Robin pulled up his tablet again and tapped a few places. An audio recording started to play.
Tucker stopped breathing when he recognized Jazz’s voice. He closed his eyes and just listened. When he heard her demand a picture and the pose she asked for, he huffed out a laugh.
The recording ended and he slid the lipstick back into his pocket and wiped at his eyes.
“Okay, I believe you. What’s the plan?”
“Right now we want to make sure you, Jazz, and Sam are safe and find out as much information as we can.”
Tucker nodded. “I’m not as closely watched as Jazz. The school keeps close track of us students and the Guys in White rely on their records. Though they do have an agent stationed in admin who checks up on me at least once a week. I don’t keep my most sensitive belongings in this dorm as it’s searched every other week.”
Red Robin grinned at him. It sent shivers down Tucker’s back. “Does that mean your real stuff is kept somewhere else?”
Tucker smirked. “Of course. Cover yourselves back up; we need to go.”
Red Robin did something with his jammer and EMP and then began talking excitedly about the horror club again. “So glad you’ve agreed to come to our next meeting, Tucker! We’ve been trying to build the club.”
Superboy winked at him. “What do you say we get to know each other a bit before then? Want to come play video games with us?”
Tucker bit his lip and looked towards his desk and laptop as if he were undecided. “I should get back to my homework…”
“Oh, come on, it’ll still be there tomorrow,” said Red Robin. “Let’s go.” He looked back down at his tablet and headed towards the door, grabbing Tucker’s hand as he did.
Tucker looked over his shoulder one last time, but let himself be pulled along. They kept conversation light as they exited the building. Red Robin was an expert at angling his baseball cap to hide his masked face from every camera they passed.
Would he be willing to teach Tucker how to do that?
Once outside, Tucker took the lead. One of the first things he’d done after he’d been enrolled was memorize blueprints for every building on campus. On top of that, he’d made himself a good dozen different IDs. Three of those were copies of other students’. Those students he kept close track of to make sure their records didn’t show them in two places at once. Other ones belonged to various faculty and staff members. But his pride and joy was the one that belonged to Gabriel Carter. Gabriel was a janitor at the Academy and so could access any building. Gabriel also didn’t exist.
It was Gabriel’s ID that got them access to the basement level of one of the buildings. Hidden deep in the building was a set of rooms currently not in use. And in one of those rooms was a closet.
Tucker had built the locks on the door himself and, even having all the keys and codes, it took five minutes to get in.
He smirked when Red Robin himself let out a gasp of surprise at his set up.
-----
Hope you enjoyed!
Now, how did Kon get involved? Easy. Tim used the zeta tube from the cave to Titans Tower. Kon happened to be there. When Tim said he was working a case with Red Hood, the guy who tried to kill him once, Kon insisted on coming along. I debated having other members of the Young Justice, but I'm actually trying to keep character counts down for this one, so...
Check out the subscription post if you want a notification when I update!
149 notes · View notes
RIP, AIM: Remembering how we used to talk on the internet
A eulogy for AOL Instant Messenger, and how it changed the way we talk about games and everything else By Luke Winkie published December 15, 2017
Tumblr media
Do you remember all the souls you've lost to the internet? Those incidental friendships, forged in IRC clients, Newgrounds forums, 40-man Ragnaros wipes, scattered across the globe when the web was young? They came into your life and played Fall Out Boy over Ventrilo. They came into your life and disappeared forever. Do you remember when snapping a selfie required a frustrating tangle of mechanical coercion, but it was worth it to show them your face? When real-life names were rarefied information shared exclusively through digital blood pacts? AIM shut down today, and the only thing I can think about is how all of those people still exist somewhere, perhaps exploring the same pit in their stomach that I am.
AIM belongs to all of us. As a pioneering force of internet communication, anyone born in the early '90s or late '80s has spent some time on the platform. As a 26-year old, I'm crucially aware that my appreciation for the prodigal instant messenger is colored by a nostalgia that has nothing to do with the service itself. It was simply the medium of choice to grouse about homework, The Decemberists, girls I liked, and the rest of my random bullshit. 
But I do believe that there's a special union between AIM and people who grew up playing games, or at least came of age on the internet with people who played games. The early millennium revolutions in online multiplayer pitted us together and asked us to collaborate, so of course we carried those early internet accords to their logical extremes—talking all night in lonely chat boxes about what's cool, what sucks, and how easy it is to relate. In 2017, the web feels less like something I approach for those connections, and more like an overwhelming ennui that I'm constantly trying to outrun. Boston's Kyle Seeley nailed that feeling perfectly with 2015's Emily is Away, and this year's sequel Emily is Away Too—both of which transport you back to the spongy leather office chairs of your parents' computer room.
Tumblr media
"AIM was primarily for one-on-one conversations between teenagers. That's how I used AIM, to have a very intimate conversation with another person. Now we have texting and Facebook messenger, but you can use those wherever you are," he says. "You can use those at a concert or while driving. But when you were using AIM, you were sitting down at a computer to talk to people. You had their undivided attention." 
Emily is Away tributes AIM in the only way anyone can—spinning a yarn of disentranced high-school drama that eventually mounts into something deeply sad. The way Seeley presents an old Windows XP desktop, with the hilariously temperamental tastes of your idiot friends revealing themselves in their bios and away messages (until one day they stop logging on entirely) is immediately resonant. We've all had our Emilys. "When you have a conversation on the phone, you spend 10 minutes making small talk," says Seeley. "On AIM you talk to someone for hours. Like eight hours, 10 hours straight. You get all the small talk out of the way in the first hour, and then you're talking about these big teenager questions. Who am I? Who do I want to be? I think AIM was really good at that."
It was always difficult for me to articulate the intimacy I felt with my internet friends to my parents. There were the obvious, mechanical mistranslations; I begged my mother for early exits from countless family dinners that consistently managed to interfere with my guild's crucial Molten Core attempts. But beyond that, there was a certain shame in feeling loved and valued by people I only knew by username. A latent fear that those who did not understand might consider that affection to be false, or even sinister. That's different now, as social media has flattened out our offline/online dichotomy, but if you were on AIM, you probably remember how once upon a time those bonds felt illegal.
Tumblr media
Years ago Nina Freeman, level designer at Fullbright and one of the foremost thinkers on love and technology, launched a flat-out covert campaign to get close with one of those friends. She spent months locked in the holy matrimony of Final Fantasy XI and nightly AIM treatises with a boy named Glenn from New York City. Eventually they met, but not before Freeman satisfied her aunt, (who she was staying with) with a fabricated narrative—Glenn was no longer a dude from the internet, now he was just an old family friend who happened to move east. "I was still in high school," says Freeman. "We made up that whole story."
That secrecy is immediately familiar to me. AIM was surreptitious, clandestine. A service that belonged to teenagers, sequestered from leering ears and concerned authority figures. As Freeman notes, a screen name was one of the few commodities a young person could fully own. A domain, an aesthetic, a communication channel you could control. It was rare to feel fully untethered from your parents, so you guarded that sliver of liberty with your life.
"I wouldn't hand out [my username] lightly," explains Freeman. "I'd only really do it with people I felt close enough with. It seems sort intimate. It was a 'thing' to add someone on AIM. The expectation would be that if we're adding each other, we're going to chat regularly.… It had a weight to it."
Cecilia D'Anastasio, senior reporter at Kotaku (and a friend of mine) went a step further. As an 11-year-old, she was already griefing in the multiplayer Flash games she shared with her friends over AIM. I don't think anything sums up the juvenile euphoria of instant messaging quite like using that power to cheat in stakes-free freeware.
"One of the Flash games I discovered was basically Pictionary, but online and with a chat room. One player would etch out an image in a Microsoft Paint-like interface while the chat would dutifully guess at what it could possibly be. It was very wholesome," says D'Anastasio. "That's why my friend June and I were passionate about cheating. We'd join a game on the same team. Over AIM, we'd tell each other what we were assigned to draw, instructing whoever was guessing to wait a solid ten seconds before revealing the answer. It was a riot. We always won."
Tumblr media
Over the past decade or so AIM has slowly been replaced with services that de-emphasize traditional internet patois. Gchat and Twitter are all full of real names and faces instead of coded handles and custom-colored text, and logging in to most platforms scarcely takes more than a click on a Facebook icon. For the most part, this is a good thing. Anonymity is one of the scourges of online culture—a de facto institution that continues to cause a lot of people pain. Personally though, I can't help but feel like we've lost something along the way. There was a certain sublimity in typing from behind the guise of a username. It gave way to a feeling that your AIM conversations existed in some sort of permissive, alternative reality, the ideal spot to work up the nerve for swollen 3 am confessions. In 2017 there is no such thing as "IRL" anymore; your internet presence is permanently married to your day-to-day existence. Everyone on earth spends their waking hours waging wars and making peace with strangers they will never meet. It is overwhelming and insoluble, and there are moments where I wish I could get outside again.
I'm not the only person that feels this way, and there are some people working to restore the parts of the mid-aughts internet that worked. When I interviewed Jason Citron, CEO of Discord, earlier this year, he affirmed a deep appreciation for AIM, and believed that perhaps the online infrastructure might soon swing back in that direction. "When you zoom out and think about the internet and how communication is trending, there's definitely a trend to more live experiences," he said. "The internet has done so much to connect people asynchronously, so I think there's something more macro happening that Discord is taking part in. It's like we're bringing it back to how it used to be."
He's right. One of the things that's made Discord successful is how separated it feels from the rest of the internet. When you join an ultra-specific channel—for niche Hearthstone formats or fan-favorite Persona characters—it's like you're uncovering a league of obsessives that are ready to welcome you with open arms. The true solidarity of dorkiness. It's funny, but by holding back on cosmopolitan design choices (like Facebook integration or a required photo-reel), Cintron stumbled into a scheme that evokes the furtive splendor that made AIM special. This is something Nina Freeman found when she started up a Discord channel to support her growing Twitch following. "It quickly became a community, and now I have a bunch of newer online friends. I'm already cracking up at myself as I'm wondering what they look like, or what they do in real life," says Freeman. "It definitely has a similar appeal." 
Tumblr media
If Discord doesn't quite meet your personal instant messaging standards, Citron tells me that, if enough people in the community request it, he'd consider implementing the low-res AIM chimes into the service. You know, door creak, door slam, those disruptive MIDI twinkles. "To this day, that sound still triggers my desire to hop online," he says.  
Kyle Seeley is doing something similar. Yesterday he released a piece of DLC for Emily is Away Too that reskins Steam Chat to look exactly like AIM circa 2006. He spared no expense; you can change your text color, drop in vintage, blocky emoticons, and create your own custom profile so you can tell the world that Warped Tour will never die. "It's a farewell to AIM," he says. As one gaming's foremost nostalgia artists, it'd be wrong if he didn't say goodbye.
Now the AIM generation is old enough to both intellectualize their wistfulness, and use the lessons they learned from the service to create for the today's teenagers. To facilitate affection and respect on the internet, to show them what it looks like. We were the first to taste love on the web, at a time when those feelings had no context or guidance, and I hope that AIM helped create a baseline for young people and the midnight communion with those across the screen. The liberation that comes with knowing that the internet friendships you cherish are just as valid and wonderful as you think they are—these stories matter, because they help light that path. Lord knows I needed it, and I'm sure you did too.
Luke Winkie
Contributing Writer
Luke Winkie is a freelance journalist and contributor to many publications, including PC Gamer, The New York Times, Gawker, Slate, and Mel Magazine. In between bouts of writing about Hearthstone, World of Warcraft and Twitch culture here on PC Gamer, Luke also publishes the newsletter On Posting. As a self-described "chronic poster," Luke has "spent hours deep-scrolling through surreptitious Likes tabs to uncover the root of intra-publication beef and broken down quote-tweet animosity like it’s Super Bowl tape." When he graduated from journalism school, he had no idea how bad it was going to get.
280 notes · View notes
loveysloveclub · 2 months
Text
untouchable - trevor zegras
next part
in which, lola hughes could never date her big brothers best friend. he was untouchable in every sense of the word.
Tumblr media
going to the lake house had always been lola’s favourite time of the year. she didn’t think she could love it anymore, that was, until trevor zegras started showing up every year about four years ago.
from the second the girl saw the boy, him being 18 and her 15 at the time, she was completely infatuated.
but over the years, her infatuation began to become tormenting. her brothers had their suspicions. they all knew her like the back of their hands, so, it was completely out of the ordinary when the outgoing girl suddenly became shy and introverted every time the zegras boy was around. they found it amusing, especially since not only would trevor never feel the same (meaning he wasn’t allowed to feel the same) but he was also completely oblivious to the fact.
so, after years of torment, lola knew that this year was going to be no different. in fact, it was probably going to be worse.
her parents had decided to take a summer trip to europe, which meant that the amount of her brothers friends that would be staying at the lake house would be amplified. which meant, she was only going to become more invisible than she already was.
she was the first to arrive that summer, being able to finally drive by herself after the impossible mission which was getting her license. she had gotten frozen yoghurt from the shop just a few mere minutes away from the house and was currently sat at the kitchen table eating it whilst scrolling tiktok aimlessly, awaiting the arrival of her brothers who she hadn’t seen since christmas.
the door opened, announcing the arrival of the first hughes brother, which happened to be luke. and by the sounds of loud laughter, he wasn’t alone.
“lolly!” luke exclaimed when he saw his younger sister sitting by her lonesome. looking up from her phone, she smiled at her brother and the four other boys who were with him. she recognised one as dylan duke, luke’s best friend for like forever, but she wasn’t sure who the others were.
“is that frozen yoghurt?” one of the boys asked. the girl nodded at her head, looking down at the frozen yoghurt that she was finished with before sliding it over to him. the boy thanked her loudly before grabbing the cup and taking the seat next to her. “mark.” the boy introduced himself, mouth full of mango flavoured sorbet. “lola.” the brunette girl smiled back.
“fine, i’ll take your shit upstairs, no worries man.” ethan rolled his eyes at his friend before walking passed the two and up to where all the bedroom were. luke followed, ruffling up his sisters hair as he did so.
“god, ethan has been grumpy the entire trip.” mark complained, offering lola some of her own frozen yoghurt, to which she denied. “he turned off the radio once i started singing along, i took it personally.” dylan told the girl as he sat down on the other side of her.
“and for that, we are eternally grateful.” the last boy smiled sarcastically before also taking his belongings upstairs. “was he also grumpy the entire trip?” lola asked as she watched the boy leave. “no, mackie is in a permanent state of grump.”
lola laughed before the three fell into a comfortable small talk. they asked her questions about college, scrunching up their face when she told them she would be going to boston, they then proceeded to call her a traitor and would seek her out at every hockey game to remind her. they were even more offended when she told them that she had also gotten into michigan, but had still chosen to go to boston.
the front door had opened once more, interrupting the trios new conversation about what they wanted to do that summer.
jack entered, followed by alex and cole. lola jumped from her seat at the sight of the caulfield boy. “coley!” she exclaimed before tackling him in a suffocating hug. jack scoffed from behind the two, hating how his little sister liked his best friend more than him. “rude.”
“sorry jack, you’re so right.” lola smiled at her older brother before turning to alex, also jumping him in a hug. jack only rolled his eyes before travelling over to the fridge and opening it. “there’s no food.”
“go get some then.” lola shot back, crossing her arms when jack looked over at her with an expectant look. “but i don’t know what to get.”
“get food.” lola retorted like it was obvious. “can you go and get it?” he asked. “no, why is that my job?” lola shot back.
and alas, summer had finally began when lola and jack began to argue. the sun beamed hot and the boat swayed calmly in the water at the sound of the two bickering.
jack had stopped arguing, opting to just holding his card out to the girl. cole and alex, who saw this every year, smiled at the refreshing sight. lola eyed the card before snatching it out of his hand. “fine, but i’m buying myself something pretty.”
“we’ll come with you.” dylan spoke from the kitchen counter, mark nodding his head as they both got up from their spot. “thank you, new found friends.”
what was supposed to be a short trip to the grocery store, ended up a thirty minute food run and a two hour target adventure. lola had quickly realised that both mark and dylan were the perfect enablers to all her bad decisions. they had run around target like children without adult supervision until a worker had told them to leave.
coming back to the lake house, there were a few more cars outside and a lot more noise inside. all the boys were huddled in the living room when the three arrived back home, yelling at a tv screen which had a very intense game of mario kart playing on it.
“quinny!” lola exclaimed before jumping on the boy. quinn laughed before moving his sister beside him and wrapping an arm around her. lola loved all her brothers equally, but quinn was very obviously her favourite. “hi lolly.”
“really? i didn’t even get a hug!” jack exclaimed from the other side of the room. “i didn’t even get a hello!” luke countered. lola shrugged nonchalantly before refocusing her attention back to the screen.
“i got next.” trevor told everyone as he walked into the room. lola tensed at the sight of the boy, quinn laughing at her reaction silently. trevor glanced at the girl, his signature smile overtaking his face as he saw her. “what’s up, littlest hughes?”
she hated how he called her that. it reminded her of how he was never going to see her as anything but his best friends little sister. he couldn’t even call her by her name? really?!
“hi, z.” the girls voice was quiet, but just loud enough for everyone paying attention to hear it. those people being her brothers and mark, the estapa boy frowning at her reaction.
“babe!” a high pitched voice rang across the room as a bleached blonde, model type woman walked into the room. at the sight of one of the boys girlfriends, excitement filled lola up at the fact that she might not be the only girl here this summer. she could actually do things she wanted to do now, like get her nails done or tan.
but when trevors head perked up, and he got up from his spot on the floor to make his way over to the unknown girl, all excitement left her body. she watched intently as the two shared words before trevor nodded his head and guided his girlfriend up the stairs by the small of her back.
“whose that?” lola whispered to her older brother, who quickly took his eyes off the game to glance over to the retreating couple. “her names hayley, she’s trevor’s new girlfriend. she’s real nice, i’m sure you’d like her.” but as lola nodded her head stiffly, crossing her arms and sinking into the couch, quinn realised how wrong he was.
later that night, all the boys had retreated outside to play a game of.. well, lola wasn’t sure what it was but they basically just kicked a ball around. she had been playing with them all before jack kicked the ball too hard at her head, causing her to fall on the concrete and bust up her knees. after that, she had opted to sitting on the sidelines and watching.
she had been so caught up at quinn and luke avenging her by pegging the ball so hard at jack that he yelped every time they got their hands on it, that she didn’t even notice the boy approaching her.
“hey, littlest hughes.” she smiled up at the zegras boy, “i brought you a little something.” the boy took a seat beside her before handing her a bag of frozen peas. “stupid jack, always doing something to annoy me.” she said before taking the bag of peas. “thank you.”
she couldn’t help but gaze like a lovesick puppy at the boy, who paid no mind to the way she looked at him as he laughed at her remark.
“you know i’ll always be here to give you frozen peas when jack injures you. happens at least once every summer.”
this was true. jack had a habit of hurting his younger sister every summer, purposefully or accidentally. it didn’t matter, it just always happened somehow. one summer, he had to save her from drowning as she sprained her ankle when jack pushed her into the water. she still remembers how angry quinn was, it makes her laugh to this day. but everytime, trevor always showed up with a bag of frozen peas, whether she was crying in her bedroom or laying hopelessly on the floor of the kitchen.
“at least we got it out of the way this summer.” lola shrugged. “eh, it’ll probably happen again. you’re accident prone.” trevor laughed. lola scoffed loudly before hitting him in the arm repeatedly with the bag of peas. this only enhanced his laughter as the two began to hit each other with the same bag of peas.
“babe,” hayley approached the two, raising an eyebrow at the twos pea fight. lola felt as if she had been caught in the act, but trevor was nonchalant as he looked up at his girlfriend. “the boys want you back.”
trevor nodded as he climbed to his feet, “let me know when those ones melt, i’ll give you a fresh batch.” he winked playfully at the hughes girl before running back to his friends. both hayley and lola watched him leave with similar smiles before the blonde girl took a seat beside lola.
“hi lola.” she greeted. “hi hayley.” lola greeted back, an awkward smile displayed on her face. the two fell into an uncomfortable silence. hayley was the first to break it. “so, how long have you had a crush on trevor?”
out of all the questions she could have asked, this was the one that lola was least expecting. she almsot spit out her glass of water she was sipping on. "e-excuse me?"
hayley laughed at her response, "please, i see the way you look at him. plus, trev told me how you follow him around all summer. i think it's cute, really." lola couldn't tell if she was being genuine or not, which only make her more intimidated by the girl in front of her. "but hey, we've all been there, right?"
now, lola was even more confused. "been where?"
"had a crush on someone would never want us back."
god every word that left the girls mouth made lola's skin crawl. she wanted to punch the girl in the face, but lola also knew she was right.
"i mean, it's not like trevor would ever want you back. he's your brother's best friend and he's with me now."
lola nodded her head along to the girl's words, her mind running a million miles a minute. "i'm glad you understand that. see ya 'round." and with that, hayley was walking over to the group of boys to watch from a closer angle.
she wasn't sure if she should be mad or upset by the girl's words. i mean, everything she had told her she already knew. but she didn't need to be confronted about it. and trevor had told her that she followed him around all summer? that was probably what hurt her the most. she thought her and trevor were hanging out, but he apparently found it more annoying than he let on.
looking over at the group of boys, lola's faced etched in a large frown, she made eye contact with luke. her brother tilted his head in questioning, to which she just shook her head in response. the boy's eyes found hayley, narrowing them at the girl before flipping her off when she wasn't looking. this produced a small laugh from the youngest hughes sister, which allowed luke to return to his game with a content smile.
"hey, i brought you this." lola's eyes snapped over to mark, who was standing over her with a bag of frozen carrots. his eyes fell to the bag of frozen peas in her hand, and his smile dropped. "oh, nevermind."
lola's eyes fleeted over to trevor, who was watching the interaction with a furrowed brow. "these one's are melted anyways, thank you." lola smiled back up at mark, taking the carrots from his hand and placing the peas onto the table.
mark's face lit up as he took a seat next to the younger hughes girl. the two sat in a comfortable silence, watching the game unravelling before them.
"did you want to go get frozen yoghurt?" mark suddenly asked, catching lola off guard as her head snapped over to him. the boy looked nervous, which was so unlike the boy she saw in target today throwing weighted blankets on top of dylan to make him fall over. she smiled shyly at him, nodding her head before standing up and grabbing his hand. both of their faces heated into a red hue, as lola guided him through the house and out the front door to his car.
trevor watched the two leave, a little hurt at the disregard of his frozen peas. it was a hughes summer lake house tradition, and she had broken it for some lousy carrots.
"z! throw the damn ball, bro!" alex exclaimed. trevor rolled his eyes before throwing the ball and turning his attention to jack. "your sister just left hand in hand with that estapa kid."
"who? mark?" luke hadn't meant to eavesdrop in on the conversation, but when he heard both his sister and his best friend being mentioned, he couldn't help himself. trevor nodded his head in response. he knew how protective the three brothers, especially jack, were over their little sister, which is why he brought it up in the first place.
"mark's a cool guy." luke shrugged his shoulders, "and lola can do whatever she wants." this wasn't the reaction trevor was hoping for, but he wasn't sure why he was hoping for the opposite.
"why do you care, anyways?" jack asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. sure, he didn't want his sister getting into a relationship, but he would deal with that later. however, he wasn't going to let trevor, the boy he knew lola had liked for years, ruin her fun.
"i don't, man. just thought i would let you know." trevor shrugged, before walking off to find his own girlfriend.
when the boy was finally out of ear sight, jack pulled his phone out of his pocket. "what are you doing?" luke asked his older brother.
"telling lola that she better not be doing anything she shouldn't be."
366 notes · View notes
thesturniolos · 3 months
Text
warning signs
part 2
catch part 1 here!
Tumblr media
tags: @sturniolosluvv @sturnsblunt @chrisdevora @sosmatt @kirby0strombolli @stvrni0lo@vqnillasturns @slut4chris @recklesssturniolo @chrisolivia4l @silverlakee @freshlovehacker @chrisenthusiast @chrisluvbot @bluesturniolo333@rac00ns-are-c00l4 @mattscokewhore @iheartchrissturniolo @zooweemamas @sturniolotripletsarehot @mcttsturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @sturnsworld @qwertytit @putyoursemenonme @realuvrrr @klarasmith @plasticferal l @sturnvilmed @delusionalsturniologirl @thy-mission @strniohoeee @sturnsclutter @chrissturn @chrissturniolossidehoe
“chris?”
his hand lay clenched around the door knob and he stands still, deadly still.
“what are you doing here?” i look at nate to see if he had any clue what was going on because he gave me no warning he was about to turn up at my doorstep with no notice.
“well i just thought” he stops himself and looks about.
is that it? he just thought. he thought what? he thought he wanted to come back home and confess his love again? he wanted to apologise for all the nights i slept on a tear soaked pillow? or was he apologising for just leaving randomly?
“i thought maybe you’d wanna see me” i laugh at this. i laugh at this stupid comment and how naive this boy is for just thinking i’d wanna see him.
hell i’d get on my hands and knees to see him, i’d give up everything to see him. but this? this is not what i imagined.
he stands there and he’s so different. the differences make me think of the time and the change and how long it’s been. his hair’s grown and he’s even taller now. he’s wearing all of his merch and as my eyes drag down to his wrist, i notice the bareness and the exposure of his skin.
just on his left wrist there used to be a bracelet that belonged just to us, a token of the promise we made to one another all those years ago. my hand falls down to my own hand and glides up slightly to touch the loose piece of thread that has frayed against my skin.
i never dared to take it off, ever. i couldn’t ever break that promise but i guess that didn’t matter.
“you thought i’d want to see you. chris, you thought i wanted to see you?” he scratches the back of his neck and takes a few steps into my room.
“well, yeah. it’s been a while.”
“it’s been months. it’s not been a while. it’s been what’s felt like years with barely any words from you. did you know texting me goodnight isn’t exactly a conversation? and did you know the last time you did say that it was nearly a month ago?”
“i’m so-“
“no, chris. you don’t get to just say sorry and leave here feeling like you’re on top of the world. you’ve left me with nobody, literally nobody but nate for months and you have the nerve to turn up to my house with no warning, out of nowhere, to tell me that you’re sorry? well do you know what chris? i’m sorry. i’m sorry i clearly wasn’t good enough for you. enough for you to even talk to me for the past couple months, enough to stay here in boston and actually experience the future you claimed to have dreamt of with me. clearly you’ve got bigger priorities and i just wanna remind you, before this, before all of this, i was your number one. me. and i was there for you through thick and thin and i supported everything you did. and the stupidest thing is i haven’t even stopped either. i’m still cheering you on and defending you, us, when you stopped caring all those months ago.”
he stands there shocked by my words and shaking his head, all for what? he knew what he’d done. there had to be a little bit in the back of his mind that realised he’d forgotten me.
“and before you drag me for not supporting your career and all that shit, just remember i was the one who encouraged you to start that and i always always made sure you knew how proud i was of you and your brothers. i’ll never be able to forget the day i witnessed you guys hit a million, i was so happy for you guys and i’m still happy for you all now. but i’m disappointed that in amongst all of that you forgot the people that matter the most. those fans weren’t there when you were getting bullied at school for doing what you loved, i was. i made sure they backed away from you, i put a bubble around you to protect you from criticism that i knew would knock you down and i never ever wanted to see that.”
i’m off the bed now and i’m near tears. it’s raw emotion displayed through words that have been pent up since the second he left, before that even.
it’s sadness, it’s mourning the loss of the person he used to be, it’s disappointment and it’s the pain of the old memories. its betrayal on the highest level and it’s cut me like spear through the heart. it’s slowly been splitting but him being here and staring at me with water building in his eyes is like a final dagger into the pumping muscle and i can slowly feel the blood draining out of me.
“i’m gonna just head out. call me later, okay?” i nod at nate and he awkwardly moves past chris and closes the door, leaving the two of us and the silence surrounding the room.
“i don’t know what to say.” he comes closer to me and hesitated before hovering near my bed.
“i didn’t realise you thought i forgot you like that. i-uh.”
“you didn’t realise? chris, are you insane? you didn’t realise-“
“i sleep with a picture of you by the side of my bed every night.” he looks up from his lap and into my eyes. “it’s the only thing that makes me feel comforted. my pillow even has a dent from where i hold it at night wishing it was you.”
the needle and thread pierce through my heart and carefully sow upwards as i watch chris slowly open up to me.
i haven’t heard his voice for months, the gravel at the back of his throat ironically still sounding like birdsong to me.
“i used to rub my thumb across our bracelet to feel like you were there with me but the thread wore away and um, it broke.” his voice breaks a bit and he puts his head down.
i feel the need to sit down, like a magnetic force pulling me against the bed desperately trying to comfort him. so i do. i sit down and next to him and this is the closest we’ve been for six months.
“the more i found myself texting you, the bigger the hole in my heart grew and so i thought, stupidly, that by letting our conversations get smaller and smaller you wouldn’t need me as much and me being away wouldn’t hurt so bad because i knew how much pain i was in being away from you so i assumed you were feeling the same.”
he continued “i couldn’t bring myself to break up with you, i made a promise. i didn’t want to break up with you, i just thought it would be better for you to be happy rather than endlessly waiting for me.”
“i would wait forever for you, chris. all i wanted was for you to care or to text me, anything. of course, i want you here with me but i want to be with you and happy even if it means doing it through a screen.”
“i’m so sorry. i never meant to hurt you, i was trying to protect you and i was doing what i thought would make you happy. it was killing me you not being there with me. i didn’t want to just turn up here randomly but saying this in text, it just doesn’t show how much i care about what i’m telling you.” he looks at me with tear stained cheeks and my hand goes up to wipe them away. as our skin touches, i feel the heat slowly come back to my face and i smile at his reaction.
he grabs ahold of my hand and pulls it down till his hand is interlinked with mine. he sighs and quickly engulfs me in a heart-warming hug. it’s a hug that reminds me of old times, the best times, and it’s filled with love and sorrow at the same time.
it’s an apology for the break of our hearts and for the time we’ve lost.
“i’m not going anywhere and if i do, you’re coming with me.”
i smile as i lean my head against his and pull my hand to his hair to swirl it round my fingers, an old comforting habit i used to have.
he slowly pulls away from me and shuts his eyes and sighs contently, we felt normal again. well, as normal as we could be.
i press my lips to his and i feel him kiss back, we don’t part for a minute or two and we’re slightly breathless by the time we pull away.
we sit in silence for a while and i grab his hands to pull him off my bed.
“well i guess we need to make you a new bracelet then since you really liked your last one.” i giggle and he smiles.
“maybe make a few just as a precaution”
282 notes · View notes
prolix-yuy · 1 year
Text
On the Right Flight
Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader
Summary: A long flight with a gorgeous neighbor takes a hard turn when you get on his favorite subject - Nicholas Cage.
Word Count: 4.1k
Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, allusions to sex, PiV sex, brief hint of voyeurism, lots of fantasizing, we are Looking Disrespectfully, plenty of sweetness dumped on top.
Notes: I had the worst writers block for this, but then went on a plane and remembered all the fun/not fun things about flying. Plus traveling for the holidays would be greatly improved with a dose of Javi.
I apologize for one moment and one moment only in this story. You'll know what I mean when you get there.
Cross-posted on AO3
Tumblr media
For once, you pray to the gods of airline transportation, let there be no one in the window seat.
It’s futile, you know. It’s LA to Boston and you’ve never seen an empty seat, but you’re hoping that this one time you’ll get a little respite. You’re already fed up with having to pay extra for an emergency row seat, no other options left on the only flight that gets you to your parents in time. Then the dread of endless questions about your work (fine), love life (dismal) and future plans (???) just adds to your crankiness. It’s the holidays, you’re going home, and you could use a holiday miracle. 
At least the expansive legroom is a plus.
You like LA, but no snow in December is weird. Growing up in places where snowfall is a guarantee makes you miss it all the more when towering evergreens are carted into the Grove and fake snow looks strangely post-apocalyptic against a 75 degree sunny day. It doesn’t feel right without the tip of your nose being perpetually cold and a scarf devouring you from shoulder to chin. 
Plus you still have a handful of presents to get, and the anticipation of a long flight is making you antsy about your procrastination. There are still a couple days, but one present has eluded you this year and you’re getting desperate.
“Excuse me.”
A polite voice, Spanish accented, lifts over the murmurs and rumbles of the plane. Your heart sinks briefly.
“Sorry, is this your seat?” you ask, sliding your shoulder bag out of the way before getting a good look at the man waiting in the aisle.
And you do get a good look.
A long one.
Probably uncomfortably long.
But holy hell he’s gorgeous.
He definitely doesn’t belong in coach, and if the cogs in your brain could turn at all you might have asked him if he was in the right aisle, but instead you numbly stare as he steps around your knees. He nods with a tight smile, tucking his elbows and broad shoulders as he squashes into the small window seat. Against the dull beige and navy of the walls and seats he’s a cream and maroon dream, a lightweight striped jacket barely zipped over a white shirt. Tan chinos hug his thick thighs as he twists to find the seat belt, a tiny slip of his tan stomach peeking out. You look up desperately at the flight attendant, whose expression is almost as shocked as yours, before settling back into your seat. 
Six and a half hours next to this golden god might actually be a Christmas miracle, but not one you’d ever dream to wish for.
You follow basic plane etiquette, pretending he isn’t there as you arrange your belongings just how you like them. Without a seat directly in front of you most of your supplies remain stuffed in your bag - a bottle of water, your iPad loaded with movies and tv shows, snacks easily in reach, headphones at the ready. You do sneak a peek at your seatmate’s luscious caramel curls, the intriguing curve of his nose, the perfect dip above his chin where pursed lips tempt.
Stop it, you scold yourself, you’re not in a goddamn Hallmark movie.
“Sorry,” comes that rich voice again, heavily apologetic as he waves to get your attention. Pretending you just noticed him - very smooth, you praise yourself - you turn and nod with your best people-pleaser smile. “I am not sure how to make all this work,” he sighs, mouth downturned and brow knitted. A wild gesture to the lack of a tray table, or entertainment display, makes you bite back a smile.
Hot and hopeless? Oh no.
“The tray is in the armrest, you have to flip it out. Same for the TV screen. The headphone jack is here,” you indicate quietly, though your elderly aisle neighbor is not paying much attention, “and you can plug in your phone here,” you add, tapping at the ports in the armrest. His face lights up, then falls when he fails to have the correct cable. You’re not normally this forward with someone you just met, but there’s something about the fish out of water routine that’s making you bold.
“Here, you can share mine, I won’t need it much for the flight,” you offer, fishing the other end of your cord out of your bag. The man’s face breaks into relief - you’ve never seen so many expressions in such a short time - before he thanks you over and over. It makes heat tingle at the tips of your ears and the back of your neck.
“You must think I am quite foolish,” he murmurs when he finally settles into his seat, wincing at the stiffness. 
“Don’t fly coach much?” you ask, fighting your smirk when he throws up his hands, the gesture too big for the tiny space he’s occupying.
“Can you believe every plane was booked for two weeks? My assistant barely got me on this one!” he groans, and the tiniest part of you loves the plight of an obvious mucky-muck living like the plebeians. His face turning to you, capturing you in an intensely focused gaze, dries out your mouth.
“You are laughing,” he states, more incredulity heaped on. You can’t help the smile and snort that eke out of your unwilling mouth.
“I’m sorry, it’s just…you gotta know how silly that sounds,” you say, flight attendants beginning safety demonstrations in the aisle. You lower your voice further. “My assistant had to book me in coach because it’s three days before Christmas, oh the humanity!” 
For a moment you’re nervous you’ve offended him, the blank expression he pins you with making you fiddle with your fingers. Then he covers his face, a thick gold pinky ring only adding to the ridiculousness of the situation.
“You are right, I sound like the worst sort of person. My apologies, I will try to be a better seat-mate.” You shake your head, waving your hand at his apology before settling back into the seat. “I’m Javi, by the way,” he says, and you give him your name in return. He repeats it back to you, along with another few apologies, before leaning over to finish settling himself for the flight. The plane begins taxing, and the telltale rumble of the jets lulls you into closing your eyes. 
Your right arm is warm, pressed against something amazingly comfortable. Considering snuggling into it, you’re shocked awake remembering you’re on a plane and you’ve accidentally slumped against the golden man - Javi’s - arm. 
“Sorry,” you whisper, straightening, but he only smiles (holy shit can he get more attractive?) and shrugs.
“We are all on this plane together, what is a little touch?” he whispers back before returning to scrolling through an iPad. His is bigger, the nice pro version that’s almost the size of an actual computer. You begin to settle back into your plane nap when a hefty list of titles flash by.
“That’s a lot of Nic Cage,” you comment sotto voce, the rumble and white noise of the plane keeping your conversation relatively private. Javi looks at you blankly, one eyebrow quirked.
“He is my favorite actor,” he says, and the seriousness of this statement bleats a little laugh from your lips. This furrows his brow further, though his eyes do dart to your mouth briefly.
“Sorry, it’s not funny, it’s just…serendipity,” you say, adding more confusion to Javi’s face. You wave your hands, centering yourself.
“You celebrate Christmas?” you ask, and he nods, confused. “Okay, so every Christmas I’ve got this tradition with my sister. It all started one year when she said she didn’t like Nic Cage movies.”
“How could she dislike one of the greatest actors in film history?” Javi interrupts, now half perched in his seat and animated, hands flying. It makes you lose your train of thought, those soft brown eyes now shockingly sharp. You swallow once before continuing.
“I don’t think she hates him or anything, she just thinks he’s silly, and plays a lot of goofy roles.” At this Javi flops back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. The dramatics are making you giddy, a frenetic energy barely contained in your body as you try not to disturb the quiet travelers surrounding you.
“Has she never seen Raising Arizona? Con Air?” he interrogates, counting several more movies you didn’t even know he was in. Shrugging, you watch his face fall.
“She got through Ghost Rider and Face/Off before she called it quits,” you say, shoulders shaking at the exasperation rolling off his broad ones. 
“Please don’t tell me you feel the same,” Javi pleads. You shake your head.
“He’s made some…questionable choices, but I unironically love Lord of War, and National Treasure is just fun to watch,” you say, the flight attendants starting beverage service. 
“Thank goodness,” he grumbles, folding up his iPad to have enough space. The flight attendant moves to take drink orders, a professional smile following, “Something for you?”
“Champagne,” Javi says, almost off-hand, which shoots the flight attendant’s eyebrows up to his hairline. Warmed by conversation, you test a tease.
“You’re not in first class anymore, Toto, try a vodka.” Javi’s cheeks pink, but he does order a vodka soda instead. You begin to order a ginger ale when Javi interrupts.
“No no, it’s a long flight, you should have a drink too,” he says, the confused flight attendant’s eyes darting between your conversation.
“Oh no, that’s all right…”
“You drink, yes?”
“I do.”
“Then you should have a drink.”
“I, uh…”
Javi addresses the flight attendant directly, and where embarrassment radiated off him before is now confidence.
“She’ll have a drink on me,” he says definitively, and when he catches your eye there’s a sweet smile that makes your heart pound. “You should have a drink with me.”
Moments later you’re sipping on your own vodka soda and the flight attendant is giving you an approving nod as he moves on to the next row. 
“So your sister does not like Nic…” Javi prompts, your story brought back to the forefront sharply. 
“Yes, right! So after she told me this, I was looking for her Christmas present and found this ridiculous pillow on Amazon that I had to get her. It’s sequins, and when you brush them a certain way…”
“...you can see a photo of Nic,” Javi finishes, to your surprise. “I have the same one.”
“Get out, you do not!” you reprimand, the vodka starting to warm your blood and loosen your tongue. 
“I do! It’s part of my collection.”
“You have a collection?!”
The next half hour is spent slowly sipping your drink and enjoying the hell out of Javi’s extensive Nic Cage collection, complete with photos. The wax statue is a little much, but the golden guns are pretty badass. You’re half distracted with Javi’s proximity, leaned in to flip through his photos, shoulder to shoulder. Tart orange peel and the clean musk of some expensive cologne engulfs your senses. Add the relaxing effects of the booze and you’re actively trying not to cuddle up to this stranger with an insane amount of movie memorabilia. 
“But you have not told me what your sister and Nic have to do with Christmas?” Javi finally says, leaning back in his seat and finishing his drink. 
“Okay, okay, so after that first Christmas it’s a tradition every year. I get her some silly Nic Cage thing, she pretends to get mad about it, and we all have a good laugh. So far it’s been the pillow, a shirt, a mug, and a really awful coloring book.” Javi shakes his head and laughs, catching the flight attendant’s eye to bring another round of drinks. You’re pretty sure that’s not how it works in coach, but Javi’s charisma gets him two nips and two glasses of ice palmed to him surreptitiously. If only you had that charm.
“So what is the gift this year? Pants? Shoelaces?” he teases, pouring your drinks. 
“That’s the problem! I haven’t found it yet! I’ve looked everywhere for the perfect gift and I am coming up empty!” You slump back in your seat, accepting the second drink with a wry smile. “I’m gonna break my streak.”
“I may be able to help you with that,” Javi says with a sly little smile, looking at you over the top of his cup. 
“Something out of your collection? I’m sure you’ve got some fun things in there you’re not showing me,” you say, altitude and alcohol making that come out flirtier than you expected. 
“Even better. I know Nic,” he says, beginning a standoff between your incredulous face and his smug one.
“You’re joking.”
“I wrote a screenplay, he was the lead. We’re good friends.”
You have to bury your mouth in your elbow to keep from screeching like a pterodactyl.
“You’re fucking with me, really?”
“He came and stayed at my home. He’s an incredible man - talented, kind, humble, funny. I could call him up the second we land and have him record something for your sister. It would be the ultimate gift.” 
You have to admit, that would be incredible. A personalized message from Nic Cage himself? Your sister would shit a brick. You would win Christmas for sure. 
“And what would you want in return for being my Christmas miracle?” you ask, but Javi only shakes his head good-naturedly.
“Only the pleasure of your company,” he says breezily. You scoff at that.
“I don’t think my company is quite worth that.”
“I do.”
The air thickens around you, not daring to look up and see what expression Javi is wearing. Instead you let your finger run the circuit of your cup rim, hot flashes bursting along your collar. Your heartbeat thuds with twin thoughts - yes yes yes and not worthy. 
Some air would probably do you good. You excuse yourself to the restroom and lock the door firmly behind you. 
The tiny plastic sink is grounding under your hands, the hum of alcohol in your blood receding. A glance at yourself in the mirror makes you grimace - disheveled, tired eyes, rumpled loungewear that suits plane travel but not handsome strangers chatting you up. You splash a little water on your face, fortifying yourself for the return to your seat. Anyways, Javi’s out of your league, fun only because you’re trapped in a plane together. He clearly has money or comes from money, and once outside this pressurized tube you’d never be able to hold a candle to the life he has. 
So stop fucking fantasizing about what you would do if he opened that door right now and joined you in this tiny bathroom. If he’d be soft and sweet, plying you with passionate kisses as he lifted you to balance on the edge of the sink. Or maybe those flashes of focus you kept glimpsing were signs of a man who would fuck you hard and fast, time a factor but attentive to your pleasure. Would he urge you to bite down on his shoulder to muffle your cries before he spills his seed on your inner thighs?
Are you fucking rhyming now?
Sighing, you open the door and run almost directly into the man himself, a sheepish smile on his face. Your face is on fire, nodding and smiling as you pass in the tiny space outside the bathroom. Returning to your seat you try to center yourself, but a tap on your arm directs you to your forgotten aisle neighbor. She smiles conspiratorially.
“He’s single,” she says simply, eyes sparkling, and you share a secret giggle at her wingmanning your chance encounter. “And he’s clearly interested, trust me. If you don’t get his number you’ll be kicking yourself later,” she adds before going back to her show. Javi returns soon after, a few wet trails in his hair and a fresh face.
“It is not so bad in coach,” he muses, pulling out his iPad and opening up his library. 
“Even without the champagne?” you toss back, getting your own entertainment set up. The distance beginning to grow between you dampens your mood, fingers uncertain as they fiddle with the tech. 
“Even without the champagne,” Javi sighs back with a wink. He scrolls through and settles on something before looking up at you, lips parted around a question. You wait with baited breath.
“Do you…want to watch a movie with me?” he asks tentatively. “I was going to watch a favorite of mine, if you want me to AirDrop it to you?”
Heart fluttering but trying to keep your cool, you nod. “What movie?”
“Paddington 2.”
After all the Nic Cage talk, this takes you by surprise.
“I’ve never seen it.”
Javi’s face breaks out in joy.
“Then we have to watch it.”
How could you say no to that smile?
Syncing pressing play, you both settle in to watch the children’s movie. It’s honestly really good, Javi occasionally leaning over to whisper commentary in your ear. The tickle of his breath against the baby hairs along your nape is a delicious shudder you savor. 
After Paddington 2, it’s airline lunch, which Javi pokes at with an mistrusting face. You share some snacks between you as he queues up National Treasure, “the perfect movie for flying,” which leads you to debate whether that title should belong to Con Air.
It’s halfway through the movie (which still stands up after all these years) when your eyelids begin to pull, settling deeper into your uncomfortable seat. Javi peeks through his lashes, sliding a little closer.
“If you would like to close your eyes, you can lean on me,” he says with gentle hesitancy. 
“Don’t want to be a bother,” you protest, a yawn interrupting further thoughts. Javi gives you that soft smile you don’t feel worthy of receiving.
“What is a little touch between friends?” he says, an echo of his previous sentiment.
Everything, you think to yourself before resting your head against his warm shoulder. 
You dream of Javi between your legs in the plane bathroom, holding you tight to his chest as he fills you with his cock. He is whispering movie trivia to you, punctuating his thrusts with facts your mind can’t grip. Legs spread wide, head bumping against the mirror behind you, he pushes you higher and higher, hips snapping into your core. The door opens - Nic Cage pokes his head in, asking Javi about changes to a script. Javi pulls back to talk to him as he keeps fucking you senseless, swapping ideas as your orgasm hovers on the precipice. He turns back to your pleading face before absentmindedly licking his thumb and pressing it on your clit.
“Want to watch her cum, Nic?” he asks, your eyes rolling back in your head. 
A jolt of turbulence shocks you awake, your body in unbalanced arousal from that confusing dream. A wide palm strokes along your forearm, Javi’s rumbling hum right next to your ear.
“It is okay, conejita,” he murmurs, your mind blearily taking in how far you’ve leaned on him, his hand on your arm, his mouth moving against the crown of your head. “Only a few bumps, you can sleep.”
“What’s conny…” you mumble, but close your eyes at his urging. He breathes a puff of air into your scalp.
“You twitch your nose when you’re sleeping, like a bunny,” he says, hand slowing to only his thumb caressing your skin. Humming in response, you slip back under, thankfully into a dreamless sleep. 
You’re not sure how long it’s been when you finally rise, neck stiff and fingers tingling. Javi’s watching something in black and white, a man and a woman having an animated conversation. Straightening up, you wipe the corner of your mouth and pray you didn’t drool. 
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Javi teases, “they said we should be landing in an hour.” The rapidly approaching deadline makes you wish you hadn’t passed out, even if it was the most comfortable you’ve ever been on a plane. You want to ask Javi more about himself, the life he leads, the movies he loves. But the flight attendants are making the rounds, stilling your tongue. This is only a chance meeting, nothing more. 
The landing is smooth and uneventful, both of you watching the Boston skyline come into view. You ask Javi if he’s ever been before and when he responds in the negative you point out popular landmarks, the Leonard Zakim Bridge the easiest to spot.
De-boarding is always a mess, but with the extra legroom it’s easy to get your carry-on out quickly. Javi helps you get it down, pulling his own out as well. You stand and stretch your legs, admiring how Javi's shirt pulls across his back while he packs his belongings. 
With nods and smiles and “thank yous” said on the way out, you’re free from the tight confines and in the open air of Logan. It’s nothing fancy, but it feels like homecoming whenever you enter the familiar airport. 
“Walk you to baggage claim?” you ask, Javi’s expression blooming from uncertainty to agreement. You savor the last dregs of conversation, Javi telling you he’s visiting family friends on the Cape for a few weeks. The time to part is nearing, but you don’t know what you want to ask. For his email? His number? Could you really ask for anything?
Bags in hand and a man in a suit with a printed “Gutierrez” sign looking pointedly at Javi, you finally square up to your unlikely friend.
“Thanks for a fun flight, I can’t say I’ve had a better one,” you start, Javi waving his hands in protest.
“A pleasure for me as well.” The awkwardness mounts as Javi’s driver fidgets impatiently. Girding yourself, you speak.
“I should probably…”
“I need your number.”
Javi’s blurted out request stops your goodbye, eyes widening. His do too as he stumbles to explain, fishing his phone out of his pocket.
“For the video! From Nic. For your sister. I promised, didn’t I? And you were very good company, I must keep up my side of the deal,” he rushes out, flushing high in his cheeks. You couldn’t stop beaming if you tried.
“Yeah, you’re right, you’re gonna help me win Christmas for sure,” you say, typing your number into his phone. Relief dances in his eyes as you hand the phone back, sending a quick “It’s Javi” text to you. “You only have three days to get it, though, you’re on the clock.” 
“Nic will come through, I know it,” he says, hands wrapping around your upper arms. He hesitates, then pulls you into a hug that blocks out the sweat and grime and frustration of the world around you. Orange peel and warmth fill your nostrils, and you hug him back, face tucking under the light scruff of his jaw. He holds you for longer than you expect but just long enough to know you’ll miss being hugged like this.
“Take care, conejita,” he says, watching you over his shoulder as he leaves. You wait for him to be out of sight before heading on your way.
Tumblr media
Christmas morning, after all the presents are opened, coffee is drunk and cheer is spread, you pair your phone to your parent’s TV and play a video message.
“Hi Clara, this is Nic Cage. My friend Javi told me you were one of my biggest fans. Now I don’t know if you can compete with him, but if he says so I have to think it’s at least a little bit true. So to my biggest fan, Merry Christmas, happy holidays, happy new year, and if you’re ever nearby I owe you a photo, a handshake, and some thanks for all your support. Take care.”
Your sister is in stitches, laughing on the floor and interrogating you about how you pulled it off. For now, your lips are sealed. 
The other video message, sent right after, you keep as your own Christmas present. 
“I told you he would come through, conejita! Merry Christmas, I hope you are spending it with the ones you love. Maybe we will be on the same flight back to LA and I will get to see you again? Or...ah, I have no plans for New Years…and you know, it’s bad luck to start the new year without a kiss. If you…would like to be mine, this year, maybe I can take you out. Yes. I would like to take you out. Please. If you want. Okay, let me…let me know. Okay, bye.”
You would very much like that.
END
Tumblr media
Part 2: A Bearable Weight
1K notes · View notes
katewritesthings · 3 months
Text
Love Me Like I Can - Prologue// Introductions
Tumblr media
This is just prologue to test interest. All of Diana's songs are by the artist JoJo. ( For the song Joanna, just pretend it's Diana)
pairing: Joe Burrow x Singer! Original Female Character
•summary: Inspired by Scandoval and Taylor/Travis. R&B singer Diana Hayes navigates falling in love after a cheating scandal captures the attention of America and a certain Bengal.
•warnings: Cursing. Cheating. Sexual Situations. Drinking. Drug use. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
Prologue // Introductions
October 18, 2023
Finding out was a complete accident. Diana was not the type of person that had the unquenchable curiosity for what is on their partner’s phone. In hindsight, maybe she should have paid even a bit of attention to Connor’s. Maybe the revelation wouldn’t have blindsided her, hitting her like a ton of bricks.
Every step that led to her finding out was motivated by trying to support Connor. His band, Bedford Scrolls, had just finished playing their final show of tour in their hometown of Boston and she was trying to get the best videos and pictures she could of him playing his bass. The entire tour was being documented on the reality show that the band starred in, but Connor always liked personal videos he could post on TikTok. She opened his camera roll to see if the pictures she took turned out the way she wanted when she scrolled one picture too far. The rage of betrayal washed over Diana as her stomach hit the ground. She was staring directly at her best friend’s bare chest. On the phone that belonged to her boyfriend of seven years. Unable to completely process the situation at hand with the screaming of the crowd surrounding her, Diana opened the camera roll to the grid revealing the pictures that Connor had taken in the past three months. There were numerous pictures of Hannah in various states of undress peppered in between the pictures of Diana  In a flash, she began selecting all of the photos that didn’t contain nudity and AirDropped them to herself while trying to navigate herself back to Connor’s dressing room.
After she felt the buzz of confirmation from her own phone in her pocket, Diana opened Connor’s phone app and dialed Hannah’s number. If the show had just ended that meant that the traitor was currently at the band’s hotel. With a huff, Diana mentally cursed herself for getting Hannah put on the band’s payroll. “Hey, baby! I thought you’d still be on stage!” The familiar voice of her best friend hit her ears as she navigated backstage to slam open the door to the green room. Connor and his three bandmates were freshening up while a few other friends lounged about.
“How long have the two of you been the absolute scum of the earth,” Diana heard her own voice sneer. The question captured the attention of the entire room she had just entered and silenced the woman on the other end of the phone.
Miles, the band’s lead singer, looked like he was about to open his mouth to ask for clarification for the whole room before Connor cut him off. 
“Let’s not do this here, Di. Let’s go somewhere to talk about this in private. You don’t want to embarrass yourself,” he said, voice even and calmer than he should be. Diana saw red, knowing what he was attempting to do. Connor had a habit of wanting to paint their relationship as picture-perfect, he wanted to do damage control and convince her to let this go. Unfortunately, this was not a random girl in Miami like at the beginning of their relationship. This was a new level of betrayal.
“Fuck that, Connor. What’s embarrassing is knowing that I thought you were good enough for me. Let everyone know how you’ve got more naked pictures of Hannah on your phone than I could count,”
Gasps and sounds of shock almost drowned out the sound of Hannah ending the call. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back to Diana. She felt like her throat was closing up as she began to process what this meant for her. Not only did this change everything when it came to her personal life, it was going to cause huge issues in her professional life.
Diana had been in the industry since she was 14 and nominated for her first Grammy. Even as a young teenager, there was a soulful warmth in her voice that combined with her range led to her first album winning Best Contemporary R&B album in 2012. Her career continued to steadily climb over the next few years as she dabbled in acting and released three more albums in 2014, 2016, and 2018, but she had never felt the security of someone on a bigger label. It had been almost six years since she had released music and that was supposed to be coming to an end. 
Diana had been planning on recording her third album after Bedford Scrolls’ tour and recording of Band Together had finished filming. Connor’s manager had promised her that if she went on tour with them and was featured in the season, it would drum up attention for the announcement of her return to music. He had talked her into signing a contract to appear in at least six episodes this season and the reunion. He even hinted at the possibility that she could use the networking to secure a documentary about making the album. 
All Diana could think about at the moment was how all of that was now a pipe dream. In her anger, she threw Connor’s phone across the room and let her phone carry her to the back exit of the venue. Emotions were swirling through her head and the thought of the material she had worked on about and with Connor now made her sick. She was going to have to start over, but couldn’t until the reunion was filmed in mid-November. 
—-
OCTOBER 20, 2023
DIANA AND CONNOR CALL IT QUITS! ALLEGATIONS HE CHEATED WITH.. HANNAH MALONEY!!
Musicians and stars of the reality show Band Together, CONNOR LEWIS and DIANA Hayes are officially no more, representatives for the pair have confirmed to TMZ.
After seven years, the couple has reportedly decided to go their separate ways. As surprising as this news is, it’s not nearly as shocking as news that Connor is rumored to have an affair with cast member, employee, and friend Hannah Maloney.
The Show Band Together follows the musical career of Connor’s band Bedford Scrolls as they navigate the messy life of music from writing to touring. Diana has been featured occasionally on the show in past seasons but was heavily featured in the trailer for Season 3 which premiered October 8. Hannah is a close friend of Diana’s who eventually became an assistant for Bedford Scrolls and is also featured on the show.
In the promo for Season 3, it was suggested that Connor and Diana were in an open relationship. This rumor was quickly shut down when Diana shared the promo to her Instagram stories with the caption “I’m not that cool. Bisexual =/= polyamory”
Show sources let TMZ know that the break up was recent as the couple has been seen together at tour dates for Bedford Scrolls as recently as Wednesday. Fans also report this as they say that Diana was Connor’s biggest fan at the final show of the tour, but left the venue alone in tears in a cab shortly after the set ended.
—--
October 29, 2023
DIANA SEEN OUT SWIFTLY AFTER SPLIT WITH EX, CONNOR
Edibles singer DIANA HAYES was spotted in NYC, leaving Electric Lady studios this morning. This is the first public sighting of Diana since news broke of her split with ex-CONNOR LEWIS. 
Last week TMZ reported that the couple split after Connor had an affair with Diana’s best friend, HANNAH MALONEY. Cast members of the reality show Band Together, and bandmates of Connor, have seemingly confirmed this by posting pictures of them with Diana in support. The hashtag #TeamDiana was trending for most of last week.
Sources close to Diana inform us that she has been staying at a rental in New York and has been offered support from big names such as Taylor Swift and Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson and even romantic offers from bachelors such as Drake.
Eagle-eyed fans are curious to see how this drama unfolds in this season of Band Together. Click here to catch up on this season of Band Together, airing now! 
—----
November 28, 2023
Tumblr media Tumblr media
@DianaMusic: Wow. Where to start? 
First of all: Thank you all so much to for the outpouring of love and positivity you have sent my way over the past few weeks. Without the support I have gotten I would not have even been able to process the insanity that has happened, but with your care, I was able to throw myself into healing creatively. With this healing journey comes some good news and the bad news. 
First, this will be my last season of Band Together. 
More importantly, over the past few weeks, I have been processing through creating. This means I have recorded 4 new songs to put on an EP called, “Run” that will be released at midnight. It has been so long since I have released new music into the world that I began to question whether I had anything left to say, but now I do. This EP is just a taster of what is to come next year and I cannot wait to grow and heal with you all. 
What didn’t kill me better run. Liked by joeyb_9, conlew, and 1,423,798 others
VIew Comments.....
@taylorswift13: So proud of you! @IslaNg: They better fucking run! @hallebailey: This EP is about to be my personality
—---
RUN.
Diana 
Anxiety (Burlinda’s Theme)
Dissolve 
Man
—--
December 29, 2023
The past three months had been a whirlwind for Diana. After the revelation that Connor had cheated on her, she immediately threw herself into writing new songs. Before her flight from Boston to New York landed she had already written two of the four songs on her new EP. Diana and Anxiety were the outcomes of her mind working on overdrive about how the public was going to perceive the breakup.
Realistically, Diana knew that there would be people who blamed her, that’s just part of being a woman. Unrealistically, she was convinced that the public would take Connor’s side due to her unofficial hiatus from the public consciousness. Bedford Scrolls released their last album in September and had been touring and promoting constantly since. 
What the songwriter didn’t expect was for scandal to take the nation by storm in her favor. The nation tuned in every week to watch Band Together in hopes that they find clues of the affair in the season. As the episodes aired, it became clear that Diana was a devoted supporter of Conno meanwhile he took the chance to insult her every time she wasn’t in a scene. The footage broke Diana’s heart and ignited a vitriol for Connor like never seen before. Even Connor’s bandmates only spoke to him to berate him at the reunion for the reality show
The finale for the show had aired Sunday and it had been the only episode, bar the reunion that had been filmed after Diana had ended her relationship. She had never seen support like the outpouring of comments left when people watched as she asked Connor if he ever really loved her at all. Some fans had even correctly theorized that she had written Dissovle after filming had ended that day.
Diana had taken her new friend Taylor’s advice when she reached out and had booked as many performances as possible so she could turn the attention back to her career. She knew it was opportunistic, but after what Connor and Hannah did to her, Taylor reassured her that she deserved to secure her own future with the publicity. 
Diana had just finished singing acoustic versions of Dissolve and Man as the intro to a funk cover of “Any Man of Mine” by Shania Twain began to play. “I decided to do this song because I recently realized that it’s not selfish to want your partner to please you or be dedicated to only you… Here goes.”
—-------
DECEMBER 31, 2023
REUNION SECRETS REVEALED
Last night, the reunion of Band Together aired and exposed much more about the affair of CONNOR LEWIS and HANNAH MALONEY than we previously knew.
Isla, the drummer for Bedford Scrolls, posted on their instagram stories earlier this week defending their support of DIANA over their own bandmate Connor, saying: “You’ll see guys, some shit comes out at the reunion. Like, we found out shit we had no clue about and some stuff that was said that was absolutely heinous. As a human, it would be hard not to take Diana’s side after watching.”
After watching the reunion, it is clear what Isla was talking about. Diana, Connor, and Hannah were all in the same room for the interview where Hannah admitted the affair had been happening for almost a year.  
Things only got more heated from there as the host Andy Cohen asked Hannah why she loved and believed she could trust Connor. Hannah answered with a sexually explicit answer saying, “Connor and I are in love in such a deep way, it’s different than their relationship. He wouldn’t even go down on Diana and he’ll eat me any chance he got.”
If that weren’t enough fuel to the fire, Connor had to be removed from the stage for his safety after saying something under his breath that fans believe to have been, “Could you blame me, who wants to go down on a redhead?” because Miles and the guitarist, Zach, had gotten him into a headlock.
Fans are speculating that this might be the end of Bedford Scrolls as we know it.
—---
JANUARY 1, 2024
Diana was doing her best to try to avoid every bit of media she could for as long into the New Year as possible. It turned out, as long as possible ended up being 3 PM. Biz, Diana’s sister had burst through the AirBNB bedroom door tha Diana was currently holed up in, trying to smoke a bowl watch the newest episode of the new Percy Jackson.
“Did you see the Cheifs vs Bengals game yesterday,” the younger girl excitedly shrieked as she dramatically flopped herself on the bed next to her sister. “Uhm, is this an alternate universe? When have you ever seen me watch a sporting that I didn’t sing at” Diana shot her sister a look of confusion and taking a hit from her glass pipe.
“Because! Your name came up, watch this video!” Biz excitedly thrust her phone into her sister's hand.
The sound of her own voice was audible in the background of the video as a player with the number 1 on their jersey was being interviewed.
“I see you all are fans of Diana,” the interviewer joked as a player with a wrist splint in the background was seen in the background mouthing the words to “Man.”
“Yeah, we Team Diana in this locker room!” The player said laughing.
“Oh, yeah? Is her music on a lot in the locker room?” 
“Not like we have a choice though, with how obsessed Joe is,” the player let out another laugh pointing at the injured player in the background. Chuckles from nearby players were heard. “Shut up, Ja’Marr,” the injured man, presumably Joe shouted from the back.
 “All I’m saying is you kept saying this song was about you when you first heard it,” Ja’Marr called back over his shoulder. “Diana if you’re watching this: Hit up my boy Joey B! He ain’t afraid to e-” The video was cut off as Ja’Marr was put in a headlock by Joe.
Diana stared at her sister’s phone, uncertain who or what she just witnessed, waiting for an explanation. When none came, she looked up to find Biz’s expectant face looking hopefully back at her.
“So?” the brunette questioned, “Are you going to do it?!”
“Do what? I don’t even know what I just watched,” Diana stated, still confused. 
“You just watched Ja’Marr Chase ask you to hit up one of the most thirsted-after quarterbacks ever: Joe Burrow, and imply that said quarterback would like to get freaky with you,” Biz explained. “You have to respond.”
Diana’s cheeks filled with warmth as she mentally replayed the video in her head. She had no idea who this person was, but she had to admit he was attractive. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have her agent try to reach out for his phone number. ===== Next Chapter.
146 notes · View notes
nhlclover · 19 days
Text
i feel you like the rain | gabe perreault
Tumblr media
word count: 0.98k
summary: when you get caught in a downpour without a jacket or umbrella, gabe offers to share his.
warnings: literally none? one curse word, awkward dialogue?
notes: two gabe fics and they both involve the rain... n e wayz hope you enjoy :)
Over and over, you kept mentally cursing yourself. You looked out the library’s front doors, watching the rain pour down relentlessly. Puddles were forming on the pathway, creating a water obstacle course for the passing students.
Spring was fast approaching, with temperatures steadily rising in the city. It was the first time this semester that the temps had gotten high enough that you could leave your dorm without wearing a coat. But, the spring climate in Boston was unpredictable. You’d sworn when you checked the weather app this morning it showed nothing but sunshine until midnight.
However, you now stood in the lobby of the library, watching the rain soak the Boston College campus. You were stuck 15 minutes away from your dorm without a jacket or an umbrella.
You hoped that maybe it was going to clear up in the next few minutes, or at least subside slightly, allowing you to get back without completely drenching yourself, however, the dark looming clouds and consistent downpour showed no signs of letting up. You’d concluded that you were just going to have to make a run for it and risk getting soaked. The thought of that made you want to cry. You were wearing a brand-new sweater and had just curled your hair that morning. By the time you’d reached your dorm, you would’ve ruined your hair and potentially also your new sweater.
You had one hand on the door handle, trying to brace yourself. Maybe if you ran you could limit the amount of water damage you and your belongings would endure. You had just prepared yourself for having to sprint back to your dorm when a voice startled you.
“Hey, you need an umbrella?” said a boy standing next to you, holding up an umbrella.
You hadn’t noticed him approach, being surprised by his sudden presence. He donned a Boston College-branded rain jacket, obviously being better prepared for the weather than you were. His kind smile made you want to accept the offer, however you didn’t want to inconvenience him.
“No, it’s okay.” You say, shaking your head.
His eyebrows furrow as he lets out a chuckle. “You sure about that? It’s pouring out there.”
You shake your head again. “I can’t. We’re probably not heading in the same direction anyway. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“Where are you headed?” He asked.
“Back to my dorm, I’m at Duschene Hall.” You reply.
He pulls a surprised face. “Woah, what a coincidence! I’m heading there too.” He grins, eyes flashing a mischievous twinkle.
You knew he was lying, but that he wasn’t going to give up and let you walk alone in the rain. You cave, accepting his offer, as it is better than getting soaked to the bone. You stepped out into the rain, the boy opening up his umbrella and holding it above the two of you.
“I’m Gabe, by the way.” He says.
“I’m y/n.” You say.
“So, y/n, what were you doing at the library today anyways?” He asks.
You were among the only students in the library today due to the weather. Up until an hour ago, the sun had been brightly shining, most students deciding to forgo any pending assignments to enjoy the brief bit of summer peaking through.
You chuckle softly, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. “Studying, actually. I have a test next week.”
“Oh, an academic I see.” Gabe teases. “What’s your major?”
“History. How about you?”
“Communications.”
A gust of wind blew, causing you to shiver. Your sweater was knit allowing the wind to cut right through, pricking at your skin. Gabe shrugged off his backpack, sliding out of his jacket. “Here, take this. You must be freezing.” Gabe says, extending you his jacket.
“Oh my god, no I can’t take your jacket.” You shake your head. “You’re already doing enough by sharing your umbrella with me.”
“No, seriously, I insist. I think you might get pneumonia if you don’t take it.” Gabe says.
You roll your eyes at his dramatic statement, another gust coming in. Now physically shivering, your arms hugging your torso not warming you up as you hoped, you accepted his jacket. As you slipped into the jacket, warmth and the scent of his cologne that lingered on the jacket enveloped you.
As you continued your conversation, the rain continued to fall around you. You became grateful for Gabe’s cheery company on the dreary walk home. When the dorms were in your sight, you attempted to tell Gabe he was good to leave you there and he could go back on his planned path. However, Gabe insisted on walking you to the door.
“Thank you again for walking me home.” You said, smiling gratefully at Gabe. “I don’t know how to repay you.”
Gabe paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of mischief. "How about letting me take you out on a date?"
You were slightly taken aback by his question but despite that, you found yourself grinning and nodding. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
Gabe’s shoulders relax at your response. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, giving it to you to put your number in. As you typed your digits into his phone, you felt a flutter of excitement in your chest. Maybe getting caught in the rain wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
123 notes · View notes
pascalssbabyy · 6 months
Text
Tumblr media
Warning: The following fics are 18+ MDNI 🔞
Healed ~ Word Count 13.2k ~ Summary: Travelling from Boston to Lincoln with Joel had it’s challenges. Injuring yourself along the way you ask Joel to help you with your wound. Can Joel keep his hands to himself?
Something New ~ Word Count 14.6k ~ Summary: Getting bored of the bare minimum in Jackson was getting to you, until you mention to Tommy that you want to start helping with patrol duty. Successfully persuading him to go with the idea, Tommy knows just the man to pair you up with.
Opening Up ~ Word Count 11.6k ~ Summary: The second you meet Joel he turns your world upside down. The longer you get to know him you notice that he’s a closed off person. However a drunkish night at the Tipsy Bison proves to you that Joel is more than happy to show you who you belong to.
Missing You ~ Word Count 9.3k ~ Summary: Joel’s been taking extra late night shifts patrolling and with you working in the mornings you barely see him. Joel comes back from patrol early one night and can’t miss the opportunity to show you how much he misses you.
Ride Me ~ Word Count 6.4k ~ Summary: You ride Joel for the first time.
Soaked ~ Word Count 5.2k ~ Summary: Joel wants to see how much you can give him and how much you can take. So much that when he pushed just a tad too far, he makes you squirt for the first time.
The Accidental Solution ~ Word Count 17.1k ~ Summary: Joel accidentally walks in on you naked when you’re fresh out the shower. The situation as you expected leaves questions in the air and Joel to avoid you as much as he can. That’s until you have to take matters into your own hands.
Desperate ~ Word Count 6.1k ~ Summary: You leave Joel in a uncomfortable situation all day while you’re at work. Hours go by and Joel struggles to keep his craving under control. And once you’re home, Joel can’t seem to give you his full potential.
Take A Seat ~ Word Count 2.6k ~ Summary: Joel’s a stubborn man, and if he wants you to just sit on his cock, then so be it.
218 notes · View notes