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milkiane · 2 years

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I WAS MADE FOR LOVIN' YOU. eddie munson.

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summary: the four times eddie knew he was a goner and the one time he told you.

warnings: no spoilers! don’t worry, you’re safe here. profanities. gif credits to @his-name-is-ed <3

word count: 5.1k

i. the first time eddie knew he was a goner was when… he found out that you love mötley crüe.

eddie knows his presence is hard to miss. aside from his wild hair and clothing choices, which apparently do not fit the social standards, he makes it exceptionally difficult for people to ignore him.

and yet, on a particular, normal, chilly friday in the school field, you effortlessly grab his attention. you didn’t need crazy hair or seeking clothes or loud eccentric speeches on top of a cafeteria table. you’re just… sitting there with a frown on your face and eddie thinks…

eddie can’t think. his mind draws blank as he continues to stare at you.

so like dominoes, his abrupt stop results in the rest of the hellfire club bumping into him, which causes a streak of groans and complaints, but eddie pays them no mind because as if his legs have a mind of their own, they bring him right to you. “carry on without me, my little sheep, destiny awaits!”

you groan in annoyance, slamming your hand onto your malfunctioning walkman. “stupid, stupid, little shi-”

“y’know, i don’t think mauling the poor thing will make it work.”

you look up at the voice with a glare, your face softens just a bit after seeing it was eddie, but the glare prevails nevertheless, still frustrated with your walkman.

“i mean, sure, i guess that could make it work, too,” eddie shrugs, hopping on top of the picnic table instead of sitting on the benches like a normal person.

“it will work,” you grit your teeth, hitting the side of the device as it did nothing to fix the distorted voice of vince neil. “it just needs a bit of tough love.”

after watching you for a few more minutes with an amused smile, eddie snatches it out of your hands, convinced that you would break it if it doesn’t revive the next second. he ignores your objections as he opens his black metal lunchbox.

“it’s not a lunchbox,” he absentmindedly retorts to your murmur as he goes through his things, silently muttering a quiet no, not this, nope, what the hell is this? and finally, aha!

he raises a mini screwdriver before you as if it will magically take your problems away. “this, my lady, will magically take your problems away.”

huh.

you hesitantly watch as eddie pops open your walkman, taking out the mixtape to find the tape itself burst out of its case. he tinkers and meddles with it carefully, doing wonders as he manually rewinds it.

you use his current distraction to take a good look at him. you’ve seen him around the school; in class, in the hallways, at the cafeteria, but you’ve never crossed the borders of his personal bubble or actually spoken to him until now.

he isn’t a bad sight to see.

his hair, although gone rogue, looks so soft that you physically have to restrain yourself from touching it. he has tattoos inked on his skin, slightly covered by his hellfire shirt as if teasing you and leaving you wanting to see more. beautiful silver rings graced his fingers making you want to study each intricate detail that embellished the jewelry.

his tongue is poking out of his lips, brows furrowed in concentration. his nose is slightly crooked as if it’s been broken before. he has dimples piercing his cheeks and the lightest of freckles sprinkled over his face, only noticeable if kissed under the sun.

all things considered, eddie munson is a sight for sore eyes.

“are you done staring, sweetheart?” eddie teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “if you’d like, i can pose for you on this table.”

you were too deep in your reveries that you didn’t notice he was done. you blink up at him and scoff. “shut up, i wasn’t staring.”

“it’s fine, y’know, it’s normal to stare at pretty things.” he encourages you, satirically playing with his hair. “especially if you’re one of those connoisseurs of art.”

“wow, someone learned a new word today.” you praise him sarcastically.

“now, now, y/n, is that a way to treat someone who just fixed your lil walkman?” eddie chastises, grabbing your headphones from your neck and putting it on his ears. “what were you listening to anyway?”

he gives it a few seconds before the familiar music comes in. he whips his head towards you with a slack jaw. he winces, his hand coming in contact with his neck, massaging the pain from snapping his head towards you too fast.

… i've been a poet always tongue in cheek,

i've seen some scenes man you'd never believe,

and like a supercharged rocket ride,

you know they'd have gasoline if they had the time.

“you- you listen to mötley crüe!” eddie blurts out, standing on the picnic table and pointing an accusatory finger at you. “you’re one of us!”

“shut up!” you pull him back down with a yank. you can still hear angela blasting through your headphones. you look at him with a sigh before muttering. “i love mötley crüe.”

eddie lets out a choked laugh, jumping off the table and squishing your cheeks with his hands. “you’re a cute little metal freak!”

“shut up, munson! you better get your hands off my face or so help me god.”

it came out as gibberish but the point came across.

“you say ‘shut up’ too much, is that your favorite word?” eddie calls into question, leaning closer to you with a roguish grin. his gaze flickers down to your pouting lips before staring straight into your eyes. “i can teach you more ways to shut me up, y’know?”

“scout’s honor that it’s even more efficacious than the words itself.” he winks at you before grabbing his lunchbox, leaving you bewildered and baffled beyond belief. mötley crüe did not do anything to blur the forming thoughts in your head.

that was strike one for eddie munson.

ii. the second time eddie knew he was a goner was when… you knocked someone out cold with a box of frozen waffles.

you shouldn’t have been out at an ungodly hour, quite frankly, but you really, really, wanted some eggos. so clad in sweats and an oversized shirt, you walk out of bradley’s big buy with three boxes of mini waffles in hand.

and as if the universe wasn’t satisfied with only one interaction, you hear eddie munson’s voice. “hey, come on, man. you’ve been my client for over a year now and you’re only doubting me now?”

“we talked about fifteen grams, munson, so i’m expecting fifteen grams.”

eddie sighs, rubbing his tired face with his hand. they’ve been going back and forth and he was starting to get annoyed. he wasn’t even supposed to be dealing right now, but when money calls, you answer it.

“look, man. it’s fifteen. if you don’t believe me, give me the money, go find a weighing scale, and weigh your shit. it’s fifteen grams.” he says, grabbing his lunchbox, but just as he wrapped his fingers on the handle, he gets shoved to the ground, his things crashing with him, skin scratched from catching himself on the rough pavement.

motherfucker.

“hey!” you didn’t want to. you really didn’t want to, but before you can think twice, you get in between eddie and the ridiculously tall buff guy.

you should really start thinking twice.

said guy, although high as a kite, looks at the box of eggos on the floor and back at you. you had thrown a box of waffles at his head.

“take your fifteen grams and leave,” you order calmly, ignoring the whispers of objections of eddie, who immediately stands up at lightspeed, startled by your sudden presence.

“i don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but this is between me and your little druggy friend, a’ight?” he sneers, pushing you aside to grab eddie by his shirt. “besides, the fuck do you know about packing shit right?”

“i know how to pack a punch, for starters.”

you didn’t give him or eddie to process your words before, CRACK! your fist comes in contact with his nose — a sickening crunch and a cry had them both freezing, well, except for the junkie clutching his nose.

“you bitch!”

with the throbbing pain of your knuckles, you could only whack him across his face with the box of waffles in your hand as he leaped to get you.

eddie, still frozen in his spot, can only watch in both horror and amazement as the guy gets knocked out cold, face kissing the sidewalk.

“holy shit…”

“how much did he owe you?” you huff, clutching your victimized hand as you stand over the guy.

“twenty.” he blinks.

you shrug, digging a hand in the jean pocket of the junkie and placing the crumpled bills in eddie’s hand. “twenty-five for being a shithead.”

eddie took you out for some ice cream treat after that.

“remind me to never get on your nerves, you scare me,” he said, but there was no real fear behind his words, just a twinge of wonder in his voice and a sparkle in his eyes.

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to, so you just grinned at him before taking a scoop out of his ice cream.

and at that moment, under the moonlight with frozen waffles aiding your knuckles and discarded ice cream cups on top of his van, eddie just knew that you would stick around.

and the rest was history.

that was strike two for eddie munson.

iii. the third time eddie knew he was a goner was when… traces of you were slowly starting to bleed into his life, and he didn’t mind.

“is this… MADONNA?”

eddie snaps his head towards the curly-headed boy in his passenger seat, eyes widening at the sight of the manifold of mixtapes that sits on dustin’s lap.

he splutters incoherent excuses as he chucks them back into his glovebox, a hand still on the wheel as he tries to keep the van steady.

dustin watches in amusement as eddie fumbles with the mixtape that fell from his grasp. he snatches it out of his mentor’s hand and snickers, “wow, abba, too? didn’t know you were such a pioneer of music, eddie.”

eddie thwacks him with the d&d gazette before turning his eyes back on the road. “those aren’t mine.”

it was his. you left it for him.

dustin squints his eyes at his friend as if staring at him like that will force him to tell the truth, and it almost did, but thankfully, he chooses to go through the mixtape-filled glovebox again instead.

you brought half of your mixtapes with you when eddie had asked you to accompany him on a spontaneous road trip out of town one day. he always looks back to that moment.

you were passionately talking about the songs that graced your diverse music taste, hands animatedly moving around as words spew out of your mouth every millisecond. he understood every single thing you said, though.

just because you love mötley crüe doesn’t mean you don’t love starship. you love kiss but you also love the beatles. you love metallica but you also love bee gees, and maybe he was starting to like it, too.

if you ask eddie, he’ll choose cyndi lauper’s time after time as his slow dance song. absolutely irrelevant yet very relevant.

“why the hell are you smiling like a crazy man?” dustin pokes his cheeks, effectively snapping him out of his daydream.

eddie slaps his hands away from his face.

aside from mixtapes in his glovebox, eddie also has a special drawer with the clothes you often leave at his house, and with the best detergent he has – a discounted brand from a dollar store – he voluntarily washes it for you to wear next time.

“did… did you wash my clothes?” he remembers you asking the first time.

he turns away from his notebook to look at you. “uh, yeah. you left some of your stuff here and i decided to include it with mine last wash day.”

“oh,” you beam, pulling the material to your nose and breathing it in. “thanks, babe.”

eddie ignores the warmth of his cheeks and goes back to doodling in his notebook. “‘course, would you like me to wear a maid outfit while i’m at it next time?”

you laugh. “i’d like that very much.”

you bring the soft fabric back to your nose, it smells just like him.

you start leaving more clothes in his room after that.

that was strike three for eddie munson.

iv. the fourth time eddie knew he was a goner was when… he wanted to be the best version of himself whenever you’re around.

“okay, so i have a bag of those honeycomb cereal you like, some pringles, juice boxes, pints of ice cream…”

as you continue to list off the snacks you brought for the d&d campaign with the boys, eddie leans forward to buckle your seatbelt, letting you catch a whiff of his cologne. he tugs it twice to make sure it’s fastened properly. “safety first.”

you pause. “you literally never wear your seatbelt.”

“that’s because i sold my soul to the devil for immortality,” eddie pats your thigh before backing out of your driveway. “and because it will cause a decline in my precious reputation!”

“what, common road safety?” you snort. “do tell, kind sir, what would the great eddie munson be known for?”

“you don’t know?” he scoffs in mock disbelief. “i’m an evil self-proclaimed attention whore – i’m known for a lot of things, sweetheart.”

“speaking of being an attention whore,” you gravitate towards him to sniff him again. “are you wearing a new perfume, munson?”

“sit back down, dumbass! and it’s cologne, not perfume.”

“same shit. are you trying to impress someone?” you tease, settling down back in your seat before letting out an overdramatic gasp. “is it dustin? is it because he’s been hanging out with steve the past week?”

“what? no!” he wavers for a moment before sniffing himself. “why? does it smell bad?”

you laugh. “no, no. i actually like it better than your old one.”

“good, i bought it especially for you.” he winks, turning the volume of the music up before you can even reply.

“i can’t believe erica rolled a d20!” eddie exclaims, packing up the boards.

“and twice,” you agree.

as usual, you and eddie stayed back after the campaign, ushering the kids — and gareth and the group — out of the room as soon as you heard the distant rumble of the sky. you knew they’d be biking home, so you asked them to leave early, much to your best friend’s displeasure.

you pick up the empty chip bags and discarded juice boxes, prolonging the chat you’re having with eddie.

mid-conversation, you lean against his throne, garbage bag in your hands. he was talking animatedly and you’re not quite sure what he’s even talking about anymore.

the lights of the room give him a glow that makes your heart beam. the perfect combination of green, orange, and blue; it makes him look like a fallen angel. a devil in disguise. the right fusion of both.

his eyes are soft, it’s kind. his smile is, too. everything about him is. he doesn’t show anyone, but you always get the opportunity to see a part of him that makes you fall in love with him even more.

“…and then just as i was about to dream of rubbing their loss in their puny little faces — she slaps me with a crit hit! that’s twice!”

“yeah,” you whisper, a gentle smile on your lips. you push yourself off the chair and start helping him around the room. “maybe it’s a sign that you’re getting a bit rusty, buzz.”

“drop it with the nickname! it’s been years and i was only forced to have it shaved after stupid anthony chopped my hair nasty in history.”

you double down in laughter. “and wayne has been so gracious enough to show me the pictures.”

eddie glares at you before running towards you. you only advance two steps away from him before he catches you from behind and pulls you against him.

“salvage yourself, you insolent little minx.”

“no! i shan’t yield!”

giggles escape both of your lips, sounds slowly getting muffled by the drops of rain starting to patter one by one, making you and eddie stop in your tracks.

you exchange wide-eyed glances before hurrying with the packing.

you run out of the building, shoes splashing over the formed puddles, you didn’t even notice eddie shrug his jacket off to shield both of you from the rain.

a few meters from his van, you pull away from him and let the water hit you, dampening your clothes all within a second.

“what the hell are you doing?” eddie shouts over the loud pour.

“come on!” you pull him towards you, cold hands grasping his warm ones, you dance in the rain.

eddie watches you in disbelief, though there’s a smile on his face. “fuck it,” he mutters. “wait here.”

he runs to his van, almost slipping on the wet ground. “i’m okay!”

“idiot.” you snort.

eddie opens the door to the passenger seat and opens the glovebox. he grabs a random mixtape and fumbles to put it in the player, only then realizing that he didn’t even start the van.

a minute or two later of waiting, you hear a bees gees song blast from eddie’s van.

“come on, baby,” he whoops, grabbing your hands as he starts shimmying. “let’s dance!”

you let out a blissful laugh as he twirls you around. you jump around in the puddles, soaked clothes slightly weighing you down from being drenched. you attempt to twirl eddie around, too, which was a struggle due to his height.

he sings along to the song and you gasp in surprise. “you know this song?”

“do i- do i know this song?” he repeats in incredulity. “of course, i do! i’m in-”

adrenaline getting to his head, eddie realizes what he was about to say so he rectifies it. “you only sing it every second of the day. that damn song is engraved in my head!”

he pulls you back against him with a grin, a hand intertwined with yours and another supporting your back. he dips you, and you yelp in surprise.

the both of you are panting from all the dancing, but the smiles never left your face. you stare at his face, he stares at yours. you tuck a wet strand of his hair behind his ear, letting your hand rest on his jaw. he has a light stubble.

his eyes flicker to your lips, you do the same.

should i kiss him? should i not kiss him?

the loud boom of the thunder makes the decision for the two of you. the sound startles both of you, resulting in jumping away from each other faster than the next flash of lightning.

“we should head home if we still want to have this movie marathon,”

“yeah.”

eddie goes over his thoughts for a moment as you adjust the heater of the van. he recollects the resolution he made earlier, pondering over the idea of being the best version of himself though he already feels like he became it the first time he met you. how can one become the best-est best version of themselves?

that was strike four for eddie munson.

but for you… you lost count of how many it’s been because every day with eddie adds a tally to your strikes.

v. the time eddie tells you how he’s a goner for you.

“harrington? fucking harrington?”

“it’s a friendly date, buzz,” you point out, hand steady as you do your eyeliner in his bedroom mirror.

“with harrington?” he stresses, his own hands tugging at his brown locks.

“yes, eddie.” you sigh, it’s been a repetitive back and forth. “it’s not a date date. it’s friendly, as i said. robin will be there.”

he sits up against the wall, lips moving before his brain can process his words. “well, if buckley’s gonna be there then what else does he want with you?”

you pause, dropping your hand to look at him. “okay, ouch.”

“no, i-” he groans dramatically into his hands. “i didn’t mean it like that. i just- i don’t understand why you have to spend a perfectly great night with harrington-”

“and robin.”

“-and robin, when you can just spend it with me.” eddie pouts. he sounds pathetic, he knows, but he’s jealous. what if you decide to leave him for steve? – and although he understands; it’s steve harrington, for god’s sake. he would, too, if he can – life would have no other purpose for him if you do.

“aww,” you mimic his pout, walking over to him to pat his cheeks. “don’t worry, hotshot, you’re still my favorite boy.”

“whatever,” he swats your hands away, though the grin tugging at the corner of his lips persists. he takes his time admiring you properly. you looked gorgeous, as always.

“c’mon, you big baby,” you protested. “robin will be there! plus, you can always come wi-”

“well, why didn’t you say so?” he exclaims, leaping towards the door clad in his hellfire shirt and boxers. “let’s go! we better get goi-”

you throw his jeans at him. “for your modesty.”

eddie was glad he came along. he looks at you with clear fondness, watching as your eyes light up like a child on christmas day. you jump in excitement, dragging him into the fair.

“hey, you made it!” steve jogs towards you, but then his eyes flicker to your company. “…and munson.”

“harrington,” eddie grins, a hint of mischief in the glint of his smile as he bows to him.

you roll your eyes at them. “where’s robin?”

“right here, lovebug,” she smiles, offering you a pink cotton candy as she takes a bite off the blue one. steve’s mouth slowly falls slack in bewilderment.

“aww, my favorite,” you pout your lips as you clink your sweets like glasses of wine.

“that’s mine!”

“buy your own cotton candy, dingus,”

“you paid for those with my money.”

eddie pays them no mind as they continue to bicker. he snatches a piece of cotton candy as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “i see a kissing booth we can go to… the marriage booth, too, maybe?”

“stop,” you smack his arm. “let’s start with the basketball — eddie, they’ve got those big teddy bears!”

“well, the night is young, sweetheart,”

the night is young, indeed. you go around the fair with the group, steve has the giant teddy bear propped on his shoulders as if it was his child — “he is!” he argued. “his name is harry harrington.”

“harry harrington?” you had asked in incredulity. “that’s a shit name, steve!”

he gasped in mock offense, bringing the bear down to cover its ears. “don’t listen to her, harry, she’s just jealous you aren’t hers.”

eddie’s jealous he isn’t yours, too, but he wasn’t going to say that.

you felt as if you’ve managed to go through every single booth but according to the map robin had somehow snatched, there were more than half of it you have yet to explore.

“c’mon, there’s a ball toss over there,” eddie says, grabbing your arm to drag you away from steve. “gonna win you that giant fucking elephant.”

although as soon as you stop by before it, eddie does a double-take. “six dollars?”

“six dollars.” the merchant confirms.

he looks at you and whispers in disbelief. “six dollars?”

you shrug at him, letting out a chuckle at his expression. “capitalism, baby,”

eddie sighs. he’s glad he brought his wallet with him. he’s willing to spend all of his income if it meant getting you that elephant — and he will.

“we don’t have to, you know,” you reassure him, eyeing him as he reaches out for the dollars. “there’s still a lot of booths we can go to.”

“nah, i’m getting you that elephant.” he slams the money on the counter. the merchant smirks. three balls.

eddie grabs one and exhales. “wish me luck.”

he throws the ball, and again, and then again. and then he slams more money onto the counter, and then again, and again.

his aim’s good, but not enough to knock all the cans down. steve and robin managed to do a round before returning to the both of you with corndogs in hand.

with his promise of a last round, he sighs at the sight of what’s left of the standing cans. he gives you the last ball.

“are you sure?” you hesitate.

“do the honors, my lady,” eddie smiles, eyes so soft that subtle crinkles show at the corners.

and with a swift throw, you somehow manage to knock down all of the cans. you and eddie whoop in excitement, jumping up and down as the merchant sighs exasperatedly, grabbing your oversized prize.

“oh my god,” you whisper, hugging the elephant to your chest. “it’s so fluffy!”

eddie looks at you with a dopey lovesick smile. maybe it was the sparkling fairy lights overhead, or the distant music playing, or maybe it was because you’re practically bouncing off the balls of your feet, a giddy smile adorning your lips… or maybe it was because eddie cannot take it any longer so he says, “i’m in love with you.”

you falter for a bit, uncertain if you heard him correctly. “what?”

and steve, who had initially asked you on a date — although as friendly as he claims — leans against the wooden pillar, face contorting in realization, lips forming into an unmistakable o as he grasps what is happening.

robin grins, a quiet finally! unleashing from her lips. to give you two some privacy, well, as private as a conversation in a public place can be, she drags steve to a very friendly competition of high strikers. steve lets her, sending eddie an encouraging thumbs up.

“i-i’m in love with you,” eddie repeats, voice wavering at your blank expression. he couldn’t read you and it’s making him anxious. “i’m so terribly and undeniably in love with you – i knew i did the moment you said you love mötley crüe.”

you let yourself feel all the emotions bursting in all at once. he likes you. eddie munson likes you, so you ask stupidly, “are you sure?”

eddie scoffs a laugh. “am i- am i sure? are you asking me if i’m sure about my own feelings?”

you shrug.

he looks at you before breaking into a run without another word.

“eddie, where are you going?” you call out frantically.

eddie eyes the haystacks in the center of the park and clumsily mounts on them and nearly falls. he catches himself before he can tumble down. his eyes flicker to yours as he cups his hands over his mouth. “fair people of hawkins, i have an announcement to make!”

“what is he doing?” steve asks as he and robin appear from beside you.

“i have no idea.”

some people stop by to watch, some go on with whatever it is they were doing, and you just stand where you’re planted, unsure of what he’s about to do and what you’re supposed to do.

“i, eddie munson, a self-proclaimed attention whore, have something very important to say.” he starts – “well, get on with it now!” a guy exclaims. eddie ignores him – “i am in love with y/n l/n. i’ve been in love with her since i found out she loves metal, i’ve fallen for her since she knocked a guy out cold with frozen waffles–”

“frozen waffles?” robin questions.

“– i fell for her even harder when she introduced me to madonna – that’s right, i love madonna! but most importantly, i knew i was a goner when i wanted to become the best version of myself for her. i wanted to become the person she deserves because i am in love with you, y/n, always have.”

you soften and the world disappears around you; it was just you and him. there is an ache in your chest, but not because of heartbreak, it’s because it feels as if it will burst out of your chest out of love.

“we can’t help who we fall for,” eddie breathes out, walking down the stack. “but honestly, i’m glad it’s you because there’s no one else in this world whom i would love to love if it’s not you.”

you shove the elephant in steve’s hold and walk straight to eddie.

he sends you a small smile, arms extended. when you’re a step closer, he whispers. “i’m sorry, i just had to-”

“shut up,” you command, pulling him in for a heated kiss, fingers getting lost and tangled in his hair, his arms snake around your waist to pull you impossibly closer, no gap left unfilled.

your lips dance a fast-paced song, it’s all but intense and passionate – a hint of eagerness and the satisfaction of longing. you forget that it wasn’t just the two of you, that there was a crowd watching you both kiss. you can hear the faint coos of the moms by the corner.

“get a room!” a guy barks out. simultaneously, you and eddie flipped him off but the kiss decelerates into soft and sensual, a contrast to the shared feverish one, now easing up to the feeling of content and delicate love.

you pull away a second later, forehead touching his as you don’t dare to open your eyes yet. “i’m in love with you, too, if it’s not obvious yet.”

“well, i should hope so,” eddie laughs. he gives you a quick peck on the lips before fixing you with a teasing grin. “how about that marriage booth now, sweetheart?”

“take me out on a date first, loverboy.” you interlace your hand with his as you walk away from the spotlight.

“how about a kiss on top of the ferris wheel?” he proposes instead.

“sap,” you scrunch your nose up with a smile. “but i’m not opposed to the idea.”

that was strike ??? for you and eddie.

“just to let you all know, i am not going to sit next to steve on the ferris wheel.”

“what do you mean? i’m an amazing ferris wheel companion.”

“would you like to get shoved off the seat once we’re on top?”

“... how about the bumper cars?”

“deal.”

23K notes · View notes

weird-an · 6 months

Text

"What on earth are you doing?" Jim asks, when Billy tries to sneak out of the window. The kid has one leg on the windowsill and the other on his bed.

Billy freezes. His jaw works and he's clutching the window's frame with white knuckled hands. His shirt is unbuttoned and he isn't wearing a jacket. It's too cold outside for that. It's December for fuck's sake. The whole room reeks of cologne and cigarettes.

Jesus Christ. The boy is going on a date - in secret.

"You can just use the door," Jim says, a bit helpless, a bit annoyed.

He doesn't get why Billy just can't say that he's going out and uses the front door. But then again, he also didn't get why Billy always waits for him to put out his cigarette before the kid sits down next to him. Why Billy calls him "Chief" sometimes and stares at him when he's watching Sixteen Candles with El. Neil Hargrove's words are still written all over Billy, Jim can only hope the kid will find a language of his own one day.

"Billy?" a voice whispers. "Are you okay?"

Jim knows that voice. Steve Harrington has fought monsters with him, after all. Why is Billy hanging out with him?

Billy stares at Jim with wide eyes. His face turns pale.

"Seriously," Jim says flatly, deciding it is not his business. "There is a door you can use."

Billy moves, not turning his back on Jim. "I'm… I…"

"What?" Jim sighs. "I'm not angry that you go out."

Nor does it matter if the Harrington kid is involved. Even if it doesn't make sense that Billy is dressed up like he wants to .. Oh.

Shit.

"Alright." Billy still looks like he has seen as ghost. He tries for a smile, but it's shaky around the edges.

"Take care." Jim swallows. "And… Steve is… always welcome here."

"Uh." It's more a noise than anything. Billy stares at him, looking young and afraid.

"Just sayin'," Jim shrugs like his hands aren't sweating, like he isn't scared of screwing up.

"No idea what you're talking about," Billy mumbles, unable to hide his fear behind a grin and hairspray.

"Hey!" Steve whispers in front of the window.

"Sure, kiddo." Jim snorts. "Have fun on your date."

"What the fuck." Billy's face turns cherry red.

"I'm not an idiot." Jim rolls his eyes. "Buy him dinner or something."

"He’s buying this-" Billy cuts himself of. Jim smirks.

Billy hurries to the door. "See ya, Chief."

"See you, Billy." Jim glances out of the window. "See you, Steve."

Steve waves back at him while getting dragged away by his… boyfriend whose nose is still bright red.

He hopes Billy realizes he doesn’t have to hide. Even though he has no idea how to deal with whatever that Harrington situation is. He hopes the kid likes Eggos, too.

#exhausting hopper with harringrove #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #harringrove ficlet #steve x billy

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lovelybucky1 · 7 months

Text

Smile for the Camera

Kinktober Day 6- Pegging

warnings: AFAB!reader, pegging, sex tape, feminization kink, dom/sub dynamics, breeding kink in a roleplay setting, sex toys, mentions of exhibitionism, 18+ minors dni

kinktober masterlist

main masterlist

Being as big of a film buff as Neil is, he’s always wanted to make his own movies. He’s never been good at coming up with stories and he’s a terrible writer, so he never made it very far in that aspect. He has found that the unscripted, off the cuff types of movies are more his speed. Those movies just happen to be porn.

It didn’t take much convincing to get you on board with filming yourselves having sex. You trust Neil with your life, and you think it’d be fun to watch it back, seeing his face while you fucked him.

When you have sex, you’re pretty much always dominant. Weather it’s a dom/sub scene or just regular old sex, you call the shots and Neil listens to your directions. He’s a good boy like that.

Since he proposed the idea, you and Neil have made six film, all with varying scenes. Tonight's scene is something you have done together in private, but never on camera.

The camera is set up on a tripod at the foot of the bed while you and Neil face it. He is on his knees and elbows, back arched like a good boy as you hit it from the back.

You started off slow and built up the pace, just how he likes, and now you're fucking him roughly. Your hips slap against his ass, filling the room with clapping. With each thrust, Neil makes a punched-out little moan.

"Talk to me, baby. How's that feel?" you ask.

"So- fuck- so good," he says, voice high pitched with pleasure.

"This is how we should always fuck," you say as you grab his hips tightly. "You know I do it better."

"Fuck me so good," he moans.

Neil's cock bobs between his legs, useless and untouched as it dribbles precum onto the bedspread. While you can't see his face right now, you've fucked him enough to have a pretty good image of his pinched expression in your mind.

Neither of you are any good at acting, but you like to throw in some dirty talk to spice up the video- and because Neil loves it.

"You take my dick so fuckin' well, baby. Your little pussy is gripping me. You love my dick that much, huh? You don't wanna let it go?"

Instead of answering you, Neil can only whine. He reaches between his legs and grabs his dick to find that it's already wet with his arousal.

Your strap on is bigger than Neil's dick, a fact that is as humiliating to him as it is hot. You did have a smaller one that was comparable in size to Neil, but he complained that it wasn't enough. Your boyfriend is a little size queen, and now whenever you stuff him full of your cock, he's reminded of what he lacks.

You reach forward to twist your fingers in Neil's hair and pull his head off the mattress. You force him to look straight at the camera, showing off his undoubtedly fucked-out expression.

"Blow a kiss to the people at home, baby," you instruct. There isn't actually anyone at home; the two of you are the only ones who will ever watch this. The fantasy of an audience is enough to get Neil going, however.

"Maybe I'll hide this tape on the shelf at the video store. Bet the pervs in the porno section will never expect to see the store owner getting fucked in the ass by his girlfriend," you laugh.

You let Neil's head fall back on the mattress and you drag your nails down his spine, making his back arch. He's so sensitive to your touch, especially on his back and sides where he's ticklish.

You wrap your arm around his waist and drape yourself over his back to rut into him deeply. From the pitch of his moans alone you can tell that Neil is close. He jerks his cock roughly, but you don't care enough to chastise him for getting himself off. You want to see him cum on your cock.

"I'm gonna cum in you, baby. Want me to fill you up?"

"Yes, yes!" he whines.

"Yeah," you say into his ear. "Gonna knock you up. You're gonna be a mommy. You want that, Neil? You want my cum bad enough?"

He nods with his forehead pressed against the mattress. One day you’ll get a strap on that actually cums, but for now you’ll just have to play pretend.

“Cum in my dick, Neil. Make that pussy cream all over me.”

Like the good boy he does, he clenches around your length and jerks himself roughly to completion. He cums all over his fist and the bed with a strangled moan.

“Good fucking boy,” you whisper against his neck.

He falls limp onto the bed and you remain on his back while you both catch your breath. Neil’s breathing is shaky and erratic as he comes down from his high and for a moment you wonder if he needs his inhaler.

“Thank you,” he breathes out.

You press a kiss to his neck before slowly pulling out of him. You spread his cheeks to look at his hole and trace the rim with your finger.

“Can you turn around for me, baby? I want to show everyone your wrecked little pussy.”

Neil nods weakly and sits up on his knees to turn around. He bends back over and allows you to keep him spread. His hole winks, clenching around nothing.

“Is it messy?” he asks. He’s not even playing it up for the scene, he’s just that much of a slut.

“You’re ruined, honey.”

“Good,” he says.

With a smile and a gentle pat to his hip, you get off the bed and shut off the camera.

#neil lewis #neil lewis x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #neil lewis smut #watching the detectives #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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captainfantasticalright · 14 days

Text

You’ve probably seen this newspaper-style ad for Good Omens around! The Nice and Accurate News!

It features a series of headlines that tie in with the story from the book:

ANGELS AND DEMONS WALK THE EARTH!

Top Psychic Tells You How to Spot Them!

"I SURVIVED RAIN OF FISH!" -Trout tells of miracle getaway.

And just about everything else you can read.

Also a witty conundrum about its authors:

WORLD'S FUNNIEST BOOK WRITTEN BY TWO PEOPLE WITH ONE HEAD EACH!

Top scientists have declared themselves baffled by the astounding case of these two one-headed men. Not only do they not have any limbs or vital organs in common, but they have been separated since birth-which for Terry Pratchett occurred an amazing 12 years before the birth of Neil Gaiman! Even more astonish-ingly, they have written a book together.

"The Apocalypse has never been funnier," says Clive Barker, director, author, and famed celebrity of the Gaiman and Pratchett collaboration GOOD OMENS. "Their partnership has produced a riotous romp through Revelations, brimming with blissful daftness and wry one-liners." Incredibly, while they have between them two heads, four arms, four legs, and two torsos, these medical marvels don't look anything alike! (Full story and pictures inside.)

Someone who was selling their copy said this:

“I have never seen another of these, nor can I find any information on this very, very cool addition to the book. The book itself was given to me as a gift many year[s] ago and the paper was folded inside it. The paper is in perfect shape.As I said, this was given to me many years ago and I hate to part with it”.

This ad was apparently included during the first U.S. printing of Good Omens back in 1990 (by Workman Publishing Co.) as a promotional item!

I would love to know more about it. Perhaps someone here has more of these that they’d like to share!

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #neil gaiman #terry pratchett #good omens fun facts #good omens newspaper #workman #the nice and accurate news #clive barker #good omens first edition #good omens ephemera

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medium-rare-bimbo · 9 months

Text

Fastest thoughts in the west

♡Masterlist♡

MINORS DNI

May contain: dub con, drugging, dark themes, dark characters

༺*:ﾟ･✧･:*:ﾟ･♡ readmore ♡･ﾟ:*:･✧･ﾟ:*༻

♡ mean! hopper shoving your face in the dirt as he fucks you from behind, you've been so bratty recently and when he got the opportunity to search the woods with you he took it, only so he could teach you to respect him as chief of police

♡ robin x cheerleader reader, making out with Robin in the music room closet then trying to stay silent as someone enters the room, it's hard when your both finger fucking eachother

♡ Eddie fucking you on a mattress he brought into the woods, its covered in cum stains but he doesnt want you to hurt your pretty little body on the various sticks and stones when he fucks you <3

♡ bully! Reader getting put in her place by billy after she mouths off one too many times

♡ dark! Pervy! stepbrother! Eddie/billy/steve/Jonathan, just think they would all perv on the cute little play thing that recently entered their lives, maybe you're taken In by wayne, maybe your Max's sister, maybe steve parents divorced and saw other people, perhaps you're even hoppers daughter. Either way theyd all somehow trick you into sex and be so mean to you

♡ being Nancy's best friend and helping her cum after being denied by steve/Jonathan, sucking her clit and fingering her soaking pussy while telling her that you would never let her leave the house without cumming

♡ eddie paying the cheerleaders in drugs to bully you just so he can comfort you with his cock

♡ scumbag! billy taking you to hang out with his friends (perhaps scumbag! Steve + x creepy perv! Jonathan + eddie who pretends to be nice to get in your pants) who tease you until you're crying, billy then letting you sit and cockwarm him with your head in his shoulder as he rubs your back comforting you as he talks to his friends as if you're not there

♡ dark! Mean! Eddie taking pleasure in turning popular! Bratty! Stuck up! Reader into a gross mess, he'd bend you over at the dingy bar he plays at fucking you near the dumpsters as he degrades you for liking his cock

♡ mean! hopper spanking you so hard you cant sit down for a week, pressing on the bruises that form as he pushes your legs up to your chest as his fat cock hits all the right spots. You dont know if you should be crying from the pleasure or the pain

♡ cutting your lip on Eddie's ring when his hands cover your mouth to keep you quiet

♡ virgin! 001 x virgin! Reader exploring eachothers bodies whenever they get the opportunity

♡ eddie making bimbo! Reader keep DnD dice in her bra just so he can stick his hand in her tits infront of his friends

♡ Jonathan and argyle getting you high just so their hands can wonder

♡ hopper, eddie, steve, billy and Jonathan cumming into shot glasses so bimbo! Reader can try to guess whose cum belongs to who

♡ robin fucking you with a double ended dildo

♡ someone already wrote about this but its honestly my favourite thought, eddie fishing his rings out of your pussy!!!! I love it so much <3 serious brainrot, like to think that he prolongs the finding just so he can see you cum plus the bonus is that he knows his ring has been baptized and blessed by your pussy

♡ 001 with sex pollen, it makes you both go wild and you're fucking like rabbits until you're both passed out and found by the facility higher ups

♡ drugged! Reader gets gangbanged <3<3<3<3

♡ wearing short dresses so everyone can see the Hickies and bite marks that travel to your thighs

♡ mrs wheeler spoiling you with food, freshly baked goods, orgasms and makeup for being such a good friend to her daughter

♡ farmers daughter! Reader getting corrupted by billy whose forced to do work on your father's farm by Neil

♡ being stuffed with various objects to stretch you out by whoever from multiple pens, makeup brushes, a hairbrush and any other type of round object they could find. You should be grateful that they're even stretching you out

♡ scumbag! Rockstar! Eddie x naive! Fan! reader, he invites you back to his room where he convinces you (with his fat juicy pierced cock) to go on tour with him and be his pretty lil girlfriend

♡ dark! scumbag! Rockstar! Eddie fucking popstar! Reader out of jealousy after her song takes over his in the charts

♡ mrs wheeler helping new mom! Reader with her milk filled tits after they become so sore and swollen from not enough use

♡ mean! Whoever x crybaby reader, they pull your panties just so they pinch your clit, they bend you over their lap when you're with their friends just so you flash them all, you cry and try to wriggle away but you're not strong enough

♡ being the office slut in the police station but no one is allowed to do anything about it as your hoppers slut so everyone has to get blue balls

♡ working at a cute lil diner with your short little dress, having hopper as your favourite customer especially when he slips his fingers in you as a tip

♡ mean! perv! 001 x innocent reader -stealing your used panties then blackmailing you with them, knowing that he will get in trouble for having them rather then you

♡ 001 putting a muzzle on feral experiment! Reader when he fucks her to show dominance

♡ bully! Reader making fun of Steve for getting no pussy only for her to be bent over in a alleyway with his cock balls deep in her

♡ thoughts go especially hard about my braces being caught on Eddie's pubes <3 makes me like my braces more when I think of the getting caught on his rings too <3<3<3

♡ speaking of braces heres some thoughts about them, some self indulgence if you will

- mean! Billy sewing your mouth shut with elastics after you get bratty with him

- steve liking the feeling if them catching on his cock

- vampire! Eddie jissing you more when your braces make your gums bleed, let's you spit in his mouth <3<3

- making your lip bleed when they try to cover your mouth and accidentally pressing too hard

♡ anyway back to your scheduled program

♡ hopper x puppy kink!!! Hed call you a good girl, youd have a little tail plug and a pair of cute fluffy ears. Hed fuck you so hard from behind and youd take it because that's what your made for

♡ your boyfriend calling you while they're balls deep you not stopping when the phone rings, forcing you to answer and speak as if you arent clenching around them

♡ robin making you squirt after you worry that you're not able to after your boyfriend couldnt hit the spot

♡ having bruises on you hips from how hard they throw you back on them

♡ Fucking in the park in the summer!! short dress, cute frilly socks and soft cotton panties that get shown when the wind blows or when you bend over to open the picnic basket !!!! <3<3<3

#stranger things x reader #eddie munson x reader #billy hargrove x reader #steve harrington x reader #nancy wheeler x reader #robin buckley x reader #argyle x reader #jonathan byers x reader #tw: stepcest #jim hopper x reader #hopper x reader #karen wheeler x reader #joyce byers x reader #murray bauman x reader #001 x reader #henry creel x reader #vecna x reader #chrissy Cunningham x reader

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deceitfuldevout · 6 months

Text

Struggle

Soft!Dark!Neil Lewis x BestFriend!Reader

Word Count: +1,857

Warning(s): +18, Non con, Misogynistic remarks, Manhandling, Play fighting gone wrong.

Author's Note(s): I was inspired by a soundgasm audio

You and Neil were childhood bestfriends. As thick as thieves. He had been there for you since day one. You grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, and eventually became co-owners of gumshoe movie store. Neil was always the one who wiped away your tears. He was your shoulder to cry on after a nasty breakup. One of the perks of living with your best friend are movie nights. You and Neil would pick out some movies to share.

He knows you love them as much as he does. His was up first, then yours would be after. You would switch the order every weekend. Neil's choice was alright, it was one of those old western movies. You on the other hand picked something newer. One of those action movies with a powerhouse female lead. You thought it was going well. That is until Neil scoffs, you turn to the side and look at him, "What's wrong? You don't like it?"

"No it's just...do you really think she could take them all down in hand-to-hand combat?" out of everything the movie had, that was his biggest concern? Your brows furrow, "Are you saying you could take her on?" now sitting up. Neil tilts his head, "Well, I mean yeah? She's a twig, it'd be hard not to win," he's dead serious about it too. You don't take his remarks seriously. It's not like he meant it, right?

That's when you felt the need to speak up, "Neil it's just a movie, and besides, size doesn't matter in a fight," when you turn your attention back to the screen Neil looks away, "Size doesn't matter?" he's taken aback. He pauses the movie, "Let me get this straight: You're confident that size doesn't matter?" he wants to test this hypothesis out, "Because I'm a lot stronger than you," it's not that Neil thinks he is, it's that he knows so, "I don't mean to sound insensitive but, there's also a biological factor,"

You turn towards Neil and raise a brow, "You're that confident you'll win?" previously, you've won the last several fights against him. But then again, you were both nine years old. He nears, "I bet I could pin you down in less than ten seconds," he wants to test out that theory. So, You decide to test it out, getting into position, "Three...two...one-" but before you've had a chance to even find solid grounding, Neil already has you pinned to the couch.

It stuns you, for a moment you were left in disbelief. How did he? When did he? It was so fast you hadn't even seen it coming. You try lifting yourself up but Neil shoves you down with a light 'thud'. When you try to sit, he does it again, only harder. This was nothing to him. He didn't even seem tired. For a moment you question yourself. Had Neil been holding back the entire time? It was almost surprising how strong he was. "C'mon...fight back, I said fight back..." Neil hovers over you. Both of his legs now straddling your sides.

He manages to trap both your wrists together in one of his hands. You try to pulling them free but his grip is unbreakable. You've never noticed how strong he actually was. Sure, he'd let you sit on his shoulders during concerts, or even lift you up in a hug, but this was the first time you've really noticed his concentrated strength. It took little to no effort pinning you down. He leans in, now face-to-face, "Do you give up?" he taunts, "Just admit that I'm stronger than you...there's no use fighting it..."

You didn't want to lose that easily. You kept twisting and turning in an attempt to escape. It was futile. Neil had won fair and square. His hands began to roam under your shirt, playfully caressing your rib cage. He brushes his fingers against the bare skin. You couldn't help but giggle at the ticklish feeling, "O-ok ok! You win!" a burst of laughter erupts from you. After a moment, Neil finally stops. He takes in the sight of you, staring at the peaks forming on both breasts. He licks his lips, ducking his head down. He places a few kisses on your jawline, then down the side of your neck, all the way to your shoulder.

They quickly turn into wet kisses, then suckling. It felt ticklish. Neil had always been overly handsy around you. Even sharing a first kiss in grade school. His hands grip your hips in a tight grasp. You grab his wrists and start to pull, but it was like trying to move metal bars. His brows furrow, obviously annoyed now. He pulls both your arms above your head before tugging at your shirt. It didn't take much for him to drag it up. He knows you detest wearing a bra indoors. He doesn't mind that at all.

You gasp, "Neil! What the hell?! S-stop!" At that moment you did something you never thought would happen. Never in a million years would you have imagined putting your hands on him. You slap Neil across the face. His hair falls down to his forehead. There's a visible red mark on his cheek. His jaw clenches. For the first time ever, Neil Lewis is at a loss for words. You scramble to the other side of the couch, attempting to fix your disheveled clothes. You look back at your best friend in disbelief.

His pupils are blown with lust. His cheeks are a flushed pink as he darts his tongue out to lick his lips, "Let's make a bet, if you can break free, I'll let you go," he captures your ankle, pulling you across the couch towards him, "But if I manage to keep you pinned..." he cups your mound, digging his finger into the slit, "I get to tryout this pussy..." he's dead serious too.

You couldn't believe it. This isn't him. This isn't the same Neil who would comfort you after a nasty breakup. Or be the first one to wipe away those tears away whenever someone tried to hurt you. This wasn't just anyone saying it, this was your best friend. He may have a reputation of being a notorious prankster, but this was taking it too far. You start tearing up, "Neil, you're scaring me..."

He snickers, playfully swiping at your tears with his tongue, "C'mon, keep fighting," he shook your shoulders, "Fight back if you don't want it," his expression changes. It contorts into a snarl as he starts tugging at the fabric of your clothes. You try to fight him off. Neil grins with delight. This was all a game to him.

It was entertaining to Neil, watching your feeble attempt to stop him. He rubs his hard on against your mound, bucking his hips a few times with a moan, "Yeah keep struggling, no matter what you do...I'm bigger than you...stronger than you..." he juts his hips again, only harder this time, "Fuck you have no idea how much this is turning me on..." his voice is much deeper. There's just something about the thrill of it that turns him on. No matter how much you twist and turn, or how hard you try, it was nothing compared to his strength.

Neil may be on the leaner side but he could manage in a fight. His free hand reaches under the waistband of your panties. He lets out a gasp, "Oh fuck..." rubbing his digits up and down your slit to collect any slickness. He yanks down the fabric with ease, taking in the sight of your folds. Neil moans, "Already so wet, yet I haven't even touched you" he clicks his tongue, inspecting your now glistening folds. His eyelids are hooded as he examines the slickness sticking to his fingers, "My, my, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you wanted this..."

Neil lowers his head to your mound. He whispers, "Lemme just..." he flattens his tongue against your core. He gives a long stripe from your leaking hole to your clit, wrapping his lips around it with a moan, "Mmm..." his eyes are blissfully shut. His lashes flutter with pleasure as his brows furrow in delight. Fuck...you taste so good. Everything about you is so fucking perfect. Neil never saw a flaw in you. All those ex's were dumb as shit for dumping you. But no worries, he's here to make up for it.

His fingers slide in with little to no resistance. He began to pump them vigorously in and out your channel. Your toes began to curl from the angel he hit, throwing back your head in pleasure. Neil releases your clit for only a moment, "Fuck...you're enjoying me using you huh?" he teases, then returns to tasting you. He adds more pressure to that sweet, spongey spot inside.

You came, hard. A gush of arousal hits Neil's face as he sucks in your bud. He's having the time of his life, moaning through your climax. He parts, now licking his lips, "Who knew you were such a slut?" he chuckles. His cock twitches at the sight of your tuckered-out form. He's eager to finish what he's started.

Neil frantically unbuckles his belt. He lets his pants slide off, reaching into his boxers to pull out his semi-hard cock. He gives it a few tugs before aiming the leaking tip at your entrance. Neil had never been more desperate in his life to feel a woman. He's only ever imagined this moment while lying in bed late at night. But now? He's not going to waste another second. He buries his cock deep inside, muffling his moans into your shoulder, "M'yeah...just stay still and be my cocksleeve, yeah?" Neil thrusts his hips at a more rapid pace.

You could hear him choke out, "Fuck...fuck...fuck..fuck!" Neil was right. He is too strong. All you could do was lay there as he took what he wanted, staring blankly at the ceiling as he chases his high. He suckles and kisses against your skin to mark what was his. He sighs, "So good...so good for me..." he playfully licks against your mouth, parting your lips with his tongue. His hands held your head in place as he dips it inside.

After he's finishes inside Neil doesn't let you go, no. Instead he manhandles you onto his lap. You're still pierced by his cock. You could practically feel it still twitching inside. Neil catches his breath, he has an arm wrapped around your waist. He leans back against the sofa, pulling you in with him. He reaches for the remote to play the movie. Unbothered by what just happened. You're splayed across his chest with your shirt still on.

Every now and then Neil lazily juts his hips up just to feel you gripping him. He rubs small circles on your lower back, reaching down to squeeze your ass. He doesn't look away from the T.V., not even after he hears you sniffling. You choke out, "I-I hate you..." those words don't bother him. He knows you can get a little emotional and doesn't think too much of it. He places a kiss on your temple, "No you don't," he's sure of it.

#dark!neil lewis #dark!neil lewis x reader #reader #reader insert #dark!fic #dark!fanfic #dark!fanfiction #dark!smut #neil lewis x reader #dark!neil lewis x you #neil lewis #neil lewis x you #fab!reader #afab!reader #fem!reader #my work #my works #cillian murphy character #cillian murphy smut

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scorpiussage · 8 months

Text

The Director’s Cut (Neil Lewis/Fem!OC)

Pairing: Neil Lewis/Fem!OC

Summary: Neil tries his hand at filming with some unintended results.

Warnings: Smut - Unintentional Sex Tape

Neil has been wanting to do this for a long time now— make his own noir short film. He’s splurged on an old film camera and made you visit various antique stores for months until you put together proper 1940s outfits for the two of you.

And to be clear, you’re really only going along with this because you love your boyfriend, not because you have any interest in the art of noir films nor acting. But Neil gave you that hurt puppy look and you couldn’t say no. So now here you are, dressed to the nines as the mysterious dame to Neil’s detective.

Every shot is carefully placed by Neil before he runs to his spot. (While you were helpless to Neil’s sad face, Johnathan and Lucien were not.) The two of you have been at this for hours and all that was left to film was the big climax where the two characters would declare their love for each other and passionately kiss.

“Okay, baby, really give the kiss your all,” Neil instructs from behind the camera he’s adjusting, zooming in so that the two of you would be the center of the frame. Setting the camera to record, he races to to his place in front of you.

His character, gruff and stern, says his lines before wrapping you up in his arms and capturing your mouth in a heated kiss. Whatever you’re supposed to do next completely leaves your mind as you lose yourself in the passionate make out. Neil has never kissed you like this before, like you’re the air he needs to breathe.

It’s the kind of kiss that immediately makes you weak in the knees, leaving you no choice but to throw your arms around his neck and hold on for dear life. And it seems that Neil is not immune to this moment because he doesn’t pull away when he’s supposed to, instead burying one hand into your artfully styled curls and the other slipping down your body to grasp your ass firmly.

The two of you lose yourselves completely in the moment, forgetting all about your characters and the still rolling camera.

Breaking away to breathe, Neil’s lips travel across your jaw to your neck, licking and sucking with single minded focus, seemingly intent to mark you as his.

“Fuck, Neil,” you gasp, your hands scrambling to push his blazer off. And it shows how lost the two of you are in each other that he doesn’t try to correct you to use his character’s name.

Shucking his jacket off, he reaches under you and hoists you up, letting you wrap your legs around his trim waist while he backs the two of you onto the love seat nearby. The next kiss you share is a filthy one, full of tongue and bites that smears your lipstick everywhere. His fingers slip up your stocking covered legs, hooking into the straps of the garter belt you’re wearing.

That’s when you regain enough clarity to remember the still filming camera.

Trying to push Neil back, you squeak, “Wait! The camera!”

He pulls away from the hickey he was giving your throat to look back at the camera. That’s when a rather naughty grin stretches across his face.

“Fuck, good idea,” he gets up off of you and dashes to grab the camera off the tripod, slipping his hand into the strap and making his way back to the love seat with you still splayed out on it.

You quickly close your legs and start trying to shove your skirt back into place.

“No, no, no, baby, c’mon,” he cajoles, the camera still focused squarely on you, “Let’s keep going.”

You’re certain your face is unattractively red as you stutter, “But what if—I can’t—“

Neil gives you gentle little shushes, his face finally peaking out from behind the camera to look at you directly, “It’ll be okay. No one will see this but you and me.”

Biting your lip you contemplate your options. On the one hand, the fear that someone will see this is quite high, but on the other, the thought of getting fucked by Neil on camera is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard of.

Coming to a decision, you give your boyfriend a timid nod and try to relax. His grin is victorious and lecherous as he returns to operating the camera.

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty,” he tells you, one hand leaving the camera to squeeze his tenting cock in his pants.

Scooting forward, you reach out to undo his pants, gasping when his cock springs out red and hard as you’ve ever seen it. You pump the length a few times, memorized by the glistening head and the bead of precum spilling out of it.

“Suck me, baby, please?” He begs, the camera focused squarely on you and the cock at your eye level.

Deciding to fully commit to what the two of you are doing, you lean forward and lick a long stripe from the base to the tip, moaning at his salty taste. His hips jut forward, encouraging you to take him into your mouth and you do with relish. You love sucking Neil’s cock and the way he becomes a begging, stuttering mess every time you do it.

He throws his head back as you suck him down, his moans loud and his words filthy, “Fuck, that’s it. I love your mouth, god, you feel so good!”

Emboldened by his response, you begin sucking him with enthusiasm, taking him as far down as you can and swirling your tongue over the slit. His one free hand gathers your hair up, gripping it firmly and guiding you up and down him with increasing force.

Pulling off of him with a pop, you lick your lips and say, “Use me.”

You barely get your mouth open in time for him to start fucking your mouth in earnest, his grip on your hair just shy of hurting and his litany of praises soaking your pussy. You don’t look away from the camera once, keeping your eyes firmly on that shiny lens.

You’re alerted to Neil’s impending orgasm by his stuttering hips and the way he pushes you to take him all the way to the root, making you bury your nose in the trimmed hair at the base.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” He chants, shoving himself down your throat and cumming loudly and wantonly.

He pulls you off of him just as you’re about to run out of air, your face a mess of cum and spit as you pant.

“Take off your clothes,” Neil tells you, sitting down onto the loveseat next to you.

You stand up on shaky legs, trying to regain your wits about you as you begin unbuttoning your dress. The camera captures it all as you peel the fabric from your body and let it drop to pool around your feet leaving you in the vintage lingerie set.

Neil doesn’t stop his monologue of praise at all, telling you how sexy and beautiful you are as you shed each piece of clothing until you’re entirely bare before him. His cock is already hard again and he’s lazily fisting himself while he films you.

He motions for you to get onto the couch, directing you to lie back.

He’s apparently taking an artistic approach because he slowly traces your form with the camera, the fingers of his free hand running over your body reverently.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” he whispers, leaning away from the camera to leave gentle, biting kisses along your stomach.

You spread your legs to accommodate him, revealing your most intimate self to the camera when he sits up fully and looks down at you.

“I need you, Neil,” you whine, your hands cupping your breasts in what you hope is a seductive manner, your fingers pinching the buds of your nipples. You needn’t say more than that apparently, because he’s quick to line his cock up with your sopping entrance, the head of it teasing your opening by pushing in slightly and pulling back out.

“Gonna give you what you need, baby,” he promises before pushing into you fully, your cunt sucking him in to your tight heat.

You throw your head back and arch your back in pleasure, that feeling of finally being full, of finally having that spot deep inside of you rubbed electrifying from the tips of your toes to the top of your head.

The camera is fully focused on you, on your bouncing tits, on his cock pushing in and out of you, on your gasping mouth.

This video is going to be Neil’s holy grail. He’s going to watch this video till the end of time— till the tape fucking gives out.

His free hand snakes down to start rubbing furiously at your clit, matching the brutal rhythm he’s fucking you with. You moan and spread your legs wider, pulling your knees up to your chest and nodding frantically. The new position lets him sink even deeper into you, his balls hitting your ass.

“‘Let me cum in you, please, fuck,” Neil begs you, his hand holding the camera getting shaky as he begins to peak. You’re close too, that building pressure low in your belly beginning to become too much.

“Please, Neil, I’m so close!” You try pushing up into his hand that’s still rubbing you, that’s dragging you to the edge.

You cum just a moment before he does, your cries echoing around the room and the camera clattering to the ground as Neil drops it and braces himself over you.

You stare at each other for a long time, your foreheads touching.

“I love you,” he tells you not unlike how his character declared earlier but this time real.

“I love you too.”

#taking a break from my vacation to give y'all this 😘💖#neil lewis #neil lewis x reader #neil lewis/reader #neil lewis x oc #neil lewis/oc #watching the detectives #cillian murphy #watching the detectives fic #neil lewis fic

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kechiwrites · 1 year

Text

meant for each other

toxic baby daddy!ghost x reader

3/?

synopsis: after ruining your very rare date night, ghost has some choice words for you.

wc: 2.3k

cw: afab!reader, a bit of dom!ghost, angst, choking, headlock (the hot kind), language, unprotected sex, creampies, jerking off, threats of a facial (is that a thing?), possessive!ghost, threat of cervix penetration (that is a thing, my friend taught me so). no use of y/n ever.

author’s note: for the anon asking for very toxic ghost (i couldn’t go too hard tho, he still wants redemption after all)

read this first for context or don't! It’s pretty stand-alone friendly. mdni

Cutting your date short had been humiliating to say the least. Neil had been polite, but undeniably angry and uncomfortable, slapping his credit card down to cover both of your drinks and your unfinished appetizers before leaving the restaurant.

The car ride home is filled with a choking tense silence, one Neil only breaks when he pulls into your driveway, putting his car into park behind Ghost’s giant “fuck-off” SUV.

“Look, I get that the co-parenting thing is difficult, but you may want to decide whether you and your ex are really over or not before you decide to go on a date again.” Your chest burns with embarrassment, you’re grown, this should not be happening to you. This night should’ve ended with this man’s head between your thighs at least, now you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t block you before you get through your front door.

You nod along, if only to have whatever painfully awkward lecture he’s trying to give end as soon as possible. “I know. I’m sorry, Neil. He wasn’t supposed to-” You cut yourself off. Obviously Ghost wasn’t supposed to show up to your first date in years, with your son in tow no less. “He shouldn’t have been there. He has a problem with boundaries.” And keeping his hands off your ass in public, apparently.

“Right. Well, I think maybe there’s some stuff you two need to talk about.” Neil is short and dismissive, and sure, you get where he’s coming from but your contriteness is slowly curdling into anger with every pedantic word.

“Understatement of the goddamn century.” you speak under your breath, “Thank you Neil.” You grit through your teeth, tossing him a half hearted goodbye before you tear out of his car, bone tired and almost shaking with irritation, into your dimly lit driveway. The cream colour of your front door sings to you like a siren, teasing at the peaceful, uncomplicated oasis that lies behind it, at least until you remember what’s in there waiting for you. Neil pulls his car out of your driveway before you can even fish your keys out and you kiss that avenue of relief goodbye forever.

Your exhaustion seems to double when you cross your home's threshold to find Ghost sitting on your couch, manspreading like he fucking lived there. Like he belongs there. A headache is already beginning to build in the back of your skull, and you just pray to god he’ll say whatever he wants to say quickly and fucking bail. Your skin feels like it’s weighted down when you drop your bag on the carpet by your door, legs heavy as lead while you toe off your shoes.

“Welcome home.” Beyond the rise and fall of his chest and shoulders he barely moves an inch, keeping his attention glued to your television, more eyeballing the sitcom rerun than actually watching it. You were not going to rise to his provocation. He was going to get the silent treatment from you, you wouldn’t utter a goddamn word-

“You were so out of line tonight.” You stomp all over your own vow before you even finish making it, letting your annoyance and his arrogance win out.

You’d meant for your accusation to sound more angry, but your fatigue seeps into every word and sucks out all the venom.

“Sure. Come here.” He spreads his thighs wider, until there’s a, frankly miniscule, space on the couch between his fucking tree-trunk legs, assumedly created for you to sit in.

“You want to act like a fucking child, leave my baby out of it.” You stay rooted to the spot, not because you're tempted to follow his command, you’re just worried you’ll attempt to slap the shit out of the soldier.

“Our baby.” He grunts, folding his arms across his chest. His bandana is back in place, but somehow he still manages to look petulant.

You’re going to need to see a doctor about your blood pressure for sure.

“You know what, Ghost? I’m here, I assume Thomas is asleep, so you’re done for the night. I suggest you go wherever the fuck it is you go when you aren’t here making my life hell. Oh and next time-”

“Enough.” He thunders, and your jaw snaps shut. It’s a special talent of his to feel so intimidating even when sitting in the midst of a painfully suburban living room. God knows where he learned it or why. “Come here. I won’t ask you again.” The dark tone of his voice shoots up your spine and pushes your body into action, heart thudding in time with your footsteps. Your ex watches you comply, eyes heavily lidded when you stand in front of him, looking down at the exposed half of his face, the twice broken crookedness of his nose bridge, the long lashes rimming his eyes.

“What? Do you want?” You hiss, hands balling into fists at your sides.

“Sit.” You start to obey, you figure you know what he wants and it’s hard to deny him when you’d had hopes of riding the guy you’d met at the convenience store into the sunset. You attempt to straddle him, raising your knee to the sofa before he stops you.

“No.” He murmurs, heavy hand on your shoulder. “Like this.” He pushes you down until you’re kneeling between his thighs. Until he eclipses your vision and the warm, off-white light of your living room forms a halo around his head from above. Ghost makes quick work of his fly, fishing his half hard dick out of the open zipper. He pumps a broad, rough hand over the length of it, working himself over until his erection is full, angry red, and leaking precum onto the tip of your nose. Your gaze bounces from his cock to his face and back again. Eventually, he decides his precum isn’t enough.

“Stick your tongue out.” He groans, circling a hand around the root of his length, and angling it towards you. You do as you're told, palms sweating where they sit uselessly on your lap. You’re sure you make a pretty picture. Soft, obedient, pathetic. Weak when it comes to him. Weak when it comes to getting what you think you need.

Ghost drags the ruddy head of his cock over the slick pad of your tongue, once, twice, three times, until the salt and skin taste addles your brain. The sound of your spit against his heat under the heavy jerks of his hand fills your ears, shaking loose your last little bit of dignity. All of a sudden you couldn’t care less that the lecture you’d planned to deliver is being swallowed down in favour of drooling over the dripping head of Ghost's dick. You couldn’t care less that he’d ruined any chance of a second date with Nicholas or Nate or whatever the fuck his name had been.

“Do not move.” He spits, teeth clenched, while he works his hand over his length, his free hand keeps you crumpled below him, so he can fill your sight with the heavy, veined curve of his cock, brushing your lips and the tip of your nose with his knuckles while he fists himself.

His cheeks flush the softest shade of pink and his barrel chest heaves as he gets closer to finishing over your face. Satisfied with your position, he removes the hand weighing down your shoulder and lifts your face.

“Knees.” You almost sob with relief when you turn to face away from him, letting him carelessly tear your jeans and underwear from your body, exposing the soft, slick lips of your cunt to the open air.

The solid thunk of his knees meeting the hardwood floor of the living room is the only warning that preempts him breaching the warm clutch of your insides. He fucks into you slowly, slower than you ever thought possible, and you wonder whether it’s to stop himself from coming or to punish you further. His hulking frame bends over you, covering your back with his obscene warmth, even through your clothes. His zipper scratches you when he forces your pussy to accommodate his girth, filling you over and over until you're punch-drunk and gasping, hands slipping against the floor with every hard thrust and grind against you. Ghost’s hips rock and stutter when you cry out, bending further down, bringing his mouth to your ear to hiss at you to shut the fuck up, lest you wake your son.

You’re stuck oscillating between sighing or crying, stuck wanting to surrender and wanting to fight back, screaming and shouting and grasping at straws to get you the fuck out of this because you’re frightened. You are scared of him, of what he can do and has done. To you, to your son. You’re scared that ultimately, deep down, you are meant for each other. Meant to stay locked to one another, holding hands while you inevitably sink into deep black nothing, choking on each other’s frustrations and wants, your shortcomings and would-be’s.

Empty and unchanged. Fighting the same fights, wishing the same wishes.

Then, Ghost speaks your fears into reality.

"You're mine," he huffs over you and you are so thankful he can't see how you need to bite your wrist to stop from moaning aloud. When he finally lets up, leaving your back woefully cold, he clamps his palm around the back of your neck and pushes, until your cheek is crushed against the floor and he can mount you properly, fucking you with what feels like all his strength, his leg hitched up to reach deeper, so deep it almost hurts.

"Hate me all you want now, but that kid back there means you will always belong to me. I will always be the man who gave him to you. No matter what poor sod you try to replace me with, I'll be the one who makes you feel like this. Eventually things will go back to how they're supposed to be.”

It’s probably the most words he’s said all week, in your presence anyway. It chokes you, fills your mouth, your lungs until that familiar drowning sensation threatens to pull you under. But not before you hear him mutter to himself;

“They have to.”

You can barely breathe underneath the pressure Ghost seems to bring with him everywhere. When you don’t respond to his claim (as if you could say anything with him taking your mind apart piece by piece), he hooks his arm around your throat, pulling you up against his chest, which of course, doesn’t make breathing any easier. Ghost drags his teeth over the shell of your ear, dropping his free hand low to draw small, deliberate circles against your clit. Air flees from your lungs while your hips twitch to follow along with his hand. The tip of his dick brushes your cervix and you yelp in response, the inevitable throbbing pain sending a lightning bolt right to your brain, and accompanied with the feeling of breathlessness, the sensation forces you to come over the length of his cock, the slick walls of your pussy clenching tight around him. When his arm finally slackens, you slump in his hold, eager to draw in lungfuls of precious air while Ghost batters the inside of your cunt while he continues to hold you upright. You groan loudly and he covers your mouth with his palm, soaked in your arousal. The light overhead feels like it’s blinding you, your skin feels raw and exposed, nerves on nerves that Ghost plucks and brushes to reduce you to rubble, nothing more than ruins underneath his practiced hands.

You screw your eyes shut, heavy breaths from your nose are the only thing keeping you from blacking out, your pulse pounds in your throat while your mind tries to catch up with your body.

Ghost lets his forehead fall to your shoulder and he finishes inside you, murmuring something you can’t hear while his hips knock into yours. He’s tense against you, before his limbs go languid and soft, brushing his half-covered nose against the side of your neck. You bat uselessly at the arm circling your midsection with a shaky fist, urging your ex to release you. It’s too much, you can smell him on your skin, feel him drip down the inside of your thigh, and you need it to be over now. He complies and you fall forward, unprepared for the sudden weightlessness. In a flash, his hands are back on you, grasping at your forearms and pulling you against him. It’s a breeze for him to drag your lax body onto the couch and cover you with the flimsy throw blanket you usually just laid over the back of the sofa. Your mind spins with the change of position. You don’t even know when he’d pulled out of you.

For now, you’re just content to have the heavy curtain of sleep close on the events of the day, the funny little tragedy that your life has become. Content to have Ghost tuck you in and pull his favourite disappearing act.

You mumble dreamily; “The invisible boyfriend!” Your arm flailing upwards in a mock flourish. You think that maybe, you hear him laugh at you. A quiet huff of air, muffled by a skull themed bandana. You think that maybe, you hear him flick the lights off in the house, like you usually do before bed. You think that maybe, you hear him check on Tommy in his room, cuddled into what is undoubtedly too many stuffed toys for his tiny mattress. You think that maybe, he sits on the floor by the couch and goes back to watching television while you drift off into a dreamless sleep, resting his head against your blanket-covered knee.

But, like always, he’s gone when you wake up. So maybe what you think you heard doesn't really matter.

series masterlist here

#ghost x black reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost smut #ghost mw2 #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x black!reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod mw2 smut #cod x you #ghost x gn reader #ghost cod #kechiwrites #baby daddy ghost

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jtl-fics · 11 months

Text

Fluent Freshman - Part 26

Nicky can’t help but bounce his legs as they sit in the waiting room at the hospital. He’s had to leave the waiting room a couple times already because in Aaron’s effort to comfort him, and wow how far they’ve come he’s really raised Aaron to be such a thoughtful young man, the jackass has unknowingly made four more Miss Congeniality references.

This is a waiting room full of nervous families and Nicky is NOT about to be the guy who can’t stop laughing because Aaron mentioned World Peace in a snapback at Kevin.

Nicky is not going to be the one to explain FF’s jokes. He MAY already be planning a Miss Congeniality movie night. Neil, Aaron, and Kevin may not remember but ANDREW will and watching Andrew realize his friend was referencing an AMAZING movie when talking about how he took out one of the FBIs most wanted was all he wanted at the moment.

Another nurse comes in and calls out “Elias Smith?” But Wymack doesn’t get up from his seat still sipping his now lukewarm coffee. There’s been 14 different times she’s called for a ‘Smith’ family but Wymack hasn’t moved for any of them and different waiting families have gotten up to get updates and taken back to see their family members.

Maybe he wants to see Andrew’s face a little less than he wants to see FF’s right now. He has his flowers on a chair next to him and a get well soon card that he’d had Wymack also sign. He was waiting for Smith’s grandma to come to see if she wanted in on some card real estate

“Seriously, how many Smiths got stabbed yesterday?” Kevin marvels.

“At this point it’s at least 12.” Aaron remarks.

“I’m at 14 not including Smithy.” Nicky says.

“At least we’ll finally get to find out Smith’s first name.” Kevin crosses his arms and leans back heavily into the chair, “I’m hungry.” He whines.

“Yeah, at least there’s that.” Nicky agrees because not knowing FF’s name at this point made him feel like an incredibly BAD friend. Even mores than the fact that Nicky raised the man that stabbed FF last night. He turns his thoughts away from those thoughts, “You wouldn’t be hungry if you hadn’t bitched about the breakfast burritos I had us pick up.” Nicky argues.

“It was greasy! I’m already slipping on my diet after Thanksgiving and eating that pie.” Kevin argues back.

Nicky can’t help but think of Kevin as a pageant contestant in that moment.

Nicky looks heavenward for the strength not to laugh.

“Then go get something.” Aaron says from Nicky’s side, “There’s gotta be a cafeteria or something around here.” Aaron adds.

“I don’t want to go alone.” Kevin shoots back and Nicky can HEAR Aaron roll his eyes.

“Fine, whatever I need more coffee anyways. Let’s go find a cafeteria.” Aaron says getting up and Nicky looks at his cousin, “Text us if you get a room number.” He says.

“Will do.” Nicky agrees.

Then it was two.

It’s about five minutes before, “David Wymack?”

Nicky’s head shoots to Wymack and he sees the smug amusement on their coach’s face.

That motherfucker.

Nicky followed Wymack up to the doctor in question. “How’s he doing?” Wymack asks.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about…” The doctor says and Nicky feels his stomach sink into his toes.

***

Neil has NEVER been more relieved to be out of a car and that includes the ones Lola had him in (though that might be because being out of those cars meant he was closer to his death by way of Nathan).

Granny Smith had not spoken a word unprompted since they had climbed into the car. Granny Smith had the exact same expressionless face as her grandson did but it is only now that Neil realizes that there was always some hint of emotion on FF’s face. Neil wasn’t great at knowing exactly what those emotions were but they were there.

Granny Smith’s rage was pretty hard to miss.

“I think she knows.” Andrew had said with his hands white knuckled at 10 and 2.

“How could she?” Neil questions. “Smith’s phone fell in that toilet before he got stabbed.” He says but he can feel the anger and can feel it directed towards them.

She had seemed so nice with Paul!

Though Paul didn’t have anything to do with her grandson getting stabbed. Neil could understand how that might sour any niceness.

Neil and Andrew had pulled into the parking lot and it was only then that Granny Smith leaned forward and pointed towards the entrance.

Words weren’t really necessary then.

Before Neil could even try and trudge through offering to bring her bag to her the woman was out of the back of the Maserati and through the sliding doors of the hospital.

“Maybe…maybe she’s just like that? Smith likes to sit in silence too?” Neil tries but Andrew doesn’t say anything as he turns the Maserati into the parking lot to find a space.

They walked in only to find the receptionist looking confusedly at Granny Smith as the woman spoke in rapid Polish but was getting nowhere.

Neil watched as Andrew squared his shoulders and walked up to her and tapped her on the shoulder. When she turned around she the fear and anger shown through in her expression. Neil could understand in a way. FF was her grandson and considering the fact that FF had likely gotten his interest in languages from learning Polish from her?

They’re probably close.

Neil is pretty sure that normal close family members worry like this.

Almost positive.

He may not have the best examples in his own life but he has watched enough television and enough movies to start to see what might be considered normal!

Really!

Anyways…

Andrew points towards the doors that would lead them towards the elevator that they could take up to the waiting room.

Neil watches as Granny Smith visibly struggles before nodding. Andrew holds out his hand and she stares at it before Andrew points at her bag.

She blinks, looking taken aback.

“I can carry it.” He offers.

It’s a few moments of looking between Andrew’s face and his hand before she hands over her bag.

Andrew puts it over his shoulder and the three of them silently made their way up. The elevator ride was slightly less excruciating than the car ride but only just.

They got off and saw Nicky, Wymack, and a Doctor.

“…so he may not wake up.” Neil hears and watches as Andrew’s shoulders go instantly tense and Neil feels his own heart jump into his throat.

Then Nicky laughs.

“Of course he’s sleepy!” Nicky throws his head back.

“Yes, he had a high level of cortisol, that’s the stress hormone, in his blood. He should wake up either late today or early tomorrow though.” The Doctor says.

“Oh thank GOD.” Nicky says with a relieved slump to his shoulders, “You really gotta work on how you start conversations like this Doc! I thought you were going to tell me Smithy died not that he’s just going to sleep like the dead for at least 18 more hours!” Nicky exclaims before his gaze slides off of the Doctor and onto their group. “Oh!” Nicky moves past the Doctor and stops in front of them. “You must be Smithy’s grandma!” He says and offers his hand like the sweet respectable young man that Nicky absolutely isn’t.

“Nicky, she doesn’t-“

“Ty musisz być Nicky! Jesteś taki przystojny, tak jak powiedział mój kurczaczek.” Granny Smith knocks his hand away and pinches his cheek. Nicky visibly melts at the warm tonę even if he doesn’t know what is being said to him.

“Oh!” Nicky says, “I hope I don’t butcher this, Dziękuję! Uwielbiałem Pani ciasto!” He says haltingly before pausing, “Nazywa go Pani swoim kurczakiem? Jakie to słodkie!” he says but this time his enthusiasm has the language come out more smoothly.

Granny Smith seems to light up even more. “Czyż nie?”

“Nicky, since when did you know Polish?” Andrew asks brows raised slightly in shock.

“What? You two aren’t the only ones who decided to learn a cute foreign language so you could have secret couple conversations.” Nicky huffs frowning at the two of them, “Erik’s company has an office in Poland, he thinks it might be fun to try living there for a while so we’ve been learning the last year and a half.” Nicky says, “Smithy’s been such a huge help on it too!” He adds.

Neil opens his mouth, thinks about it, and closes it.

That’s fair.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

EDIT: 6/8/23: Thanks @shirlai for fixing my janky Polish for Nicky!

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @fuckyeahjeanmoreau @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lillyndra @themundanemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream @azure-wing @bushbees @roonilwazlib-main @crumplelush @foldedaces-paperbirds @thesenseinnonsense @let-tyrants-fear @ketchupandfries @legowerewolf @deadlydodos @but-we-respect-his-craft @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit @lesbian-blackbeard @lesbiansupernatural @silvermasquerade @thepeachfuzz @minniemariex @kazoo-the-demjin @gaypomegranate @ji-nk-ies @neilimfinejosten @omgrubelangel @itsyouitsmeorpheuseurydice @percabethotplove @cozyrosykay @foxyatlas

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

Also if anyone fluent in Polish wants to correct me on any of the Polish wants to correct me / sends smoother Polish please do! I am just using Google Translate for GS.

Translations:

Ty musisz być Nicky! Jesteś taki przystojny, tak jak powiedział mój kurczaczek. = “You must be Nicky! You're so handsome, just like my chicken said.”

“Dziękuję! Uwielbiałem Pani ciasto!” = “Thank you! I loved your pie!”

“Nazywa go Pani swoim kurczakiem? Jakie to słodkie!” = “You call him your chicken? That’s so cute!”

“Czyż nie?” = “Isn’t it?”

#Fluent Freshman AU #Phew!#Finally got this one out #You might be wondering #Where did Aaron and Kevin go?#The answer is that Kevin saw the nutrition office #and was compelled to go ask for advice #Aaron left him there because he needs to find the cafeteria to get coffee #What happens first #Will Aaron get back to Kevin before the nutritionist runs out of patience?#Tune in to find out #Is Nicky about to experience the highs and lows of having a loving grandma?#Yes #Will Neil and Andrew get to experience those same highs and lows?#time will tell #It's me #I'm time #I will tell #I do think it's funny that I start feeling bad when I don't update this #and it's been like 4 days since the last update #which is not all that long ago #The OCD completionist that I am is taking a lot of joy just minesweeping the map in tears of the kingdom #I am one of those psychos that has to get all the korok seeds #I still have not progressed the plot #but I am free #AFTG AU #AFTG OC #AFTG #Andreil #My Fics

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ariesbilly · 1 month

Note

Everyone knows.

Its not as terrifying or as humiliating as he thought it'd be. Actually; he kind of doesn't feel shit right now. The good thing about getting hit on the head too hard is it kind of fucks up your ability to function.

So everyone knows, but Billy's just sat there with his legs out the back of the Chief's cruiser, neutrally suspended in some syrupy thick slice of space where his broken ribs and possibly cracked skull are just a background thought, and—

And fucking Harrington is here. Because of course he is. Fucking Harrington is everywhere. School. Random backass houses with underage girls. Billy's dreams.

The front of the Hargrove household, walking up with that stupid little frown on his stupid, pretty face. Billy can't even scramble together the thought power to tip his head back and smirk. Make some quip. Just watches him approach; felled prey.

Steve opens his mouth.

"She's fine."

Harrington stops, blinks, brows knitting tighter as he crouches in front of Billy, elbows resting on his own thighs. He always looks like he has no fucking clue what's going on. Its equal parts kind of cute and kind of annoying.

"Okay," Steve answers slowly, head tilting. "Who is 'she'?"

"Max. Max is fine." And he should stop there. He should. But. "She's always fucking fine. He's never touched her. Hasn't even thrown shit at her. Her door doesn't even have a lock."

Billy's does. But its on the outside. Neil installed it their first fucking night here, after letting Max pick which of the two rooms she wanted first.

"Okay," Steve says again, and Billy kind of wants to kick him, but he's also pretty sure he's too fucked to aim right and he's not sure if he can add that embarrassment on as interest for what's still to come.

"I wasn't going to ask about Max."

Billy blinks.

"I also kind of wasn't going to ask if you were okay, but. Only because its pretty fucking obvious you're not."

Its a point Billy has to concede. Cherry Lane is in chaos; cop cars everywhere, broken glass glittering on the lawn like fallen stars, Billy's blood smeared down the driveway and tracked in bootprints across the porch.

Steve holds out a cigarette. Marl Blue, because he's a rich bitch, but the smoke kind of brings Billy back to life a little.

"Everyone asks."

Steve shrugs. "I've kind of learnt I'm not about doing what everyone else does, anymore. Max is obviously fine. I might not be that smart, but I can still figure some shit out. You're the one sitting here dying in the back of Hop's car."

Billy's kind of hating how many points Steve is scoring right now. As soon as he isn't seeing three of him he's gonna even it out.

"Max has enough people in her corner. She doesn't need me there, too," Steve hums, reaching out to pluck a shard of window pane out of Billy's knee with a quick flick of his fingers.

"I figured its about time someone stands in yours."

FIC ANON EVERY TIME I OPEN MY INBOX TO SEE YOU MY EYES LIGHT UP 🤩

it IS time someone stands in billys corner so true 🤧

#harringrove #briana answers things

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zzoguri · 3 months

Text

safe haven (how much longer do we have?) ➵ jacob bae

jacob bae x reader, slight lee hyunjae x reader

you can only hope for more tomorrows with jacob.

genre/warnings ➵ strangers to lovers, heavy angst with a happy ending, touch of fluff, afab reader (no-gendered terms), lowercase intended, apocalypse au, hurt/comfort (both physical and emotional), depictions of grief, descriptions of gore/blood, use of guns, allusions and discussions of suicide, minor character deaths, hyunjae is your ex, changmin and kevin appearance :'), elements of the last of us (don't support neil druckmann!), mostly written in past tense (because u're remembering!)

word count ➵ 6.2k words

inspired by ➵ “anaheim” by niki, “are you happy?” by @wavesmp3, “love wins all” by iu, episode three of hbo's the last of us, and “you’re gonna carry that weight” quote from cowboy bebop

a/n ➵ my life changed forever reading shawna's piece. thank you for letting me write a piece based on your work (if you haven't read it, go check it out!) just like you, i am a sucker for apocalypse aus :')) hope i did justice to your beautiful work. anyway, love wins all coming out yesterday was a miracle because it's definitely made for this fic </3 thank you to @heemingyu and @deobienthusiast for betareading a bit of this! if you enjoyed reading, please do reblog and leave feedback!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

time was the one thing that occupied everyone’s minds. it held value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and people revolved their lives around it.

questions flew around with every tick and tock—what day is it today? when’s your next doctor’s appointment? how long has it been since you’ve last seen your friends from high school? until when does this meeting last?

as the hands of the clock continue to rotate, the calendar pages would flip along. birthdays were celebrated with every revolution as candles on cakes were lit up, awaiting the puff of celebrants as they wished for their desires. holidays were ones to look forward to; people dressed up to celebrate periods of the year that mattered to them while others slept in until noon. and days were spent counting down until graduations, where caps with tassels would fly to the expanse of blue and orange as cheers and sobs sound throughout.

but now, no one keeps track of time. clocks stopped moving and calendars weren’t produced annually. once the surge of the infected took over, grabbing on humans, taking them away from the lives they’ve lived, everyone ran like they were running out of time. with every second that passes, people are ridden with possibilities of how they might bid farewell to life itself—would it be through the hands of the infected or their own?

now, only one question echoes within their minds: how long do we have?

yet, the clock continues—tick, tock, tick, tock. it keeps going, and going, and going, like how everyone expects it. while everyone seemed to let time go, you still kept track of it all: birthdays, holidays, a graduation you never had.

the outbreak hit two years ago on the day of hyunjae’s graduation. cheers turned into screams. white togas and diplomas were splattered with red. the lively became lifeless.

you remember hyunjae’s hand in yours, fingers gripping you as if you were his life, as you charged out of the gymnasium, legs keeping up with the speed of his. you darted off to nowhere as images of the infected tearing people apart took up every block, all the way from skin to bone.

and while it was a rush of tragedies, hyunjae was the only hope you had.

“keep your eyes on me,” he glanced at you, eyes off the path as he met your gaze. “don’t look at them. only look at me.”

it was impossible to ignore the wails that filled your ears, but you would repeat his words—his soft-spoken voice—to drown them out.

by nightfall, you and hyunjae found yourselves in a motel room, skin cleaned from blood splatters and dressed in clothes that engulfed your figures, and in each other’s arms on a twin-sized bed. the duvet that wrapped around you two is thin, not at all keeping you warm for the night, but the warmth of hyunjae was enough to provide you a sense of security—stability amidst the ever-changing world.

he whispered into the crown of your head, words meant to dispel your fears, all while you sobbed into his shirt. there was nothing that he could do but stay strong for you.

and for a few days, that room acted as your safe haven. the time spent within those four walls is the life you imagined your future with hyunjae. it would’ve been in a two-story house with a garden where a singular orange tree stands, lounging on the couch as you played movies to fall asleep to, but all you had was an old room with a carpeted floor with unrecognizable stains and a bathroom unable to fit two.

yet, you would choose this over anything. even if it meant eating instant noodles for every meal or sleeping on a mattress that ruins your backs, you would choose this if it meant hyunjae would be with you.

still, time continues to move. hyunjae knew that you both couldn’t stay in that room or else the infected may reach you. so when you both went to bed on that last night, you outlined his features from the space between his eyebrows all the way to his lips, and you spent that time memorizing his warmth to carry with you for the rest of your life. you could only hope that he stays with you until the end.

after a month passed, you and hyunjae met changmin, an injured boy who only wanted to live. at first, hyunjae was hesitant to take the stranger in, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to live with the idea of abandoning someone in need. in a world where the infected have taken over, it only seemed right to help out others, save them from a fate they’re not ready to meet.

what started off as a pair turned into a trio. you’ve learned more about what it takes to survive in this life. long gone is the need for money to buy necessities; you need to scavenge if you want to live in an infected-ridden world. thanks to changmin, you and hyunjae got to learn about how to find supplies in every building that you pass on the journey.

but it’s not enough to know where to find food and bullets. hyunjae decided that it was only right to teach you how to use a gun. with every morning that came, you two spent hours learning how to hold, reload, and fire.

“don’t worry,” he told you as his chin hovered over your shoulder. you both stared at the tin can situated on a stack of boxes only a few meters away. “you won’t have to worry about fighting alone. i’ll be here with you.” as you exhaled, your eyes zeroed in on the target. “now, shoot.”

six months have passed, and you were happy that you were still a trio. changmin became your best friend over that time. his laughs were enough to shine glimmers of hope onto you. you were glad that you decided to help him off the ground and tend his bullet wound that day.

until you found yourselves retreating from the horde of infected.

time moves at a constant speed but it can become swift if it decides to. when you and changmin reached the doors leading to safety, you remember seeing hyunjae fighting off those who were once like you, bullets firing at their heads. you remember your screams, telling him to run to you—go to where it’s safe—so that you can keep having tomorrows with him.

yet, hyunjae glanced at changmin, nodding at him before his eyes met yours. you watched how his mouth moves, a soundless three-word phrase leaving him before the doors shut before you. you would’ve pried them open but changmin kept his arms around you, holding you back from letting the infected reach you, from letting hyunjae come back to you.

the wails that left you are enough to attract the infected. if only the infected were to burst through the doors, grab onto you and bring you to hyunjae, then maybe you would stop crying. yet, changmin dragged you away. you never saw him as your best friend after that.

a month passed, and you still refused to talk to him. the boy tried to strike up a conversation with you, trying to earn your laugh like he used to, but he was only met with a cold shoulder. with every brick he put, you smashed your sledgehammer against it, dispelling any hope he had in rekindling his friendship with you.

the two of you learned to live in silence, fighting for survival while dealing with the loss of the one who would always bring you both to safety.

until you came across another boy who pointed his gun toward you. his defensive demeanor reminded you of hyunjae, and you wondered if this was his doing—his reincarnation. but before he could pull the trigger, changmin saved you from meeting your fate.

somehow, the duo had turned into a trio once more. you still refused to talk to changmin, but would eavesdrop on the conversations he shared with the stranger. you learned that the new addition is named jacob.

but even the stranger wasn’t enough to fill the void that hyunjae left. with every nightfall, when the soft snores of the two boys filled your ears, tears streamed down your face as sobs threatened to spill out of your mouth. the palm of your hand wasn’t enough to muffle your weeps. behind your eyelids, hyunjae’s last words to you play on repeat—the ones he failed to say, the ones you’ll never hear again.

maybe if you didn’t leave that motel room then he would’ve still been with you, arms finding their place around your waist as he trails kisses all over you. if the outbreak didn’t happen, then maybe you would be living in that two-story house with him. maybe you would wake up to a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice by the bedside table and the warmth of his lips on your forehead. and maybe you could finally tell him yes before he slips the silver band on your finger—you could’ve grown with him until your hair turns grey.

the weight you carry never got lighter with time. the void continued to consume you whole with the goal of ripping you apart. as another month passed, another life was lost—not to the infected but to the raiders.

“changmin, you have to stay with me.” those were the first words you told him since hyunjae’s death. crimson continued to spill out of his abdomen through the gaps between your fingertips in the same way tears flow out. “jacob! find gauze, betadine, anything!” you never glanced at the stranger, keeping your gaze on your best friend whose eyes continued to droop.

still, changmin caressed your face, thumb wiping teardrops. as he slowly entered territories that you both knew he would never escape, he grinned at you one last time. “i missed hearing you. i’m glad you’ll be the last thing i hear.”

but you tried to tell him that you couldn’t be the last voice he heard. it should’ve been with someone he can imagine his future with, maybe in a two-story house or a cramped flat in an apartment complex. he deserves more tomorrows in the same way hyunjae did.

but time continues to move. it took him away from you in a matter of minutes, slithering away without a second thought and no regard for the value of life, and all you were left with was his temple—still, lifeless. as you sobbed into his shirt, still holding the wound, the warmth of jacob’s hand stayed on your back, moving along with your wails.

now, you carry the loss of two. it never got easier with time.

jacob still sticks with you. it only seemed right. stay strong in numbers as you wander off to nowhere, grasping at the loose ends of survival.

two weeks have passed. you and jacob got used to the new dynamic; while he goes hunting and you’re tasked with scavenging, you both played your roles in combat, ready for any raid or horde. when night would come, you both took shifts, keeping watch while the other got some shut-eye.

until that one evening.

you recall the sounds of wood crackling from the fire. it stood strong against the breeze—burning, shining—surrounded by greens that latch on browns. hues of amber cascaded over your skin, painting you with warmth—it’ll never compare to the one you craved. your eyes drifted to jacob who sat across from you, his eyes trained on the fire as he rubbed his palms together. perhaps he craved the same type of warmth you longed for.

“we used to be three.” his eyes snapped towards yours. “before you came, we used to be three—changmin, me, and—” it rose in you like bile, wanting to escape but never leaving. “we were three then.”

you glanced at the fire that continued to burn. “we met changmin a month after the outbreak, spent six months together until—” the claws of the void struck against your throat, holding you back from sharing with the stranger what your life was before he came. while you never found the right words to say, jacob never pushed, letting you say what you wanted to share while filling in the blanks on his own.

“i resented changmin after what happened.” you moved your gaze to jacob whose eyes never left you. “refused to talk to him. refused to forgive.” and you remember how you hesitated, taking a deep breath in before sputtering out the next sentence. “refused to accept.”

nine months ago, the outbreak didn’t happen. nine months ago, you were attending hyunjae’s graduation. nine months ago, you two were imagining your tomorrows—together, for eternity.

and those nine months fractured all hopes and dreams; the glass is now littered with cracks, ready to burst into shards.

“but i think about the last time we saw changmin,” the image of him sitting in front of you all frail, treading the line between life and death, flashed in front of you; it’s quick but strong to remind you of what’s lost. “and i wish i could’ve learned how to forgive during those two months.”

but it was an impossible request. how could you ever forgive a boy you’ve known for only six months for taking your future away? how could you forgive a world that took him away? how could you forgive and live?

and still, you did.

you left it at that. they were enough. so when you told jacob that you’ll take over tonight’s shift, he never asked to hear more. instead, he laid near the campfire as you keep an eye out.

and once enough hours have passed, you allowed yourself to sob like other nights. the breeze that passed through branches reminded you of changmin; rustling leaves imitated the giggles of the boy you’ve only known during the apocalypse.

the wind that grazed against your skin should’ve been a nuisance, but the warmth of the fire wrapped you up like the duvet in that motel room. and you don’t complain—it’s the only part of hyunjae you have left.

the heat was enough to last you the night, but the chill of reality sent you back to the void.

that night, jacob listened to your sobs. not one of you got enough rest for the journey.

another two weeks went by. you two got into a better groove of the routine; instead of hunting and scavenging in silence, you and jacob found yourselves talking more about your lives before the outbreak. you learned that he was born the same year as hyunjae, and he shared that he had plans to pursue music.

“if the world finds a cure to this mess, you have to promise me that you’ll get me front-row tickets to your first show.” it was a joke. in what world could there be a cure for the infected? but the wishful thinking of what could be—what could’ve been—is all you had left.

still, jacob promised you that.

that night, you two stayed in the living room of an abandoned house. instead of lighting the fireplace, candles were placed on the coffee table. they shined in the middle of you two, you who stayed on the couch and jacob who sat on the mattress lying on the floor.

“where were you?” his eyes met yours. “on the day of the outbreak, i mean.”

he leaned back, hands resting on the mattress before he looked once more at the wax that continued to melt. “it was my graduation.” it hit you like a sudden downpour on a sunny day. “i was next in line to go up on the stage until the infected came.”

and when you said the name of the university, his gaze met yours as his shoulders stiffened. “m—my hyunjae.” it’s the first time you spoke of his name, and the sight of jacob’s eyes widening over it was enough to speak for himself.

“i—i didn’t know,” he whispered, but his words were loud enough to shatter glass. “i only spoke to him a few times. he spoke of you with so much love.”

your heart skipped beats; it should’ve been enough to send you off into the same territories where hyunjae and changmin now stay. your mouth turned dry as jacob’s voice morphed into radio silence.

before you knew it, the two of you left the information to hang in the air as you tried to drift into slumber. the clock continues to tick. minutes turned into hours; time moves like it usually does once more.

yet, you were stuck in the same gymnasium, fixing hyunjae’s toga as you scolded him about how wrinkled it’s become—hey! you’ll go up on stage soon. we can’t take pictures of you like this. despite your words, he smiled at you before grazing his lips on your temple—his silent way of telling you the three-word phrase.

in a split second, you were off the couch. you barged out of the house, clutching your chest as the knot constricted your throat, and your feet dragged you off to nowhere. every sound has turned into a buzz—only the voice of hyunjae being the one clear thing amidst the hysteria.

before you knew it, you stood before a horizon of green. it takes only one step into the woods, alone with no protection, for you to meet your demise. you would’ve charged into it in the same way you would’ve charged out to save hyunjae that day.

all it takes is one step, and—

“what are you doing?!” a pair of hands gripped your shoulders, spinning you around until you were face-to-face with the last form of life that you know of. his breaths were short as his fingers dug into your arms. “you can’t just rush out in the middle of the night! i woke up worried sick.” his eyebrows knitted in frustration. confusion. distress.

the voice was caught in your throat. how does one begin to unpack the baggage they’ve learned to carry? when the items they bring are revolting, rotten, repugnant, how does someone not feel shame about showing all the tattered-up objects? how do you learn to open up to someone you’ve only known for three months?

your hands trembled; you’ve carried the weight of it all for too long.

in that split second, your nose met the juncture between his chin and shoulder. the material of his shirt against your cheek allowed you to bathe in what you miss—the hand of changmin that once caressed your face, the lips of hyunjae that lingered with every kiss. all the moments that you hoped time would freeze just for you lives in the boy you stick with for survival.

all it took were jacob’s hands to rest on the lower side of your back for the tears to begin their stream. the sobs spill out. for once, they weren’t muffled like those other nights. they sounded throughout the space that surrounded you two. you allowed yourself to drop the baggage only for a few minutes.

jacob took you back to the house that night, allowing you to sob about all that you’ve kept under the wraps. when sunrise came, you found your legs mixed with his as his arms remained wrapped around you, and your ear pressed against his chest. the sound of his breathing is the one reminder of what a safe haven is.

half a year went by. jacob still stays by your side. the baggage got lighter.

it should’ve been the same routine; jacob goes off to hunt while you scavenge, and you’ll take turns on the night shifts. but that night shifted something between you two—stolen glances, quiet giggles, linked fingers.

two months have gone by. the moon shined through the trees, their shadows cascading on an abandoned cabin that you and jacob decided to stay in for that night.

it should’ve been the same set-up as other nights spent in abandoned houses; you’ll sleep on the couch while he sleeps on a dragged-out mattress. instead, he sat with you on the couch, your back resting on his chest along with his hand staying on your arm.

a lit candle rested on the table; its amber tones painted the jacob’s skin—close to the fruit tree that stands in your lost future.

“what would you do if there is a cure to this?” you watched how his fingers danced across your skin, calloused from plucking guitar strings or wielding a gun.

jacob’s chest rumbled against your back as he hummed. “what would you do?”

a giggle left you as you looked at the boy. “i was the one who asked you first!”

he shot you a grin as his hand slipped into yours. the candle continued to burn; it did a poor job of giving you light and warmth that night. but he did it all—one smile. one exhale. one indication to show that he lives.

“travel, maybe? or i’ll go back to writing music.” you nodded at his plans before looking back at the light source. “what about you?”

“i don’t know.”

there was no point in going back to university after such a catastrophe. if anything, the year spent surrounded by the infected, fighting for survival, has shown you that there’s more to life than the perpetual cycle of working a nine-to-five.

so…

“i would settle down if i could.” the wax continued to melt. “i think i’ve seen enough of the world. for once, i just want to stay home, indulge in my hobbies, live the life that i want.”

his breath grazed the top of your head. “with someone?” and suddenly, you became aware of it all—the heat that emitted from his palm, the movement of his chest against your back, the gravity of his question.

the words get caught in your throat. your heartbeat rang in your ears. for the first time since hyunjae’s death, you considered it.

“with someone.”

before you knew it, his hand caressed your cheek. you were forced to meet his eyes—they glistened with devotion. he leaned forward, his breath grazing your skin while you held in yours. you didn’t miss how his gaze flickered to your lips before he met your eyes once more.

then, he held back. it’s a choice, one only you can make. but when your eyes shut, it’s a quiet plea—a silent yes.

his lips met yours.

the warmth that blossomed in your chest wasn’t like the one in that motel room. not like the embrace of the one you’ve lost. it was one of all seasons—changing with the weather, bringing comfort throughout the everchanging times.

it’s a perpetual cycle of fighting for survival. you’ll endure through it all.

a month passed by, and you came across another boy on the journey. he’s named kevin, and he told you of a safe haven located in the town that you and jacob grew up in.

for a moment, it was an internal debate—should you go back to where the downfall started? can you go to where the memory of hyunjae still lives?

but one glance at jacob was enough to settle it. the three of you embarked on your journey.

you remember that day. it was a walk with the goal of finding a car to make the journey back an easy one. the heat of the sun prickled against your skin, but you still kept your arms crossed.

“are you two together?” kevin asked, causing you to whip your head towards him. your eyes met jacob’s for a split second—confusion, dejection—before they landed back at the stranger who kept his eyes on the path you took.

“no, we aren’t.”

for the rest of the journey, it was quiet.

sundown came, and you found yourselves in a convenience store for that night’s shelter. jacob was in charge of taking the night shift, allowing you and kevin to rest up. when the stranger went off to sleep on the makeshift bed, you were left alone with jacob.

you watched how he cleaned his gun with a rag stained with dark splotches. the moon gleamed through the window—it cannot compare to how jacob shines.

you needed to get some sleep is what you tell yourself. with one spin, you were about to make your way to where you’d sleep for that night.

“are we really not?” you halted in your tracks. you couldn’t look at him. “did it mean nothing?”

not a single answer left your mouth. your eyes remained straightforward, refusing to meet his gaze.

the warmth vanished with a lack of an answer. instead, it was replaced once more with the cold—the void—that attempted to consume you whole.

and when a scornful chuckle left jacob, you knew that you’d burnt the bridge. you walked away, leaving him to do his job, bidding farewell to the closest form of a safe haven.

two weeks went by, and another goodbye had to be done. kevin stood in front of you two, a grin on his lips while tears streamed down his face. his arm was out, revealing a bite mark. the veins near the wound had already turned black. he would’ve turned in a few hours.

“go out.” those were jacob’s first words to you since that night in the convenience store.

you remember the last thing you told kevin before you left the room—you’ll get to your safe haven. the sobs that spilled out of him are ones you’ll never forget. and when you shut the door behind you, it took 20 seconds until you heard a gunshot.

the weight got heavier once more.

another two weeks went by, and you and jacob found yourselves standing in front of the remains of a safe haven. the fences were torn down. streaks of dark red littered over pavements. not a single sight of a soul lived.

still, you two trudged your way through the town, all the way until you reached jacob’s house. like others, his was abandoned. the cream walls were littered with red strokes and vines. when you both entered, you didn’t miss how jacob’s eyes lingered on a photo hung on the wall—a picture of him, his brother, and his parents.

you gave him all the time he needed to explore, to sit with the mess, while you stayed in the living room. as you sat on the couch that had gathered dust, you caught sight of a bowl of plastic produce that rested on the coffee table. it held a variety of fruits whose paint had chipped: watermelon, chestnut, and fig.

but amidst the crowd of old, torn-down, plastic fruits, a pear and an orange leaned against each other as grime collected on them. once your hands reached out to the fruits, you pulled them apart—a mess of green and orange stained the two.

he came back to you in 30 minutes, eyes glistening with tears. yet, he only gave you a nod, and you two went to another house.

you then stood in front of your old house with jacob by your side. weeds grew in the front yard, and the wooden exterior has turned a few shades darker. silence settled between you two.

to be back in a place you grew up in, where all your memories live, is a process—a grieving one. being face-to-face with the damage brought by the infected can only remind you of what you had and could’ve had.

and once you made your way to your childhood room, you were reminded of all your hopes and dreams before the outbreak. dust rested on top of books. the laptop on your desk had no charge. potted plants have withered.

when you approached the picture frames found on your table, your hand darted out to a photograph of you and hyunjae. there was no occasion when that picture was taken—the fact that you two were together was enough for it to be remembered. memorialized.

as you made your way back down the stairs, you saw jacob crouched in front of the console table with eyes. trained on photographs. “was this your high school graduation?” you approached him and saw the picture he was referring to, you who stood beside hyunjae with a big grin as his lips were on your temple.

“yeah,” you said as you crouched beside jacob. “we knew each other back when i was a freshman.” your fingers trailed on the wooden frame, gathering the dust before flicking it away. despite your efforts, it was still covered in grime, but you didn’t mind.

“and you stayed together since?” all you did was hum. “did you find anything up there?”

for the first time since you entered your old house, you looked at jacob and he met your gaze. your eyes trailed his features. the eyes that speak of a thousand words. the lips that once kissed yours.

and it hit you like the gunshot that filled your ears, the breeze that rustled the leaves that one night, the doors that shut close. it was 20 months since the outbreak happened, 13 months since you lost hyunjae, and 11 months since changmin told you his last words—but it was also 13 months spent with jacob, choosing to survive with him.

“yeah.”

you found a lot of things within those four walls. there were books you once read growing up, stuffed toys you slept with, and the one picture of you and hyunjae; they’re the remaining pieces you have left of a life that was good.

you would’ve kept it all, rebuilt the life that was ripped away by the hands of the infected—

“but nothing to hold on to.”

they’re memories, ones you’ll carry with you, but ones worth moving on from.

“oh,” he said as his eyes still held your gaze. “okay.”

and with one exhale, you said, “let’s rebuild it, just a place for us two.”

it was a whirlwind of emotions in jacob’s eyes, ones you can’t identify. for a moment, you thought he’d say no. maybe he decided that 13 months was enough. one more day with you would be too much, and—

“okay.” when his hand reached out for yours, linking fingers with you like all other times, you gave him a small smile.

when you and jacob stood up, you made your way out of the house, off to find a place just for you two—a safe haven to last you many tomorrows with him.

a month passed. the safe haven was rebuilt; the fences stood strong with electrical wires and barbed wires, and the town was cleaned of all remnants of grime and blood. the two of you took up different tasks ranging from cleaning, cooking, building, and maintaining the haven.

but while you were okay with a knife, accidents did happen. “fuck!”

“what happened?” you remember how jacob came rushing in, only to see you pressing on the skin around the cut on your finger.

before you knew it, you were sitting down with him as he wrapped gauze around the wound. “jacob, it’s just a cut. i’ll be fine.”

“still, i don’t want you getting hurt.” you watched how his eyes were focused on treating your finger. “i’ll be in charge of cooking now.”

you shook your head. “no, i like to cook. i want to cook for us.” his gaze then met yours, his filled with worry while yours filled with determination. they flickered back to your finger, and his hands busied themselves with covering it up.

once he was done, his hand continued to hold yours. you remember the heat of his thumb as it drew patterns on your hand. he’s etched himself onto you.

his eyes met yours once more, and he said, “okay, just let me help out.” all you gave him was a nod.

another month went by, and you woke up to the sound of gunshots. you remember how hazy your vision was that night, fresh from sleep but panic coursing through your veins. and when you looked beside you to only see an empty spot, you didn’t think twice about rushing out of bed.

when you exited the house, you saw jacob holding his gun, firing at the people who attempted to tear down the haven’s fences. “jacob!” when he looked back at you, you caught sight of the crimson that poured out of his abdomen.

another gunshot was fired, grazing jacob’s leg, and he fell to his knees. you ran to him, reaching out to rest your hand on the wound as you began to sob. “fuck! you have to stay with me.” with his arm resting around your shoulders, you dragged him back to the house.

you set him on the table and moved his hand to hold where he was shot. “hold it.” you rushed to where the medical supplies were stored and gathered whatever you could hold. when you got back, you saw how blood continued to spill out.

you got to work, focused on trying to patch him up—making sure he stays. “you can’t go. i won’t let it happen.” and while your hands busied themselves with treating the injury, you remember how jacob’s hand caressed your cheek, thumb wiping away the spilled tears.

“in the basement, there’s a piece of paper that has all the codes. if you ever—”

“no, you’ll be okay.”

still, he continued to talk. “if you ever forget the codes, you can always look at the paper. don’t forget that you need to always check the water system every two days, and—”

“jacob!” you croaked out his name in between sobs. “you’ll be okay. you have to, okay?” the more he went on about what to keep in mind, the baggage got heavier. “i can’t do this without you. i won’t allow it.”

because 15 months ago, you would’ve bid farewell to the mayhem. 13 months ago, you hoped for time to drag you away. 12 months ago, you would’ve walked into the forest. but it’s been 22 months, and you were still walking on this earth, choosing to live amidst the chaos—so long as jacob was with you.

and when you leaned your forehead on his, eyes closed, you felt his breath graze against your lips. “i need you.”

all it took were three words from you. “okay.”

it’s been two months since that happened. the safe haven was rebuilt once more. you and jacob fortified the defense system, hoping they’ll be enough to keep any infected and raiders out. all that matters is that you two were protected—safe—from the chaos.

now, you sit on a couch as you flip through the pages of a book you didn’t have time to read before the outbreak. when all responsibilities vanished, you were able to find enough time to do things you couldn’t do then.

you were ready to get yourself sucked into the world of the novel, but jacob came into the living room with his hands behind his back and a small smile on his lips. “do you remember what you made me promise you before?”

you frown at him, confused, until he shows you an acoustic guitar. “oh my god, you found one?” you put the book on the coffee table.

he takes a seat beside you, body facing towards you as he rests the instrument on his lap. “here, first-row tickets to my first show.” you almost laughed because this is no stadium or club, but a home—one you built with him.

it takes only one smile from him for you to hold it back.

“any song requests?” he strums on the guitar strings, perfectly in tune. it’s almost as if he tuned it before coming to you.

a hum leaves you as you rest your head on your hand propped on the couch. “whatever you want to show me.”

it takes him a few seconds, fingers fiddling with the strings, until he figures out what to play. when he sings out the words—dearest, darling, my universe—you melt like the candles you lit up those nights. as he continues to play a song of a world in hysteria but a love that endures, that’s when you realize what you’ve had all this time.

time is the one thing that occupies your mind. it holds value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and you learned to revolve your life around it.

it takes you two years to figure out that life doesn’t end after the outbreak—and 17 months to realize that your safe haven is not a two-story house with an orange tree in the garden but the boy in front of you.

when you lean closer to him, his fingers falter, messing up the chords. your hand reaches out to caress his face as your eyes flicker to his lips. you don’t miss how jacob holds his breath, how he stops playing the guitar, how his eyes look back at yours—it’s a slurry of warmth, tenderness.

“i love you.”

all it took was a three-word phrase from you for him to close the distance.

the warmth that spreads within you is like the one you experience in the abandoned cabin. but now, you’re full of hope—a reason to stay—in an infected-ridden world.

now, only one question echoes within your mind: how much longer do we have?

an eternity is what you hope.

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