#this is for the time 6 months ago when i said i was gonna draw swifltli and then i didnt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

munson-blurbs · 9 months

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Summary: A disastrous PTA meeting and an unfortunate grocery store encounter have you and Eddie questioning whether or not you deserve each other.

Warnings: a bit of dirty talk (18+ just in case), feelings of unworthiness, Carol Perkins and Billy Hargrove make appearances, mentions of bullying, small allusion to drug use and poverty, arrest, tiny allusion to Eddie's breeding kink

WC: 7.1k

Chapter 13/20

Divider credit to @saradika Special thanks to @girlwiththerubyslippers & @corroded-hellfire for helping with this chapter!

Your Thursday mornings at Hawkins Preschool usually involve a light tap on the door and a blink-and-you-missed-it wave from Eddie; maybe a wink if no one’s looking. Today, he’s stopped by the classroom with a steaming styrofoam cup in hand.

“I thought you only brought me coffee on Mondays,” you laugh appreciatively. You take the still-hot beverage from him, folding back the plastic tab and blowing on it lightly before taking a sip. It’s made just as you like it and warms you from the inside out.

Eddie smiles, crossing his arms over his chest an leaning in closer so his leather-clad shoulder grazes sweater-covered one. “Ah, but the PTA meeting is after school today.” As if you could forget forty minutes of unpaid work that could be spent reading, resting, snuggling up to your thoughtful metalhead boyfriend… “Figured you could use an extra boost of caffeine to help you power through.” He lowers his voice to add, “I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it. But Wayne’ll be there.” He squeezes your hand quickly just as Abby Carver approaches you.

You pull away so fast that you bang your elbow against the side of the desk, biting the inside of your cheek to suppress a yelp. “What can I do for ya, Abby?” you ask, smiling through the throbbing pain.

“Joshua said that he’s taller than me!” she whines, messily swiping at her ruddy tear-stained cheeks. Her dad only dropped her off five minutes ago, and she’s already conjured up a crisis. Unsurprising, but exasperating nonetheless.

You peer over at Joshua Harrington, who is currently constructing a racetrack, unbothered by Abby’s distressed state. Your gaze flits back over to the little girl in front of you. “Honey, he is taller than you,” you gently explain, watching as her bright blue eyes begin to well up again.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t havta say it!” she protests, stamping her sneaker on the speckled tile floor. It’s one that lights up, little red and blue and green twinkles dashing along the side.

You nod, sucking in your lips in a feeble attempt to keep a straight face. “Well, you can just play somewhere else. And we’re gonna get started with circle time in a few minutes.” Time to sing the Good Morning song–again. If the kids didn’t beg for it every day, you would’ve scrapped it months ago, but it keeps them entertained.

Once she scampers off, already zeroing in on a group of girls dressing up some time-battered Barbie dolls, you turn your attention back to Eddie.

“We’re still on for Saturday?” you ask, a subtle reminder of your upcoming date at Enzo’s. It’s a fancier restaurant than either of you are used to, but Eddie had insisted on it.

He nods quickly, scratching at the back of his neck like he does when he’s nervous, though you’re not quite sure what’s on his mind. “Y-Yeah, I’ll pick you up at 7?”

“I can’t wait.”

At 3:15, you and Will trudge into the classroom that’s serving as the meeting venue. It only takes a moment for you to remember that it’s Ms. Marion’s room, and your eyes scan the walls for Harris’s artwork. You find it easily; it’s the best in the class. It’s a drawing based on the saying, ‘March is in like a lion and out like a lamb,’ and each kid drew a picture of the two animals. Harris has meticulously added details to his. He’s drawn a zig-zag line under the lion’s pink nose to represent his aggression and given the lamb a puffy coat of wool, while the other kids just drew smiling lions and a circle to represent their lambs’ bodies. He’s also included a speech bubble hovering above each of their heads; the lion’s says “ROR!!!” and the lamb bleats “BAAA.”

Will’s gaze follows yours, and his lips turn up into a smile when he sees what you’re staring at. “He’s a talented kid,” he remarks. “We gotta have him sign something now so we can say ‘we knew him when.’”

You nod your head in agreement and return his grin. You’ll have to tell Eddie to have Harris swing by your classroom after school tomorrow so Harris can autograph some drawings.

Wayne comes in a few minutes later, taking a seat behind you and Will.

“How’s your day going, Wayne?” You turn around in your chair and greet him. Seeing the older Munson always lifts your spirits. He’s wearing a flannel, checks of olive green and white, over a white t-shirt that proudly proclaims: My Favorite Person Calls Me Grampa.

Wayne gives a little shrug; for him, it’s the equivalent of a beaming smile. “Can’t complain. Didn’t get too much pushback from Harris when I dropped him at the baby-sitter’s.” He explains that Claudia Henderson still has a bunch of the games her son had played with, and Harris loves going through the toy bin and finding something new. “Well, new to him. That stuff’s gotta be nearly twenty years old by now.” He scratches the white-gray whiskers on his cheek and chuckles. “Jeez, ‘m old. I remember buyin’ those kinda games for Eddie when he was a kid.”

More parents and teachers file in and, eventually, the PTA president stands at the front of the classroom and calls the meeting to order. The idle conversation gradually ceases, and Linda Wright presses her lips into a thin smile and smooths nonexistent creases in her khaki slacks.

“Welcome, everyone,” she begins, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Thank you all for being here. We have quite a few items to cover today, so let’s get to it!” She’s far too chipper for your liking, and you wince involuntarily as she excitedly announces the upcoming parent-child talent show. It’s an annual school-hosted fundraiser, and apparently a popular one; there’s a soft roar of discussion before Linda wrinkles her nose in irritation and shushes the group.

“Oh, Ed’s gonna love that,” Wayne leans in and whispers to you. “He’ll probably be more excited than Harris.” He sits up straight when Linda clears her throat and glares in his direction.

The president launches into a tirade about kindergarten readiness strategies, handing out little pamphlets to the parents and guardians. The cover displays an overly-enthusiastic teacher surrounded by a small group of students who are closely attending to a fake lesson.

You hear Wayne grumble under his breath: “What is there to be ready for? It’s kindergarten, Jesus Christ.” and you have to stifle a laugh.

Linda luckily doesn’t hear his lament. “I’m opening up the floor to any questions or concerns.” Now is the time that people typically start gathering their belongings and resume unfinished conversations. It’s precisely what you plan to do until you hear an all-too familiar snide voice from across the room.

“Yes, I have a question.” Carol Perkins stands up. She places her hands on her hips and pulls her lips into a smirk. “What is the school’s policy on parent-teacher relationships? Romantic and…otherwise?” Her gaze sweeps over to you, hovering there for a bit, and you realize with a sense of dread that she’s enjoying this. “Because, to me,” she splays her manicured fingers over the center of her chest, “it just seems completely unprofessional.”

The PTA members start whispering amongst themselves, eyebrows raised in excitement as they try to determine the culprit amongst themselves.

You want to crawl into a hole and die. You can feel Wayne’s eyes on the back of your head, as though he’s silently willing you to remain composed. The only other person who knows of your relationship with Eddie is Will, and you can tell that he’s doing everything in his power not to wrap his arms around you in a hug.

At the very least, the principal is not tolerating the dissolution of the meeting into a gossip session. “Ms. Perkins, we can discuss this at a later time. Privately.” Sue Sinclair’s expression is stoic, unreadable, and you’re not sure whether she’s angry at you or Carol. How would she know it’s me? But logic has no reason with emotion taking center stage, and you’re all too grateful when Chrissy Carver shifts the conversation to organize a ticket sale committee. For the most part, it seems like Carol’s little outburst has been swept under the rug. The meeting concludes as some parents leave while others stick around to schedule playdates, but you remain seated.

A hand on your shoulder startles you from your humiliated stupor, and you look up to see Will looking at you. Sympathy radiates from his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he softly reassures you. “I don’t think anyone knows, and even if they do, who cares? Harris isn’t in your class anymore.”

“I-I know.” But Frankie is, which means I’ll have to face Carol every day, I’ll have to deal with her smarmy expressions and backhanded comments. The blood drains in your face when you think about her spreading rumors to the other parents, their amused stares as they drop their children off to be in your care.

Wayne speaks up as he stands, leaning his gnarled knuckles on the seat of the folding chair for support. “Darlin’, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about. It’s no one’s business who you’re with.” He brushes some dust off of his dungarees and walks with a slight limp towards the door, the remnants of an old injury that flares up in the colder weather. “I gotta go get Harris, but you keep your chin up.” He gives Will a quick head bob that the younger man returns, having developed somewhat of a camaraderie with the elder Munson during the various post-graduation Hellfire sessions held at the trailer.

Carol says nothing as she leaves the room, deep in conversation with Steve Harrington and his wife. If they don’t know about you and Eddie yet, you’re confident that Carol will ensure they do soon. Dread pools in your stomach at the thought of small-town gossip flying, your professionalism being called into question, the possibility of you losing your job. And everyone will know why.

Eddie’s hands tremor with excitement; his whole body buzzes with energy as he grabs the receiver off of the glass countertop. He dials your number–his favorite seven digit combination in the world–and beams the entire time. As soon as he hears your, “hello?”, he’s practically shouting into the phone. Volume control has never been his forte, especially after years of blowing out his eardrums with loud music.

“Babe, guess what?” He drums his left hand fingertips on the counter, a rhythmic pum-pum-pum to keep his breath steady.

“What’s up?”

He notes hesitance in your tone, but chalks it up to exhaustion from your extended workday. “I applied for that manager position? The one I told you about on our first date?” He hears your soft “mhm,” before proceeding. “And I got it! Ash just told me now!” He smiles, pressing the receiver to his ear with his shoulder as he organizes paperwork into a pile. “Eddie Munson, getting the girl and the job? Never in Hawkins’ wildest dreams!”

There’s a pause on your end of the line before you reply. “I’m so proud of you, Eds. No one deserves this more than you do.”

Though there’s still an air of something Eddie can’t quite identify, it’s woven with genuine pride for his accomplishment. His fingertips keep busy as they graze up and down the phone cord. “Now we, uh, really have something to celebrate at Enzo’s.”

Another pause; this one is so long that he wonders if the line disconnected. “Um, about that…” you finally speak up, and Eddie hopes you don’t hear the gigantic sigh of relief that escapes his lips, “maybe we could just do something at my place? Grab takeout, watch a movie or something?”

His relief evaporates almost as quickly as it came, and he puts his weight on his forearms and lowers his voice. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just been a long week.”

It sounds too automatic, too rehearsed to be true. Eddie doesn’t believe you, but he needs to get to Wayne’s and pick up Harris before his uncle leaves for work. “I really wanted to take you out, show you off, y’know?” He clears his throat, scrambling for words. “We can talk more about it later. Try to get some rest, Sweetheart.”

“Mmkay,” you mumble, and Eddie hopes he’s not just imagining the smile in your voice. “I’ll try. Say hi to Harris and Wayne for me.”

He ends the phone call promising that he will, hanging up hesitantly. What happened between this morning and this evening that had you backing out of the date and retreating into your home?

I shouldn’t have tried to hold her hand, he grimaces, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main road towards Forest Hills. That was so stupid; she was at work, and the kids were right there. Way to go, Munson.

Eddie continues to brood about his faux pas all the way until he gets to Wayne’s, slapping a smile on his face as he relays the news about his promotion. The smile becomes less forced the more he talks. He’s suddenly consumed with thoughts of buying a house with a yard, a pool–well, maybe not a pool; he’s not making that much money–but definitely space for Harris to run around and play.

And in this fantasy world he’s created, you’re standing on the front porch, sipping coffee out of a World’s Best Mom mug–possibly the only mug Wayne doesn’t already have nailed to the trailer wall–made just the way you like it. You’re laughing as you watch Harris sprint back and forth across the grass. Eddie imagines it neatly cut, but the reality is that it would probably be more than a bit overgrown.

He’d sneak up behind you, snaking arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder, pressing soft kisses onto the back of your neck–

“That’s amazing, Ed!” Wayne claps a hand on his nephew’s back, drawing him out of his daydream and thrusting him back into reality. He pulls him into a quick hug, not overabundant in affection, but his delight seeps through. “You talk to your girl yet?”

“First person I called.” My girl. The first person I called was my girl. She’s my girl and I’m her man–

“Good.” Wayne responds pensively, smoothing down his unruly mustache whiskers and reaching for his pack of Camels. He shoves them into his side pocket, right on top of the lighter. “She could use some good news after that shitshow of a PTA meeting.”

Eddie’s brows crinkle, pinched together in non-understanding. “What are you talking about?” he asks before calling out his son’s name to bring him from the bedroom. He can hear the bed springs creaking, which can only mean that Harris is jumping on the old mattress. Apparently, breaking his wrist didn’t result in a lesson learned.

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” He slams his palm onto the countertop as confusion melts into frustration. Weren’t you past this? Past keeping secrets and masking emotions?

Wayne sighs, weighing his options. Ultimately, his allegiance is to his nephew, so he divulges what happened that afternoon, heart sinking as Eddie’s face falls with each word. “She seemed real shook up,” he concludes the story, digging out the pack of cigarettes. Delivering news that devastates his nephew has him urgently craving a smoke. “I wanted to stay and talk to her, but Claudia had somewhere to be at five.”

Eddie chews on his lower lip, pulling off a bit of dry skin with his front teeth. “Yeah, no, ‘s fine.” He calls Harris out of the bedroom again, patience sufficiently thinned. Of course Carol Perkins would shoot off her big mouth about your personal life. It’s not like she had anything better to do. None of that is surprising.

What worries Eddie is why you didn’t tell him about it. Were you embarrassed that people knew you were together? Is that why you didn’t want to be seen at Enzo’s with him? Would you agree to a restaurant far outside the bounds of Hawkins, or was this shame rooted deeper than small-town gossip?

Wayne can sense his anxiety, and he scrambles to dam up Eddie’s flooding thoughts as he fumbles to put the cigarette between his lips. “It’s pretty damn obvious that you two care for each other. Dare I say, you lo—”

“Wayne!”

“Fine, fine,” Wayne chuckles and grabs his lunch pack. The ceasing of the bed springs indicates that Harris has stopped jumping, and Eddie can hear toy cars clattering into a bag. “But you should just talk to her. Make sure she’s okay.” He lowers his voice as Harris finally emerges. “I know it ain’t been easy to hear rumors your whole life, but this is new to her. Cut her a little slack.”

Eddie looks around the trailer at what was his first real home. He’d bounced from place to place with his parents, dodging angry landlords and their threats of eviction. From a young age, he’d learned to dread the end of the month, knowing that conflict was inevitable. Screaming voices, accusations of hiding money, when anyone with working eyes could see that they’d all but stuffed it in a pipe and smoked it. There was no love; only survival. Wayne was never the cookies and milk, family dinner, Leave it to Beaver type, but he offered Eddie something he’d never had before: safety.

Now, Eddie scoops Harris into his arms and follows Wayne out of the trailer as he locks up. There’s not too much of great value; possibly just the TV, but even that’s on the fritz. And unless a thief had a hankering for hokey mugs and baseball caps, they’d probably leave without taking a thing. “Thanks, Old Man.”

“‘S what I’m here for,” Wayne says, pressing a kiss to Harris’s mop of curls. He pauses, and then does something he hasn’t done in years: he kisses the top of Eddie’s head, too. “Not just a pretty face, y’know.”

On Saturday evening, Eddie finds himself at Bradley’s Big Buy, scouring the aisles until he locates the small refrigerator holding various flower bouquets. The chill hits him in the chest as he opens the door, crouching down to get a better look at the offerings through their tissue-paper wraps. He’s determined to take you to Enzo’s, and he’d hoping this small gesture will show you that he can be the man you deserve.

He finds a bouquet of pink peonies and grabs them from the display case, clutching them proudly. They’re delicate and beautiful, just like you. He raises them up, the petals tickling his nose when he inhales the fresh scent, when he overhears Billy Hargrove speaking in a hushed tone:

“Thought you were stopping by after that parent meeting thing.”

“My idiot husband came home early,” a woman–Carol Perkins, Eddie realizes–punctuates her lament with an irritated sigh. “But speaking of that meeting–I’ve been meaning to tell you: guess who’s also hooking up?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer before divulging the gossip, “Frankie’s teacher and Eddie Munson.”

“The teacher and the Freak? No way.” He sticks his tongue in his cheek and chuckles maliciously. “Didn’t know she was down for that kind of stuff.”

“Keep it in your pants,” Carol huffs, as though she’s not stepping out on her own husband. “But I’m serious! He brings her coffee and leaves her stupid love notes.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes together as he cringes. Billy’s second round of mean laughter transports him back to the time the jock grabbed his brand-new D20 off of the lunch table and used his basketball skills to chuck it into a far-off trash can. The ruby red die sunk into the mountain of discarded lumps resembling mashed potatoes and half-eaten meatloaf, forcing Eddie to trek across the cafeteria and fish it out of the pile of old food. “Love notes? What, is he in high school or something?”

Carol snickers. “Guess he’s making up for all the times he didn’t bother, since he knew no girl in this town would go for him.”

“Looks like he had to go for an import,” Billy jokes, drawing a hideous cackle from his friend. Eddie can practically hear the man’s ego inflating at the way Carol fawns over him.

“And a desperate one at that,” she snorts. “I mean, can you imagine lowering your standards enough to be with Eddie Munson?”

“Let’s hope she comes to her senses eventually,” he agrees. “So, is your husband home now…?”

All Eddie can think is to run, to get the hell out of there before anyone spots him and notices the pink tinging his cheeks and the tears welling in his eyes. He’s so focused on leaving and getting past the two bullies that he forgets about the flowers in his hand, until an infuriated voice calls after him.

“Hey! Get back here!” The manager rolls his eyes when he recognizes the culprit. “Eddie Munson. Of course. I should’ve known that shoplifting isn't too juvenile a crime for you.”

Eddie can hear Billy and Carol poorly stifling their amusement at his misfortune. He struggles to find the proper words to explain himself as his entire body is engulfed in the flames of embarrassment, burning him from the inside out. “No…I didn’t mean…it was an accident…”

The manager shakes his head with a biting laugh. He’s a graying man who should have been retired fifteen years ago when Eddie was actually shoplifting. The liver-spotted creases around his eyes are particularly visible when he sneers, “Heard that one before. Prob’ly from you.”

Anger burns in Eddie’s throat, but he swallows it. “Look, let me just pay for these, and I’ll get outta here.” He starts to fumble for his wallet, but the old man shakes his head.

“Nice try. I let you off easy too many times when you were a kid, and look where it got ya.” His cold hand clasps Eddie’s bicep as tightly as his feebleness allows. “I’m calling the sheriff. He can decide what to do with you.”

“Shit-shit-shit,” Eddie mumbles, yanking himself from the man’s grip. “Y’don’t have to hold me; I’m not gonna run away.”

To his surprise, the manager lets him go, though it’s likely due to his advanced age rather than trusting Eddie to do the right thing.

He’s taken to the back room, anxiously tapping his foot against the floor and biting his thumbnail. A quick glance at his watch tells him that he’s supposed to pick you up in 15 minutes. He breathes out a long sigh, scanning the bulletin board hastily fastened to the wall with a lone flyer advertising medical benefit sign-up. Upon closer inspection, he reads that it’s for the 1990 fiscal year, and he can’t help but wonder if that’s the last time the stodgy old Bradley ever offered insurance to his overworked, underpaid employees.

He says a silent prayer to whatever gods are listening that Hopper is the one who answers the call. The chief will give him the benefit of the doubt and probably tear the old fart a new one for wasting his time.

Purse, keys, lipstick, condoms.

You have everything you need for your date, save for one minor detail–Eddie.

You’d expected him to stop by your classroom yesterday to say good morning like he normally does, but he didn’t show. He would’ve called you if Harris was staying home sick; a brief peek out your window during recess confirmed that the littlest Munson was present. He ran around the playground with one of his friends from the birthday party, blissfully unaware of the turmoil churning within you.

Eddie definitely heard what happened at the meeting, you realize miserably, and he doesn’t want to deal with the backlash he’ll get from dating his kid’s former teacher. From anxiety blooms visions of the convoluted game of telephone perpetuated by Carol, the story getting more absurd with each retelling.

At 7:30, Eddie still hasn’t shown. He’s not exactly Mr. Punctuality, but thirty minutes is pushing it, even for him. His tardiness does nothing to ameliorate your fears. This was clearly too much for him—you were too much for him.

You’re about to wipe the makeup off of your face and change into your coziest pair of pajamas when the phone rings, startling you slightly.

“H-Hello?”

“This is a collect call from the Hawkins County Jail. Do you accept the charges?” an automated voice bleats, too chipper for the circumstances it’s reporting.

You’re caught off-guard by the question and the tone, and you choke out a strangled, “yes” and the line rings twice.

“Sweetheart? You there?” Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Relief floods your body until you remember where he’s calling from.

“Y-Yeah, I’m here,” you say, and it’s only when your fingers start to cramp that you recognize how tightly you’re gripping the receiver. “Why are you in–”

He sighs into the phone, and static briefly clouds his voice. “Long story,” he mumbles. “Can you just come and get me? There’s, uh, no bail or anything.”

“I’ll be right there.” You waste no time in grabbing your keys off of their hook, nearly forgetting to shove your feet into shoes in your scramble out the door. You’re ashamed to admit that for a millisecond, you consider the possibility that he’s been busted for dealing, but you shake it off lest it further infiltrate your psyche.

You pull up to the jail exactly twenty-eight minutes later, the fastest you can get there without flying down side streets; the irony of being pulled over for speeding on your way to the police station was not lost on you. Flinging the car into park and killing the engine, you fast-walk through the entrance and hope your nervousness is hidden by the air of confidence you’re faking.

“I’m here to pick up Eddie—er, Edward Munson?” His legal name is clunky on your tongue, like it doesn’t quite belong to him.

The officer behind the desk wears a name badge that reads “P. Callahan.” He puts down his copy of the Hawkins Post and presses his lips into a thin line as he reaches for the walkie attached to his shirt pocket.

“Hop, is Munson ready to be released?” Released. Like a wild animal who needs to be kept away from the general public for their own safety.

The officer on the other end—Chief Hopper, you presume—confirms that Eddie is good to go, and a door opens shortly after that. Eddie trudges out, shame and frustration marring his beautiful face.

You sign whatever paperwork is required before silently taking Eddie’s hand and leading him to the car. He holds it tight, a shiver of a tremor rocking through it.

“Babe, what happened?” you ask once you’re safely outside, away from where the officers can hear you.

Eddie lets go of your hand to throw his arm around you dramatically, leaning with his whole body weight. The sudden force of it has you stumbling, but he catches your fall.

“It’s awful being on the inside,” he whines, trying to lay on an exaggerated pout, but his smile pokes through. “You’ve made me too soft for prison, baby. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you and almost got shanked.”

His joke subtly informs you that he’s not ready to actually discuss it yet, and so you roll your eyes and play along for now. “Poor thing. Locked up for a whole forty minutes.”

“It was more like forty-five,” he protests, “and every second counts when it’s spent missing my girl.”

“You’re so full of it, Munson.” My girl. If he never calls you anything else but his girl for the rest of your lives, you wouldn’t complain.

He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you in so your back is pressed against his chest. “Full of longing and devotion!”

“Sshh!” you chastise him lightly through your giggling. “Get in the car, crazy man.”

“Crazy ‘bout you!” Eddie says, booping your nose. As soon as your fingers wrap around the gearshift, he’s resting his hand atop yours. It trembles slightly.

Tell me what happened. Don’t keep any more secrets from me. I won’t judge you or leave you. I’m your girl, remember?

It takes a few blocks before you finally work up the courage to ask, “Is everything okay?” It’s a stupid question; you don’t get arrested if everything’s okay, but the alternative is a more straightforward, Why the hell did I have to pick you up from jail?, so you acquiesce.

“‘M good.” He gives your hand another tiny squeeze and attempts a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You sigh, poorly hiding your impatience for answers you need to know. “Can we talk about what happened?”

His slow release of breath is in sync with your foot pressing on the brake pedal as you approach a stop sign. “Not a big deal. Just a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding that led to you getting arrested?” Stop hiding. Stop pretending. Stop acting like this is fine when it clearly isn’t. Stop making me feel like you don’t trust me. The words get caught behind clenched teeth, threatening to ooze through the gaps.

“Yup.” He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes as though giving a sufficient response to end the conversation.

You drive another few minutes before you spot the sign for Lovers Lake in the distance. There’s only one surefire way to calm his nerves; whatever it is he’s keeping from you, there’s a reason he hasn’t worked up the courage to say it.

Eddie sits up and peers out the window in confusion when you veer to the exit. “Where are we—”

“You’ll see.”

Parking in a spot secluded by trees and the dark of night, you turn to him and stroke his cheek with your thumb. “Can I make my man feel good?” you coo, taking his earlobe between your teeth and tugging lightly. You can feel the small bump where his piercings used to be.

“Shit, baby,” he breathily groans, adjusting the seat so you have ample space to straddle his lap. His hands fly to his belt buckle, undoing it and pulling the leather strip from its loops. Though his pants aren’t as tight around him now, you can still see the outline of his now half-hard cock beginning to press against his fly. “‘S exactly what I need.”

But it isn’t solely the act of sex that he needs, although it would be a farce to imply that he didn’t crave the feeling of you wrapped around him. It was the public nature of it; the way that anyone could walk by and see you on top of him. Could see you choosing him. The teacher choosing the Freak.

You roll your hips, denim-on-denim creating a delicious friction that draws moans from both you and Eddie. Your lips chastely graze his neck, trailing kisses upwards until you reach the prickly stubble along his jawline.

Eddie’s hands grab your ass, claiming it as his. “Feels—mmf—feels good,” he grunts, letting out a soft chuckle when he adds, “gonna make me cream my jeans if you keep grinding on me like that.”

“S’okay,” you shrug, maintaining your tempo. You press your lips to his and he whines into your mouth. “Just wanna ease your mind tonight, Eds.”

“Yeah, but the face you make when you cum? Christ, babe. Makes it even better for me.” He scoots you off of him for a moment, laughing again when he sees your lower lip jut out. “Let me just grab a condom, you needy little thing.”

You bury your head in the crook of his neck and begin sucking on its supple skin as he fumbles for his wallet. “Fine, fine,” you grumble, a teasing lilt in your tone. “The last thing we need is for people seeing that you knocked me up.”

Eddie freezes beneath you, his wallet falling to the weather-mat with a thud. “Wh…what?” His voice is below a whisper, volume compressed by emotion.

“We’ve only been together, like, a month.” It’s too obvious a point to confuse him. There’s no way he really wants a kid with you right now. “We can’t have a baby—”

Eddie vehemently shakes his head, effectively cutting you off. “But that’s not what you said.” You see hurt in his eyes as you try to piece together the puzzle. The fact that you can’t immediately identify the source adds another element of frustration for both of you. “You said that we can’t have people seeing that I knocked you up. Why…why wouldn’t you want people knowing that I…?”

The imagined swell of your belly that he’d hoped you proudly show off, mindlessly caressing it as you walk hand-in-hand with him, is now covered with layers of clothing, even in summer’s heat. You’re tugging a cardigan closed, determined not to let anyone see the shame you’re carrying along with Eddie Munson’s child.

“I just figured you wouldn’t want people talking about you,” you manage, thinking of the rumor that had spread after Harris’s injury. You bring yourself back to the driver’s seat, and it takes another moment before something else dawns on you. “You wouldn’t be upset by people knowing? I mean, not that we’d, y’know, have a kid right now…because you already have one, and this is all so new…” You clamp your lips together to shut yourself up, having already blabbered on for too long.

Eddie shakes his head, tousling his frizzy curls. “Why would I be upset? You’re my girl.” Worry ripples through him, evident through his expression. His doe eyes grow even wider, and he spins his rings around his fingers. One slips and bounces off of the passenger seat, but he doesn’t move to retrieve it. “You still want to be my girl, right?”

“I still want to be your girl,” you confirm, watching his body decompress with relief. “I just don’t want to make things even worse than they are. I mean, you can’t even tell me why you were in jail tonight. That’s a pretty big deal, Eds.” There’s a lump in your throat as you force out your feelings. You hate confronting people, hate drawing information from an unwilling party. But Eddie is your boyfriend, and this is serious. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he mutters, keeping his head on the headrest and eyes trained on in front of him; his unwillingness to look at you serves as an act of defiance. “I had to hear about the PTA meeting from Wayne.”

The contents of your stomach curdle like milk in the sun. “You’d just told me about your promotion,” you stumble, unable to find footing in your meek protest, “I didn’t want to—”

“So, yesterday? Or today?” he pushes, a tango of anger and hurt dancing in his darkened pupils. “You could’ve called me.”

You could have; you’d certainly considered it more than once, but you didn’t want to bother him. It seemed like such an asinine complaint: Oh, Eddie, a grown adult bullied me, another grown adult, at the PTA meeting. Did I stand up for myself? Nope. Just sat there and tried not to sob like one of the kids I teach. “I thought if you knew what people were saying, you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore. You’d think I was too much of a burden.”

“You?” Eddie gawps, nearly choking on the word. “You think that you’re the burden? That you’re the reason why people are talking about this?” People. Not just Carol. The information slips from his lips, but he doesn’t catch it. “Nah, Sweetheart. In the equation of ‘Teacher’ plus ‘Freak,’ you’re hardly the problematic variable.”

“‘Teacher plus Freak?’”

“Teacher,” he says slowly, pointing to you, “Freak.” He brings his forefinger to his own chest. “I’m kinda used to it; just sucks when it affects other people.” He looks at you through his soft brown eyes. “People I care about.”

You’re unsure how to respond, so you say nothing. You vaguely recall Jess telling you about his high school nickname, but you had no idea it had stuck after all these years.

Eddie sighs, shifting his position to get slightly more comfortable. “Tonight, I was at the store getting some flowers for you. And, um, I heard Carol and Billy Hargrove talking about how you had to be desperate to be with me. That you’d realize you’re too good for me and leave.” His teeth dig into his bottom lip and he lowers his head. You watch a tear slide down his cheek, and he sucks in a messy breath as he tries to control the dam of emotions threatening to burst.

“Too good for you?” The notion is almost comical, and you have to hold back an incredulous laugh. “Too good for the man who rescued Grandma after she locked herself in her room? Who came to her funeral? Who gave me another chance after I made an ass out of myself?” You use your pointer and middle fingers to tilt his chin upwards until his gaze meets yours. “Too good for the man who would do anything for his son?”

“No,” Eddie shoots back, “too good for the guy who grew up being taunted because he played Dungeons & Dragons instead of basketball. The guy who abandoned his pregnant girlfriend to go on tour. Who treated you like shit just to avoid getting close to you. Who…who got arrested for accidentally taking flowers from Bradley’s because he’d stolen from them so much that no one believed him when he said it wasn’t on purpose.” He recalls swiping candy bars, jars of peanut butter, and the occasional six-pack of Pabst during his rebellious teenage years. After he’d schlepped back to Hawkins, proverbial tail tucked between his legs, there was more than one occasion where he’d ripped diapers from their boxes and tucked them into his jacket pocket, walking as casually as he could until he was a safe enough distance to exhale and run.

You take a sharp breath in. “That’s what happened tonight?”

“Yeah,” he says; the admission is a sack of bricks being lifted from his chest. “Those schmucks got in my head, and I walked out the store with the flowers like a fuckin’ idiot.” He replays the scene in his head, inwardly cringing at his desperation to flee the premises and inadvertently drawing everyone’s attention to him. He starts to laugh, but anger, sadness, and relief all brew together and the dam bursts completely. One tear multiples to two, four, eight, until he’s simultaneously choking on sobs and laughter, the overlapping emotions wreaking havoc on his nervous system.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry,” he manages through another half-laugh half-sob. He swipes at his cheeks with open palms, and you reach for the travel box of Kleenex you keep in the glove compartment and hand him a tissue. “Thanks.”

“You don’t ever need to apologize to me for crying,” you murmur, barely audible as you press a kiss into his mess of curls just behind his left ear. “I want–I need you to be able to show me what you’re feeling.” Eddie blows his nose, loud and honking, and your lips turn up into a small smile. “Why do we let them get to us?” you wonder aloud, a question more for you than for him.

“I was thinking about that,” Eddie muses, stuffing the used tissue into his jacket pocket. He’ll try and remember to toss it later, but part of him knows he’ll find it there tomorrow. “Like, I didn’t give a damn what they said about me back in high school, but now, as an adult, I do?” He takes a deep breath through his mouth. “And I realized…it’s because I never cared about what they thought of me. Not really. But, fuck, I care about what you think of me.” He swallows before stroking your cheek. “I want to be enough for you.”

You kiss the tip of his nose, letting your lips linger there longer than necessary to ensure the feeling of belonging becomes entrenched in his pores. “You’re enough, Eddie. You’ve always been enough.” Your hands find his, and you lace your fingers together. “I have an idea. Why don’t we grab some takeout, maybe pick up a bottle of wine, and bring it back to my place.” You immediately worry that you’ve proven his point of not wanting to be seen with him, so you quickly backtrack. “We can still go out to dinner; I just figured…after the night you had…”

He silences you with a kiss of his own, nose nudging the side of yours. “I’d love that.” Before you can start the car again, he says, “what Carol said at the meeting…did it really make you think I wouldn’t want to be with you?”

You nod solemnly, breaking his heart all over again. “You already have so much on your plate. I didn’t want to be another problem to deal with.”

Eddie’s expression hardens, but his frustration isn’t directed towards you. It’s for anyone who has ever made you feel like loving you is a chore. He does the only thing he can think of doing: he takes your face in his hands, fingers tucked behind the smooth skin of your ears, and peppers your face in a flurry of kisses.

“Eddie!” you cry out through a fit of giggles. Your eyes squeeze together as his lips tickle your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips, your chin.

He only pulls away to take a breath, and when he does, he’s smiling through shiny eyes as he continues holding your face. “You are not a problem. Never.” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “We make each other happy. And if anyone tries to fuck with that, we’ll just…sic Harris on them.”

The gray clouds that were scattered across your brain dissipate at the mere idea of the boy charging at Billy and Carol like a miniature rhinoceros. Insecurity still hovers over you, waiting for the perfect blend of sadness and vulnerability to strike, but it’s not quite as heavy as it was before.

You aren’t too much for Eddie, and Eddie is enough for you.

And you’re everything to each other.

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#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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samantha-rae-velcher · 10 months

Text

The club

Reggie Kray x Fem reader

Requested by: anon

Warnings: Angst, swearing, smut, fluff, use of a weapon, threats of death, Reggie because Why tf not.

A/n: 18+ NSFW if you don't like the warnings please don't read!

___

Y/n sat there on her couch thinking about the last few months, Reggie and her had gotten married 6 and a half months ago and here she is feel lost and unappreciated. He barely comes home, and when he does he goes straight to bed. Sometimes he doesn't even say "I love you."

Y/n was done with being ignored. She was done with Ronnie talking down to her like she was nothing, this had to stop and it had to stop now. She grabbed her coat, making sure she had her two daggers. Y/n marched out of the apartment, down the street, and halfway across town to the club. It was empty all except for, Reg, Ron, Teddy, and a few other men she didn't recognize.

"Reg." Y/n said from across the room.

"Be with you in a minute, love."

"Reggie, please. We need to talk."

"Yeah, well I'm in a meeting." The tone in his voice was some what aggressive, she couldn't tell if it was directed at her or not.

Y/n didn't care at this point, she trudged up to them. Pushing past the hurd of men, surprising Reg with her boldness.

"Nah, right now. You've been ignoring me for weeks, if not months. You stay out late doing god knows what, your brother always looks at me like he wants me to die. Strange men show up at the house, I'm constantly being watched by the police, and when you do finally speak to me it's "I'm in a meeting."

"Jesus, Reg. You gonna let her talk to you like that?" One of the men asked. "I think you should take her home and put this sluts mouth to good use."

Before Reg could do or say anything, Y/n grabbed the man by the back of the neck, and bashed his head off the bar. He stumbled back and went to take out his gun, but she kicked him in his stomach causing him to collide with a bar stool and fall on his ass.

She pulled him up by this tie, holding her dagger to his neck.

"What did you just call me?" She growled.

The man grit his teeth when Y/n pressed the blade harder against his neck, drawing blood.

"You dumb American bitch."

Reg watched as Y/n pressed her dagger into the man's side, his cries filled the club and probably reached the ears of nearby cops. The man laid on the floor whimpering as he attempted to stand.

"You ever call me that again and I'll kill you in the most painful way possible, are we clear?"

This new side of Y/n had the front of Reggie's pants tighten, his heart raced as he watched Y/n's eyes fallow the man while he ran out of the club.

"That's the kind of people you spend your time with?" She asked. "Him over me?"

"Y/n I-."

"You what? You promise to be better? You promise that things will change? You promise you promise you promise? Well guess what! I promise you this Reginald Kray, I promise you that when you get home, I won't be there."

She slid her wedding ring off her finger and set it down on the bar, swiftly leaving the club.

Reg picked up the ring, he felt like he had been stabbed in the heart. He loves Y/n with everything he is, he never wanted to hurt her.

"Well, sometime it just ain't ment to be." Ron's voice came from behind him.

"Shut the fuck up Ron."

Reg turned, putting the ring in his pocket. He bolted out of the club, looking up and down the street for any sign of Y/n.

When he entered their apartment, she was in their bedroom packing a suitcase. He entered and closed it as she turned back to the dresser.

"You're not going anywhere, luv." He whispered.

Y/n snatched a blouse out of a drawer, walked back over to her case, pushed his hand away and set it inside. Reg watched as she locked it and left the room, she set it by the door and went to grab her gun off the table next to the couch, but he swiped it up first.

"I said you're not going anywhere."

"Try and fuckin stop me, Reg."

With that, he dropped the gun onto the couch, made his way over to her and took her arm in his grasp. Reg pulled Y/n back to the bedroom and pushed her onto the bed, she sat back as he removed his shirt and tie. Reginald pulled her over, crashing his lips to hers. Y/n tried to pull away but his hand came up to the back of her neck, keeping her in place.

"You're not leaving me, Y/n." He growled. "I won't let you."

___

"Do you think he's gonna hurt her?" Teddy asked, checking his watch for the 8th time since Reg left.

Ron looked over at him and shook his head.

"My brother? No. He loves that girl too much."

Ted checked his watch again and began tapping his foot.

"Now I know you care about the girl, just stop tapping your fuckin foot." Ron said, pointing his cigar at him.

___

"So fuckin beautiful." Reg moaned as he rutted into Y/n, holding her arms down against bed.

"R-Reg please...I'm gonna cum."

He smirked and slowly brought his fingers down against her clit, rubbing tight circles, making her legs tremble and her head fall back against the pillows.

"I-ahh..." She cried out.

"Good girl, that's it cum for me."

Reg picked up his pace, his thrusts angled perfectly so he hit her G-spot each time. His hand wrapped around her neck and gently squeezed, making Y/n close her eyes.

"You like that, huh?" He asked. "You like it when your gangster uses you?"

Reg pressed his head into the pillow, with one last thrust he coated her walls. He rolled over and pulled Y/n into his side, both out of breath, they snuggled together enjoying each others warmth.

"I don't know if I can get Ron to apologize, but I most certainly try." He whispered.

"Ron is Ron, if he hates my guts...let him. He can be a stuck up crazy man all he wants."

"He cares for you."

"Bullshit."

THE END ❤️

I hope you enjoyed

Reblogs are welcome 🤗

#fyp #foryou #fanfic #foryoupage #x reader #smut #requested #reginald kray #tom hardy smut #tom hardy fanfiction #reggie kray #reggie kray x reader #reggie kray x fem reader #reg Kray #tom hardy x reader

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outerbankies · 3 months

Note

you didn’t do anything wrong & squeeze my hand baby... hype to read these bestie😩🥵

new light: no surprises

nl masterlist

a/n: thank you for sending this in!!! (so very very long ago) (desperately hope whoever sent this in is still around to read it or will stumble across it one day) (feel like it wasn't what you imagined in sending these prompts, but i tried!!!) takes place in part 6 (??) after the porch swing talk but before the goodbye. yes let’s go with that and sorry for any retcon

Rafe Cameron insists on walking you to your parents’ front door every time he drops you off. It’s second nature to you, now, to wait as he opens his truck’s passenger door and shuts it behind you once he’s helped you out, his hand outstretched for yours, which has hardly touched a door handle since you began dating. He’s a romantic, big on good-night kisses, and he’ll always wait until you’re inside before he so much as turns around to start walking back to his truck.

It took some getting used to, and you’d passed the point where you thought he might give it a rest. But that never happened, and you’d come to learn you want to expect nothing less—not from him or from any other guy you’d plan to get serious with, which was hardly a thought your mind could conjure these days.

How could it, when it was always taken up with remembering the names of songs you think he’d like, or reminding yourself to change out the water in the seemingly endless vases of flowers stationed on your desk, your dresser and your night table, or by reading books he’d recommend to you only after he’d finished them—after many sessions tucked together on a beach towel under the shade of an umbrella.

But maybe just this once, you really wish he was more like your ex-boyfriend back at college, the one who dropped you off at the end of your driveway and sped away more nights than he didn’t.

Of course, that just wouldn’t be your boyfriend Rafe Cameron.

“What do you think about the mainland tomorrow?” he asks, his hand at the small of your back, the two of you climbing the steps of your parents’ porch, slowly, drawing out the moments before goodbye.

“I think I love that idea,” you decide, smiling as you think about it.

“Let’s get the early boat,” he says. “Sarah told me about this new brunch spot.”

“I definitely trust her taste. She’s bougier than you,” you say, drawing away from him and toward the door, hand still connected to his.

“I’m not sure if I’m insulted by that,” Rafe says, pulling you back toward him before shifting his body to fit between you and the door, giving you no access to the knob. “But I am sure that I’m not ready for you to go inside yet.”

“You’re not?” you muse, slipping your arms up and around his neck.

About a month ago, you’d be concerned about your giddiness for him being written all over your face. But Rafe’s cheeks were almost permanently tinged pink in your presence, and it only has the effect of making you want him more.

“This dress is insane,” he says, leaning in for a peck only after his eyes sweep up your frame the way they had been doing all night. “You gonna leave your window open for me tonight?”

“Might close it early,” you shrug, pretending to ponder on it.

But Rafe is having none of it, lips catching yours in a way that should embarrass you when you know your dad’s home office has a street-facing window. “Really?”

“Y’know, gotta catch that early ferry and all.”

“What time should I come?” he murmurs against your lips, his arms constricting impossibly tighter around your waist. “Or we can skip brunch. Actually, fuck brunch and forget I said anything.”

“I’ll text you,” you say. “Alright? Just hang on a bit.”

“I’ll try,” he sighs, dropping one more kiss to your forehead as you reluctantly step away. “But no sweat. Get some sleep if you need to, sweetheart.”

The front door flies open just as you’re making to push it in, your mother’s excited face appearing before you. Never in the history of the world has that been a good sign.

“I thought that was you two!” she says. “Rafe, a pleasure as always.”

“You as well, Mrs. Y/l/n. I was just going.”

“Nonsense,” she says, before turning to you. “Y/n, your grandparents are here.”

You blink. “Why?”

She glances between you and Rafe, still exuberant, ignoring your question completely. “Have him come in and meet them, will you? They’ll be so excited.”

Your head is spinning, but you feel Rafe’s hand slip into yours, and you give him a squeeze for reassurance. For who, you aren’t sure. “Mom—sorry, when did they get here? I wouldn’t have went out tonight if I knew.”

“They surprised us. Now surprise them back,” she urges, turning before you answer, heels click-clacking across the foyer. She glances over her shoulder, one last enticement. “Peach pie.”

You turn to Rafe, sighing with your face immediately buried into his chest.

His laugh reverberates. “C’mon, baby girl.”

“You don’t have to come in. I promise,” you say.

“I want to. I promise,” he answers, shrugging. “As long as it’s alright with you, it’s alright with me. Your mom’s side, right?”

Your eyes widen, thinking about the alternative. “Yes. Jesus, if it was my dad’s, we’d be back down the road already.”

You sigh, trying to steel your nerves with your eyes shut tight. The door was still open—you needed to get in there sooner or later.

“Y/n,” Rafe says, your full name falling off of his tongue and invoking in your body an involuntary reaction. He was more keen on pet names, you’d noticed, and shortening your name to the one only your friends called you. “Are you alright?”

“I’m alright,” you confirm, taking him by the hand again as you both face the entryway. Your far hand reaches up to grab at the crook of his elbow, both of your hands gripping, but not too tight.

“Are you? What’s our signal?”

You feel your eyebrows knit. “Our signal?”

“Yeah. Y’know, like a code word or something when you need an out. You and Dylan don’t have one?”

You think back to previous holidays, the eye contact made at the table, the kicks in your shins and the heavier sips when you realize you’re on the same page—that it’s time to get just drunk enough to be able to handle this without tipping anyone off. “I think our signal might just be alcohol.”

“I’m not getting drunk in front of your dad.”

You roll your eyes. “I know.”

“What about Kelce?”

“What about him?” you ask. “We don’t have a signal either.”

“No, his name. The word. Just say ‘Kelce’ if you need me to dive bomb us out of the dining room,” he says.

You shake your head, still racking your brain and prolonging the inevitable. “That won’t work. My grandma loves talking about Kelce.”

“Huh,” Rafe says, incredulous, his mouth twisting. “Imagine that.”

“Sorry,” you wince, squeezing his hand again. “Sorry—she just. We’ve been friends for so long. That doesn’t matter. They’re gonna love you.”

“Just do that,” he says, like he’s already moved on. “Just squeeze my hand, baby.”

You look down at where your hand is clasped in his, giving another experimental squeeze and having it returned.

He nods, a question in his eyes. “Got it?”

“Got it,” you say with a grateful smile, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “And you do it, too. You know, if she does bring up Kelce and you can’t handle it. She still talks about his prom tux.”

“Too soon, Y/l/n,” he mutters, leading you over the threshold. “Too fuckin’ soon.”

—

“No more,” Rafe groans, his hand on his stomach. “I might explode.”

You eat the last bit of peach pie off the fork you’d been offering to him, the both of you giggling as he wipes a bit from the corner of your lips. The way he licks his thumb after has you grateful your grandparents are already halfway back home—you know Rafe wouldn’t come back over later if he knew your grandparents were spending the night.

“You realize she’ll show up at Thanksgiving with, like, three of those now?” you say, setting the fork on the plate he’s holding, which he quickly puts on the table beside the couch before he leans back.

“Let her. I’ll wear an elastic band.”

“A little presumptuous,” you say. “Thinking you’ll get an invite to my mother’s Thanksgiving dinner.”

Rafe looks temporarily affronted. “I—”

“M’joking, baby,” you say, kissing his cheek, legs thrown over his. “She’d kill me if I didn’t bring you. And now I think my grandparents would, too.”

“Cliff is chill as hell. I can’t believe your grandpa runs a nonprofit. That’s not very Figure 8 of him,” Rafe says.

You roll your eyes, burrowing your head into his chest all the same as he fails to hide any affinity, just as your grandmother had done with him. Appeasing the women in your family could never be further down on your list of priorities, especially when it came to your suitors. But you couldn’t help but feel something happy settle in your stomach, watching your mom exchange looks with her own mother as they watched Rafe.

“Maybe that’s why they moved.”

“I guess I’m surprised,” he admits. “Your mom… she’s so…”

“Figure 8?”

“Is that okay to say?”

“Yeah. She is,” you say. “It’s kinda engrained. But I think she likes it that way.”

“You’re not like that,” he says, his thumb dragging down your shoulder and back again. “What was your grandpa saying about a job next year?”

“Hm?” you say, snuggling down further into him, eyes starting to droop.

“I dunno,” he says quieter. “I thought Cliff was talking about you coming to work for him next year.”

You heard him correctly the first time, but you honestly hoped he’d drop it. “Yeah. Just newsletters, digital. Stuff like that.”

“That sounds cool,” he says, and you can hear him trying in vain to keep his voice even.

“He said I’d get my own office,” you admit. “And a title.”

Rafe perks up slightly. “Oh yeah?”

“Senior nepotism associate.”

“Get out of here,” he laughs, tugging on the strand of your hair that he’d been twirling around his finger, a bit of the tension breaking between you. “That shouldn’t bother you. And it figures that’s your bloodline. All those ocean cleanups you dragged us to.”

“Seem to remember you showing up to…” you trail off, counting on your hands. “1, 2… let’s see, all of them?”

He bats at your hands. “Alright, alright. Have you thought about it though?”

“A little,” you sigh, resigning yourself to the conversation you didn’t want to have. “I know a few of his employees. And I don’t think I’d mind working for him. Their mainland office isn’t a far walk from the ferry in. It’d be great, really.”

“But…” he pries, tugging on the strand again.

“But,” you sigh. “I don’t know. I still don’t wanna close myself off to the idea of staying in California. I love it there. I’m making ins with Agnes and her network, I know it.”

He nods, going quiet for a while as you both gaze out at the water. “It’s nice that you have options, though.”

You turn to him then, taking his far hand and holding it between yours, fiddling with the cigar band on his ring finger. “It’s a whole year away, Rafe.”

“I know,” he says, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Hey, I know. I just don’t like thinking about being away from you.”

“Well we’re… Rafe, we’re gonna be apart,” you say. “At least for a year. And that doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

He nods again. “I guess... this summer, it’s just been easy to forget all of that. That I’m going to Georgia and you’re going to California, and you might not be coming back. But I am. And even though I know that... I don’t know what it says about me that I’m picturing having you here with me all the damn time.”

You’ve taken the time to picture it, too. It’s hard not to when most of the summer has been interrupted bliss, and you’ve been toying with the idea of coming back long before Rafe re-entered your picture.

“This is why I didn’t wanna talk about it,” you say morosely, beside yourself when you feel your tear ducts sting.

“Baby,” Rafe whispers. “Hey, baby. I’m sorry I brought it up. I just thought with how he was talking about it, I don’t know, it sounded like you were really considering it.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Rafe,” you tell him, willing your tears not to fall. But now that he’s onto you, that he’s reading the emotions in your eyes and feeling what’s weighing on your heart, it’s like your body decides it’s allowed to fall apart. You sniffle. “I don’t know what I’m considering. But I don’t like thinking about being away from you either.”

He thumbs away some tears, before looking back out across the horizon, the sky somehow almost an inky black color when it had just been lit up in hues of orange and pink minutes ago.

“Hate it when you do that,” he says, his arm dropping around your shoulders again.

“What?” you ask.

“Cry because of me.”

You don’t have anything to say to that, and if you tried to speak again you might completely lose it, so you settle for slipping your hand back into his, squeezing as tight as you can.

Because you know this isn’t the first—and certainly won’t be the last—time that you’ll cry over Rafe Cameron.

#answered #new light hcs #quick question is this good #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine

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esmedelacroix · 5 months

Text

Coffee Shop Love Pt.6

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

summary: He's as stern and cold as the snow falling from the sky blanketing the bustling streets of Nueva York, Miguel O'Hara stumbles upon a hidden gem of a coffee shop just around the corner from Alchemax. Only problem is the annoying-as-shit smiley-ass barista.

contents: slow burn, no use of y/n, fluffy, not proofread, literally the fluffiest of fluffs, a little drama at the end

author's note: Hey lovies, whoo! Two chapters today! Consider it my apology for being so inactive lately. But don't worry loves I'm back on track. A like, comment, or repost is always appreciated. Hope you like this chapter, the cliffhanger not so much >.<, enjoy...

word count: 1.5k

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt. 5, Pt.6, Pt.7, Sequel: Sweet Tooth

That morning you were so lost in the ridiculous amount of people coming for coffee that you didn't even realize that Miguel hadn't shown up that morning. "Which is so weird because he always comes for coffee in the morning, sometimes again midday then he comes at night and stays a while," you explained to Estella over muffins and Earl Grey tea.

"Alright girl, first of all, why are you this worried about it? It's probably nothing," Estella reassured.

"It can't be nothing, we slept together days ago when the blizzard happened, and he cuddled multiple times!" you exclaimed, as Estella almost choked on her drink.

"You had sex?!" she blurted out shockingly.

"No, no we just like, slept in the same bed, my bed," you muttered, trying to draw the attention away from the two of you.

"Wait, I'm confused, why was he even in your house?!" she questioned.

You explained the whole situation with the amber alert and filled her in on the day that you had spent with Miguel. The more you explained, the more her jaw dropped.

"Wait, now I'm confused, what is your relationship with him?" Estella asked, taking a bite out of a muffin.

"I'm not even sure, we've had this strange chemistry ever since we met," you explained.

"I'd say give a day or two maybe he's like, at work, or living his life?" she joked sarcastically.

"I'm gonna kill you, Estella! Get out of my shop!" you joked as you pushed her out. She laughed along and waved before heading back to the shelter where she worked.

Your break was over and the lunch rush was just about to happen. Still no Miguel, you were starting to wonder if you had done something wrong. No, it makes no sense to think that way, I know I did nothing. I wonder if he misses me this much as well, you thought to yourself as you began to make people's orders.

The day went by very slowly. You sat by the counter at 8 pm, chin propped up on your hand, as fatigue drooped your head down. Just then the bells rang. Your head shot up immediately hoping there would be a tall, dark, and handsome man standing there before you. But it was just Mr. Smith. Probably here to collect the rent. "Good Evening Baby, I've come here for something, but I forget what it is... maybe a drink?" he trails off as he looks up at the menu.

"No Mr. Smith, you're here for the rent. It's too late for you to have coffee," you explained. He smiled and nodded.

"That's right dear, silly me," he said. You handed him an envelope with the rent for the month and waved goodbye after sending him off with a candy cane.

You let out an exasperated sigh as you plopped into a chair and waited to see if Miguel would show up. Why do I miss him so much? What are my feelings for him? You asked yourself as you got up to lock up.

That night you slept wishing to see Miguel walk through those doors in the morning. But to no avail, he didn't show up that morning, or for lunch, or that night. You opened your phone for any notifications from him but nothing. You gave him a call but his phone was turned off. You decide to leave him a voicemail.

"Hey Miguel, It's been a while since we've seen each other. The shop’s really boring without you here, come by for a coffee soon, I know you can't go a single day without having like 3 cups, I miss you, and I'm pretty sure I like you" you said. You had no idea where that last part came from and you fumbled to delete it somehow but what was done was done. You hoped that he wouldn't listen to it. Besides he was a businessman he had better things to do.

That night you slept wondering where he was and why he would come see you. He was cuddling you one day, then you never saw him. Does he like me, or does he not? You asked yourself. You allowed your mind to rest and went to sleep.

The next morning you got through the rush just fine and went on break while mentally preparing yourself for the lunch rush. Miguel was nowhere to be seen but you didn't panic as much as the days before. You had hoped that maybe he would show up tonight and you would scold him for disappearing without notice.

So as you lay your head on the counter bored out of your mind, the shop bells rang. You headshot up as usual and there you saw him. Tall, dark, handsome, and stuck in the mistletoe again. "I told you, you have to get a taller door frame," he joked as walked in. You chuckled at his joke holding yourself back from rushing to him and hugging him.

"Where have you been Miguel?" you asked him softly, unable to wipe the upside-down smile off your face.

"Surprisingly enough, the second I walked into work I was rushed onto a last-minute retreat at another lab. It's one of those classified things where we turn our phones off. I'm sorry I could let you know Baby," he said softly.

"It's no problem, but this other lab... was it nice? Good coffee?" you asked skeptically.

"Yeah, it was alright—" Miguel started.

"Ha! I knew it! Miguel, have you been seeing another barista?" you jokingly asked him. Just then she heard a low sound break the silence between them. He had never fully laughed around her, but once she heard it, it was music to her ears. I would become a stand-up comedian if it meant hearing this beautiful laugh all day, you thought to yourself.

"Oh Baby, I've missed you so much," he confessed with a few chuckles.

"Alright then, sit down and lemme make you a coffee that will top whatever you drank at that 'other lab'," you said motioning for him to take a seat at his usual table.

Instead of taking his laptop out and getting straight to work, he just watched you. He watched you make the most simple but best coffee he had ever tasted. Once he took a sip, it felt like home. "This is that special brew you used at your place isn't it?" he asked with an amused smile.

"Yeah, I figured since you liked it so much, I would make you a nice big cup of it," you explained as you took a seat across from him.

You and Miguel caught each other up on the events that had passed while you were apart. Miguel couldn't stop talking about how much he learned at this fancy schmancy lab he visited with Alchemax in Washington D.C. and how much he learned about quantum physics. You didn't understand half of the terms he was using but that didn't matter because at least he was having a good time. Seeing him talking about something he was passionate about set fireworks off in your chest. You filled him in on the usual Café gossip and drama that was going on.

It was a lovely night of shared laughs and stories but it had to come to an end at some point. Just when he was about to leave you decided to ask him about the voicemail you had sent. "Miguel, did you ever listen to my voicemail?" you asked.

"No, I didn't have the time, should I?" he answered.

"No, just delete it. What I said was pretty embarrassing," you admitted.

"Well now I’m dying to hear it," he teased.

"Oh please don't," you whined.

"Too late!" he called out as he stepped out to his car and visibly pressed the button.

You begged God to allow the earth to swallow you whole and just began to wipe the counter. Just then the door swung open with violent speed and the bells rang crazily. You turned around to see Miguel out of breath holding his phone in one hand, running his hand through his hair with the other. "Baby?" he huffed completely out of breath from running back to the store the second he heard the voicemail.

"Did you mean what you said in that voicemail?" he asked in disbelief.

"I mean, yeah, I guess, but—" you started. But Miguel held his hand up for you to stop. you took that sudden motion as defeat. He doesn't think the same way, you realize in complete despair.

Next Pt.7...

taglist:

@iite-cool@jewelz-teehe@br0-please@thesilenthill@d1lf-loverrr@corpsebridenightamare@laysmt@bitchystrawberrystudent@lotionlamp@local-mr-frog@scaleniusrm@migueloharastruelove@thedevax@veyveys@amber-content

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angelst4re · 2 years

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So It Goes- Jace Wayland x Reader

୨♡୧ this is the first (and longest) Jamie fic i ever wrote, jace literally owns me. i wanted to post it when my tags started working again but i don't think that's gonna happen :( so reblogs are very much appreciated!! :) <3 UPDATE: MY TAGS WORK AGAIN!!!!

୨♡୧ warnings: NSFW!! smut, oral (f and m recieveing), praise and degradation, jace being jace, spitting, shower sex?, inexperienced reader, experienced jace (ofc), innocence kink?, possibly breeding kink? p0rn with a bit of plot, i could add to this forever, enemies to lovers?, based on a taylor swift song (so it goes IS jace's song, just listen to it!!)

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From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he knew you were going to have an impact on his life. He would never say he believed in love at first sight, but it would explain a lot. The way he got excited when you entered the room, he felt himself blush when you’d speak to him, anything you’d do would make him wish for a chance to be yours. But he knew that could never happen, to love is to destroy.

The first time you met Jace, you could tell instantly that he hated you- despised you, even. You could hear him sigh whenever you entered the room, as if he was already bored by your presence, he’d look the other way when you tried to talk to him. Isabelle had told you he was like this, but you refused to believe this was his normal behaviour.

You arrived at the Institute a couple of months ago, your family had been friends with the Lightwoods for years, so when you were made to leave your hometown you were told to go there. It was rather nice, but it wasn’t home. Jace made it obvious that it wasn’t your home.

When the Institute was informed of a large-scale demon attack down in the city, Jace had demanded you stay here ‘she’s too young, she’s not as well-trained as us. She’ll make us fuck it up.’ Oh, how you hated him- but a part of you could never hate him, you were intrigued by everything he did, everything he said, how he fought like he had a death wish, there was a part of you that admired him, maybe even loved him. But he would never feel the same way.

Once, when it was Jace’s turn to train with you, you had tripped and almost knocked him down with you, but he had caught you by the waist. There was something about the way he touched you that day that told you he may not hate you, maybe it was just more of a dislike. But his hands lingered on your waist for longer than they should have, and as you turned around it took everything inside him, all his strength and self control, to stop himself from kissing you.

“What do you mean? I’ve fought before-”

“And you almost got yourself killed, y/n.” Jace stated, picking all the blades he would need for this fight, “I don’t want to risk that- risk you getting us all killed, okay? Just stay here. Leave it to us.”

“But she’s been training with us for months now! I’m sure she has it in her!” Isabelle said, grinning as she handed you some weapons.

“No.” Jace demanded again, taking the weapons from you, what is his problem, you thought.

“Jace, Isabelle’s right. She’s been trained now, she knows what to do.” Alec added.

Jace sighed, it looked like he was deep in thought. His eyes met yours and you quickly looked away.

“Fine.” He said, handing you another blade, “but if she gets us killed-”

“I won’t!” You groan, loading your belt up with weapons.

—————��———♡—————————

The fight ended pretty badly. Shadowhunters from all over the country had come to help, it was believed that this was another attack from Valentine. So far, the death count was at 6. Alec was leaning over Isabelle, drawing the healing rune on her as quickly as possible. Her entire left arm was covered in blood, but selfishly all Jace could think of was you. Where were you? Were they going to find you dead or alive? He knew he should never have let you come with him.

With Isabelle now healed, Alec helped her up and they wandered over to Jace who was sat on the ground, covered in dirt and blood.

“We should head back,” Alec began, “the suns rising, they won’t come back-”

“Where’s y/n?” Isabelle interrupted, turning to look around. But you were nowhere to be found.

“Probably dead.” Jace murmured, rising to his feet, “I said she shouldn’t have come with us.”

“We’re going back to the Institute, I need to get Isabelle to the infirmary, why don’t you stay and look for her?”

“Why should I?” Jace huffed, “she’s not my probl-”

“Jace, she may not be your problem, but if she’s dead that will be our problem.” Alec said, sternly, “and also, if you wouldn’t be so arrogant all the time, you would’ve noticed the way she looks at you.”

And they were gone.

Jace stayed for longer than he would want to admit, looking for you. Holding his breath as he came to a pile of dead bodies, he prayed that one of them wouldn’t be you. And they weren’t. He had been searching for almost half an hour, and there was no sign of you. His heart dropped and he felt a lump in his throat. He told you to stay behind. He didn’t want you to get hurt, knowing how much that would hurt him.

Soon enough, he gave up looking. He just accepted that you had been killed and possibly turned to dust, or something along those lines. Why didn’t you listen to him? Maybe because he’s always such a dick, of course you won’t do as he tells you. As he walked back to the Institute he was filled with regret, it became overwhelming. He wished he hadn’t gave the impression that he disliked you, as it was far from the truth. The truth was that he was just scared. He had never felt the way he feels about you with any other girl before, it terrified him. He would do anything for you, but you wouldn’t do the same.

Once he got back to the Institute, he checked on Izzy in the infirmary. Alec had informed Jace that Magnus Bane would be paying her a visit, as the runes didn’t have enough power to heal her fully. Jace knew how Alec felt about Magnus, along with how Magnus felt about Alec. He simply nodded and left, making his way to his room.

As he approached his room, he noticed his door was slightly open. Flooded with panic- which always turned into adrenaline for Jace- he grabbed a blade from his belt and slowly pushed the door open. His eyes widened as he saw who was waiting for him.

“Y/n?” The blade fell to the floor and he rushed over to you, you had a similar problem to Isabelle, yet yours was less severe. Your arm had been caught, possibly clawed by a demon. “What are you doing here?”

“Alec didn’t want me seeing Isabelle’s-”

“When did you get here?”

“Just after the others… Jace I need your help,” you motioned towards your arm, “I didn’t want to ask Alec and I can’t draw runes very well with my other hand-”

Wasting no time, Jace reached for his stele and gently held onto the underside of your arm as he drew the mark on your injury. He felt you suck in your breath as he drew over the wound.

“It’s okay,” he comforted you, “you’re doing so well for me, such a good girl.”

He barely had time to realise what he had just said, too busy trying to not screw up the mark, as a slight whimper left your mouth, causing his body to stiffen.

The air in the room had seemed to have thickened. As Jace finished the rune, he looked up at you with a gentle smile as if to say ‘all done.’ This was the first time he had ever smiled at you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to his face to wipe off some of the dirt, “Jace, you're filthy!”

He was going to something back, maybe along the lines of ‘i can be if you want’, but instead he leaned in towards you. The feeling of your skin on his drove him crazy, he had been craving it for months and now he finally had it he couldn’t hold back. Your lips brushed against each other, and you felt him swallow hard before tangling his hand into your hair and pulling you close, kissing you as if he would never kiss again.

Neither of you could quite believe what was happening, and neither of you wanted to stop. It was as if your prayers had been answered, you could not ask for anything more than this, than him.

“Jace,” you whisper as he pulls back for air. You were going to say something but he cut you off.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he confesses, “when I couldn’t find you after the battle in the city I assumed you…” he couldn’t seem to say it, the one simple word. As if saying it would make it become true, “and it made me regret everything, I should’ve told you sooner, I shouldn’t have been such a dick towards you. I’m sorry, y/n.”

You couldn’t believe what he had said, he didn’t hate you and he even apologised? Jace wasn’t one to apologise very often, Alec had mentioned once. He’d always be so honest, even if it meant being mean.

Without replying to him, you pulled him back towards you again, already missing the feeling of his lips on yours. His tongue swiped on your bottom lip as he tugged on your hair, causing you to gasp, your mouth opening enough for him to slip his tongue in, deepening the kiss. Everything about this felt so intimate, you had never been kissed this way before. It had even caused tingles in your lower belly, and you knew there was only one way to relieve yourself of them.

As Jace’s hands slipped under your t-shirt, you knew how this was going to go. Thinking quickly, you pulled back from the kiss and smirked, running your fingers through his hair.

“Why don’t we take a shower?” Your tone was very suggestive, there was no way in hell that Jace would turn you down.

“Sounds great, I was going to mention how you smell like pond water- Hey!” You smacked his shoulder playfully, standing up from his bed and taking his hand, leading him into his bathroom.

Once you shut the door, you pushed Jace against it, making sure to lock it before wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your level and crashing your lips together once more. This time was a lot more heated, as Jace played with the hem of your shirt, before lifting it up and over your head, breaking the kiss briefly and throwing it to the floor. You could tell he was quite experienced by the way he easily unclasped your bra, making you feel slightly worried- you had only slept with one boy, and he only lasted two minutes.

As your bra fell to the floor, Jace pulled back from the kiss, his mouth now kissing down your chest, to your breasts and finally your nipples. They quickly hardened with arousal as Jace’s lips wrapped around them, your hands stroking his hair as your mouth fell open. You had never been so turned on. You needed him, now.

“Jace,” you whimpered, “I thought we were gonna take a shower?”

“We will, darling. But you want this, right?” He checks, you tell him how you’ve never wanted anything else more in your entire life, only boosting his ego- in the moment, you couldn’t care less.

As Jace pulled away again, you felt cold at the lack of his touch. He started undressing, leaving both your clothes a messy pile on the tiled floor. As you began to undo your belt and slide your jeans down your legs, his hands stopped you. He took your hands and lifted them away as his hands slipped into your jeans, pulling them down along with your underwear, throwing them to the side.

As he went to turn on the water, you noticed that you were both bare, exposed in front of each other. He motioned his finger ‘come here’, and so you followed him. He took your hand as he pulled you into the shower with him. You couldn’t help but giggle as the water fell on the both of you, it was rather cold- Jace noticed this and reached over you, as he pulled back the water started to become warmer.

You both stood and admired each other, you took in the scars on his skin, old wounds that would have possibly been fatal for any ordinary human. As he looked at you, he was also drawn to your scars, but also your curves. He couldn’t help but rest his hand on your hip, then his eyes betrayed him and you caught him staring between your legs.

Slightly flushed in embarrassment, you picked up his shampoo bottle. Pouring some into your left hand, you spun around him, so he was now under the water, facing the wall as you ran your fingers through his hair, working the shampoo in and washing out the dirt and blood that had dried in his blonde locks. As it washed out in the water, you couldn’t help but watch in awe as his hands ran through his hair, the way he always did.

Then it was your turn. After pouring the shampoo into his hands, Jace pulled you close against him as his fingers ran through your hair, he massaged your scalp as he worked in the shampoo. It felt too good. As he accidently caught a knot in your hair, you let out a small gasp and he chuckled, wanting to tug on your hair again- but he decided to save that for later.

He took the bottle of body wash from the small shelf in his shower and worked it into his hands, before rubbing it across your body.

“Sorry, love, but you’re going to have to smell like me.” He couldn’t help but start at your breasts, massaging them with the bubbles, before working down your arms, neck, stomach, back- and finally, your legs. As he washed your legs, he got down on his knees. You almost moaned at the sight of it. He poured out some more body wash and began washing your left thigh, moving down to your knee, then your calf, your ankle, and foot. He then repeated this on your other leg. As he washed you, he couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of your pussy, you were practically dripping.

He quickly finishes, standing again as you now start to wash him. You feel as his body eases under your touch, your hands move from his back to his arms, making sure to clean all the dirt from his skin. You’d never imagine Jace being this vulnerable with someone, but this wasn’t anyone, this was you. You moved down, now to his legs, you try your hardest not to look between his legs, knowing how it’ll make you feel, so you carry on down his legs.

Despite your inexperience in bed physically, you had come up with many scenarios in your mind. One of them was riding Jace’s thigh, and as your hand rubbed the bubbles into his skin, your mouth was practically watering at the thought all over again.

“All done,” you smile, standing back up again. Saying no more, Jace pushes you against the wall, his hands on your waist as the water continues to fall on you both. He connects your lips once more, the last time had been more desperate, now this was full of love, passion, want.

You bring your arms to wrap around his neck again, partially for balance. His kisses trail from your lips to your jaw and down your neck, where you feel him begin to nibble the skin, sure to leave some bruising for tomorrow.

“Can I go down on you?” He asks against your neck, his kisses now moving down to your collarbone, “please?”

This completely threw you off, Jace was asking to go down on you?

“Please. Nobody’s ever done that before.” You confess. He lifts his head back up, giving you a look that says ‘seriously?’.

“Then I’ll be the first, darling. You’ll never forget it.” He says, smirk spreading across his face as he kisses down your chest to your tummy, and gets back down on his knees again. You feel those familiar tingles as he spreads your legs, placing one of them up on his shoulder. “If you don’t like it, tell me to stop, sweetheart. Okay?”

“Okay.” You nod your head, biting down on your lip as you feel his fingers begin to spread your folds, his mouth placing a delicate kiss on your clit. His tongue then began to lick around the nub, gently flicking it up and down as you groaned, your hand coming down to his head. His mouth wrapped around your clit and sucked slowly, stopping for a moment and then sucking again. You felt your core clenching down on nothing, you wished he’d slip a finger into you, but one of his hands was wrapped around your thigh, holding you in place, and the other was holding your hand.

You were left gasping for air as you felt his teeth graze your clit, the new sensation clouded your brain, it seemed the only words you were now capable of saying were ‘Jace’ and ‘please’. This only encouraged him to tease you further. He wanted to ruin you for any other man, make sure that nothing could ever compare to the pleasure he gave you.

As he started sucking on your clit again, you began grinding down on his face. Then you felt your stomach tighten, this was more intense than any orgasm you had ever given yourself with just your fingers. You hadn’t yet realised you were holding your breath, but as you came on his face you let out a loud, almost pornographic moan.

“Holy shit,” you heard Jace say from between your thighs. His fingers now toying with your clit, causing you to squirm from the overstimulation. “I’ve never made anyone squirt before, that was insane!” He grins, wiping his face as he rises to his feet again. He notices you burying your face in your hands. “Baby, don’t be embarrassed. That was so fucking hot.” He says, moving your hands away from your face, cupping your cheek as he places a kiss on your lips, causing you to taste yourself. As he pulled you closer to him, in attempt to deepen the kiss, you slightly pushed him back, plucking up the courage to ask him-

“Can I go down on you?”

He eagerly nodded his head.

“Only if you want to, of course.” He says.

“I want to try it. I’ve never done it before.” You say, settling yourself on your knees in front of him. Before you reach your hand out to touch him, he stops you- you worry that you’ve already done something wrong and look up at him.

“What have you done before, darling?” He asks, not a single hint of judgement in his voice as he strokes your cheek again.

“Only the actual… act.” You explain, “it didn’t last very long, either.”

He frowns, looking down at you sympathetically.

“Poor baby,” if this was in any other situation, you would’ve smacked him. But right now wasn’t the time, “it’s okay, I’ll teach you.” He says, removing his hands from you. You take his cock in your hand, although it was too big for just one hand. You begin pumping it in your fist, but you worried this wouldn’t be enough, “if you want, you could use your mouth,” Jace says between pants. Like him, just the sight of you on your knees for him was enough to make him cum. You take the tip of him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around it, tasting the pre-cum that had leaked out. You hear him moan your name, knowing you must be doing something right, you continue your actions.

Soon, deciding you wanted to change it up again, you attempt to take his entire length in your mouth, although you ended up gagging after taking just over half of him. His hand comes down to your wet hair, stroking your head, telling you to only do what you’re comfortable with- but after giving you the best orgasm of your life, you feel like you owed him this.

So you try again, hollowing your cheeks and you manage to take more of him down your throat. His hand comes down to hold you in place, forgetting in the moment that this is your first time and that he should be gentle, but you didn’t want him to hold back. You gagged around him again, and he quickly removed his hand, cursing himself and apologising to you. But all you did was take his hand again, putting it back where it was and looking up at him as if to say ‘it’s okay.’

You suspected he was close, words fell from his mouth such as ‘good girl, taking my cock like this’, ‘your mouth feels like heaven’, ‘look at you, with my cock stuffed down your throat’, ‘my pretty little slut’. You loved hearing the words that came from his mouth, they only pushed you into taking him further, desperate for him to cum in your mouth.

“I’m gonna cum, darling.” He warns you, but to his surprise you only suck harder on him, needing to taste him.

He was pushed over the edge when you looked up at him, your eyes half-lidded, he had never seen anything like it. The way you took his cock, every last inch, into your mouth. You felt his cum start to leak out into your mouth- to your surprise it tasted quite pleasant, unlike what your friends described it as, but maybe it was just because it was Jace.

You swallowed every last drop, taking him out of your mouth when you knew you’d worked him through his high. You opened your mouth for him, showing him how you had taken his seed. All he could do was moan, and smile down at you.

You stood back up, holding onto him for support as your knees ached. You were so desperate for him to fuck you now, you felt your hips grinding into his without you even realising it.

“I need you,” you whisper against his neck, peppering him with kisses, “I need you to show me what it’s like to get fucked properly.”

Your words seemed to have the same effect on him as his did on you, as you heard his breath hitch and his hands grabbed your hips.

“Then I don’t think we should do it in the shower, baby.” He says before he turns the water off and helps you step out of the shower. He reaches for a couple towels, wrapping you up in one and him in the other as he leads you back to his room. You begin to dry yourself as he goes to double lock the door- you guess that he had been walked in on before. You try not to think too hard about Jace’s love life.

Once you were dried, you didn’t bother getting dressed, you just laid back on Jace’s bed like he instructed you to do. He smirked when he came back and saw you doing what he had asked.

When he was dry, he joined you on the bed. Leaning on top of you as he connects your lips again, his hand coming down to cup your heat.

“You touch yourself, right?” He asks, to which you nod your head. Afraid that opening your mouth will cause you to moan out loudly again, “of course you do,” he smirks, “I’ve heard you late at night. Such a dirty girl… show me.” He whispers, leaning back, his eyes on you.

You try to catch your breath, but it was impossible in this situation. Your right hand moves down your body, reaching where you need him the most. You rubbed your clit with your middle finger in tight circles, small gasps leaving your mouth as Jace just chuckled.

“You can do better than that.” Jace states, and you begin to go faster, feeling as your stomach tightens, you bite down on your free hand to stop the moans and whimpers spilling out, but he moved it, “I need to hear you, love.” He says.

As you were on the edge on another orgasm, Jace takes your hand in his, making you whine beneath him. He just continues to smirk, enjoying the sounds you make for him. Sounds you’ve made only for him.

“Jace,” you whisper, your hand tangling in his damp hair as his mouth comes down to your nipples again, “I need you.”

“Where, darling?”

“Inside me. Need to feel you here.” You say, taking one of his hands and placing it on your belly. It’s as if you flipped a switch, he licks over your hardened bud once more before spreading your legs apart for him as far as they could go, his cock pressing against you as his hand holds your hip.

“You ready?” He asks, his thumb stroking where he held your hip.

“Yes,” you moan, wanting to just take him and shove him inside you already.

You knew it would hurt, the size of him and your experience wouldn’t go well together, but you seemed to forget he was also rather experienced. As he begins to push himself into you, he whispers praises into your ear and he kisses down your neck.

“Taking me so well, good girl. I know you can do it.” He says, your eyes were screwed shut as you ran your fingers through his hair, tugging on it when you were in discomfort. But once he was fully in, he paused for a moment, kissing you on the lips before telling you, “I’ll move when you’re ready, okay? Just let me know when.”

You were so grateful for how caring he had become in this moment, the thought of losing you had made him appreciate you more. He was so careful with you, but once you were both comfortable enough, you wanted that to change.

“You can move.” You whisper into his ear, and he begins to move his hips, thrusting himself in and out of you. Rubbing against your walls deliciously, each time you clenched around him you heard him groan slightly.

As his pace quickened, you let go of his hair and flopped against his mattress, the pleasure becoming overwhelming. You had truly never felt anything like it. The way he angled his hips caused him to brush against the special spot inside of you, causing your vision to blur and your mind to become fuzzy.

“Feels good?” Jace asks, knowing it clearly felt wonderful. “You’re doing so well for me, baby. Taking me so well.”

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, you feel a sudden pressure on your lower stomach and you look up to see Jace pressing down with his hand. Each time he thrusted into you, you felt like you were going to explode.

Drunk off the feeling of his cock, you look into his eyes. It was such an innocent thing to do, but the words that were about to leave your mouth were far from it.

“Jace,” you said between breaths, “I need you to cum inside me, please, please, need you to fill me up, all the way…” You trail off as he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, reaching deeper into you than you thought was possible.

“Look at you beginning for my cum,” he chuckles, his voice dripping in lust, “sweet little whore, wanting me to show her how it feels to get fucked right, now wanting me to fill her up.” His words only made you worse, you couldn’t think straight as you clenched around him even more, “so desperate, aren’t you, darling? But you asked so nicely. Make a mess on my cock for me, and I’ll give you what you want, okay?”

You nod your head, not knowing what you had agreed to exactly, but if Jace was offering something who were you to turn it down?

“Open your mouth, sweetheart.” He says, leaning over you again, his arm beside you, supporting him. You do as you're told, and he spits into your mouth. You hold it there for a moment before swallowing, opening your mouth again to show him you had indeed swallowed it.

Eager to make you finish before him, he pushes himself back up and begins toying with your clit again, knowing how sensitive it had now become, pinching it, rubbing it between his fingers, rubbing it in tight circles, trying to figure out what you like best.

“Jace!” You gasp, “I’m gonna…”

“Do it. Cum around my cock for me, and I’ll give you what you want, darling.” He pants.

And before you know it, your body begins to squirm underneath him as you see white. You can only moan out his name and profanities. Your head was thrown back, your arms coming up lay on the pillows beside you. Jace lifts you by the hips, holding you as close as he possibly can before letting himself go inside of you. He holds you there for a moment whilst he comes undone, as if you’ll disappear if he lets go of you.

“Jace,” you whisper, his body collapsing beside yours.

“Holy shit.” He gasps, he couldn’t believe what had just happened. “Y/n, I love you. I have done since I first met you, I was just… scared. Scared you wouldn’t like me back. I know this is a lot to take in but-”

“I love you too,” you giggle, still coming down from the pure ecstasy he had gave to you, “I… I can’t think straight right now, baby. Let’s talk about it later. Right now I just want to cuddle.” You say, snuggling up to his chest.

“I guess I quite literally fucked your brains out.” Jace said, earning a half-hearted slap on the shoulder from you. “Sorry.” He added, his fingers playing with your damp hair as you fell asleep on his chest.

#jace wayland smut #jamie campbell bower #jamie campbell bower smut #jace herondale smut #jamie bower #jace wayland #jamie bower smut #jamie bower x reader

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 4 months

Text

Happy Holidaze║ ⒸⓄⓁⓁⒺⒸⓉⒾⓄⓃⓈ

| HAPPY HOLIDAZE | part of the A Weight Off Your Shoulders collection ║ series masterlist ║ main masterlist ║ | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x plus sized!fem!neighbor (Roxy)

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 9.7k | CONTENT: age gap (Joel mid 40s, neighbor late 20s), struggles of body image and self-worth, diet culture, awkward conversations and situations with your parents, fluff with dash of smut at the end, two idiots in love who are disgusting sluts for each other

| SYNOPSIS: You and Joel finally meet each other's families.

✧this is the fifth installment of a oneshot collection✧ ✧◦◦║ Part 1 ║ Part 2 ║ Part 3 ║ Part 4 ║ Part 6 ║◦◦✧

nail color? You text the question along with a picture of the wall of options in front of you. getting a pedi too so pick two The text bubble pops up then disappears for a moment before reappearing again.

You want it to match holiday stuff or whatever? I’m not an expert at this stuff. Don’t know if there’s unspoken rules or something.

You roll your eyes and smile down at your phone. Joel was older, old enough to not always get the social implications of certain situations, especially in the dating world - not that the two of you were officially dating or anything - situations, like asking a man to pick out what color you should get your nails done.

don’t need an expert

A playful grin warms your features as you type out a few extra snippets and hit send.

just need to know what color you wanna see on my nails

you know, for when you’re watching me grab your dick and stroke it later

You bite back a smile, teeth tucked into your bottom lip, as you wait for a reply. As expected, the text bubble flashes and disappears on the screen repeatedly. You can vividly picture Joel texting you back in a frenzy over your flirty message. You relished in getting him worked up sometimes, knowing you could get him absolutely feral to the point that he’d just rip his clothes off the second he got through the door and fuck the living daylights out of you.

You stifle a laugh when his contact picture takes up the entire screen. Of course he’s given up on trying to text you back and is just calling you instead.

“Yyyeesssssss?” you draw out in an innocent voice.

“Goddamn you can’t just send me shit like that when I’m at work, baby.” His husky voice is clear even as it passes through the somewhat scratchy receiver.

“What’s the matter, Joel? Those big ass Wreck It Ralph hands of yours couldn’t type the words fast enough?” you tease. Joel’s deep laugh on the other end of the line makes your belly feel like a swarm of butterflies are about to burst through your throat.

“How the fuck did I end up with a brat like you, huh?” he chuckles.

You hum a laugh in reply and wait patiently for him to answer your original question.

“Alright, brat. Lemme think.” He makes small, thoughtful noises as you tilt your head and scan the wall. When he makes a low, throaty noise, you sniff a laugh through your nose.

“Okay, if you are actually picturing what the color will look like while I’m … doing that–” you pause, glancing around the nail salon as if an eavesdropper would somehow immediately know what sort of filth you were exchanging “–you’re gonna get sent to HR when somebody sees you all bricked up at work.”

Joel laughs again. He’d laughed every time you said “bricked up” since you taught him the expression several months ago.

“Alright, alright. Red. I want ‘em to be red,” he decides.

“Okay. And my toes?”

He makes a weird noise on the other end, and you roll your eyes. You know exactly what he’s thinking about.

“No, you will NOT have to picture what color my toes would look like wrapped around your–” you cut yourself off when you catch a curious, disapproving look from an older woman in a chair nearby getting a manicure. Joel busts out in a belly laugh, understanding that you were probably talking too loud and got a look from somebody.

“Hm, I dunno, baby. Never been into that, but who knows. Might be my new thing if you’re the one doin’ it. I like everythin’ you do,” he murmurs. It sounds like he’s cupped his hands against his mouth and the microphone so he could talk without getting noticed like you had.

“Joel,” you warn with no real weight behind it.

“And besides, even if it ain’t a footjob situation, you know I like gettin’ those things up on my shoulders when I’m fuckin’ you senseless.” His voice is quieter now, but it’s less to do with volume and more to do with the raspy, lewd bend to his words.

“I just know I’m going to regret teaching you this, but there’s actually a name for that,” you say low, cupping your own hand into the receiver now so you could speak without catching another disapproving glance.

“Oh?” He sounds excited, as he always does whenever you introduce him to these kinds of things. Slang. How to hide photos from his main camera roll. How to work the remote on the TV. Turns out dating someone younger had its benefits - not that the two of you were dating or anything.

“Mmmhmmm. It’s kinda like the one I told you before. The ‘your hands would make a nice necklace’ thing. So yeah, you’d say ‘I wanna wear your ankles for earrings’ or, like, ‘I’m gonna make your ankles my earrings.’”

“Damn, maybe your generation ain’t so bad after all,” he chuckles. “Certainly come up with some handy terms, I’ll give ya that much.”

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying,” you giggle. “Like you’re that much older than me. Give me a break.”

He chuckles. You hear some yelling in the background on his end and then his muffled response to whoever it was that he’d “be right there.”

“Alright, honey. I gotta go. Lemme see. Alright. Toes. Hhhmm. How ‘bout blue? Like those one pair of panties I like’a yours,” he decides.

You smile. You know exactly the pair he’s talking about.

“Mmm’kay. Only ‘cuz I like you so much,” you hum.

“Yeah, you sure do like me ‘n these Wreck It Ralph hands. Don’t mind ‘em when they’re fingerin’ your–”

“Hanging up now,” you snip playfully.

“Don’t wanna hear you complainin’ when I yell ‘I’M GONNA WRECK IT’ when I’m balls deep in you tonight,” he hurries out before you can end the call.

“GOODBYE, JOEL. And you better not!” you snicker. “Talk about a turn off. I’d cut you off for a month.”

“Bullshit. You couldn’t go a month without me. Without my–” he laughs, not getting to finish before you cut him off.

“GOOD. BYE.” you huff in a giggle.

“Bye, baby. See you tonight,” he laughs easy before making some exaggerated kissy noises and hanging up.

You shake your head, trying to keep from erupting in laughter. This man was an absolute mess and full on dork, and you loved every second of it. You nab a seasonal red and a panty blue and wait to be called. You dutifully ignore the eavesdropper from before as she glances your way a few times. It wasn’t very hard to divert your attention with all the giddy, bubbly feelings surging through you. Joel made an outstanding distraction in plenty of ways, and you find yourself smiling like a love-struck puppy most of the time because of him. He really felt like the best thing that had ever happened to you.

He was wrong when he’d said “you couldn’t go a month without me” during your call. The truth was, you couldn’t go without him, period. He had become so naturally ingrained into your life that it felt strange to think of what it had been like without him. It just felt right that you existed in tandem. It was hard to separate how you felt and what you “knew.”

You knew you were in a casual “situationship” that neither one of you sought to define in any certain terms. You felt as though spending practically every night together, going on a weekend getaway together, and neither one of you pursuing anything outside of each other was decidedly more in the “serious, committed relationship” category.

You knew that it was a “textbook mistake” to jump from an almost decade-long failed relationship into a new, serious one. It wasn’t in line with what you were “supposed to do” after such a big change, which conventionally involved something along the lines of “playing the field for a while” and “just having some fun” while getting back out there. But your heart had decided that you were going to abandon all sense and become involved with the first guy you had a meaningful interaction with post-breakup.

So, here you are, just several months out of a heartbreaking split from somebody you were supposed to marry, and completely head over heels with someone new who felt too good to be true. You can’t think of a time in your life that you’ve been happier, so why did it feel so petrifying to just lean into the obvious? Why couldn’t you just yield to the undeniable, consuming magnetic connection between you and Joel?

He so often seemed to hold back for your sake, never wanting to push you past your comfort zone or ask too much of you too fast. Biting his tongue at times that you could’ve sworn he’d nearly slipped and said the “big L” to you and caught himself at the last moment. Just a miracle of a man who was patiently waiting you out, waiting for you to give in to it all and accept what was clearly happening. Admitting that, as crazy as it seemed and felt, the two of you were in love, and one of you needed to make the first move towards the next step. The definitive kind of step that makes this “casual fling” into a real relationship.

Something or someone was bound to give, and you don’t know if you’ll ever be ready for what that brings.

Your parents had booked the cruise long before your engagement was broken off. It was a dream of theirs to go on the two week long journey, spanning several continents and all of the major winter holidays you celebrated. Naturally you’d insisted that they don’t cancel on account of your bad bit of luck. At least somebody’s year was going like they thought it would, and it felt wrong to ask them to cancel the vacation they’d been talking about since forever.

That, and the fact that you were relieved to have a valid reason for attending Thanksgiving with your parents instead of going with Joel for a quick trip to see Sarah during her college break. Even though he’d asked in an offhand way if you’d want to go with him and meet her, you could tell he’d very much wanted you to say yes. Of course you wanted to meet her and share in Joel’s life that way, but it was a major shift into the “real, defined relationship” category – the kind where you had a title attached to your name when you were introduced to their family.

It’s how you found yourself currently sat in your parents’ kitchen, poking around on the appetizer tray, while your mom busied herself with the normal fare in addition to “lower calorie alternatives” you were no doubt expected to choose if the quantities of each offering was anything to go by. You watch your mom slice impossibly thin pieces of cheese for the crackers and wonder if you should’ve just sucked it up and gone with Joel. Then again, you’d have to offer some sort of reason for missing out on a major holiday with your family. It was a catch 22.

“Roxy, don’t eat so many appetizers. I know it’s a holiday and all, but don’t go overboard,” your mom offers with genuine kindness that stings just as bad as if she’d meant to hurt you. You set the cheese slice and cracker combo back onto your plate. You knew you were stress eating from all the nerves about the possibility of the “how’s your love life” conversation, but you surprised yourself by only realizing you were taking so many bites after your mom pointed it out.

You’d stopped being so vigilant with every morsel of food that passed through your mouth. You ate most of your meals with Joel, and you weren’t self-conscious about eating around him or in front of him like you always were with most people. It was a hard habit to break, to not be so focused on pacing yourself, matching your rate of intake with others so you didn’t look like a pig chowing down and wiping your plate clean before everyone else had finished.

Joel was a good cook, and he often brought you bites to test or little plates of this and that to tide you over before the whole meal was done. You weren’t even embarrassed when he’d feed you pieces of popcorn while you watched movies together, snuggled up together on the couch. He’d chomp a few pieces down himself and then pop a few kernels into your mouth, always attentive. Just like he was with everything when it came to you.

But here in your childhood home, listening to your mom’s offhand comments about your intake, it brought you right back into all those years of shame and guilt. You knew she meant well. She always had. Never wanting you to struggle the same way she did, years and years of diets and exercise regimens and restriction. She’d dropped a lot of weight since taking up Weight Watchers, and you were happy for her. She was always nicer and more relaxed when she’d hit those lower ends of the yo-yoing. All the more uptight and anxious the moment her weight crept back up again.

Your dad didn’t seem to care either way what she looked like, but it was a bit of accidental negative reinforcement that he liked interacting with her a whole lot more when she was nicer to him and everybody else. It just so happened that was only when her jeans didn’t fit so tight and the numbers weren’t too frightening on the scale. She’d no doubt come to internalize the dynamic and equate her lower weight with better interactions and a more fulfilling relationship with your dad, never even realizing it was the way she interacted with him and others that brought about those pleasant times and not what size she had to pull from the rack.

“Awfully quiet, Rox,” your dad notes.

You look over to find him studying you with those astute eyes. He was never much of a talker, but god could he communicate so much with a look or a gesture. Your mother on the other hand–

“Yeah, hon. Please don’t spend the day thinking about that awful, awful man.” You suppose your unusual quiet could most readily be explained by all the feelings that might come about spending your first major holiday out of a relationship for the first time in almost ten years. You aren’t sure which is worse: that hypothetical explaining your silence, or the truth, which was an over the moon sort of romance that you couldn’t talk about yet.

“I’m not thinking about Michael,” you mumble petulantly. You didn’t want to give him any sort of win, even if he wasn’t around to know about it.

“Y’seem distracted,” your dad says plainly.

He’s watching you with those eyes that say he already knows something is up, but he doesn’t know enough to speak on it yet. Your gut pinches. It won’t take him long to figure it out. It never does if he’s got his mind set to something. It was a trait you’d always admired and envied. You shrug off his observation, but your mom isn’t so quick to let it go.

“You’ll get to a place where you can put yourself back out there, hon. I just know it. You’re a resilient girl, and you’re not going to let that loser change that,” she sniffs with an air of indignation. It’s hard to imagine this was the same woman who this time last year had been so effusive with compliments and general praise to the same man she was now deeming a loser. Still, the sentiment that he had kneecapped your entire romantic life annoyed you more than it should’ve.

“Who says I’m not ‘back out there’ already?” you grumble to the half empty tray of appetizers.

Your mom jolts like she’d been doused in ice water. Your eyes flit to your dad who gives you a knowing grin. Even though you hadn’t even actually said anything, it felt good to talk about Joel, to acknowledge his existence at least. You feel a sudden urge to just tell your parents everything about Joel. You chug the rest of your red wine to reign yourself in and wait for the onslaught from your mother.

“You’re seeing someone?” she breathes, excitement boiling over.

“Well, I mean… I guess I’ve been, you know, like, talking with somebody,” you say as casually as you can manage.

“Oh? REALLY? Oh! That’s-That’s wonderful, Roxanne!” your mom exclaims, rising to the balls of her feet and clapping her hands together quietly. “How long have you been seeing each other? Why haven’t we met him yet?”

“Take it easy, will ya, Melissa? She didn’t say it was anything serious,” your dad mutters.

For all his faults, your dad at least grasped the concept that the dating world had changed significantly since he and your mom got together, and it was no longer the kind of landscape where you were “going steady” with the same person after two successful dates. Your mom, on the other hand, struggled with the concept of casual anything when it came to relationships. A romantic at heart, she was always the type to believe in the sorts of things like twin flames, finding your soulmate in every universe, and so on.

You snort to yourself, considering how you were a perfect blend of the two. The logical, practical side of you knowing that you and Joel hadn’t defined your relationship with any specific terms, but you were mutually exclusive. A noncommittal sort of committal. The bleeding heart side of you knowing good and well that you were in love with him. It was the stuff of romcoms, the type that you’d make Joel watch with you on the weekends when it was your turn to pick the movie. The kind that he pretended to be annoyed by but never truly complained about and never made you feel like a mawkish idiot when you’d cry at the sappy payoff in the overwrought finale.

“Oh, shut up, Robert,” your mom snips. “I just meant I wanted to know more about him. Don’t act like you don’t, either.” She did her best to be annoyed with your dad, but she broke almost immediately when he smirked at her and poked her sides teasingly.

“Didn’t say I wasn’t. Just wasn’t gonna push her, dearest,” he mocks half-heartedly. He swigs a sip of beer and turns back to you.

“Of course we’d love to hear about him, Rox. Wanna know who’s got my little girl’s attention, ya know?” He smiles, mood and tongue steadily loosened by the beer in his hand. Your mom makes a low sneering sound. When you and your dad both look at her curiously, she sighs and shrugs.

“Sorry. It’s just- Yes, of course we want to hear all about him, serious or not. I want to know who’s got your attention, too, but I-I just…” she trails off, suddenly seeming uncomfortable as she and your dad exchange a loaded look.

“What? What is it?” you demand.

“I think what your mom is tryna say, Rox, is that we want to know more about him for the sake of knowing about him, but also because we’re both… we both hope whoever it is treats you better than.. what you dealt with before,” he finishes clumsily.

Your dad wasn’t the talkative type, but he was always better at expressing himself when he did decide to speak. Choosing his words more carefully than your mother ever did and communicating clearly despite not offering up much conversation very often. It felt odd to hear him stumble over his words, but it went hand in hand with their shared look moments ago.

They’d obviously talked amongst themselves about your complete failure of a relationship with Michael. It had been humiliating to tell them the truth of the situation, why you couldn’t “work it out” and why you had to move back home, but they were ultimately supportive.

It felt all the more humiliating on your end because your parents had been madly in love and happily married for decades. It was the kind of relationship you didn’t hear about much anymore, the childhood sweethearts who were destined to fall in love and be together forever. You’d thought that you were going to have the same thing, just a little rougher around the edges. Instead you’d ended up with a mockery of a relationship that you’d wasted years of your life on and would never get back.

“Maybe somebody closer to your age would be better, too,” your mom’s third glass of wine said.

Your dad didn’t say anything, but his face spoke all the agreement in the world with the sentiment. Your stomach flipped. Great. Of course they were going to write off anyone with more than 5 years of seniority on you after Michael had so dutifully upheld the classic trope of “older man divorces his wife for his younger girlfriend and then repeats the cycle when she ages out of his desired demographic.” Yet another aspect of your life that he ruined despite not having spoken to him since before you left Colorado and came home.

“Maybe you should meet him before deciding you don’t like him,” you gripe defensively. The urge to defend Joel was strong, but you regretted your words the moment they left your lips.

“What a lovely idea!” your mom practically sings. Your dad’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline in surprise at your quick to defend attitude for this “casual relationship.” Right off the bat and you’d shown your hand. You wonder if your dad will clue your mom in that you obviously had strong feelings for this mystery man. You pour another glass of wine and resign yourself to divulging the bare minimum of information about Joel to your parents.

You don’t give a specific on age – “he’s older than me” – or when you met – “he lives next door.” Your mom was biting back annoyed sighs at how you danced around questions. You’d finally had enough to drink that you promised to talk with Joel about the four of you meeting up for dinner sometime in December before your parents left on their cruise. You hope that Joel will help you concoct some sort of excuse for not scheduling such a dinner, but your instinct tells you that he would probably be even more excited about it than your mother, if that was even possible.

“Joel, I don’t think this is structurally sound,” you half-joke.

The gingerbread structure, which was really just a bunch of graham crackers stuck together with store bought icing, was definitely leaning towards the left, but there wasn’t any discernible freefall motion to it. Just a slow, sinking slant towards the dining room table surface.

“Just leave it to the professionals, huh?” he snips back playfully.

“I knew I should’ve gotten a second opinion,” you theatrically mutter under your breath.

Joel pops a marshmallow into his mouth and chews loudly just because he knows how much it annoys you. “You got the best right here, baby.” He smacks his mouth in big gnawing motions. “Can’t get any better than this.”

His goofy grin is endearing, and you focus on that instead of the voice in your head readily agreeing that, yeah, you couldn’t do better than Joel and you might not even be good enough for him in the first place.

“You up for a lil friendly competition?” he suggests.

You shake off your negative thoughts with a loose shrug and smirk back at him. “Let’s hear it, then.”

“Whoever makes the best gingerbread house person wins,” Joel proposes in a borderline smug tone . You’re about to agree when he holds a single finger up. “But wait just a minute, let’s make it interesting. You make me, and I’ll make you.”

Your mind is already going into overdrive producing hilarious confectionary Joels, and you don’t even waste any time offering up a verbal agreement to the challenge before diving right in. It’s only a minute or two later that cereal boxes have been erected between the two of you as “anti-cheating shields.” Sprinkles and icing cover the surface of the table everywhere you look. You’d both worked in near silence as you diligently crafted holiday candied versions of each other.

You give your creation a once over and beam at your work: rice krispy treats mashed together with extra marshmallows for a broad, strong body, brown and black sprinkles mashed into the “face” to make a patchy beard, little red licorice pieces for the mouth, a chocolate candy smeared with marshmallows for his “salt and pepper locks,” and two mismatched sprinkles for eyes.

You start to peek around the boxes, but Joel is quick to block your line of sight. “Hey, no looking until it’s done!” You put your hands up in mock surrender and giggle uncontrollably at how serious he’s taking the task. He grins big and wide before nipping at your bottom lip, cheek, and earlobe in quick succession. “Absolute brat,” he breathes out a laugh. His eyes slide to your making of him, and his smile goes even wider.

You pick it up gently and present it to him. “Ta-da!”

He wheezes in laughter as he produces his version of you, and you’re quick to join him when you see it. Two jumbo marshmallows shoved together, some sort of pink taffy crammed into it near the bottom to represent what you can only assume is your vagina, two smaller but still sizable marshmallows attached by toothpicks for breasts – pointed ends of the toothpick still visible, of course, for your nipples – and random bits of icing and sprinkles mishmashed into a face.

“Oh wait wait wait,” you giggle like a maniac. You shove three mini marshmallows onto a toothpick to give your candy Joel a penis. He arranges the two of you against the lopsided graham cracker house, marshmallow penis situated crudely into your pink taffy vagina, and you both take in the completed scene.

“Never seen a better lookin’ gingerbread family,” he chuckles.

You nod, enthusiastic with agreement at the deformed but lovable pairing. You want to shove down the urge to mention the impending dinner with your parents, but you can’t quite manage.

“Speaking of family,” you awkwardly lay out, “you sure you’re still up for meeting the folks?”

Joel only looks a touch more serious when he answers. “Wanna meet the people responsible for creating such a beautiful thing like you.”

“Can’t promise they won’t make you pay for all of Michael’s sins,” you mutter.

He just smirks back in response. “If they didn’t give the next guy shit after that colossal failure of a man you were with, I’d wonder if they actually gave a shit at all.”

As usual, Joel brings everything into focus and props the situation up on a patient, flexible perspective for everyone involved. If he was in charge of the narrative, maybe the dinner wouldn’t be that bad afterall.

The pretty green satin dress you’d finally worked up the courage to buy and wear suddenly felt three sizes too small and ten times too revealing to wear for dinner with your parents. You smooth over the already smoothed fabric, hands gliding freely over the swell of your hips and belly where the light catches, and let out a heavy sigh.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” Joel groans from the doorway.

You twist around awkwardly to find him staring at you. His eyes roam back up to your face, and he shakes his head with a small, incredulous laugh. His grin etches out little grooves of joy around his eyes. “You look incredible.”

And it’s as simple as that. Joel looking at you how he does and saying the things he does, dispelling those nagging, intrusive thoughts in a moment’s passing. You turn to face him directly and do a bit of admiring yourself. Crisp, neat gray slacks paired with a nice button up shirt, hair lightly gelled back, scruff a little less scruffy. Joel looks devastatingly handsome, and you tell him so.

It’s an easy atmosphere for most of the car ride to the restaurant. It’s the kind of familiarity and comfort that comes so easy that it ends up being difficult to explain to people. A sort of if you know, you know energy, and the closer you got to the restaurant, the more you were scared your parents weren’t going to “get it” at all. The nerves crept up and tightened like a vice squeezing around your chest. Your dress feels too snug and inappropriate again all the sudden.

“Hey.” Joel’s voice plucks you from your mini spiral. He’s glancing at you while he waits for the light to change, but you hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped at all. “It’ll be good. It’s gonna be a nice dinner, okay?”

You shake your head. “No, I know. I know it’ll be alright. I’m just–I don’t know why, but I guess I’m just nervous.” You give an apologetic shrug as if you might offend Joel for feeling anything less than ecstatic for him to meet your parents.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be worried about. If you get too nervous at dinner, I can handle it. I know how to steer a conversation, baby,” he assures you.

“But it’s not fair to ask you to take charge of the conversation just because I’m being overly anxious,” you grumble. “Especially since they’re my parents. I should be the one fielding questions and directing the conversation to pleasant chitchat.”

“Well, I guess that’s just one of the many things that makes me such a catch,” he teases with a wink.

You can’t help but smile a little at his attempts to keep you level headed. “Can’t argue with that.”

You focus on the lazy circles his wide hands draw on your thigh for the rest of the drive. You keep a flow of steady breaths as you pull into the lot and tell Joel not to worry about paying for valet. He grins knowingly at you. It was always a good sign if you were focused on economics and prudent money practices. His arm wraps across your back like a stabilizing bracket. The hostess informs you that the rest of your party has already arrived and is awaiting your company. Your heart jumps into your throat when you spot your parents seated in the middle of the restaurant.

It’s a bit of a blur as Joel introduces himself, offering a firm handshake to your dad and a friendly kiss on the cheek for your mother. He’s not even batting an eye as he prompts you to take a seat in the chair he’s pulled out for you. You plop awkwardly into your seat and feel like a deer in headlights. You realize now you probably should’ve prepped more for potential conversations and what sort of cohesive statements you and Joel would make in return. Your mouth feels like sandpaper, and your mother has to ask her question again when you realize you’ve missed it.

“I said, are you feeling okay? You’re just staring off,” she repeats with an edge of worry.

You snap into “fake it until you make it” mode and laugh it off. “Yeah, sorry, mom. Just realized it’s been a while since I ate something. Guess I’m a little hungry.”

It was the first thing that came to mind for a flimsy but passable excuse, and you want to launch yourself into the sun for immediately inviting the topic of food and appetite to the table. Even your dad pauses for a split second to squint at you as if he’d misheard. Your mom doesn’t take note of it, too delighted by your choice of topic.

“OOooohhhh, is it intermittent fasting? I’ve heard a lot about that. How long have you been doing that? I’m so proud of you!”

The unspoken “I’m so happy that you’re finally trying to lose weight again” hangs in the air and makes your cheeks start to burn. You’d rather shrivel into a ball of mush and seep through the cracks in the floor than have Joel bear witness to one of you and your mother’s back-and-forths over eating and body weight.

Joel barely finishes his sip of water before wading into the disaster of a conversation you’ve started. “Intermittent fasting? Ain’t that what you do before a doctor’s appointment?” You appreciate his willingness to throw himself into whatever awkward bullshit you’ve managed to whip up in such a short amount of time, but he’s truly not well-versed enough in your mother’s history of food and diet culture to really understand just what he’s getting into.

“Oh, I guess, but this is a real winner from what I’ve heard. One of my girlfriends just switched to it from keto, but she’s still quite plump, you know? It’s supposed to do wonders for cutting back on calories and weight loss, ” she reports with glittery, tired eyes that shift to you for a split second at the word plump.

“What? Like a diet or somethin’? You tellin’ me people just cut out whole chunks of time and won’t let themselves eat?” Joel’s misgivings with the entire concept is obvious. Your mother of course further ensnares her victim into the conversation, knowledgeable or not of the verbal intricacies and diatribe lures that await them. “It restarts your metabolism,” she explains excitedly to a further perplexed Joel.

At least she was trying to salvage the discussion and didn’t seem put off by Joel’s less than stellar reception to her passionate opinions.

“Sounds a little strange to me, but I guess to each their own,” he offers, noncommittal and not entirely convincing.

Your mom deflates a bit but takes it in stride. It was more than what she normally got in those types of conversations. You thank the high heavens when the waiter comes to start your orders. You fumble with the menu and mentally thank Joel when he casually suggests something for you, exactly what you would pick for yourself had your brain not been in panic mode. Everyone is focused on their menus for a short time, muttering here and there about which special looks good and what the house favorites are. You spend the entire time dreading the thought of your mother talking about your weight, dieting, and body in front of Joel and haven’t picked a dish by the time the waiter returns. All your brain can do is hammer thoughts of the night ending badly one way or another.

Before Joel can step in and just order for you, your mother supplies you with her ever helpful suggestions. “You know, there’s a lot of really delicious looking salads. And it’s easy to get the dressing on the side to save yourself some Points.”

“Salad? Points?” Joel asks.

“Oh, I guess intermittent fasting wouldn’t be Points,” she laughs at herself like she’d just made a funny joke. “Weight Watchers does Points. You know, tracking your calories through Points. Makes it so easy, especially during these cooler months when everybody just starts letting themselves go and eat anything they see!” She’s nodding with an enthusiasm that no one else at the table shares.

Joel glances at you with a look of why the fuck would anybody waste a nice meal out being worried about calories? but he doesn’t say that – thank god. You order a pathetic sounding salad just to move things along, and you ignore Joel’s bewildered expression over your dinner choice. Your mother makes a face – over what you can only assume is the fact that you didn’t order your dressing on the side – before she orders a smaller, even more pathetic sounding salad and a bowl of glorified bone broth. It’s steaks and seafood for the men at the table, and then you’re left with the expanse of time between ordering and the food arriving.

“So, Joel,” your mother starts up again. “You’re quite the mystery man! It was a pleasant surprise when we found out our little Roxy had made a nice friend.”

Joel’s face radiates warmth and pride at the mere allusion of being yours, being your mystery man - a “nice friend.” He gives a breezy explanation of how it’s been nice for him to have such an intelligent, funny companion that’s just a stone’s throw away from his own house. Things get a little rocky when he mentions his house being more quiet since his daughter went away to college. Your dad all but freezes on the spot and pins you with a look that you can’t place.

By some divine nature, your mom doesn’t say anything and opts to just blink repeatedly at Joel with a blank stare. Sensing he might’ve opened a can of worms with the innocent comment, Joel looks to you with uncertainty for the first time this evening. Something in his search for the right thing to do at this moment gives you the drive to speak up.

“Yeah, it’s been nice for me, too, honestly. It’s the first time I’ve lived alone in a really long time, you know? And I think I would’ve been doing a hell of a lot worse if I hadn’t met Joel,” you attest.

He gives you one of his shy, goofy grins, and part of you wonders why you would ever feel nervous when you’ve got someone like him by your side.

“Well, it certainly sounds… convenient,” your mother notes with a questionably loaded emphasis on the word convenient.

Ah, yes, there’s the other part of you screaming and hopping up and down that says THIS is precisely why you would feel nervous, even with Joel by your side.

“Maybe it was destiny. Aren’t you always going on and on about that sort of thing, mom?” you shoot back with a glare. Heat prickles on your neck at the insinuation that you and Joel enjoy each other’s company simply because it’s easy and right in front of you. Your mom huffs a little at your pointed tone, but you don’t back down.

“I never said it was a bad thing. I just think it’s certainly an element that’s made things more… speedy. But that’s neither here nor there, I guess.”

“Oh so now it’s not just because it’s easy but it’s rushed, too?” you scoff.

“That’s not what she’s sayin–”

You cut your dad off before he can jump in to defend your mom’s rude comments. “Sounds pretty clear what she’s saying, dad.” When you catch a “just so fast” and a “the whole Mike situation” muttered under her breath towards your dad, you feel on the verge of screaming. A large, firm grip on your thigh snaps your attention to Joel who levels you with a look – no, a silent request to let him take this on for you, to make good on what he’d promised in the car: ain’t nothin’ to be worried about, I can handle it, I know how to steer a conversation.

“Hey,” he bids to you, tender but firm. “Let them say their piece. This is all new to them, alright? They’re just wantin’ to protect you is all.”

“I’m not going to let them disrespect us– you,” you grit out.

“I can handle myself, sweet girl,” he reassures you with a lopsided grin. He motions for a waiter and orders a bottle of white for the table. The brief pause has deescalated some of the tension, but you’ve yet to look at your mom for fear that you’ll want to snap all over again. Joel turns his full attention to your parents.

“Joel, I didn’t mean anything bad from what I was saying, it’s just—” Your mom is rushing to appeal to his understanding, easygoing nature, and you think to yourself she doesn’t much deserve it right now.

Joel waves a dismissive hand - water under the bridge. “Pardon me for the interruption, but you don’t need to explain yourself to me. If somebody did to my daughter what that prick did to yours, I’d probably be behind bars,” he says plainly. You swear your dad smiles for the briefest moment at that. “So I don’t take any issue with y’all wantin’ to keep her from gettin’ hurt again.”

Your mom frowns and drops her gaze. A spark of guilt nips at your gut. Maybe you weren’t being fair. Maybe you were just so keyed up from the start that any little thing was bound to set you off. When the waiter appears with the wine, you happily gulp down the entire pour. Your mom sips at hers and avoids your eye.

“Here’s to new beginnings, yeah?” Joel offers with a lift of his glass. You clink your empty cup with the rest of the table in a muted cheers. “And to the love and happiness that we all deserve,” your dad adds with a soft look in your direction. The conversation shifts to meaningless chit chat, anything safe and tame to avoid another labile interaction.

You’re happy when dinner arrives just to have something else to focus on. Without a word, Joel takes your salad and scrapes half of it onto his plate before doling out a large portion of the steak he’d ordered. He nestles the bowl back in front of you and bites back a devilish smile.

Your dad is definitely sporting a tiny grin now, no mistaking that. Your mom of course looks puzzled but thinks better of commenting. When the table is quiet long enough for it to start being awkward, your dad steps up to the plate. “Pretty dress, hon. Don’t think I’ve seen you in it before. Don’t tell me you went and bought some new digs on account of this little dinner,” he teases.

You smile softly at the compliment and taunting. “Glad you’re sitting down already because I actually did buy this not too long ago. Realized I didn’t really have any going out clothes I actually liked.” You relax into the ambiance a little and cut through Joel’s – your – steak.

“You got my daughter out here acting strange, Joel,” your dad jokes. “Can hardly convince this one to spend a dime on anything, let alone herself. Good man.”

Joel chuckles goodnaturedly. “She’s been a good influence on me. Taught me a thing or two about finances I’m ashamed to say I prolly shoulda known at this point in my life, but better late than never I guess.” He gives you a playful nudge, and you feel like melting into a happy puddle. This is really happening. You and Joel, out and about as a legitimate, bonafide pairing, having dinner with the parents. It might be the entire glass of wine you downed on an empty stomach, but you’re pretty sure Joel is what’s got you feeling so intoxicated and fuzzy brained.

“Can’t work a lawn mower worth a damn, though,” he taunts. You groan and hide your face under your palm. Your mother zeroes in immediately on the inside joke and manages to convince Joel to tell the story. He sugarcoats none of the language or tantrum involved, and your parents both crack up at the telling. “Wish I could’ve snapped a picture of her face when she came back out to see me pushin’ that thing around without a problem.”

You’re a good sport, knowing Joel somehow finds all those less than flattering aspects of your personality more endearing than damning. He seems happy just to be talking about you so freely with others who know you and know how you can get. Joel can’t help ribbing your dad about the time you called a screwdriver a “screw gun,” and you can only laugh and shrug innocently when he claims they’re gonna “take his man card” for having his daughter out here misnaming basic tools.

You’re struck by how comfortable and confident Joel seems, how effortlessly he commands the attention of the table with his amusing storytelling and magnetic charm. Your parents are both genuinely smiling and engaged with him, and your eyes start to prick with the realization that this might actually end up okay. You and Joel stepping into this serious, committed territory might be nothing more than a no brainer, a path set in motion and followed with ease because it was just waiting for you to take the step forward and begin traveling.

You feel floaty by the time Joel excuses himself to the restroom. He plants a small peck on your temple before walking towards the back of the restaurant. You know you should gauge your parents’ impression of him before letting yourself just sit there in an unmistakable, lovestruck haze, but you can’t quite find the will or the concern to do anything else but bask in it. Joel just makes it around the corner and out of sight when your dad turns to you with a shrewd stare.

“He makes you happy. Doesn’t he?” he posits.

You blink back tears and nod with a watery smile. Your dad clucks his tongue on the roof of his mouth and nods back. “You know, your mom earlier… I think she was trying to broach a subject that we– to keep from making the same mistake twice. Her and me both—” you gently shake your head, not following the train of thought “—We had our reservations about Mike, and we didn’t say anything at the time. We didn’t want to rain on your parade, you know? But, we should’ve– we both should’ve shared our concerns we had about him from the start. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that, but we regret it, hon. We really, really do. Feel like we let you down. Like we failed at being your parents.”

The blissful tears inching towards the front of your eyes were blurring into those of rueful retrospection. Of course it made sense that they hadn’t been crazy about the freshly separated, not entirely divorced, and notably older coworker you’d found your heart embedded in. He’d lived an entire life before you’d come around, and then he’d thrown all of your pivotal young adult years down the drain like you were nothing.

“Joel’s nothing like him,” you blurt out.

“And we can see that, hon, we really can,” your mom adds quickly. Her eyes are glossy and entreating, and you sniff back the impending outpour hot along your lashline. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t hurt you, too. And we just have to be honest with you this time around, okay? If we see something, we’re just gonna have to speak on it, and I’m sorry if that’s upsetting to you.”

“We aren’t looking to make Joel pay for anybody’s sins. We just– We owe it to you to do it right this time around, Rox. Can’t stand to look at myself in the mirror if you got hurt again because we didn’t say something when we should’ve.” Your mother’s hand stays cupped in his when he reaches across the table to hold onto yours.

“It’s not your fault,” you sniff. “The only person who should be feeling bad right now is that scumbag back in Colorado. I deserve better than him, and I’m not going to let him hold me back from finding that person.”

“Of course not, of course not,” your dad agrees. “We just felt it was only fair that we be upfront with you about where we’re coming from this time around. Thankfully Joel seems like a great guy, so there’s no need to get the pitchforks out just yet.”

You snort and roll your eyes at the much welcomed turn to levity in the conversation. “Yeah, well, he’s a really good guy, and I know the more you get to know him the more you’re gonna love him.”

“Like you do?” your mom presses.

“Like I do what?”

“We’ll love him, like you love him?” she probes.

“I-I… um… I need to use the bathroom,” you announce as you stand and skitter the direction Joel headed what seems like 400 years ago. Without a second glance, you round the same corner he’d taken and make a beeline for the women’s restrooms. You’re not even cognizant enough to be startled when Joel pulls you into him.

“Where you runnin’ off to?” His smile falters when he sees the barely contained tears, and then his hands are cupping your face until you tell him what happened. You give him the quickest recap possible - dutifully excluding the part where you’d run off before having to answer your mom’s question about whether or not you were in love with Joel - and promise it’s nothing major. After the fourth time of asking if you were sure you were okay, you turn the questioning onto his whereabouts during the whole thing. You’re prepared to be annoyed with his answer, but the wind goes right out of your sails when he reveals he had given his card to the waiter to handle the bill and placed a to-go order for some dessert “in case you weren’t full from the half steak half salad.”

You don’t even allow yourself to sit with the genuine kindness and thoughtfulness oozing from Joel right now. You’re about two seconds from an emotional whiplash cry session, and you want to finish the night on a good note. Joel kisses you lightly across the forehead while he brings you into his embrace, and you take the opportunity to talk low and private.

“When we get home, I want you to turn my cervix into a dick punching bag,” you rasp. You meant for it to come out more joking than it did, but your abrupt detour into sexual frustration turned that intention right on its head.

Joel groans and sneaks a handful of your ass into the hand closest to the wall and out of sight of passerby. “Fuckin’ nasty. Baby needs some stress relief and it gets her talkin’ real filthy, huh?”

You look up to him with wide doe eyes and nod urgently. He sucks in a breath and looks to the ceiling like he’s collecting himself. He adjusts the crotch of his pants and crowds you against the wall. His breath is hot against your cheek when he murmurs, “Don’t wanna hear it later when I’ve got you pinned down with nowhere to go but to just take it, you understand?”

You gulp back a moan and bob your head yes. “S’good. S’real good because I ain’t gonna let up until that pussy is all beat to hell and raw from my cock, you hear me?”

“Oh my god,” you whimper. You rub your thighs together at the mental images he’s conjuring.

“See you back at the table, baby,” he toys. He waggles his eyebrows and is gone with the turn of a heel. You practically sprint into the bathroom and slap a towel drenched in cold water around the back of your neck. When you finally calm down enough to return to the table, Joel helps you into your chair and informs you that your parents will be joining the two of you at his house for a home cooked meal after they get back from their cruise. He manages to keep the mood friendly and light for the rest of the dinner, and your dad doesn’t even get weird about the bill when he’s informed Joel has already taken care of it.

By dad code, that has to count for something, right? Not turning it into a pissing contest over who’s going to cover the tab was as good a sign as any that he definitely liked Joel. Your mom’s full on squeeze hug and cheek pat settled any lingering doubts. Your parents like Joel. You think Joel likes your parents, too. Despite a minor hiccup at the beginning, everyone had come out unscathed. Hell, you already had plans for them to spend more time with you and Joel as a couple.

You say your goodbyes to your parents and wave them off as their valet arrives. You’re awash in the swell of your successful night as Joel walks you to his truck. You’ve got that silly, happy smile plastered across your face. You can feel it pushing your cheeks against your temples with the intensity of it. You’re brought back to earth when you see that Joel has not only opened the passenger door for you but has the rear passenger door opened as far as it will go without hitting the empty car next to his truck. You’re boxed in by the doors and the cars. Joel tosses the container of dessert onto his dash and flings your purse onto the floor of the passenger seat.

“Hey! I don’t even think it’s zipp–”

The sheer heft and heat of Joel slams into you from the back and pins you against the seat. Your arms fly up and onto the seat as you try to catch your balance. Your next round of indignant complaint is halted when Joel curves himself flush against you, arms resting atop your own. He grinds slow and steady against your backside. Your breath hitches at the feel of him fully thick and hard for you.

“You see what you fuckin’ do to me?” he grunts against the side of your head. “Wearin’ this pretty thing. Bein’ so goddamn beautiful all dinner. Then seein’ me in the back and beggin’ me to fuck you so hard your pussy goes all bruised from me slamming my cock into you. Gonna fuck you so hard I gotta kiss it all better after, huh? S’that what you want?”

“Oh sh-shit,” you gasp.

Without waiting for your stunned response, Joel shoves your dress up to your hips and kneels between your legs. His mouth is on you in seconds, and you bite into your arm to stifle the surprised sound trying to claw its way out of you. He licks into you with blinding need and only stops working you with his fingers just long enough to free his dick from his pants and start jerking himself off.

“Fuck yeah, all mine,” he growls into your sloppy wet heat. He smears some of the mess from his mouth and chin onto his hand and tugs himself harder with the added lubrication. He slips two fingers into you and works them in tandem with his stroking. You bend your head as far as it will go and drink in the sight of Joel crouched on his knees in the middle of a parking lot with your slick glistening all over his face in the dull glow of the streetlight. He locks eyes with you and grins like he knows a secret.

“You’re mine now, yeah?” He hooks his fingers and plunges them faster. Your legs start to tremble.

“Y-Yes! Mine. Yours!” you choke out.

“Gonna let me have this pussy all out in the open if I want it, huh? Got me so wound up I can’t even wait ‘til I get you home. Bet you’d like it if somebody came walkin’ by right now and saw me claimin’ this pussy all to myself.”

You sob out a moan at the thought. Joel buries himself between your legs again and sends vibrations through you with every grunt and growl. You tense against the seat when your orgasm comes barreling out of nowhere, and you cling onto the truck for dear life when your legs start to give. Joel shoves his head up into you harder, licking and slurping up your cum at the same time he presses you against the car for support. He pulls back with a heaving inhale and grips at the fat of your ass as he erupts between your spread legs and onto the concrete in thick splats.

He stands and meets the heavy rise and fall of your chest with his own. “Goddamn perfect,” he pants. You reach a hand behind you and scratch against his scalp. He leans into your mouth and kisses into it like he’s putting the final mark of his claim onto you. He tucks himself back into his trousers and rights your dress before helping you into the truck. You can feel your arousal wetting into the fabric of your dress beneath your ass in the seat, another indication of who you belong to - officially.

That little mark of pleasure had ruined your dress. You cast a pitiful frown to where the still visible line of demarcation had resisted all intervention the dry cleaners could muster. You were supposed to be meeting Sarah in a few days when she got into town, and now you had no cute evening dress in the event you went out together. You make it through a few household chores and a handful of work calls before calling it a day an hour and a half earlier than usual. It wasn’t like you to dip out before you were scheduled, but you didn’t have anything as pressing as your ruined dress.

You drag your feet the entire 2 minute walk into Joel’s house. “Joellllll,” you call out. His truck was in the driveway, wasn’t it? So he should be here. You call out for him again with the added news that he “officially owed you a new dress after ruining the green one.” Just as you’re starting to get concerned with the silence, the stairs creek. You round the corner with a heavy pout. “You ruined my dress!”

The bright set of eyes and impish smile that greeted you were an echo of Joel’s but not quite his own. You recognize her from the hundreds of photos Joel had shared with you. Sarah. Days early and looking increasingly amused and curious at your presence.

“Ruined your dress, huh?” She crosses her arms and leans against the wall. Her grin spreads the longer you blink silently back at her. “Should be an interesting story.”

Your cheeks burn, and you don’t think she’d be as amused if she knew just how right she is.

part 2 coming tomorrow :)

#fic: a weight off your shoulders #joel miller x plus size reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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odinsblog · 1 year

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To really understand the legacy of racism and exploitation in the U.S. Agricultural industry, we need to go back to the Fair Labor Standards Act, which became law nearly a century ago, when Franklin D. Roosevelt was president.

This law fundamentally changed working conditions in the U.S., it gave us a minimum wage, a 40-hour work week, overtime pay –you know, the good stuff.

But these benefits didn’t apply to farmworkers, who at the time in the South were overwhelmingly Black.

In fact, you can draw a straight line from slavery, to the Fair Labor Standards Act, to the conditions we continue to see in agriculture today. Nearly a century later, farmworkers across the U.S., mostly Latino immigrants now, are still denied even the most basic federal protections, such as water breaks or access to shade in extreme heat. For many families, the effects of these racist exclusions are real, they’re tangible.

At the Summit of the Americas in Los Angeles last year, President Joe Biden outlined his plan to reduce the number of migrants seeking asylum at the Southern border. His administration, Biden said, would help “American farmers bring in seasonal agricultural workers from Northern Central American countries under the H-2A visa program.”

What does that mean for a program that’s already plagued with wage theft and abuse?

Since Biden took office in January of 2021, he’s turned “safe and orderly migration” into a kind of mantra. He says it all the time. And just in February of that year, 2021, the White House assembled working groups to discuss the H-2A program. The idea is to divert asylum seekers from the Southern border and into this program. Here’s Biden talking about the plan last summer:  President Biden: “And on this jobs front, our Department of Agriculture is launching a pilot program to help American farmers bring in seasonal agricultural workers from Northern Central America countries under the H-2A visa program. To improve conditions for all workers.”  Here’s the main issue with that. The Biden Administration wants to offer this temporary worker program to migrants who are seeking asylum at our Southern border. A program that is riddled with abuse and trafficking is being offered to people who are fleeing violence and trafficking.

 “They’re only gonna be able to stay in the United States for 6, 7, 8 months outta the year. What happens during those other months of the year? Uh, they have to go back to their home country and they’re gonna be going back to a country that they fled.

 Maybe because they were being persecuted, somebody in their family was murdered, you know, you’re gonna send them back to that situation and you’re gonna send them back to that situation with dollars in their pockets, which I think is just gonna make them targets for extortion.”

—Latino USA, Head Down

• Part 1, https://play.stitcher.com/episode/302009156

• Part 2, https://play.stitcher.com/episode/302310113

#politics #joe biden #immigration #asylum seekers #refugees #racism #h2a visas #farm workers #workers rights #h-2a visas #mexico #wage theft #temporary foreign workers

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linaket · 3 months

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Monthly Update (Feb 6, 2024)

It has definitely been... a January. This year, I had a lot of plans and goals relating to my writing, but a lot of them are already not going through. One was to do weekly or monthly updates, kind of like when I did weekly updates while working on TS. But, it's still early in the year, so I figure its better late than never. Also still early in the month even if I didn't manage to get this out there at the end of January...

My personal life has been a bit hectic. First thing was that some major projects in the house I planned to have completed last year were finally finished this month--I have all new windows installed in my house now, and a new door, and while I didn't personally do the windows (I did install the door, though) it takes a lot of time to prep before and clean up after reno projects and get the house back in order, so I've spent the last two weeks on this. Additionally, I'd applied for a promotion at work, and then was coated in stress waiting for the results... (which I received a few days ago... and I got it! Been a long time coming, really.)

So this is the first one of these... just gonna throw things out here and decide on a format as they go.

Books Read

Finally completed The Fifth Season trilogy by N. K. Jemison. I wanted to finish this one last year, but the last book lingered into the new year.

All the Hidden Paths by Foz Meadows

The Salt Grows Heavy by Cassandra Khaw

The Dead Take The A Train by Cassandra Khaw & Richard Kadrey

Important Posts

I shared a summary of my 2024 writing goals/wips on instagram. I meant to bring this over to tumblr and do a bit more on it but... didn't. Maybe this month?

Shadow's Prey: Act 1 wip intro here on tumblr

Writing

30k on Mortal Teeth. 15 chapters done of.. ?? a lot probably. 40 something, at least, if not 50-60 range. This completed the second major arc/goalpost (there are about 5 of these at the moment)

Shadow's Prey: Act 1 formatting is moving along well, and so it's still on time for a March release. I may aim more for mid March, depends on how quickly I'm able to finish up the extras and get some promo in. I really wish I could figure out exactly what size image it takes to make a full-page image in ebooks, but I think I'm going to have to settle for the title page not being... perfect. Which. Does not make me happy. But there really isn't a way to appease every e-reader, as they are all different sizes, so I am finding there is only so much I can control here.

Favorite Excerpt

I wrote a lot of things in Mortal Teeth that I was proud of this past month, but one of my favorite things I ran across when writing was realizing that my writing has improved... massively. It's been a while since I've had a leap of growth that I can easily pinpoint, but the extra I planned for SP Act 1 was partially written, and I needed to work on it. I kept getting stuck on continuing because something about it felt off/forced when I tried, so I did the classic open a new doc and retype/rework as I go... and quickly realized why I was having trouble working on it. My style had shifted dramatically....

This isn't a major point in the short, but I wrote the beginning of this around the middle of last year and it went from this:

Whereas Kanna actively ignored Masao’s approach, Ira glared at him in challenge. “Here,” Kanna said, drawing Ira’s attention by offering Amon’s reins as a lead. “Find someone to tend him, and get me a count of the survivors.” Masao’s voice at her back carried a smirk she could feel between her shoulder blades. “What about the casualties?”

to this:

While Ira glared at Masao in challenge, Kanna actively ignored him. Though she was coated with the blood of those she’d killed, her hands to her wrists to her elbows with it, Masao delighted in his stain. Even here, with the smell of death in the air and the unholy silence that followed battle, he smiled. The joy he radiated amidst destruction unsettled her, something deep inside of her flinching from it. Kanna gathered Amon’s reins, drawing Ira’s attention by offering them. “Find someone to tend him, and get me a count of the survivors.” Masao’s voice at her back carried a smirk she could feel between her shoulder blades. “What about the casualties?”

Final Thoughts

I was excited to get through another phase of MT in writing, but I don't think the time I've allotted to finish the draft is going to be enough. This stresses me out a bit, because I gave myself a pretty tight schedule for the year with all the releases (there are 4 ebooks, and I was considering restarting Act 4 in the serial which would be 5 releases total....)

I'm actually... thinking once again that I won't go back to serial posting for SP. Tapas was/is my primary platform for it, and I am simply... no longer a fan of the platform, and not really interested in others, either. So that might be one of the things in the "coming this year" that ends up pushed to next year or later this year, depending, as it will likely be an ebook release instead of serial and... I'm still working on drafting the teeth wip and I don't see it taking a backseat for a while, until I'm truly stuck.

I've been trying not to beat myself up about not doing the things I said I'd do at the start of the year (daily journaling, more updates here and other platforms, etc) because it's simply... not great for me. And really, I'm not sure I would have had the aforementioned improvement in my writing if I'd continued to stress myself out about writing itself, on top of doing all these other things that I'm supposed to do. I took it pretty easy last year after a massive disappointment, shutting down a lot of my online presence and focusing on reading and writing for myself, and I think that's what allowed me to become comfortable again and led to growth. I don't want to feel as defeated as I had that time, because its the kind of thing that would have led to me completely giving up in my younger years, and I also don't want to get stagnant because I'm trying to do too much that isn't... the actual writing. So... I guess we'll see how this goes?

#linaupdates #writeblr

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starlight-shades · 7 months

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Called Home to the Depths of the Forest Ch. 7

• summary – Flashback to Simon and Johnny's first meeting. And their first full moon together.

• rating – M

• wordcount – 3.8k

• warnings – mentions of previous character deaths, mentions of Ghost's backstory

• This is my first fanfic, so please let me know if there's anything I forgot to tag. Feedback is welcome and encouraged

Ch 1. Ch. 6 Ch. 8

Read on Ao3

There was an unfamiliar tranquility to the forest that set him on edge. In his experience, silence was where he thrived. There was safety in silence. If no one could hear him, no one knew he was coming. And if Ghost didn’t hear anyone, they weren’t close enough to hurt him.

The forest was not silent.

There was birdsong, the buzzing of insects, the crunching of leaves beneath his feet, the crash of a far off animal through the brush, the trickle of a stream.

Silence here meant danger.

It was not silent now.

The smell of blood was sharp enough in the air that he felt he could cut himself. It was more than he expected, his traps usually weren’t enough to draw this much.

As Ghost approached the spot where he had set a snare, he observed the red that stained the soil beneath his boots. He could hear the sounds of a larger animal struggling up ahead in the brush.

The area was still relatively new to him; he had only bought his little plot of land a few months ago, and he had only just started on his cabin. Even so, he had thought the game trail he had set his trap on was only frequented by smaller game, nothing as big as he suspected his accidental victim was.

When he pushed past the last bush separating him from the scene, he felt something drop in his stomach.

Before him, writhing in its own blood was a big fucking wolf. Its fur around one of its ankles had gotten matted and crusted with blood from where the wire was digging into its skin.

He must have made a noise when he approached because soon enough, the wolf was turning on him, snarling, the pain a haze over its eyes.

Blue eyes. Blue like he had never seen, like he hadn’t even known was real. And seeing that blue, he was real for the first time since he had been taken by Roba.

“Easy there,” Simon spoke, his voice steady and low. He held out a hand, as nonthreatening as a human weapon could be. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Didn’t mean to catch you.”

Hackles lowered surprisingly quickly, as if it understood him. The wolf still looked at him with suspicion, but it wasn’t really growling anymore.

Simon approached slowly, hands in plain view, getting closer so he could get a better look at where the wolf was caught.

The wound was violent, clearly made worse by whatever thrashing the creature had done to try and get loose. He went to pull out a water bottle, and the wolf startled, opening up the areas that had begun to scab over, and new blood seeped out of the wound.

“It’s alright, pretty thing, I’m just gonna take a look,” he murmured.

The bottle opened with a slight ringing of the metal lid scraping along the metal threads on the lip, but the wolf did not react this time to the sound. He washed away enough of the gore that he was able to clearly see a spot on the snare he could cut without causing more damage.

“I’m gonna take out a knife,” he said. Simon felt crazy for even imagining that an animal could understand what he was saying, but if it worked, it worked.

The wolf stayed steady, it’s eyes locked on him, but it allowed him to unsheathe the hunting knife at his hip. With a snick of the wire breaking, it was in motion, bolting away from him. It paused for only a moment, staring at him one last time with those blue blue eyes, before it disappeared in the undergrowth.

Belatedly, he raised a hand in farewell.

He cleaned up the remains of his trap before heading off to the next one. It took him the remainder of the day to get through all of them and back to the site of his cabin.

In the dying light of the day, with a small fire flickering in front of him, he cleaned and gutted the two rabbits he had caught.

Simon wasn’t sure what overcame him, but he had the sudden urge to look up. And there, at the edge of the forest, was the wolf. It didn’t move any closer, just watched him. After a moment, he went back to cleaning his kills. He looked back up, and sure enough, the wolf was still there, watching him. When one was done, he picked it up, approaching slowly. When he was about fifteen feet away, he set the rabbit down and went back to his fire. He watched as the wolf sniffed at the rabbit cautiously before it grabbed it, retreating back into the woods.

It wasn’t the last time the wolf reappeared. Simon would catch glimpses through the trees when he was out in the forest, or he would look up from where he was working on the cabin to suddenly meet those blue eyes. He had taken to leaving it a portion of his meal whenever it was around while he cooked.

The two of them never got closer than about ten feet from each other, but it kept coming back.

Occasionally, he would find what he could only describe as “offerings” left for him. Birds, rabbits, and once an entire deer would be waiting for him when he emerged from his tent in the morning. He never heard the wolf coming or going in the night, but inexplicably, there would be a gift left for him. Simon was especially baffled when he woke up one morning to a pile of blackberries waiting for him, perfect and unharmed by sharp teeth.

It was a cold autumn day when it happened.

He was out checking his traps once again. By this point, he had fallen into a routine. His cabin was almost finished. It would be ready for winter. The weather had taken a turn over the past week, abruptly divorcing from the warmth of summer and careening wildly towards winter.

It would be his first winter here. Maybe that was why he was unprepared when he stumbled across the deer. Later, he would learn, it was the time of their rut, the mating season.

And he had walked right in front of a male with his herd of hinds. The beast had an enormous set of antlers, and he was unafraid to use them.

It was one of the first times when Simon had truly felt unmatched.

He had not come prepared to fight for his life that day, and as it bellowed its rage at him, the rush of ice through his veins kept him trapped. There was not a single thought in his mind of what to do. His experience of primal violence was exclusive to the realm of humanity.

But he was not one to surrender without a fight, and with a steady grip on his hunting knife, he prepared to taste the spears of those antlers deep in his viscera.

There must have been something divine that wanted him to live because before the stag could gore him, a blur of movement too fast to track was rocketing across the clearing, tackling it to the ground. A snarling mass of fur tore into the beast, ripping out its throat as it let out a wailing trumpet, abruptly cut off.

Simon blinked and there was a naked man, covered in blood grasping his face in his hands.

“Are ye alright, bonnie? Ah was so scared ah’d be too late.”

Blue. His eyes were blue. Simon knew those eyes. He was real.

Sleep sloughed from him slowly. He blinked away the haze to discover a familiar face staring back at him.

Johnny reached out and pushed a lock of hair off his forehead, back behind his ear.

“You were dreaming something fierce,” he whispered, smiling softly.

They were still in the pile of blankets, plushes, and pillows on the floor. Ailsa and Duncan slept, their warm bodies pressed between them. They had shifted back sometime in the night, and Johnny had too apparently.

Simon grunted, grabbing hold of his hand when Johnny moved to take it back. He held it to his face, closing his eyes and breathing in.

“What were you dreaming about?” Johnny asked when he opened his eyes again.

Blue. Simon was real.

“You,” he murmured.

“Me?” There was an almost hesitant quality to his grin this morning.

“Mhmmm. When we first met.”

They kept their voices low, neither wanting to disturb the sleeping children.

Johnny’s smile turned teasing.

“Oh, right, when you caught me in a trap that almost cut off my foot.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was still a small smile on his face. “Because I totally expected there to be a wolf in the trap I set for small animals.”

“Then you won me over with all that food. Should have known then that you were a pathetic cook.”

“It still worked, didn’t it?” He let go of Johnny’s hand to reach out and ruffle the messy mohawk he was sporting.

“What can I say?” he chuckled. “I’m a cheap date.”

They lapsed into silence, just looking at each other, allowing themselves a slow start to their day. Their hands found each other once again, tangling their fingers together over the blankets.

The jovial mirth on Johnny’s face gradually fell away. Simon could tell he was thinking hard about something, but let him work it out in his own time. He would speak up when he was ready.

“Tonight's the full moon,”Johnny whispered, serious this time.

“Yeah?” Simon wasn’t really sure what that meant, but the other man sounded grave.

“When they wake up, I’m gonna take the pups. We’ll be out until tomorrow morning.”

Brows furrowing, Simon questioned, “Why? I thought the full moon bit about werewolves was a myth. You shift back and forth all the time.”

Johnny’s hold on his hand tightened. “Aye, for the most part, but there’s a danger to the full moon. If you get bit, even accidentally, you’ll turn. I don’t wanna risk it.”

“I thought it was hereditary?”

“It is, but humans can become werewolves too. Only under the full moon, if they get bit, do they change.”

He was silent for another moment. If something happened, he wouldn’t be able to protect them. Simon knew that Johnny was a formidable opponent, especially in his wolf-shape, but he couldn’t help the anxiety that threaded through him at the idea that they would be out of his reach. All three of them.

“I trust you,” he whispered like a confession.

Simon took their hands and pulled them to him, pressing his lips gently against Johnny’s knuckles.

“I need you to be careful, though. I don’t like how that detective was acting.”

“Aye. I’ll take them up to Price and Gaz so if anything happens, I’ll have backup.”

He sighed. “Alright.”

This time, the quiet hung heavy between them.

It was broken by the blare of Simon’s phone ringing.

He got up to answer it as Johnny greeted Ailsa and Duncan who had been startled away by the ringtone.

“Simon,” came the voice on the other end as soon as he picked up.

“Kate.”

“I’ll be up next week with all of the documents for the children.”

“I appreciate it, but that’s really not necessary, you can just send them,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Simon had never intended to get anyone else involved, and here he was neck deep. First it had been Johnny, then Price and Gaz, and now Laswell.

He knew her from his time in the SAS, and over the years they worked together, he had grown to trust her. Kate was probably the only one who knew everything about him. She had been the one to help him become the Ghost (she had also helped him get his testosterone when he his status as legally dead became an issue with his previous prescription).

After he got picked up over the US border after his time with Roba in Mexico, she had swooped in. The things they did had been only vaguely legal sometimes, but the work they did had kept people safe.

So when he needed help forging papers for Duncan and Ailsa, he knew he had to call her for help.

“Simon,” she said, her voice hard. “It’s been years since I’ve heard from you. The last time we spoke, you had decided to become a hermit in the woods, and now you have two children in your care? I’m coming.”

“Kate—“

“You don’t even have to host me. I’ve got an old friend up around that same area I’ll be staying with.”

He sighed again. “You have the coordinates?”

“Yes. I’ll see you next week.”

“Fine.”

He glared at the phone before he hung it up in its cradle. Reaching up, he dragged his hands down his face. There were moments these past few weeks where life paused just enough for him to miss his quiet existence before Duncan and Ailsa tumbled into his life.

“Simon!”

But then those moments passed.

A little body crashed into his legs, latching little arms around him. He looked down and smiled at Ailsa. She had also sandwiched her owl toy between them. Her hair was soft against his fingers as he gently pet her head.

“Johnny says we have to leave you!” she despaired.

“Och, Ailsa, that is not what I said!” Johnny rebutted, following her into the kitchen with Duncan at his side.

Simon chuckled, scooping her into his arms with a grunt.

“It’s just for today. You’ll be back tomorrow, and you and your brother will get to see Gaz and Price! You have fun with them, don’t you?” He did his best to reassure her.

As much as he hated to see her upset like this, there was part of him that was thrilled that she was wailing because it meant he could address her concerns. She could actually speak to him and tell him what she was worried about.

She sniffed, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his chest.

“Yeah, but I don’ wanna leave you! Can’t you come with us?”

“I want you to come with us,” Duncan repeated, shuffling closer.

“But it’s the full moon,” Johnny tried to argue. “That’s a wolf thing, and Simon isn’t a wolf like us.”

He didn’t necessarily want to be a wolf, but the reminder that he was not the same as them was not pleasant.

“It’s alright, loves,” he said, ignoring his own feelings. Much like he had with Johnny’s this morning in bed, he ruffled Duncan’s hair, rebalancing Ailsa on his hip. “I’ll just be working on the cabin today. It’ll be more fun with Johnny and Gaz and Price.”

“Price smells like smoke,” Ailsa declared, wrinkling her nose.

Johnny snorted. “Well he’s a dragon, so the smell lingers. The cigars don't help either.”

The pups visibly brightened at the revelation.

“How big is he?”

“Does he breathe fire?”

“Can he fly?”

“What color are his scales?”

Before they could ask any more questions, Simon interrupted. “I bet you could ask him all your questions when you go see him.”

Luckily that was enough to convince them.

After a quick breakfast, Simon saw them to the front door. He was surprised when Duncan doubled back to give him a tight hug.

“I’ll miss you.”

He had to stop himself from crushing the boy to his chest. There were echoes of another little boy he had held so tightly. Nothing was more precious than these children.

“I’ll miss you too, Bug,” he murmured into his hair, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head.

When he released him, Ailsa launched herself at him, knocking the breath from his lungs for a moment.

“We’ll be back,” she promised.

“I know,” he told her, holding her close one last time before he let them go.

Simon met Johnny’s eyes as the pups shifted, something yet unspoken hanging between them.

“We’ll see you tomorrow.”

He nodded. Simon didn’t trust himself not to beg them to stay.

He watched Johnny strip down before his shift, memorizing how he looked here in their home. And it was their home. Simon wasn’t sure when it had stopped being his cabin alone. Some time over the last month, it was no longer just his home in his mind. It was theirs, the four of them together.

Muscle stretched and changed, fur sprouted, and limbs contorted into new shapes as Johnny adopted his wolf-shape. Where a man once stood, a beautiful brown wolf shook out his fur, familiar blue eyes looking back at Simon.

From the doorway, he watched as the three wolves bounded across their clearing, heading to the tree line. Just when he thought they would disappear from view, Johnny stopped abruptly. He gave the pups a low woof before sprinting back to Simon. Easy as the flow of water, wolf became man once again as he crashed into Simon.

This embrace was different, he could tell. He breathed in Johnny, the scent of his warm skin something he hadn’t realized he would miss.

“One more thing before I go,” Johnny started, speaking into Simon’s neck. He couldn't stop himself from shivering at the sensation of Johnny’s breath on his skin. They fit so easily together, Johnny’s head tucked beneath his chin.

“Anything.”

Johnny pulled back only far enough to look him in the eye.

“Simon Riley, will you go out with me?”

His brain short-circuited. All that came out was a shocked sputter.

Johnny grinned. “When we get back, I want to take you on a date. Will you go out with me?”

“Yes,” he laughed, not quite believing what he was hearing.

With one last press of their foreheads together, Johnny tore himself away again.

“See you soon, Si.”

“See you soon, Johnny.”

In a mirror of his first exit, Johnny ran back to Duncan and Ailsa, shifting as he went, not breaking his stride when he hit the tree line.

The rest of the day was too quiet.

True to his word, he worked on the cabin. He got a lot further than he normally would since he didn’t have to watch the pups, and the only interruption to his work was when he stopped for lunch, then eventually dinner.

It was odd, going back to the routine he had when he first moved to the area. This time, he was grateful he had a hot shower to look forward to.

But it was unfortunate that he had so much time to do nothing but think. His body was moving, but he couldn’t escape the prison of his own mind.

Were they safe? They had to be, Johnny wouldn’t lie to him. Price and Gaz had earned his trust so far, he felt fairly certain that they would protect their little pack.

He didn’t like that he was the reason they even had to leave at all. Simon was the only human. Even if Gaz and Price weren’t wolves, they were still supernatural beings themselves. They were safe from any accidental bites.

He was the only one fragile enough to be broken.

And would it really be so bad if he was a wolf?

Johnny had acted like it was one of the worst things that could happen, but he had been a wolf his whole life. And he was happy. Wasn’t he? He hadn’t ever indicated to Simon that he wanted to be anything other than what he was. And Johnny hadn’t ever said anything to the pups to make Simon think that he thought being a wolf was bad in any way. He seemed so supportive of teaching them how to embrace that part of themselves.

And it wasn’t like this would be the first time Simon would have changed his body so dramatically.

He paused in his work. The weather was warm enough that he had taken his shirt off.

It had been a long time since he had thought about it.

Simon had transitioned shortly before joining the military. It had faded to the background of his mind, overtaken by other, bigger experiences. Every scar on his body mapped out his story, and the keloid scars beneath his pecs were just one of many.

He could do it again. He could change his body to be better suited to his life.

Then he could be there, could protect Duncan and Ailsa and Johnny any time they needed him. He wouldn’t have to be shuffled to the sidelines when he couldn’t measure up, his human strength too inadequate to compete with supernatural might.

When night fell and the dreaded full moon made her appearance, Simon laid in his freshly made bed and stared at the ceiling. Distantly, he thought he could hear howling. The night passed slowly, but he couldn’t sleep, too consumed by his thoughts. He was surrounded by all of Duncan and Ailsa’s toys, had tossed one of Johnny’s sweatshirts in too, but he couldn’t escape his solitude.

Before long, the early rays of sunrise crept through the window.

Feeling defeated, Simon closed his eyes and waited.

He was startled awake when he felt the bed dip under someone else’s weight.

“Hey, Si, just us,” Johnny whispered, crawling in with Duncan and Ailsa, still in wolf-shape, following behind him. “Price and Gaz are crashed in the living room.”

“Hi,” he murmured with a sleep-soaked voice, welcoming Johnny as he slipped next to him under the covers.

The other man tucked himself into his side, the pups cuddling into the curve of his other side, settling into sleep quickly.

When he was sure he and Johnny were the only ones left awake, and Johnny only barely, Simon spoke.

“Would you rather take care of Ailsa and Duncan with another werewolf?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. He felt Johnny startle where he had cuddled into his side.

“What are you on about?”

“Because I’m human. I obviously can’t keep you as safe as another werewolf could. You wouldn't have to leave for the full moon.”

“Look at me,” Johnny murmured, touching the side of his face softly to direct his gaze back to him.

Blue. He was real.

“There’s no one else I would do this with, Si. You’re the best of them.”

“Johnny,” he whispered, searching for his face for any hint of uncertainty.

“You, Simon. Not Price, not Gaz, not some other wolf. You, human, Simon.”

He hadn't realized the weight of his thoughts until this perfect, beautiful man pressed their mouths together, stealing all of his doubts with an unhurried kiss.

#soapghost #fic #my writing #soap #ghost #ghostsoap #cod fanfic #werewolf soap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley

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rainydetectiveglitter · 8 months

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I wish I could be as sexually liberated as some people out there. I've been sexualized since I was 5, by family, neighbors, and teachers. I can't bring myself to do it... I feel like whatever innocence I had was taken from me a long time ago. My art often features nude women; I see the female body as an art form. However, posting pictures of myself in a swimsuit is where I draw the line. I can't do it, even though I know it might boost my online reputation. I can't recall a time when I could. Though I admit I'm envious of those who can – yes, I said it.

Oh, I was thinking about this the other day. I've stopped wearing a full face makeup for some time now. Occasionally, I'll wear subtle lipstick color, mascara, or eyeliner maybe 1-2 times a month. When I used to wear makeup, there was a time when I wouldn't leave my house without it. The cannon event for me was when I started working in a couple of male-dominated environment, and back-to-back incidents left me utterly disgusted by how I was treated and how some men looked at me – even those with wives and children. It was revolting. I had to take a few trips to HR, but there was no resolution since they were all buddies.

Interestingly, it was only when I didn't wear makeup that I wasn't objectified. That's when I was treated with respect. However, on those occasions, the men would often ask, 'Are you sick?' or 'Did your boyfriend break up with you? So, I said fuck you. This is my face and you're gonna accept it as it is.

Outside of work, I just couldn't bear the unwanted attention any longer. Men seem to think that just because you dress up and put on some simple makeup, they can say the most vulgar things to you (not all men) I haven't worn makeup like that in about 6 years. I'm not that old, guys! 😭

I told myself the man I will marry would never see me with makeup he will love me with or without. After that I met my hunk of monk, 6 years strong. Oh and I got gross I stopped shaving and went feral. I wanted to repel men. And it worked 😂

These are my experiences, and I understand the qualities and healing power of makeup. To each their own. ❤️‍🔥 I want to emphasis not all men. But, you'd be amazed how often men comment on female bodies inside of work environments.

#makeup is a cult #makeup #nomakeupnovember #rants #dont come at me

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delusionisaplace · 5 months

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15 Questions Tag Game

i was tagged in this a while back by @athenswrites—thank you for the tag!! you can find their post here.

I'm gonna do Kaiyo and Ryoji from Lovers to Strangers.

Rules: Answer the questions as yourself or one of your OCs!

Are you named after anyone?

Ryoji: Not that I know of.

Kaiyo: I don’t think so, but if I am, it would be a fun story to tell!

When was the last time you cried?

Ryoji: I don’t remember. Maybe a few months ago?

Kaiyo: Yesterday, at 9:45 p.m exactly. I was crying because Ryoji said I looked like a dog. It’s fine though—he apologized, said that he didn’t mean it in a rude way and gave me a hug.

Do you have kids?

Ryoji: Definitely not.

Kaiyo: Not yet…

Do you use sarcasm?

Ryoji: Me? Never.

Kaiyo: I try not to, since I find it hard to understand when Ryoji uses it with me.

What's the first thing you notice about others?

Ryoji: Whether or not they’re put off by the fact that I’m a quiet person until they get to know me.

Kaiyo: Their eyes—you can tell a lot from that. Shige’s eyes are always wide, so if they’re not, you can tell he’s not feeling well. Ryoji’s eyes always look dulled over unless I talk to him, then they light up! It’s really fun to watch.

What's your eye color?

Ryoji: Dark brown.

Kaiyo: They’re hazel!

Scary stories or happy endings?

Ryoji: Scary stories.

Kaiyo: Happy endings, of course!

Any special talents?

Ryoji: Being able to tell when I’m annoying someone. It’s not a skill or anything, just an ability that I have. But in all seriousness, I don’t really think I have one besides playing basketball.

Kaiyo: I would say acting.

Where were you born?

Ryoji: Osaka.

Kaiyo: I was born in Saitama.

What are your hobbies?

Ryoji: I don’t have a lot of free time outside of classes and practices, but when I do, I like to read. Maybe write. Or bother Kaiyo. Any of those works for me.

Kaiyo: Drawing, photography, and watching movies.

Do you have any pets?

Ryoji: Nope.

Kaiyo: My family had a pet hedgehog!

What sports do you play/have played?

Ryoji: Basketball and archery.

Kaiyo: …does tap dancing count as a sport?

How tall are you?

Kaiyo: 5 feet and 7 inches, but I’ll definitely get taller!

Ryoji: 6 feet. We’re have a long distance friendship.

Favorite subject in school?

Ryoji: Anything math-related. Except for geometry. Fuck geometry.

Kaiyo: English!

Dream job?

Ryoji: Anything that doesn’t require the same amount of stress as being a nursing intern.

Kaiyo: I always wanted to be a filmmaker. Either that or an actor—anything that involves movies would be fine by me!

gently tagging: @macabremoons @ember-writer @fleurtygurl and open tag

#𝙨𝙠𝙚𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙨 #tag game #wip: lovers-to-strangers

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desperatelosergirl · 23 days

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List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! Get to know your mutuals and followers!!!

Have fun :]

1. I just discovered this now but throwing my pillow up in the air n letting it flop on me :3 its just fun and also makes wind which is very very nice :P

2. dreaming!! night or day doesnt matter i just like making up silly stories up in my head

3. Seeing my fav youtubers post :33 they're so fun!!!

4. My classmates!!!! They're so nice :DDD I usually have a hard time socializing in person so im more cut off from the others but today one of my friends said she was gonna slap me after i annoyed her (typical charlotte behaviour) and one of the girls next to me said that she can't hurt me(in general not power based)!!!! Felt so appreciated >///< and and i remember like a few month ago maybe??? I was told that my performance in pe was super cute!!!!!! And and one of my friend that i made at the beginning of the year keeps saying im adorable because of my height and also some other friends compared me to a kitty an and- *dies*

5. Drawing!! Especially in class because nothing beats drawing with background noise and getting distracted by ur doodles when ur trying to study :P

Bonus one because i can 6. Being and getting anons!!!! I think its so fun esp when i change out my anon personalities its like doing a little acting but not really :3 and ooooo oooooooooo ur gonna be an anon on my blog ooooooo you have no choiceeeee

#ask #ask game #mootsies #pitifulbinx #binxiee

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lobster-tales · 11 months

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Beat the Daylight

Sequel to Face the Noise, an Arcane Rock Band AU

Rating: M

Chapter 20: The Jam Sesh

Summary: All is well. 3 months later || Springtime

This work is available here on AO3. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19

Powder had missed her bed. Sure, the one at the hotel had been comfortable, with its satin pillows and heavy comforter. But there was nothing like her bed, the mish mash of blankets from her childhood that were layered on top of each other in artful chaos, arranged to allow the best combination of weight and airflow.

And particularly this morning, with Lux sleeping beside her, she didn’t want to leave.

She heard heavy footsteps in the hallway, the scent of coffee a few minutes later. Careful not to disturb Lux, Powder slipped out of the sheets and tugged a Hextech hoodie over her shoulders. She’d been surprised at how comfortable it was, way more than any of Shimmer’s merch–no wonder Vi and Mel wore theirs all the time.

Vi was pouring a cup when she walked in. “Morning.” Even after a few months, her eyes still had that shine whenever she saw Powder, that awed relief. Powder pretended not to like it. Vi asked, “Lux here? What time did she get in last night?”

“Late.” Powder pulled out her favorite mug and her second favorite for Lux.

“She likes one splash of vanilla creamer and a splash of hazelnut,” Vi advised. “I picked up both last night. She also likes a little sprinkle of cinnamon on top but not too much because it’ll sink to the bottom.”

Still so weird. Powder wondered if she would ever get past it. “Thanks.”

“What are you two doing today?”

“I’m gonna show her the town,” Powder said, sipping from her own coffee. “We’ll pick up Ekko once he’s done with his meeting. You want to come with us?”

“Nah, I got work.” Vi stretched her fingers skyward. “New hire’s settling in, though. He’s been closing the last couple nights on his own.”

“Good. Give you more time to train for your tournaments.” Powder smirked at her. “Cause you’re gonna need it.”

“Oh, I need it, huh?” Vi scoffed playfully, rising from the table. “Come say that to my face, I’ll whoop you right here and now.”

“No thanks,” Powder said, taking Lux’s cup. “I’m not paying your hospital bill.”

Vi shook her head, grinning. “See you tonight, Pow-pow.”

“Later.” When Powder returned to her bedroom, Lux was just stirring. “Good morning, Starlight,” Powder purred. “Want some coffee?”

Lux blinked at her, and gasped. “Yes!” She accepted the cup, murmuring, “Did I ever tell you that you’re my favorite person ever?”

“Mmm I wouldn’t mind hearing it a little more,” she said, kissing the tip of Lux’s nose.

They took their time getting ready for the day. Of course, Powder wasn’t very helpful, since every time Lux put a piece of clothing on, Powder eventually worked it back off of her again, distracting her with kisses.

“Powder,” Lux giggled. “Come on, I have to do something with my day.”

“I’m something.” And she bit her neck.

They spent a few hours tangled in each other’s arms, enjoying each other in lazy bliss, until Lux glanced at her phone and gasped. “Oh, we gotta go! Ekko finished his meeting a while ago.”

As they arrived at Ekko’s place, he bounded up to the car. “Yo, Crownguard!” Ekko reached in through the window to clasp Lux’s hand and draw her in for a half hug. “What is up, girl, how you been!”

“Good,” Lux said with a grin.

Powder cut in. “You better watch those hands, Boy Savior.”

“Only if you can catch them.” He slid into the back, propping his forearms on the back of their seats. “What’s our first stop?”

“The school,” Lux sighed. “Have to convince my parents this was a productive trip.”

They cruised through campus: the weekend left the area empty, with only a few students trailing through. Powder had familiarized herself with the buildings, and pointed them out as they went. “There’s the chemistry building, environmental science. That’s where Viktor and Jayce’s lab used to be when they were grad students.”

Lux asked, “Which one are you going to be in?”

“All of them,” Powder huffed. “The boys said I can’t start my Hextech internship until I get my basics out of the way.”

Ekko reassured her, “You’ll knock it out in no time. As long as you don’t get distracted by Starlight over here,” and he pinched Lux’s shoulder.

“Hey, what’d I say about hands, bitch?” Powder reached back to swat at him.

They stopped at the top of the parking garage, leaning over the concrete wall to survey the city. The trees were full and lush, cars passing by lazily in the mid-spring day. Ekko and Powder switched off their tour notes, pointing out different landmarks.

“There’s the square,” Powder said. “You can’t really see the pub from here, but you can see the top of the courthouse.”

“And that office building?” said Ekko. “When that place was still being built, we snuck in one night and tried cigarettes for the first time.”

“Oh yeah,” Powder laughed. “Vander was pissed. Vi was grounded for two weeks.”

Lux just beamed at them both, enjoying the stories, only interrupting occasionally to ask questions.

The pub was the next stop. The lunch rush had just ended, giving Vi and Vander a long enough break to greet Lux. Vander in particular was excited to meet her, curious about her style of playing guitar. Lux was nervous at first, but settled into one of her rambles, and Powder gave Vi a knowing look as they all listened.

Eventually Vi and Vander had to get back to work, at which point, Powder, Ekko, and Lux went to Shepherd’s Bridge. After handing Lux some spray paint, they cheered her on while she left her own tag, a bright blue star symbol sandwiched between Caitlyn’s cupcake and a fresh pink “Jinx”.

The trio picked up a few supplies for the evening, stocking up on sodas and chips. Powder dropped off Ekko at his car so he could go pick up Zeri, leaving her and Lux to their own devices for the afternoon.

They lay entwined on the living room couch, half-paying attention to the horror movie. Lux ran her fingers through Powder’s hair, gently massaging her scalp.

“Do you think they’d like me?” Powder asked. “Your parents. And Garen.”

“Maybe. I mean, you are rich and famous now.”

“Jinx is famous,” Powder clarified. “Powder’s just rich.” Because she was over eighteen, all of the money Silco set aside for her had become hers, even after his arrest. The problem was she didn’t know what to do with it, other than pay for school. Now, she had everything she wanted.

Lux smiled to herself. “Well, Jinx is the one in all those scandalous pictures of us, so they’ll probably prefer Powder.”

“Scandalous, huh?” Powder buried her nose in Lux’s ribs.

“They’re going to be weird,” Lux said honestly. “They always have been. Hell, I could be dating Caitlyn and they’d still complain because the Kirammans are new money. You can’t worry about what they think. Just worry about what I think.”

Powder propped her chin on her stomach, gazing adoringly up at her. “And what do you think?”

“I think…” Lux said, tapping her nose with a finger. “That you’re adorable.”

Powder scrunched up her nose, pretending she was offended. “I’m not adorable. I’m a menace.” She gently bit Lux’s skin.

“Fine. You’re an adorable menace.”

The doorknob jingled, and Caitlyn followed the sound, arms overflowing with paperwork. “Hi Lux!” she said with a smile. “How was your trip here?”

“Good.”

Powder nodded towards the papers. “How’s hunting?”

“Ugh.” Caitlyn dropped everything on the already cluttered kitchen table. “I’d rather hunt a hawk in the rain. But, we’re making progress. There’s a lot of new housing between here and Piltover. Lux, I forgot to ask, do you have any home preferences?”

“Nope!” Lux said brightly. “Just my own room and a roof.”

“That’s exactly what Vi and Ekko said.”

Powder gave Lux the side eye. “You know, you could always take Vi’s room and live here with meeee.”

“My parents barely agreed to let me live with Caitlyn,” said Lux. “That being said, I might have some early classes, so it would make more sense for me to spend a few nights a week over here.”

“Or every night.”

“Powder,” Lux chuckled. “I can’t.”

Powder huffed, pretending to be annoyed. “You’d really rather live with my sister and my ex-boyfriend?”

Caitlyn chimed in, “It was that or fourth wheel with Jayce, Mel, and Viktor.” The kettle whined and she entered a few seconds later with a steaming cup of tea in hand. “Speaking of which, Jayce said they’re on their way. Viktor wanted plenty of time to set up his equipment.”

“Perfect.” Powder stretched, rising from the couch and offering her hand to Lux. “I should also start getting set up. Wanna help me?”

“Sure!” As they entered the garage, Lux admired the string lights weaving back and forth over the ceiling, the variety of band posters on the walls. “Not sure how helpful I’ll be, though.”

“Well, you have the most important job.” Powder indicated the brown couch against the wall. “I need you to sit there, and look pretty.”

☆ ☆ ☆

Viktor and Jayce brought Sky with them, as she was visiting from Noxus. While they set up, she regaled them with stories of her new job and coworkers, her love life and friendships. Lux asked constant questions, fascinated. The two had only met over Caitlyn’s video calls, and were fast friends.

Just as dusk approached, Ekko and Zeri arrived with Vi. Ekko prepped his keyboard presets while Vi and Lux tuned their guitars, Zeri warming up her vocals. Caitlyn and Sky were more than happy to plant themselves on the couch, splitting a bottle of rosé.

Vi asked Jayce, “Who’s drumming first?” but Powder answered for her, plopping down into the drumset chair and twirling her sticks.

“You ready to see a real drummer, Talis?” Powder sneered playfully.

He smiled, joining Caitlyn and Sky on the couch, inviting Viktor into his lap. “Took you long enough.”

Ekko played a single chord, considering his bandmates. “Alright. What song are we-”

Zeri interrupted him by seizing the mic and singing,

Shot through the heart And you're to blame

They all joined in.

Darlin', you give love a bad name

Vi, Powder, Lux, and Ekko launched into the instrumental, the noise rattling the walls of the garage. Zeri nodded her head to the beat, her pigtails bouncing with the movement.

An angel's smile is what you sell You promise me Heaven, then put me through hell Chains of love got a hold on me When passion's a prison, you can't break free

Oh, you're a loaded gun, yeah Oh, there's nowhere to run No one can save me The damage is done

The couch crowd sang along to the chorus,

Shot through the heart And you're to blame You give love a bad name (bad name) I play my part and you play your game You give love a bad name (bad name) Hey, you give love, a bad name

For the final chorus, the instruments fell away, leaving the band to sing acapella,

Shot through the heart And you're to blame

Zeri aimed the mic at the couch, and the small audience sang the last,

You give love a bad name

The friends whooped and cheered. Powder whispered to the other band members and they all grinned. She clicked her sticks together, “1, 2, 3, 4!” and they began an upbeat song. There was no part on the keys, so Ekko grabbed his mic and sang with Zeri.

All the small things True care, truth brings I'll take one lift Your ride, best trip

They harmonized, Zeri singing the higher part as Ekko took the lead,

Always, I know You'll be at my show Watching, waiting Commiserating

Say it ain't so, I will not go Turn the lights off, carry me home

Zeri pulled Ekko away from the microphone, dancing together in the center of the room while the rest of the band sang,

Na-na, na-na, na-na, na-na, na, na Na-na, na-na, na-na, na-na, na, na

As the song ended, Mel entered from the garage’s side door, grinning. “I can hear you down the street,” she chuckled. “Excuse my tardiness: meeting ran late.”

“You’re excused,” Zeri and Powder said at the same time.

Mel considered the couch. “And this must be the lovely Sky I’ve heard so much about.”

Sky’s eyes widened at the sight of her. “H-hi,” she stammered, rising. “Senator Medarda, it’s so nice to meet you.”

She took her hands and said warmly, “Call me Mel. I’ve heard you’ve been working in Noxus. Quite the culture shock?”

Sky smiled shyly. “Yeah, they’re a little intense over there.”

“Some things never change,” Mel said wistfully. “Here, I have something for you in the car: Caitlyn mentioned you like rosé so I brought my top six brands for you to sample. Jayce, darling, can you help me bring them in?”

Sky just stared after them, jaw dropped. “Is she-”

“Always like that?” Caitlyn asked wryly.

“Always,” Viktor confirmed, resting an arm around Sky’s shoulders.

When Jayce returned, Vi nodded towards Powder. “Alright, Pow-Pow, it’s Jayce’s turn.”

“No!” She crushed the sticks to her chest, but her possession was more playful than sincere.

Ekko smirked and said, “You’re gonna make her sing this next one alone?” And he played the opening synth riff.

Powder practically threw the sticks at Jayce, taking the microphone in hand as he scrambled to get behind the drumset before the beat dropped.

The sisters sang the first verse together.

Here we stand Worlds apart, hearts broken in two, two, two Sleepless nights Losing ground, I'm reaching for you, you, you

They harmonized together on the pre-chorus.

Feeling that it's gone Can't change your mind If we can't go on To survive the tide Love divides

On the chorus, Ekko and Lux joined the vocals, but paled in comparison to the passion that Vi and Powder shared.

Someday love will find you Break those chains that bind you One night will remind you How we touched and went our separate ways

Vi sang,

If he ever hurts you

Then Powder,

True love won't desert you

And together again, grasping each other’s hands as they belted,

You know I still love you Though we touched and went our separate ways

Lux shredded through the guitar solo, a cocky smirk resting on her lips. Then it was just Ekko, running the synth hook, the song ending with the final two notes of the bass drum.

When the applause and cheers died down, Powder pointed at Viktor. “Alright, Vik, you’ve had it too good for too long. It’s your turn, DJ.”

“Eh, good things never last.” He took his spot behind his equipment, playing a few warm up beats and house music. The couch was too small to fit all of them, so Powder, Jayce, Ekko and Zeri grabbed some lawn chairs.

After his series of beats and tracks, Viktor nodded decisively towards Lux. “You ready?”

“I was born ready,” Lux said. She left the mic in the stand to free her hands.

Viktor started with a snapping, electropop beat. Lux raised her hands, grinning slyly at Powder as she sang. The notes were simple, but she added vibrato to the notes, made the sound her own.

We are the crowd, we're c-comin' out Got my flash on, it's true Need that picture of you, it's so magical We'd be so fantastical

Leather and jeans,

She spread her arms wide, indicating the space.

Garage glamorous Not sure what it means But this photo of us, it don't have a price Ready for those flashing lights 'Cause you know that, baby, I

Lux took the mic in hand, stalking towards Powder in time to the music.

I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me Papa-paparazzi Baby, there's no other superstar, you know that I'll be Your papa-paparazzi

Standing directly in front of her, legs between Powder’s knees, Lux’s free hand toyed with her braids. Powder lifted her hands and claimed the back of Lux’s thighs, holding her there. She gazed up at Lux with adoring, hungry eyes.

Promise I'll be kind But I won't stop until that girl is mine Baby, you'll be famous, chase you down until you love me Papa-paparazzi

Lux’s voice was playful as she went through the verses, gliding around Powder, brushing her fingers over her shoulders, never quite close enough. But as the bridge ended, Lux fell to her knees in front of her, crawling towards Powder as she sang the chorus once more, her voice fiercely possessive.

I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me Papa-paparazzi Baby, there's no other superstar, you know that I'll be Your papa-paparazzi

Powder held her breath. She was spellbound by Lux’s intensity, fixed in place by those bright eyes and the carnal rawness of her voice. Lux added in her own high notes to the final chorus, belting the song as she climbed into Powder’s lap.

Promise I'll be kind But I won't stop until that girl is mine Baby, you'll be famous, chase you down until you love me Papa-paparazzi

The mic dropped to the floor as Lux took her mouth in a rough kiss. Everyone cheered except for Vi and Caitlyn, who averted their eyes and clapped politely, charmed but embarrassed at the fiery display.

The jam session went well into the night, with each of the band members switching off instruments whenever they got too tired. Even Caitlyn at one point felt the rosé enough to show everyone her under-practiced, jerky rendition of Moonlight Sonata, to which Zeri chose to do an entirely inappropriate dance to, making everyone laugh. They went through a variety of genres, and the original Firelights even played a few of the songs from their past performances. Eventually, the group decided to call it, with Powder taking the mic to lead them into one final song.

Acapella, Powder sang the lead, with Vi and Ekko backing her up with harmonies,

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landside, No escape from reality Open your eyes, Look up to the skies and see,

Powder belted out,

I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy, Because I'm easy come, easy go, Little high, little low, Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to Me, to me

Ekko played a gentle, modified scale on the keyboard. The rest of the group joined in, all singing together for the first verse.

Mamaaa, Just killed a man, Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, Now he's dead Mamaaa, life had just begun, But now I've gone and thrown it all away

Powder took the lead again on the second half of the verse,

Too late, my time has come, Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all The time Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go, Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth

During the instrumental break, Vi tore up a guitar solo. Her fingers pulsed against the fret with each note, creating a vibrato sound. When the solo ended, Ekko’s piano took over again. Powder sang,

I see a little silhouetto of a man,

The rest of the band sang,

Scaramouch, Scaramouch, will you do the Fandango!

They all broke out into smiles during the operatic third verse. Powder alone,

I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me

Zeri and Lux both grabbed her, dramatically fawning as they sang,

He's just a poor boy from a poor family Spare him his life from this monstrosity

As the verse built towards it’s climactic end, they all sang,

Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me,

“Go Starlight!” Powder yelled, and Lux belted the high note,

For me!

Vi shredded out another guitar instrumental, screaming into the microphone with the rest of the band,

So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye? So you think you can love me and leave me to die? Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby! Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here

She kept up the pace, the energy building until finally the music collapsed back into a slower tempo. The couch audience held up their phone flashlights, swaying back and forth to the muted end of the song.

Powder took a moment to look at them, her family. It had grown so much in such a short time. She smiled at each of their shining faces, ending with Vi, who returned the joyful grin. Powder sang,

Nothing really matters,

Lux took her hand, drawing her attention, and sang,

Anyone can see

Powder pressed her sweaty forehead against Lux’s, singing,

Nothing really matters

Lux echoed,

Nothing really matters

Then they harmonized,

To me

Ekko played the gentle piano outro, Vi joining quietly on the electric guitar. And here, surrounded by the music and her family, Powder felt completely and totally at peace.

Any way the wind blows

#arcane #lightcannon #vicait #jinx #vi #rock band au #battle of the bands au #my fic #face the noise #beat the daylight #fluff #final chapter #completely 100% wholesome and happy family vibes #the happy ending our babies deserve :')

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