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polaroidpascal · 2 months

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paradise city || joel miller

AO3 || MASTERLIST || FREE PALESTINE

pairing : guitarist!joel x f!reader

summary : when you and your friends go out to a bar to see a local band gig, you can’t help but notice how the guitarist’s eyes somehow keep finding you in the crowd.

tags : M-18+, no use of y/n, no outbreak AU, i imagine joel is in his early 40s, no age gap mentioned, mention of reader’s breakup, mentions of alcohol consumption, joel starts off a little shy but truly there ain’t nothing shy about this man, size kink (kinda?? a little bit??) oral (f! and m! receiving), unprotected p in v sex, dom!joel, joel gets a little possessive (you’ll see what i mean…), praise kink, squirting, multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare ofc

fic playlist : https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0afpHjoOFylI01OTbV5jol (picture joel playing during the guitar solos in every single one of these songs 😁)

WC : 7.9k… (no one look at me. not a single soul.)

a/n : 100 FOLLOWER SPECIAL !! i apologize in advance for all the song lyrics i’ve scattered in this fic… i opted to make a playlist of the songs i think joel’s band would play but there were just too many good ones to pass up and i was losing it a little bit 🫠 also, shoutout to @joelsdagger for constantly yapping with me about this idea and letting me tease her about this absolute menace of a man and also @haileymorelikestupid for beta reading for me 🥹😭 it feels extremely fitting to post a joel fic on international women’s day where he fucks you so good, so i hope y’all enjoy !! <3

You and your friends have had a week.

Deciding you all needed a night to let loose and have fun together, your friend Erica found out about this place hosting a local rock cover band called Fetters Whiskey and thought it might be nice to come see them.

Earlier, you had all piled into the Uber and were headed out, a low girly chatter filling the car. The three in the back harped on about their spouses and all the little things that annoyed them.

“He left the dishes in the drying rack!” “She helped me clean a little too well and used all the cleaner, now we’re all out!”

The complaining did help them destress a bit.

You and Erica were in the second row captain’s chairs of the car, the three in the back doing their pregame de-stressing. “Makes you rethink the whole marriage fantasy, huh?” she jokes, looking over at you playing with the rings on your fingers.

You look up and breathe a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so,” you say with a weak smile.

“Well… have you had any luck finding anyone?” she asks sweetly, sincerely. Genuinely hoping someone has caught your eye.

You had a pretty nasty breakup a while ago, probably about eight months by now. You two had been dating for a while and the breakup honestly seemed to come out of nowhere, like some switch flipped one day and nothing was really the same. Your friends stuck by you through every up and down you had. You felt really lucky to have them.

“No. not yet,” you tell her.

“Well, maybe tonight’s your night,” she says with a friendly smile. “You deserve to unwind and let loose a little, y’know what I mean?” You breathe another laugh. “You do!” she exclaims, hitting your shoulder.

“Yeah, well, I guess we’ll see,” you say, the rest of the car ride seeming to fly by, a part of you kinda hoping she’s right.

The bar is crowded.

You walk in, snaking the group between the crowd and making your way near the stage towards the back of the bar, men and women alike all brushing bodies the closer you get to the stage, drinks in hand, friends chattering away, everyone waiting for the show.

Two of your coworkers disappear to fetch everyone a drink while you and the others stake claim on a little area near the stage. A couple of guys are on the stage setting up the instruments and making sure everything is plugged in right, the lights dimmed enough to not really draw much attention to them. It’s not long before the others join them on stage and start playing. The girls return just in time, handing out the drinks as the music starts.

The band is pretty good (you’re not sure what you were expecting, but you’re more than pleased with how good they sound). They play some fan favorites like Wanted Dead or Alive and I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll, and they mix in some random fun songs like Play That Funky Music.

The drummer is clearly in his own world, head moving at a velocity you would think could give him whiplash. And he’s absolutely killing it, hitting every beat with fervor. You can feel the strikes of the sticks on his drums in the center of your chest.

Another guy seems to be the swiss army knife musician: pretty good at almost everything, filling in wherever he’s needed depending on the song. One minute, he’s playing his keyboard and the next, he’s busting out a trumpet, and the next, he’s busting out a guitar. And no matter what he’s playing, he’s playing it with passion.

The lead singer clearly loves all of the attention he gets. He’s feeding off the crowd’s energy like a cat lounging in the sunlight, basking in every cheer and whistle and fist pumping in the air from the crowd. He practically lives at the edge of the stage, crouching down to sing with the girls but backing up to sing and dance with his bandmates too, bringing them in on some of the harmonies and tying the whole show together.

But by far the unsung hero of this group is the lead guitarist. He hides off to the corner, leg posted up on his amp with the body of his guitar resting slightly on his thigh. He looks down at the instrument carefully watching his fingers strum each cord perfectly, furrowing his brow in concentration during his solos and lifting his head up to the sky. He looks like he feels every note in his blood, expressing it through the expert strum of his fingertips on the strings. He doesn’t have a mic and the singer doesn’t make him sing alongside him very much, but you catch him mouthing all the words and getting into the singing as well.

He’s a particularly pretty man and your eyes linger on him more than the others, always finding their way back to him, and always during the more raunchy lines of the different songs…

Well, I am imagining // A dark lit place // Or your place on my place

I’ma paint his town red // Then paint his wife white

But I got both hands on the wheel while you got both hands on my gears // By now, no doubt we’re heading south // I guess nobody ever taught her not to speak with a full mouth

…but who can blame you when he has such a reserved, cool vibe. Plus, did you mention that he’s really pretty too?

And maybe it’s the couple of drinks getting to you more than you thought, or maybe you’re just crazy, but it seems like every time you look at him, he’s looking away from you. Like he’d been staring and you caught him. You swear he starts to look ever so slightly more flushed, but it’s practically impossible to see with the colored lights flooding the scene. No, you think, that’s crazy. You’re standing in a crowd of people, there’s no way he—

“Hey, I think the guy on lead guitar keeps checking you out!” Erica exclaims over the loud music and singing crowd.

You turn and look at her, eyebrows raised before you turn back to the stage. He does it again, averting his gaze the second he sees you look and you feel a flutter in your chest. He really is checking me out, huh?

You keep staring at him, waiting for him to look back in hopes that you’re looking away. When he lets his eyes wander back to you, you’re still staring. This time, though, he doesn’t look away. His eyes won’t let him now that you’ve caught his attention — like a fly in a spider web.

He turns his body ever so slightly, facing your direction more than anyone else as he plays the rest of the song. The lights focus on him, colorful spotlights of red and blue illuminating his face as he positively shreds his guitar solo. His fingers expertly tap dance across the neck of his guitar, his other hand working double time to strum on beat and hit every single note. You watch in a complete daze as he finishes, sealing off his musical escapade with the smuggest wink right to you.

He put on a show. All just for you.

Something stirs in your belly, a low heat kindling as the band continues to play. Their next song — god, their next song… — really puts the icing on the cake.

The jack of all trades band member busts out a sound board, the sampled sound of a snare drum filling the space, a warped, funky-sounding instrumental following.

You let me violate you // You let me desecrate you // You let me penetrate you // You let me complicate you

The guitarist shares a mic with the guy on the sound board, offering back-up vocals for the song. He’s getting a little bold now, you think.

I broke apart my insides // (Help me) I’ve got no soul to sell // (Help me) the only thing that works for me // Help me get away from myself

He’s locked eyes with you the whole time, changing the tides of who is winning this staring battle for dominance. Each second his gaze stays on you, you feel smaller and smaller, completely at his mercy. He backs away from the mic, preparing to play and licking his lips in a manner obviously made to make you even dizzier than you already are.

I wanna fuck you like an animal // I wanna feel you from the inside // I wanna fuck you like an animal // My whole existence is flawed // You get me closer to God

He glances back at you from his guitar, a smirk decorating his face before he turns to keep playing the song. You’re in a complete daze. He’s clearly won this battle, and you don’t even know what to do with yourself anymore.

You have to have this man.

Erica caught a some of his little show for you, watching him wink at you and the way your features fell to a focused stare at him. “Girl, get a room next time!” she teases and all you can do is smile back.

When the set is over, you and your friends walk back towards the bar, not wanting to leave just yet. You claim a few of the tiny standing tables, again gathered with Erica at one while the other girls try to cluster around another.

“So…” she starts, giving you a look of anticipation.

“So…?”

“What the hell was going on between you and that guitarist?” she asks, her tone of voice high with excitement.

You laugh, looking down and shrugging your shoulders. “I honestly have no idea,” you say, shaking your head and blushing a little thinking about his little performance. “I thought I was crazy until you said something.”

“Well, whatever it was, you should go for him!” she encourages.

“Please,” you scoff and laugh, “you’re ridiculous.”

“No, I’m serious! While you were having your little… whatever you were having, I was watching the whole band, and the other guys weren’t doing what he did. And he didn’t look at anyone else the way he looked at you.”

You stare at her, a blush creeping up on your cheeks and that small fire in your belly growing a little bigger, a little hotter.

Erica looks up over your shoulder, “Oh my gosh, there they are!”

As if on cue, the band walks through one of the back doors. Having just put away their instruments and whatever other equipment they brought. They saunter in, hair wet from the sweat of performing and lifting all their stuff back into their van. Trailing behind the rest is that damn guitarist. He scans the crowd before he sees you, his expression opening with a bit of an urgency as he quickly finds the bar to grab a beer.

You turn back to Erica, mouth dry and nervous. “Please, you have to go talk to him,” she practically begs.

“No, I- I can’t. I don’t even know what to say,” you plead. “I’m so out of practice.”

“Oh, quit it. I saw you looking at him first. You had him going before he got bold with you. You still have game, go get that man!” she says.

“I don’t know, Erica—” you start, but youre quickly caught off by a tap to your shoulder. You turn around and it’s him.

“Hi,” you say, desperately trying to hide the nerves threatening your vocal chords and smile genuinely at him.

“Hi there,” he says. God, his voice is so deep. You couldn’t hear it in all of its beauty before, but it has a bass to it that rumbles in your bones.

You stare blankly at him for a second before you finally pipe up, “Um, that was a good set you guys played.”

“Thank you,” he chuckles, looking down at his beer and leaning against the edge of the table.

Erica watches with wide eyes before announcing, “Well, I’m empty. I’m gonna go get a refill, okay?” She winks as she walks away leaving you and this mysterious guitarist alone together.

You turn your gaze back to him and fully take in his features now. His eyes have their own glow to them that persists even with the dim stage lights littered around this bar. His hair is patchy from sweat but still sits pretty. His strong features demand your eyes and you’re unable to look anywhere but him.

He extends his hand out to you, “Name’s Joel.”

“Hi, Joel,” you say, shaking his hand and telling him your name. He echoes it and it sounds beautiful off his tongue. “Listen, I--”

“Y’know, you’ve got one of those faces that stands out in a crowd, anyone ever told you that?”

You shake your head, “No, not necessarily.”

“Well trust me, we’ve played our share of shows and none of them had a pretty girl like you in the audience catchin’ my eye every two seconds.”

You blush, starting to gather your mind back from the sudden thrust into a conversation with who you think might be the prettiest man you’ve ever seen in your life now that you’ve had time to really study his features up close. “You’re no different yourself,” you offer.

“How so?”

“I’m just saying, you’d think the prettiest member would be the one front and center, not tucked in a corner by an amp.”

His eyes bounce back and forth between your own not breaking contact as he takes another sip of his beer. “I don’t want just anyone lookin’ my way, I guess. You gotta work to see this pretty face.”

“Pretty, indeed,” you agree, stepping ever so slightly closer to him. “You put on quite a show up there.”

He leans down just a bit, closing the gap between the two of you even more, “Well, I did have quite the eager audience, didn’t I?” he asks.

You stare at each other for a moment before Joel starts, never breaking eye contact, “Listen, I don’t really do this… but I also don’t get distracted like I did tonight…”

You inch closer to him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah… your friends bring you here?” he asks and you glance at the other table where Erica lingers around your other friends and they’re all looking your way, trying not to be obvious and failing miserably.

“No, we took an Uber.”

“Well, what do you say to savin’ that money you’d pay for an Uber and lettin’ me take you home instead?”

Am I really gonna do this?, you think. Call it a gut feeling or whatever you may want, but the way Joel is looking at you, the way he put on a show just for you, how he spotted you in the crowd to strike up a conversation… Erica did say I need to unwind and let loose…

You grin back at him, “Whose home are we talking about?” you ask.

“I think you know, darlin’,” his tone drops low and deep.

A shiver runs up your spine, that ever-growing fire in your belly burning hotter and hotter. “Come on,” he says, taking your hand in his, making it look miniscule in comparison, and walks you towards the back door he came through earlier. You glance back to the bar, the girls still watching and Erica flashing you a smile and a thumb’s up.

Joel leads you to his truck, opening the passenger door for you. You see the backseat loaded with what must be his personal equipment before his door creaks open and he sits inside, the whole truck bobbing from the sheer size of this man.

He pulls you closer across the bench seat until your legs are touching, his hand snaking around your waist as you relax against his figure and his hands trace your sides.

“I meant what I said, y’know. That you stand out in a crowd.”

You turn to look at him as he quickly glances at you and you slowly bring your arms up, one landing behind his neck while the other cups his face. You slowly, softly, tenderly kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck leaving open mouth kisses all over. He tilts his head to the side just a little, humming at the feeling and settling his hand right at the swell of your hip, pulling you even closer into his side and squeezing just a bit.

The drive isn’t long at all. He pulls into a parking spot lining the side of the road and once the car is safely in park, he grabs your face with both hands, kissing you deeply. You hum into his mouth, not expecting the sudden movement, and melt into his lips. His soft, warm lips. Your hands trace his body, the two of you unable to get where you want to be from sitting in this truck.

You pull away from him. “Take me inside.”

He immediately leaves the truck urging you to hop out on his side, offering a hand to help you out but not letting go even typing the code for his apartment and after you walk through the door.

You giggle as he pulls you up the stairs of his complex, the two of you itching to have your hands all over one another. You reach the top and he twirls you around in his grip, grabbing you with one hand by the hip and the other cradling the back of your head. He kisses you with an insatiable hunger, like his life absolutely depends on it, as he backs you up until you’re pinned to the door with his entire body pressed against you.

He fumbles with his keys for the lock to his apartment door, lips locked onto you, eyes closed, lost in the soft sweetness of your lips. He snakes a hand behind the curve of your back to brace you as the door swings open and he pushes you inside.

Your hands tangle in his hair grabbing the soft, damp strands unable to pull him any closer but wanting every inch of him in your mouth, on your lips, practically in your skin. You bite his lower lip making him moan a little into your mouth and your hands reach around to his face, wanting to stay lost in the ocean of his tongue and cheeks forever.

He pulls you back and you whine, already missing the warmth and taste of his tongue, but your disappointment is short lived. “God, darlin’… Need to have you.” he says, voice low and completely feral as he grabs you under the swell of your ass and you jump into his embrace. Your hands wander back up to his hair, pulling and grabbing as he trails his kisses down your chin, your jaw, your neck, soft sounds escaping his lips with every tug and whimper you give him.

His legs mindlessly take him to his bedroom, knowing the pathway instinctively. His mouth leaves your body for just a moment when plops you down at the edge of the bed, but he’s right back on you in an instant, reaching down to the hem of your top. You lift your arms for him to pull it off and he removes it in one fluid motion. He moves his hands to the clasp of your bra next. “This okay?”

Your chest aches with these little moments of tender sweetness from him and you nod, letting him remove your bra and he does so with skill, not fumbling for even a second as he tosses it to the floor.

His eyes immediately dart down, taking you in. He’s all but drooling, his gaze burning hot against your skin. He sinks to his knees taking one tit in his mouth and sucking on your nipple. Your hands immediately run through his hair holding him onto you and humming at the feel of his mouth on you. His other hand grabs your other tit, massaging it and thumbing your growing bud before redirecting his mouth to the other side too.

His hands drop to your sides and run up along your ribcage trailing towards your back, closing you in and burying his face into your neck peppering kisses and licks and nips there.

“I gotta have you, baby…” he mutters into your neck. “Lay back on my pillows up there.”

You do as you’re told, lounging against his pillows and the headboard of the bed as he pulls his shirt off over his head and crawls up to meet you, hooking his hands in the belt loops of your jeans. He looks up, his gaze silently asking for permission and you nod. He pulls them down along with your panties in one smooth motion.

You didn’t think about how worked up you had gotten until your hot core, slick with your arousal, meets the cool air of the room sending a chill across your skin. You watch as Joel’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of you, subconsciously licking his lips and softly grunting at the thought of diving in.

You open your legs wider, inviting him in and he settles between your legs, his arms hooking under your thighs locking you right where he wants you, all spread and open for him.

He immediately gets to work, unable to hold back anymore and expertly licks through your folds. His warm, wet tongue feels amazing on you as it dances across every nerve ending down there, each one sending fireworks across your skin. You whine and lean back, lifting your hips up to meet his mouth and squirming under his face.

His hands gently rub your thighs while he drinks you down, his nose occasionally hitting your clit making you whine. He draws flattened circles with his tongue, the surface area hitting you just right.

“Yes… fuck yes, that feels so good…” you moan.

He moans back, unwilling to leave you for even a moment and he keeps going. One hand falls from your thigh and you keep yourself open for him as best as you can when you feel his thick, calloused fingers teasing your entrance. He slides his middle finger in easily, so he adds his ring finger too, curling up and finding the softest parts of you. But God, are his fingers huge.

Your walls constrict squeezing his fingers and you leak more slick all over his palm. His other fingers flay across your lips and ass, gripping you slightly and he’s got you locked down.

His tongue continues at your clit while his fingers pump in and out of you, the tips curling up and stroking you perfectly.

“Right there, Joel… right there… don’t stop… please, don’t stop…” You feel yourself getting closer and closer, the flame burning in your belly all night erupting into a wildfire and igniting every inch of your skin. You feel a tightness start to grow in your belly, inching down your insides as he keeps going, and going, and going, never letting up and reveling in each twitch of your body.

You look up and see him lying flat, his hips subconsciously moving against his boxers and jeans and sheets, getting himself off just from your taste. Finally, he opens his eyes, dark with lust and locks his gaze with you with one especially deep push and curl of his fingers and another wink. That fucking wink.

“Fuck… fuck…!” It sends you over the edge. The coil snaps and a warm flood fills your body spilling out onto Joel’s hand and into his waiting mouth. He grunts and whines, his tongue never stopping, not even for a second, as he drinks every ounce of your slick getting drunk on your juices.

He only pulls away when you pull him off by his hair, a single line if your arousal still connecting him to you and a groan leaving his lips as he lets you go. You fall back onto the pillow, legs collapsing from their own weight and twitching from your orgasm, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Joel sits up licking his palm and bringing his fingers up to your mouth, jaw slacked and panting. Your mouth closes around his fingers and he groans, “That’s it, good girl,” he coos and you hum around his digits.

When you fully come back down to Earth, you can’t help but chuckle in the afterglow of your orgasm. Joel rests on his heels gently stroking your knees and you cover your eyes with your forearm, one big sigh leaving your lips. “I guess I should have expected a guitar player to have some skilled fingers,” you joke and Joel chuckles. “That was so fucking good.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not done with you just yet, pretty girl,” Joel teases, holding out his hand to help you sit up. You do and he meets you with a sweet kiss, his hands cupping almost all of your face as he kisses you sweetly.

When he pulls away and you open your eyes, you notice another amp sitting in the corner of the room. This one looks old, unused, and the cable management could use some work, to say the least.

Joel follows your eyeline. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“That’s a lot of cables for a little speaker like that,” you say, following the tangled mess of wires scattered on the floor. “Why don’t you use that one?”

“Jus’ got old. Bought a new one and I didnt need it anymore.”

A depraved idea pops in your head and the question leaves your lips before you can even fully think it through. “Those wires… how strong do you think they are?”

Joel looks back at your face, eyebrow cocked up slightly, “What d'ya mean?”

Your bashfulness catches up quick, a shy blush pricking your cheeks. “I mean… just the outside looks braided, almost… it kinda looks like… I don’t know, kinda like a rope…”

His face softens, a look of intrigue spreading across his gaze. “Go on,” he says, his voice dropping impossibly low, dripping with sultry tease.

You look up through your lashes feeling more vulnerable that you have to ask specifically (he seems to love it, though). “Well… I guess, how well do you think they’d hold a knot…?”

He bites back a smirk but can’t quite hide his excitement. “Kinky…” he says with a little nod. “I like it.”

He rises from the bed but he doesn’t turn to grab the wires. Instead, he reaches for his belt, the buckle clinking against itself. “But you gotta earn it first, sweet girl.” He pulls his belt out of the loops of his jeans and tosses it to the side.

He pauses a second before reaching for the button and zipper, enough time for you to crawl to the foot of the bed and rest your hands on his. You slowly move them away and take over, undoing his button and slowly zipping his pants apart.

You reach under his groin cupping his covered balls in your hand and he hums. He barely fits in your palm and you salivate at what could be beneath those boxers of his. You look up at him with another gentle squeeze before pulling both down, his cock springing out and up against his lower tummy as he steps out of his pants, the tip already red and leaking.

Your eyes widen when you really take in his size and you salivate. You wrap your hand around him and very slowly pump his length, getting a feel for his size and weight and staring at him the whole time.

He looks down at you, eyes still dark and mouth slightly open. “Go ‘head, baby. Kiss it.”

You feel a flutter in your belly again already and you do as he says, kissing the slit before taking the whole head into your mouth and circling your tongue around it. His eyes roll back and he lifts his head up to the ceiling with a groan, his hand tangling in the hair at the back of your head.

You slowly take him inch by inch making him slick with your spit and using your hand to pump whatever you cant reach. Your other hand gently squeezes his balls and you feel his grip on your hair tighten a bit.

“That’s it, baby… Mouth feels so good f’me…” He starts to slowly push you down his length, taking him deeper and deeper and being careful not to get ahead of himself.

But then you moan around his length sending lightning up his spine and it feels so fucking good… A guttural groan booms from his chest and he starts to slip, pushing you a little too far a little too fast and you gag, pulling off until it just rests on your bottom lip, spit gathering at his tip and spilling over the corners of your mouth.

Tears prick the sides of your eyes and his hand reaches down to wipe them away. “Shit— I’m sorry… are you alright?”

You cough and catch your breath, something new and hot burning through your veins. Something about the way he lost all control… “It’s okay, I’m okay,” you say when you pull yourself together a little bit. You wipe the corners of your mouth and reach up to slowly pump his length again. “Let me try again.”

“You sure, darlin’?”

“I’m sure,” you say, looking up through your tear-soaked lashes, a small smile ghosting your lips as you nod.

He nods back and you take him in your mouth again, closing your eyes and breathing through it, trying to focus on taking as much of him down your throat as you can.

His hands find the back of your head again, not pushing anymore but tangling through your hair as you work.

He looks down and sees your eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration and taking him so well. He drops a hand back down to your jaw, “Eyes on me, gorgeous.”

You carefully open your eyes to look up at him and when you do, his brows furrow with desperation, unable to look away from you as you bob up and down his length, hands once again pumping the length you can’t reach and massaging his balls.

“Shit, baby… that’s it…” he moans, watching the way your cheeks hollow and lips flush red from taking him. He’s twitching in your mouth and you think you’ve got him, flattening your tongue when he touches the back of your throat and swirling up his length as you pull back.

His abs start to tighten and you taste the slightly salty precum leaking from his tip. You work up the nerve to suppress your gag reflex as best you can, taking a few deep breathes before pushing yourself all the way down, taking his cock up to the hilt.

You stay there, letting your protesting throat constrict around him and he whines, his hand in your hair tightening and making you moan, another bolt of lightning taking over his entire being. His cock jumps in your throat and you think he’s a goner for sure—

He pulls you off his length completely and you gasp for air while he catches his breath too. “Nuh uh, baby. It can’t be over yet,” he says breathlessly.

You pout up at him, your doe eyes almost black from how blown your pupils are.

“Get back on the bed,” he demands.

So you do, rising a little wobbly from your knees and crawling back up onto the bed. Joel walks to the corner of the room and unplugs some of the cords plugged into the old amp.

He digs around in his nightstand and pulls out a condom before walking back over to the bed where you’re kneeling on the mattress. He sees you eyeing the little packet pinched between his fingers. “What’s th’ matter?”

You look at him, a blush forming on your face. “Oh, I…” Your mouth goes dry and you clear your throat. “…um, you don’t— I mean, I’m on the pill so, um… If you don’t wanna…” you ramble, trying to find your words but failing in your shyness.

He smiles smugly, tossing the condom to the side. “’S okay. I hear you loud and clear.”

You take a relieved breath and watch him stand there as he starts separating the wires. He twirls his finger in the air and you turn your body to face away from him.

“Gimme your hands, darling,” he says, firmly but gently.

You obey, reaching your hands behind your back. His giant hand easily fits both in one grip and he wraps one cable around your wrists.

You can’t help but smile to yourself, facing away from Joel so he can’t see, but you’re sure it’s audibly obvious when you ask “So this must be where the band name came from then, hm?” as he ties a comfortable knot around your wrists.

“What d’ya mean?”

“Fetters. Like restraints. Usually they’re on the ankles but I guess it’s the same principle.”

He breathes a laugh. “I mean, I didn’t help with the name all that much, but I guess ya’ really do learn somethin’ new every day,” he says just as he tightens the loose, but still restrictive, knot around your wrists.

You shimmy in them a little, surprised at how well they hold together. His hands are still there, rubbing over the covering of the cords and brushing against the warmth of your skin.

“These look real pretty on you, y’know,” he mutters from behind you.

You chuckle and ask, “You tell all the groupies that?”

He grabs your chin to face him, eyes scanning over your face for a second and planting a kiss to your lips before a positively devious smirk spreads across his face. Before you know it, he puts his hand on your back gently pushing down so your chest hits the bed.

“No, I don’t,” he says and you hear his footsteps fade. You sit there, face pressed against the mattress and ass in the air, desperately trying to crane your neck to see where in the world he’s going leaving you like this, all out in the open and exposed.

He treads back into the room and climbs back onto the bed right behind you, calves brushing up against the inside of your own as he grabs your hips to straighten them.

“I don’t tell the groupies nothin’,” he starts. “Usually jus’ ask if they want an autograph.”

The unmistakable click of a Sharpie cap rings in your ears and you feel the cold tip of the pen dragging along the skin right below the small of your back. You gasp, surprised at the unexpected feeling, completely shocked at the sheer audacity of this man, and you can’t help the butterflies it gives you, the way you mewl so quietly at the thought of him marking you with his name — his signature, no less — in such an intimate place.

You need to find a way to keep this man.

The pen trails off at the end and he recaps the marker, tossing it somewhere to the side before you feel his hands smoothing over your hips. He lets out a low toned, one-note whistle at you, staring at the dark ink branding your lower back. “Now, what a pretty view I have,” he says, a tantalizing, saccharine sweet tone lacing his words.

You can’t hold back the whimper that falls from your mouth at his teasing, his big warm hands rubbing big circles over each cheek.

He sees you clenching around nothing. “Want me to fuck you now, sweet girl?”

“Yes, please,” you whine, earning you a light tap on your ass.

He pulls on the cords and wraps an arm around your torso, bringing you up flush to his torso and reaching a hand to your mouth. “Gimme some help.”

You spit into his hand and he hums in content. “Atta girl,” he says, gently laying you back down and pumping his length with the wetness. You feel the tip of his cock rub against your folds and you squirm. He grabs your hip with his free hand as he lines himself up to notch right at your entrance. He slowly pushes just the tip in, the pressure making you moan.

“I gotcha, baby. Jus’ relax f’me,” he coos, pushing inch by inch into you letting you adjust to his size. Your walls twitch at the intrusion and your breathing gets heavier, soft sounds escaping your lips. Eventually, he’s up to the hilt and you swear you can feel him in your lungs. You subconsciously swirl your hips, the movement inside making you whine.

“Shit, baby… so fuckin’ tight…” Joel breathes, squeezing your hips and trying not to lose his cool too quickly. His cock bounces and he grunts, taking a minute before slowly pulling out of you as you whine at the loss. It’s short lived, though, because he’s immediately pushing back into you, the stretch and burn pulling a desperate groan from your throat.

“Fuck yeah, baby. You like how that feels?” he moans, picking up the pace slightly with each thrust.

“Yes— fuck, feels so good…” you moan. The way his cock drags along your walls makes your belly burn hot. His grip on your hips tight and threatening to bruise if he squeezes any harder, but you couldn’t care less. Just another way for him to mark you as his.

“Squeezin’ my cock so good… she’s achin’, baby…” He’s very talkative, you think and decide to play into it.

“She’s all yours, Joel. Pussy belongs to you,” you say as you squeeze him again, the pressure in your belly growing with each gentle kiss to your cervix that his tip gives you.

You feel his pace falter for a second, his grip tightening at that. “Yeah? Say it again. Who’s she belong to?” he says, pounding into you now, unable to keep control of his pace anymore.

You whine loudly with one of his thrusts when he drags up a bit hitting something new inside of you, something your ex surely hadn’t ever found before. Something you definitely had on your own but never this deep…

“Theeere it is,” he coos, pressing your torso down some more to get the angle just right and he’s hitting that soft, spongy part of you with every snap of his hips. You can barely form the words to tell him how fucking good it feels, nonsense whimpers leaving your mouth instead.

“Answer me, baby… Belongs to who?” His pace doesn’t let up and you can’t get the words out. “C’mon, you can do it, gorgeous… tell me…” he insists, slowly rubbing his hand across his own signature that’s been staring back at him.

“Sh… fuck, oh my god… she belongs to you, Joel…”

“That’s my good girl,” he says, leaning down and planting kisses down your spine, snaking a hand around to your front and circling your clit.

You cry out in pleasure, all the sensations getting to be too much. A flood of wetness spills out with a twitch of your insides making Joel’s cock slippery, letting him push in and pull out easier than before. He picks up his pace again with ease, rapidly hurdling you towards the edge.

My good girl…

That one little word finally hits you after a minute.

My.

His unrelenting fingers on your clit… the way his tip hits your cervix with every snap of his hips… my good girl… it’s all too much. “Fuck… fuck… fuck, ‘mgonnacome…” you mumble in a high pitched whine.

“Fuck yes, baby… come all over my cock, that’s it… feels so fuckin’ good, darlin’…” he moans from behind you, the grip on your hips definitely bruising now as he keeps pounding into you. Your back arches and your whole body writhes as your walls squeeze him impossibly tight. Your vision blurs and you have no control over the downright pornographic sounds escaping your mouth. All you feel is warmth everywhere.

“Holy shit—” you hear Joel but he sounds far away, your head still spinning with pleasure. “Fuckin’ hell, baby…” When you feel like you can finally see again, you see a wet spot on the bed and your eyes go wide, quickly craning your head around as best you can and see Joel’s thighs soaked from you.

“Oh, shit— I-I’m sorry, oh my fucking god, I didn’t meant—” you stop mid sentence when Joel plows into you again bottoming out completely, your words trailing off into a wailing moan.

He drags out slowly but quickly regains his momentum. “Fuck, baby… Chokin’ my dick so good… So. Fucking. Hot,” he says, punctuating his words with the slap of his hips on your ass.

Your legs start to give out under you and it’s like Joel already knows you’re almost too gone to take anymore as he unties the knot at your wrists, your arms falling to the bed. He flips you over, managing to stay inside, and lays you on your back. Your hair lays messily on the pillow and Joel leans down to fix it, tracing his fingers along the side of your face and kissing you deeply.

When he pulls away, he stares at your fucked-out eyes, his own completely taken over by his pupils so much that you can barely tell what color they actually are anymore. “Baby, you gotta give me one more…” he begs.

You raise your eyebrows worriedly, unsure if you can actually take anymore. You whine at his ask and he gives you another quick kiss, resting his forehead against your own when he pulls away, your lips barely touching. He’s moving in and out of you at a snail’s pace, so close to his own orgasm that any extra movement would cause him to snap. “Please, baby, I know you can do it. Doin’ so good for me already, just one more…”

You nod weakly and stare through hooded eyes. “Thank you, angel,” he sighs, gently fucking into you a little quicker and peppering kisses at the corners of your mouth. Your hands trail up to his shoulders rubbing up and down on his soft skin. Forehead pressed to yours again, you feel him panting, small moans and whimpers filling your ears.

“Feel so good…” you use all your strength to whimper out, barely above a whisper. His eyes open, brows furrowed in desperation. You feel him twitching hard now, so close to his own orgasm but not wanting this to end.

“S’good, Joel… so big…” He whimpers at your words, his hips moving erratically, unpredictably. He’s close, you think. And it eggs you on.

“Want you to come for me… Please…”

“Yeah? You want it?” he breathes.

“Please…” you say again in a whimper, grabbing his face in your hands.

“Where, baby? Want it inside?”

“Yes, inside… please, please, please…” you beg.

“Come with me baby… wanna feel you squeezin’ me… fuck— c-can you do that?”

You whine and nod, having been teetering on the edge of overstimulation with another orgasm growing in your belly. You roll your hips slightly into him, the extra movement sending shivers down your spine.

“So close, baby, I can feel it… ‘s right there, she’s chokin’ me…” he grunts out, painfully holding back his own until you come undone under him again.

Which doesn’t take long, a flutter of your heart and one big wave of arousal covering you from head to toe making you see stars. Your mouth opens in a silent moan, unable to even make a sound as you come on his length all over again.

“Fuck… fuck… good girl, ‘m gonna come—”

Joel’s breathing quickens, becoming ragged and broken as he grunts and whines and spills inside of you. His lips press to your forehead suppressing his noises with kisses there as he empties himself inside of you, filling you up completely.

Your hands scrape his back at his shoulders, your senses all blurring into one another. Joel’s weight falls on top of you as he moves his kisses down from your forehead to your nose and finally to your lips, his tongue licking into you as you feel his cock finally stop twitching. He sits back to pull out of you watching as his cum leaks out of you. You whine at the loss feeling empty but still so full from him, shivering as you feel it dripping down your body.

Joel wipes his sweat-ridden brow and sighs with a goofy smile as he looks down at you. Your body is still jolting from your last orgasm. Any more and you would have been overstimulated beyond belief.

“Now that I definitely don’t do with the groupies, sweetheart,” he teases.

You give him a playful glare and chuckle at him. “What about all that autograph nonsense, then?”

“Well, you got the first of its kind. Never signed anyone there before.”

You blush and stretch a little, suddenly feeling that damp spot from earlier. You sit up in panic and sit back leaning against his pillows again. “Shit, Joel. I’m so sorry. That’s never happened before, I—”

“Stop,” he cuts you off. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for. Sheets can be washed.”

“But I made a mess—”

“C’mere, baby,” he says, extending a hand out to you. You take it and he pulls you towards him, both of you on your knees facing each other as his arm snakes around your torso pulling you even closer into him. “‘M gonna get you cleaned up, ‘kay? Got a spare bedroom we can use anyway.”

You stare into his eyes, his words bouncing around in your head. We can use. “We?” you ask.

He scrunches his eyebrows, raising one at you. “What, you wanna run away already? Was it that bad?” he jokes.

“Oh, quit,” you say, playfully hitting his shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, standing up at the end of the bed and holding his arms out to you. “C’mon, pretty girl, how’s a warm bath sound, hm?”

“Sounds amazing, actually.” You grab his hands and stand up, taking a second to get your balance before following Joel to the bathroom.

When you’re all cleaned up, you walk into his living room wearing one of his t-shirts, a pair of his boxers, and some very oversized socks that he left in the bathroom for you to change into, towel drying the rest of your hair so it's not dripping everywhere. He sits on his couch, fresh pajamas on and dampened hair from the shower he took in the other smaller bathroom.

He taps the space next to him inviting you to sit, TV on and low, playing some random movie he found to fill the silence around him while waiting for you. You curl up into him, you warm from your bath and him warm from relaxing. He squeezes you close, planting a kiss to the top of your head.

Erica was right. You really did need this. Maybe it's stupid that you're growing so fond of this guy and you've known him for just a night, but there really is something about him. Something you can't quite explain...

You spend the rest of the night curled up next to Joel, your entire being content and you can only think one thing:

You’re not letting this one go easily. This one’s gonna be yours.

All yours.

a/n : thank y'all again so much for 100 followers, it means so much seriously 💜🫶🥹 and thank you for reading this fic that absolutely got away from me in the end, this idea tortured me for weeks and hopefully letting him out into the world will give me some peace finally 😭 but really, thank you guys so much and i hope everyone enjoys !!

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theostrophywife · 6 months

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kiss with a fist | chapter eight.

masterlist 💋 chapters 💋 playlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: people i don't like - upsahl

author's note: moving it along. can't believe that there's only five more chapters left. this series has been my baby so i'm like in shambles as the end comes closer, but also excited.

The night of the dinner was finally upon you and the amalgamation of dread, trepidation, and wrath clouded over you like a malevolent fog. You weren’t looking forward to it, but you knew that Theo was right. If sitting through one lousy dinner secured a spot with the M.E.S.P, then you would begrudgingly grin and bear it.

Luckily, you wouldn’t have to face it alone. As Luna promised, Harry was waiting for you outside of Professor Slughorn’s office. Harry was dressed in a button down and a dark blazer paired with freshly pressed trousers. Despite his smart attire, his signature messy, black hair and slightly skewed glasses softened his appearance.

Harry smiled, raising his hand in a slight wave. “Hi, Y/N. You look lovely.”

You smoothed the front of your dress, which Pansy had helped you pick out. The fabric was sleek and silky and as dark as night. The front was simple, but the back dipped low and revealed more skin than you were used to. It was completely out of your comfort zone, but Pansy had insisted that you were meant to wear the dress.

“Thanks, Harry. So do you.” You stood up straighter, balancing on your impossibly tall heels—another Parkinson addition, before rolling your shoulders back. “Shall we?”

The inside of Professor Slughorn’s office had been transformed into an entirely different space. Velvet curtains hung from the ceiling and covered the marble columns like tapestry. A round mahogany table sat in the middle of the room and sat upon it were fresh fruits, expensive cheese, and cold cuts. The plates were set in a circular formation and each one contained a placard with a different student’s name.

You took your place, quietly settling in between Harry and a Hufflepuff girl—Melissa? No, Melinda. You remembered that her family owned a large chain of apothecaries.

As you glanced around the table, you realized that while there were at least two or three members from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff, there was only one Slytherin in the midst. You weren’t that familiar with Cassius Warrington, but you knew that he was currently being pursued by the Chudley Cannons, which was plenty of incentive for Slughorn to invite him into the mix.

You were well aware that the presence of each student was contingent on the benefits they could help provide Slughorn and vice versa. After all, that was the purpose of the slug club, but facing it head on still made your stomach roil. You barely touched the filet mignon and scalloped potatoes for fear of retching it all back up. The conversations happening around you made it impossible to eat.

It was just endless prattling and bragging on and on about connections and achievements, much to Slughorn’s delight. The superficiality of it all made you nauseous. When McLaggen name dropped his influential uncle for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, you nearly pulled your hair out. You watched with a grimace as he lapped up his soup with tiny licks, sort of like a lizard toying with a fly.

Out of instinct, you turned to your right to snicker with Theo only to remember that he wasn’t there, which put you in a foul mood all over again.

“He does love to prattle on, doesn’t he?” Harry muttered in a low voice.

You nodded. “I imagine he only speaks to hear the sound of his own voice.”

“I take it that you’re enjoying this as much as I am.”

“If by enjoying you mean considering pulling my eyelashes out one by one, then you would be correct, Potter.”

“Forget the eyelashes. I might pluck my own eyes out all together if I hear McLaggen say my uncle Tiberius one more time.”

You snorted. “If you’re as miserable as I am, then what are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “People expect me to be here. To go on as normal. It’s important to have some semblance of that after last year, I suppose.”

You nodded sympathetically. Everyone looked up to Harry. He was a hero, a practical living legend, the boy who lived not once but twice. You imagined carrying all of that pressure on his shoulders couldn’t have been easy.

“What about you? You’re obviously not enjoying yourself, so why subject yourself to all of this?”

“I want to become a potioneer after I graduate. Slughorn is an influential member of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, which means he’s my key to getting accepted so while this dinner is physically and mentally draining all of my energy, I don’t have much of a choice. Being the first muggleborn member of the society would be monumental. Not just for me, but for other witches in the future."

“I understand,” Harry said with a nod. “You know, Mione’s probably going to be the first muggleborn witch to become Minister of Magic.”

You smiled. While you two weren’t close by any means, you have always admired Hermione. Her academic achievements were the cause of your envy for many years, but after all that she had gone through, you stopped feeling that stab of jealousy.

“The wizarding world would be lucky to have Granger leading it,” you agreed. “Which reminds me, why isn’t she here tonight?”

“She declined the invitation. As did Ron.”

“I can’t blame them. I half expected you to do so as well. The three of you have done enough to last a lifetime.”

“Yes, but like I said. It’s important for me to participate in these things. To boost morale, or so I’ve been told.”

It was fascinating to you that Harry could joke about such things. If you had battled the darkest wizard of all time and lived to tell the tale, you would probably tell everyone to kindly fuck off forever, but you suppose that was the reason why Harry was the chosen one and not you.

“Do you ever feel like you’re still fighting?” you asked. “Voldemort and his followers are either dead or imprisoned, yes. But we’re still rooting out their ideologies to this day and now there’s this new suspicion surrounding an entire house despite the fact the Death Eaters had members from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff too.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Everyone thinks that the war ended at the Battle of Hogwarts, but in reality, our work is barely beginning. The hardest part is healing. I’ll admit that sometimes it’s hard for me to separate the fact that Tom was a Slytherin with my own biases about the whole house itself, but unlearning all of those misconceptions is a process. It takes a lot to change a person’s perception. We can’t all be as smart and logical as you Ravenclaws.”

“If only, right?” you said with a smile.

“Well, we could always try it your way and threaten to push people off of the bleachers.” His green eyes crinkled with amusement.

You groaned. “I can’t believe you heard about that.”

“I must say, Ron and I had a proper laugh when we heard about it. He still hasn’t forgotten his stay in the hospital wing thanks to Romilda’s tainted chocolate cauldrons.” You grimaced, which made Harry chuckle. “I am sorry about what she said to Pansy though. We aren’t friends by any means, but I’d like to think that we’re at least on civil terms. Luna talks about her fondly and if Parkinson’s got your approval, then it’s safe to assume that she’s treating our friend well.”

“She is,” you agreed. “They are nauseatingly perfect for each other.”

“I’m glad to hear it. We all deserve a little happiness.”

“Speaking of which, how’s Ginny doing?”

The boy who lived blushed furiously. “She’s well. How’s Theo doing?”

You smirked. “Touche, Potter. Touche.”

As the night droned on, you found excuses to visit the refreshment table just to get away from all the insufferable preening. While you fixed yourself a cup of tea, you sensed a presence to your right. Cassius surveyed the variety of teas on the table, but made no move to select any.

“Sorry, am I in your way?”

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “I just needed an excuse to get up.”

You chuckled. “Join the club, Warrington.” He smiled a little as you dropped a sugar cube into your cup. “Congratulations on the recruitment by the way. Your teammates won’t shut up about it.”

Cassius scratched the back of his head, looking a bit shy. “Thanks, Y/N. Everything is still in the negotiation stage, but after the last game, I think my chances are looking good. The boys said you were there for the match.”

“Yeah, I was. This might not mean much since I haven’t watched a game since fourth year, but you guys were great out there. It was bloody brutal. I had a blast.”

“I’m glad to hear that. We do our best to put on a show,” he said. Warrington toyed with his saucer. He looked around before clearing his throat and lowering his voice. “Listen, Y/N. I heard about what you did for Pansy.”

“You and the rest of the school, apparently.”

“I just wanted to say thanks for sticking up for her. Pansy—she—helped me out a lot after my father was imprisoned and I probably wasn’t the only one. Everyone in Slytherin, especially those that were caught in the crossfire last year, owe a lot to her. She’s one of the good ones.”

You nodded, smiling. “I wouldn’t have let her date my best friend if I didn’t think that myself.”

“Luna makes her really happy. I’m glad that they have each other. Pansy earned it.”

“They both did.”

The conversation was cut short as Slughorn tapped his spoon against his goblet. The two of you reluctantly made your way back to the table.

“Thank you all for joining me tonight. It is a great privilege to be able to gather after all that passed last year. I urge you to look around at your fellow witches and wizards, remembering the fallen and celebrating the sacrifices that have all brought us back to this castle. As we commemorate this monumental moment, let us look not to the past but to the future.”

You swirled the glass of sparkling non-alcoholic spritzer, only half listening to the generic drivel that you’ve heard a thousand times before. The more Slughorn talked, the more irritated you felt. There was all this talk of looking to the future, moving on, hoping for a better tomorrow, but what use was that if you couldn’t even fix the present?

Professor Slughorn raised his glass in the air. “A toast to the best of the best.”

That one phrase was the straw that broke the camel’s back. You had no idea why, but those words finally made you crack.

“That’s not right though, is it professor?” The whole table fell silent as every head turned in your direction. “Sure we may be smart, accomplished, but not the best.”

Slughorn reeled back in surprise. His expression faltered before he plastered on a false smile. “Don’t sell yourself short, Y/N. All of you worked hard to get here.”

“None of us are even the top student in your class. That would be Theo.” You were vaguely aware that you were raising your voice, but once the words tumbled past your lips, you couldn’t reel them back in. “But he’s not here because surely we can’t invite your star pupil to a slug club dinner if his father is in Azkaban for being a death eater. That would be like inviting the Dark Lord to dinner, but wait. Didn’t you already do that, professor?”

A gasp came from your right. Melinda stared at you as though you’d grown an extra head.

“That’s quite enough, Y/N.”

Your humorless laughter echoed in the cavernous office. “Oh, but I’m just getting started. What was it that you said in your welcoming speech at the beginning of the year? Unity and reconciliation? Surely ostracizing someone for his father’s deeds, which he had nothing to do with by the way, judged and ruled by the Ministry itself, directly contradicts that sentiment, does it not? Or are we all just supposed to ignore this blatant display of discrimination against a perfectly innocent student?”

“Perfectly innocent?” scoffed McLaggen. “Nott comes from a long line of dark wizards as do the rest of the Slytherins. They show you an ounce of kindness and suddenly you become their little muggleborn pet.”

To your surprise, Cassius leapt to his feet. “Don’t call her that,” he nearly growled. “Y/N is just being a good friend. She stood up for Pansy when no one else would and now she’s doing it for Theo, too. You want to compare ledgers, McLaggen? Didn’t your father and uncle conspire to bring the Ministry under the Dark Lord’s control? They armed Voldemort and the Death Eaters then profited off of the war. They deserve to be in Azkaban just as much as my father does, but conveniently their records were wiped clean. Isn’t that why your family moved to France?”

The room was utterly silent. McLaggen looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel, but Cassius wasn’t done. He wheeled around to face the other attendees. “I’m not stupid. I know I was only invited because I’m being scouted by the Cannons, but I hoped that attending would make you see me as someone more than just a Death Eater’s son. I guess I was wrong and now I’m done with this farce. You’ll never stop seeing us as the villains.”

Without waiting for a response, Cassius stormed out of the room. He held his head up proudly, nodding to you and Harry as he made his graceful exit.

“Cassius is right,” Harry declared. “So is Y/N. We can’t crucify every Slytherin for the mistakes of a few. That would make us no better than Voldemort himself. The way I see it, the only way to get to the future we all fought for is to work with our fellow classmates, the Slytherins included. I hope you can learn to look past your biases and false perceptions, just as I’m learning how to.”

Not a single person moved as Harry finished his speech. “Right, well that’s that then.” He turned over to you. “Shall we get going, Y/N?”

“Gladly.”

You pushed your chair back and paid no mind to the burning gazes seared upon your back. Before following Harry out of the office, you leaned in close to McLaggen and lowered your voice so only he could hear. “If you ever speak poorly of my friends again, I’ll dose you with a potion that makes your precious man parts shrivel.”

Cormac paled several shades as you patted him on the shoulder. “Enjoy your dessert, McLaggen. I heard chocolate ganache pairs well with prejudice.”

The castle was quiet at this time of night. You and Harry walked side by side through the dungeons in silence. For someone who just blew up her academic career, you felt fairly calm. You knew that speaking up for your friends was the right thing to do.

“Thank you for speaking up back there,” you said. “You didn’t have to do that. You don’t owe anyone anything after all you’ve done, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“I do though. Hearing Cassius in there, I realized that the Ministry has failed both sides in a lot of ways. I think we’re all so eager to go back to the way things were before that we’re willing to overlook a lot of things. I’ve never even thought about families like the McLaggens who aided the Dark Lord, but got off with a light sentence. Or people like Cassius and Pansy and Theo who face a lot of unfair judgment from the rest of the wizarding world.”

“That’s the point, Harry. You shouldn’t have to think about it. None of us should. We’re all just children forced to grow up by the war because of the failure of those before us. It’s unfair to be burdened with a load so heavy.”

Harry sighed, nodding. “But if we don’t carry our load, we risk repeating the same mistakes and I won’t have that. We have to do better than the past generations.”

“We will,” you declared. “We have to.”

The torch lights drew shadows across the stone floors as you contemplated.

“You really care about them, don’t you?” It was more a statement rather than a question. You nodded, which made Harry smile. “I can tell that they care about you, too. Especially Theo.”

“We spent years in competition with one another, the classic bitter rivals. It’s kind of ironic that we became friends during our last year here.”

Harry looked at you strangely. “Right, friends…”

You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes at the green eyed wizard. “What’s that tone for, Potter?”

His mouth quirked. “Nothing, it’s just—well, Theo looks at you like I used to look at Ginny. With pining and yearning, as Mione liked to say. And the way you defended him earlier, Ginny would’ve done the same for me.” You were silent for a moment as you absorbed his words. “A word of advice, Y/N. I know it’s against those Ravenclaw instincts, but sometimes it’s good to get out of your head and tune into your heart instead.”

“Since when did the boy who lived become an expert on all things romance?” you teased.

“A handful of near death experiences really helps put things into perspective.”

You grinned. “I’ll take your word for it, Potter.” The two of you came to a stop at the base of the Ravenclaw Tower. “Well, this is me. Thank you for tonight. I genuinely hope to never do it again.”

Harry laughed. “You and me both, Y/N.”

You raised up on your tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek in thanks, feeling uncharacteristically chipper despite the disastrous dinner. “Good night, Harry.”

He smiled, blushing slightly. “Good night, Y/N.”

As you climbed up the spiraling staircase, you saw a glimpse of snow falling softly over the castle grounds. When you stopped and stared at the glittering landscape, you recalled the other night in Hogsmeade when Theo leaned in to brush the snowflakes off of your lips.

There’s something that I’ve been meaning to tell you.

You were certain that you already knew what Theo was about to say, because you’ve been meaning to tell him the same thing too. When you reached the fifth floor, your grin had grown so wide that your cheeks ached from smiling. As you slipped past the bronze eagle knocker, you caught a glimpse of a discarded bouquet of wisterias peeking out from a nearby trash bin.

With a pause, you plucked a petal off of your favorite flower and tucked it into your braid. You went to sleep that night thinking that Harry was right.

Maybe it was time to let your heart do the talking.

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macfrog · 10 months

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lend me some sugar cowboy like me chapter eight

look. i had an idea, i couldn't rest until i wrote it. enJOY part 8 of cowboy like me - check out my masterlist here!!! ALSO the lovely @wildcat116 created a playlist w some of my fave dbf-inspired songs which you can give a listen right heeerreee love u all sm hope u like this gargantuan chapter

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel throws a homecoming garden party for sarah – and decides to make it one to remember

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) i honestly don't even know where to start with this one UHH age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, slightly jealous! slightly possessive!joel n also jealous!reader, sexting, mutual masturbation, phone sex, teasing, very semi-public ✨ activities ✨ involving a beer bottle

word count: 10.1k (lmfao)

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Well…” he takes a drink from his bottle, and then studies it in his hand. “I thought you could sweeten my beer for me.” Your eyebrows raise on their own, your body on autopilot. “S-sweeten…your…b…” Joel nods. His eyes track over to the rest of the party, and then back to you. “Nobody’s watchin’, darlin’. It’s just you ‘n me. Go on. Do it for me.”

“No, no, no, hey, baby – don’t change the subject. You didn’t answer my question,” Joel says, one hand on the steering wheel, the other waving around like a maniac’s in midair. “What – is – a garden party?”

Your dad is chortling in the passenger seat.

“If you’d stop interruptin’ me!” you yell from the back. You’re leant forward, head and shoulders between the two of them. “It’s, like, well…drinks, and food, sat out on the patio in the nice weather–”

“Sounds like a barbecue to me!” Joel roars, much to your dad’s delight.

He claps his hands together once and snorts with laughter until he’s out of breath. “That Sarah of yours has you wrapped around her little finger, Joel.”

“She says, ‘I’m too old for a barbecue’. I said, ‘Too old for meat on a grill?’ How do you get to be too old to eat steak cooked on a grill?”

You roll your eyes with a sigh, slumping back in your seat and looking out the window at the buildings sailing by. You’re on your way to Costco to pick up supplies for this barb– garden party Sarah’s requested from Joel. He’s not too impressed by the thought of it.

Your dad’s talking about some client of his who threw his daughter a quinceañera on a yacht off the coast of Florida, for some reason you don’t care to listen to. Joel doesn’t, either. You see his eyes watching you from the rear-view mirror, clocking your expression.

When you turn to fully look back, his eyebrows raise, a question: You okay?

You raise yours back. Whatever.

He breathes a laugh, then plays it off to look like he’s laughing at your dad’s story. The truck pulls in to the parking lot.

By all accounts, your dad shouldn’t trust you and Joel alone together half as much as he does. But when the three of you get out of the car – Joel opens your door for you – he takes off to grab a shopping cart.

You and Joel take the opportunity to meander slowly toward the store. You haven’t had much time as of late to hang out, get some much-needed attention from him, jump each other’s bones. Sarah’s return means one more person to run lies around, one more obstacle stopping you from having precious free time with each other.

More than all of that, you just miss him. Miss the way he talks to you when no one else can hear, the way he reads your mind and gets it right – annoyingly – every damn time.

He loosens his elbow, offering you it, and you snake your arm through it.

“Garden party,” he scoffs. “I sure am glad I have you to keep me right.”

“We’ll make it nice for her,” you reply. “She liked the banner and balloons, right?”

He laughs. “She sure did. Facetimed her roommates to show ‘em off.”

You take a few more paces in silence, the gentle breeze sifting through your hair. It’s nice, just wandering with Joel. His warm arm hooked around yours, safe, steady. You feel you could lean into him and let him guide you along like the wind, all trust in his capable hands.

Then your dad rattles over toward you guys with a squeaky-wheeled cart and fucks it all up.

Joel, ever the casual one, slowly unlinks your arms. He ain’t got nothing to hide. Just being chivalrous to his buddy’s daughter.

“Where to first?” your dad asks.

“Wish I knew.” Joel strolls inside, and you follow, heading into the chilly store.

Joel decides the easiest – and quickest – way to get this shopping trip over with is to split up. He takes decorations, your dad offers to grab some of the food, and you’re left with drinks.

You mosey down the aisles with your janky cart squealing every time you turn. Under fluorescent lights, you spot shelves of soda and make for them, dodging a half-empty cage of stock someone’s emptying.

There are so many brands and flavors it’s actually kinda intimidating, and you wish you had Joel here to tell you which ones he wants. That, and also to reach them for you. The Dr Pepper is on the top shelf, and even though he’d probably tease you for not being able to reach first, his tall form would pull down a crate in one swoop without you even having to ask.

“Oh, let me get those for you!” a voice calls from behind, and you swivel around to see a kid– sorry, a guy in a Costco uniform rushing over from the other side of the aisle. The sides of his strawberry blonde hair are shaven, longer on top, gelled back. Round cheeks, flushed bright pink.

His equally pink arms reach up and grip a crate, pulling it from the shelf.

“Could you please…grab me one of the lemonade, too?”

“Sure thing,” he says.

“Thanks.” You smile as he lays the second carefully in your cart.

“No problem. You new around here? I recognize a lot of folks, never seen you before.”

His name badge reads Zack. It suits him, you think.

Your hands are locked tight around the cart handle. He’s not doing anything wrong, but you still feel awkward. You rock softly from side to side, answering, “Nope, lived here my whole life. Well, that’s not entirely true. I lived in New York City for a few years for college.”

“New York, huh? What’s that like?”

“It’s…good. Kinda place you gotta experience to really…experience, I guess.” You nervously scratch your arm.

“I’ve love to hear more about it. I went to college for, I think, two semesters? And dropped right back out. Wasn’t for me. Are you…Sorry, I’m not tryna be forward. Are you…with anybody?”

“Oh, I, uh…”

Right then you feel the air stop short at your side and notice Joel out of your peripheral vision.

“Hey, you found ‘em,” you say, barely above a whisper, looking at the packs of paper plates locked inside his tight knuckles.

He tosses them into the cart on top of your soda, looking down at you over your shoulder.

“You found drinks.”

“Yep.” If the ground could swallow me up right about now, that’d be great.

Zack shuffles on his feet, looking from you to Joel. He looks panicked. You bite back a laugh.

“Thanks, son.” Joel’s voice is muted, toneless, and he takes the cart straight out of your grasp in one sweep, a quick nod in Zack’s direction.

You don’t move, instead hang back to give the assistant a grateful smile and tell him, “We’re in a bit of a rush. Party’s tomorrow.”

“Wow, well, have fun!” he replies. As you swing off to follow Joel, Zack hops along after you, tapping your shoulder.

“I didn’t catch your name?”

“Naw, but she caught yours, Zack!” Joel yells. Emphasis on the K.

“See ya,” you whisper.

“Makin’ friends, are we?” Joel mutters as you catch up to him.

You lightly hit his bicep. “I couldn’t reach the soda.”

“Poor baby.” He pets his lip. You smack him again, but your stomach floods with heat. Joel doesn’t make note of it. “Need your help pickin’ out a tablecloth,” he says.

“A tablecloth? What’s so hard about a tablecl–”

You round the corner and Joel nods ahead, to where an entire wall of party supplies sits. On the shelves, piles of paper plates, cups, and napkins, and on the pegs above, bags, tablecloths, confetti, cutlery, banners, and bunting.

“Oh…”

“I was thinkin’ that pink one with the stars on it.” Joel nods to the left, finger scratching his nose, where a baby pink sheet lies, white stars all over. You try to mask your frown.

“No?” he asks, looking over at you tensely.

You tilt your head back in his direction. “It’s just…she made such a big deal about bein’ too old for a barbecue. If she’s too old for a barbecue, ain’t she too old for…”

“Pink?”

You flash him a gentle smile. “I reckon she’d like that one.”

You point to a white tablecloth, decorated with metallic gold dots.

“So, no pink, no stars. Gold polka dots are fine?”

“Sure,” you reply.

“Keep me right,” Joel whispers, leaning over to take the packet from its hook.

“Got some nibbles,” your dad’s voice yaps as he joins you two, dumping a dozen bags of candy, chips, and what looks like half the snack section into the cart. He sighs, placing his hands on his hips. “We all done?”

“Just gotta get some platters,” Joel replies, pulling a handwritten list and pen from his back pocket and glancing down it.

You lean over to check it out, smiling at his haphazard handwriting.

Cups

Soda

Plates

Tablecloth?

Balloons

Food

Cake

He draws a line through soda, plates, and the tablecloth.

“You gettin’ a cake?” you ask him.

He replies without lifting his eyes from the list. “Next door neighbor’s doin’ it. She has a bakery in town.”

Your dad’s over by the bunting, studying it all with his hands clasped behind his back.

You lower your tone, leaning in closer. “Neighbor, huh? She cute? She single?”

Joel tuts and gives you a dead-eyed stare. “Might be. Not sure.” He tilts his head. “Why don’t we give her Zack’s number?”

You raise an eyebrow and take the cart from his hands.

“We’re done, Dad. Deli’s on the way out,” you tell Joel, and he follows at your heels.

You didn’t take Joel for a man who spends ten minutes deciding which food platters to buy, but when it hits two-thirty and he’s still standing with his chin between his fingers, you sigh.

“Is it this big a deal?”

“I imagine it is; it’s Sarah we’re talkin’ about here.”

You can’t help the smile that grows on your lips, seeing how determined he is to make it perfect for her. It’s cute, alright? Who would’ve thought Joel Miller would concern himself so much with deli platters?

“Quit that,” he tells you, not even looking in your direction.

“Quit what?”

“Your starin’. Give us away.”

Your hand comes up to shove him and he grabs it, looking over your shoulder to check your dad’s not looking when he pulls you close to him.

“Don’t make me tell you twice, baby.”

You raise your eyebrows, smug grin on your lips, and his eyes dance down your body.

He suddenly lets go of you and you realize why seconds later when your dad’s heavy arm smacks down over your shoulders.

“We done, Joel? There’s this show on National Geographic about sharks I’m tryna catch.”

You roll your eyes at Joel who hands you an amused grin, then places a couple of platters into the cart and leads y’all to the checkouts.

“I’ll take the cart back, get you both at the truck.” Your dad makes off, janky wheel squeaking off to the front doors.

Joel shakes his head in his wake, as bemused by him as you are. You smile Hello to the cashier.

“How are y’all today?” he asks.

“Good, thanks,” you reply, watching Joel’s thick arms hold the crates of soda up to be scanned. He’s tensing, veins lining his tan skin. You could bite into him, you’re so needy. It’s only been a fucking week.

The red light flashes across the barcode with a beep and he settles the drinks down to grab his wallet.

You glance around as he pays. From over Joel’s right shoulder, a familiar set of buck teeth approaches. You avert your gaze, swerving to hide between Joel and the counter.

“I’m goin’ on my break, Tom!” Zack’s voice rings out, and you feel Joel’s chest shift around your shoulder.

“You got the bags?” he asks, casually. Unbothered.

“Mhm,” you reply, not achieving the same level of coolness as he did. Your voice quivers as your eyes scan for Zack, hoping he won’t catch you.

Poor guy. He was friendly enough. Just, you happen to think Joel’s friendlier.

Even if he notices you, you’re already being swept out of the store by Joel, both crates of soda and the platters on top in his arms; a feat that might’ve killed Zack in the soft drinks section. You wander off together back out into the burning heat, eyes squinting in the sun.

Your dad is stood in deep conversation with someone by the cart return, a man with a balding head and blue jeans that you don’t recognize. “I’ll be over in a minute,” he tells you both as you pass, “work stuff.”

Joel loads the truck and you jump in the back.

“You not gonna sit up front with me?” he asks, turning back to you.

“And make my dad sit in the back?”

“Punishment for holdin’ us up.”

You raise your eyebrows and climb over the front seat, sitting in place next to Joel. His hand reaches over and cups your thigh. You like it, feeling like this is your spot. Right next to him. Co-pilot. Captain of the radio.

You probably don’t like the same music Joel does, though.

You bring a hand down to lace through his, fingers intertwining between your legs.

“So, Zack?”

You lean your skull against the headrest and glare up at the roof of the car. “I have no idea. He was just talkin’ to me.”

“He seemed to like you.”

“I’m very likeable.”

“Did you like him?”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately? He look my type?”

Joel gives half a shrug.

“Don’t get all jealous,” you mutter, turning to check on your dad.

“Jealous,” Joel repeats, with a scoff.

“Uh, ‘She caught your name, Zack!’” You echo Joel’s rough inflection, emphasizing his Texas twang, stressing the K the way he did.

“That wasn’t jealousy, baby,” he says softly.

You huff, looking away and crossing your arms.

“You want me to be jealous?”

“No.”

Yeah, you do. It was kinda hot.

Joel’s smirking, you can see it from the corner of your eye.

“I…want you to be…It was hot when you…Well, I…It’s more that…In a word, I’d say–”

Joel’s hand squeezes yours, letting go and sliding slowly up your thigh. Your ears are throbbing with blood rushing when he finally stops just shy of your underwear.

“Got it,” he whispers.

Your eyes drift from his hand up to his expression. If it weren’t for the sweet smile he was giving you, you’d call him arrogant. But his warm expression, the way his head is tilted against his seat to look at you, really take you in, the upturned corners of his mouth…

It’s just as well your dad hauls the truck door open when he does, before you can throw yourself at his best friend.

“I’m in the damn back then, am I? Assholes,” he murmurs as he – struggles to – climb up into his seat.

“Blame your daughter,” Joel chuckles, hand reaching around the back of your headrest to reverse, “huh, Trouble?”

You open your mouth to clap a reply back, but your dad interrupts.

“Trouble?” he asks, brow cocked.

You spin around to watch his face contort in confusion.

“Who the heck is Trouble?”

“Your kid. Always causin’ it,” Joel says.

“Is she, now?”

You cast a look at Joel, out of sight of your dad. Are you fuckin’ serious?

He grins in return, driving off out of the parking lot.

----------

Joel had dropped you guys off on the way home from Costco. You’d wanted to stick around for a few minutes after your dad had hopped out of the truck, but he was relentless.

“Let Joel head off, he’s got a busy evenin’ ahead,” he’d insisted.

Joel had given you an apologetic glance as you unbuckled your seatbelt and followed suit.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He’d quickly kissed the back of your hand as you bid him farewell.

When Sunday rolls around, you spend the morning checking in with him, asking how the party’s looking and receiving photos to judge his decorating skills.

You: Not quite as good without my input, but it’ll do

Joel: Nothing’s quite as good without your input.

When it’s almost time to go, you’re still in the mirror making sure your outfit is perfect for Joel.

Perfect for the party, you mean.

You adjust the strap of your green dress, pulling the floral fabric over your bra. Totally innocent. Just a nice summer dress.

With slutty lingerie hidden underneath.

You’re only wearing it to fuck with him. You know that. Nothing is gonna happen at a fucking garden party. But your eyes flit across your body, trying to get into the mind of a forty-eight-year-old, watching the tops of your thighs as the wind lifts your skirt…

You unlock your phone and your thumb dances over the text thread with Joel. You’d taken some pictures before you’d slipped the dress over yourself, honestly just ‘cause you thought you looked hot, but now that the idea’s in your head…you might as well.

You: Does this lingerie say ‘garden party’?

You hit send and shut your eyes tight until you see stars, blindly throwing your phone to the floor and pacing back and forth. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck was that that was so stupid he’s totally gonna laugh at you you loser he’s–

It doesn’t take long for your phone to vibrate with Joel’s reply. You dive for it, grabbing it with a swoop of your arm.

Joel: Slutty garden party, sure.

You snort. Dick.

You: Like it?

The typing indicator pops up, then disappears, then returns. Three dots blinking at the speed your pulse is racing. Type quicker, old man.

Joel: I prefer what’s underneath it.

Your chest shudders with a sudden inhale. Your face begins to heat. A terrible idea has crossed your mind.

You’ve never been one for sexting. Not much, anyway. Certainly not on an actual message thread. Snapchat, sure, where the messages disappear from both your screen and your mind as soon as you’re done. But never somewhere there’s recorded proof.

It’s kinda hot. Having evidence of you and Joel. Pictures and messages to look back on.

So, you lay back on your bed and spread your legs. Hook a finger around the elastic of your panties, pulling them to the side to expose your – already glistening wet – folds.

You lower your phone, snap a couple pics. Play around, spread your lips, take more.

Then you send one.

Fuck it, right?

You: Sounded like you were missing it…

Your phone’s ringing within ten seconds of hitting send. You pick up and Joel’s calling out to someone.

“–right back, ‘m just goin’ to change.”

Sarah replies something you can’t make out, and Joel sighs.

“Naw, it’s just not very…I wanna look right for it. You look great. Just– I’ll be right back.”

You giggle quietly into the phone. “Excuses, excuses, Miller…”

“The hell are you doin’,” he hisses, bedroom door closing in the background, “sendin’ me that without a warnin’?”

“I did send warnin’,” you protest. “You must’a guessed when I sent the first one what the second was gonna be?”

Joel sighs and you giggle, laying back on your bed. Your hand returns between your legs and you whisper a moan, fingers sifting through soaking folds.

He goes quiet for a second.

“You playin’ with yourself, baby?”

“Mhm.”

“Feel good?”

“Yup,” you reply.

“You want me to make you cum over the phone?”

Your breath shudders and your chest heaves. Every damn time, he blows your cool every damn time.

“Uhuh,” you whimper. “’m so fucking wet.”

“Yeah? So needy, baby. Got yourself all riled up, haven’t you? Need me to fix it for you, take it away.”

You moan.

“You still wearin’ those little panties?”

You hum in response. He knows it’s a yes.

“Take ‘em off.”

“Joel, I’m leavin’ in–”

“Off.”

You obey him, dropping the phone onto your bed beside your ear and raising your hips, elastic of your underwear sliding over your pelvis and down your legs. You drop them to the floor and your hands resume position.

“Good girl,” he says, hearing you moan when your fingertips meet your clit again. “That better?”

“Mhm,” you croon.

He hisses, says, “Yeah. Gonna fuck yourself for me, pretty girl?”

You whine a Yes, and hear the clink of his belt buckle, the zip of his jeans. His voice echoes, bouncing off what you assume are his bathroom walls, when he tells you to slide a finger inside yourself. He lets a breathy sigh pass his lips, and you know he has a fist around his cock.

Your fingers dip inside your opening, collecting your slick and rubbing it up and down, soaking your clit before they return to your cunt and slip inside. You gasp, the stretch too good to keep quiet.

Joel murmurs another Good fuckin’ girl, and you can hear his soft panting. It drives you insane.

“Joel,” you whisper, “want you here.”

“I know, darlin’, I know.”

“Want you to f-fuck me.” Your swollen clit ruts against the base of your palm, the bone rubbing it so fucking good, and you squeeze your eyes tight shut.

“Soon, baby, promise,” he tells you, his hand pumping his cock, the sound of his precum coating his shaft floating through your cell into your ear. “Keep goin’, pretty girl. Bein’ so dirty for me, so fuckin’ good.”

Your back begins to arch, his praises and the sound of him jacking himself off pushing you closer and closer, warmth and pleasure flooding through your body from your core.

Joel speaks again through a strained voice.

“Wanted to fuck you yesterday,” he says, “so fuckin’ bad, baby.”

Your breath halts, cutting short in your throat.

“Wanted to,” groan, “sh-show that fuckin’ kid who you belonged to.”

You breathe a laugh laced thick with arousal. “Who I b…belonged to?”

You’re enjoying the thought as much as he is. Joel fucking you senseless in front of anyone who looks twice at you. Showing them that only he can make you feel good, only he can make you cum the way you do. The thought causes a whimper to escape your throat.

“That’s it, baby. You like that?”

“Yeah,” you whine.

“Tell me, pretty girl. Tell me.”

“’m yours, Joel. Fuck. Fuckin’ – yours.”

You’re whispering his name over and over, adding a third finger, imagining it’s his cock fucking in and out of you.

“So – close – baby,” he’s grunting, and you sigh in agreement. You’re writhing around on your mattress, legs wide open, hands pumping in and out and rubbing circles all over your sensitive cunt, wishing it was Joel all over you.

He’s moaning now, quietly humming down the phone to you, and it starts to undo the knot in your stomach. Your walls clamp around your fingers, hand begins to slow on your clit, and you utter his name before you fall silent, throat closing up as you climax.

The sound of your orgasm sends him over the edge right behind you. He groans, your name on his lips as he climaxes, repeating it over and over. You’re still coming to when he quietens, moans staggered, breathing heavy.

“Good?” you ask, fingers massaging yourself after your high.

“So good, darlin’,” he whispers, “did so good for me.”

You smile at his praise. Did so good for him, like you always do. It sends your head spiraling.

You dip your soaked fingers in and out of your soft cunt, lying in the bliss a little while longer, listening to Joel do his jeans back up and fix his belt.

He must figure what you’re up to, because he lifts the phone back to his mouth and says, “Tell me how you taste, baby.”

You don’t even think twice. You slip your fingers from your dripping cunt and suckle on them, moaning into the phone for Joel’s benefit. He lets out a low growl.

“Sweet as sugar,” you tell him, and he hums.

“Hey, hon?” your dad’s voice snaps you back to reality.

You’re not on some different plain with Joel’s voice purring in your ear. You’re not in private. You’re laying on your bed with your legs spread, Joel on speakerphone.

Your legs slam closed and you sit up straight, shushing Joel, who’s chuckling quietly into your phone.

“Yep?” you reply, voice shaky. “Shut the fuck up,” you hiss down the line.

Your dad pushes your door open as you stand, straightening your dress.

“Ready to go? I don’t wanna be late for Joel.”

“I don’t think he’ll mind.”

“He will. C’mon.”

He closes the door over when he leaves. You tug your panties back on and bring the phone up to your ear, speakerphone now safely off.

“Do you? Mind?”

“’s long as I get to see your pretty little face, I don’t care, baby.”

You smile. Then you think it over.

“…but you’d prefer I was there on time, right? Y’know, so you can spend more time with me?”

“Uhuh. Sure. More time with your ass, too.”

“Alright. That’s nice. See, you just ruined what could’ve been a really sweet moment. How romantic, Miller. Once again, your dick gets the better of you.”

Joel laughs. “Ain’t that what this whole thing is? My dick getting the better of me?”

You gasp, offended. “And here I was thinking you liked me for my personality.”

He scoffs. “Will you just get in the damn car and get your ass over here?”

You’re fixing yourself once more in the mirror; there can be no signs of what just happened.

“I’m cominggg…” you drawl.

“Good girl. Bring that personality of yours, too.”

You snort and hang up without saying goodbye.

Your dad is stood at the bottom of the stairs as you march down them, legs still a little weak.

“Sorry, kiddo, I just don’t wanna be late. Joel’s wantin’ us there first, and Rita will be waitin’.”

Your brows furrow in response. He elaborates.

“She’s comin’, too, I’ve to give her a ride.”

“Sooo…we’ll arrive at Joel’s around midnight? Just checkin’, so I can let him know. Y’know, she likes to take it slow in the car.”

“Ha-ha. Funny. Get your things.”

“Can I take my own car? We can race, see who gets there first.”

Your dad sighs. “How am I s’posed to explain that to her?”

“Just say Sarah wanted me over early.” You cock your head like a begging puppy. “Please?”

He nods, exasperated, and waves a hand toward you. “Go on, get. Take that salad, will you?”

You sit the ceramic bowl on your hip and skip to the front door, belting it into the passenger seat before heading for Joel’s.

He’s out back when you arrive, platter of food in his hand. He looks casual, like he wasn’t cooing you through an orgasm, like, twenty minutes ago.

“Hey, cowboy,” you call from the patio door.

He sets the platter down on the tablecloth you picked out and strolls back toward the house, hands taking your waist as soon as he’s close enough.

“Your dad here?”

“Nope,” you whisper, “he’s bringing Rita.”

Joel dips his head and presses his lips to yours, rocking you back and forth. You giggle against his mouth.

“Dress is nice,” he murmurs when he pulls away, your foreheads together.

“Oh, you should see what I have on under it.”

“Already did,” he whispers in a cocky song, and you laugh again into his kiss.

His tongue sneaks past yours, and you squeal when his hand drops to squeeze your ass under your short skirt.

“You’re gonna make me drop this salad!” You bat his smirking ass off of you to set your dad’s handiwork safely on the table.

The moment is broken by the sound of Sarah’s voice from the hallway. You both split apart, Joel heads back outside while you walk over to the fridge to grab a soda.

“Welcome home banner’s slipped, Dad,” she yells out the window, and Joel gives her a thumbs up. Sarah rolls her eyes and turns to you. “Hi, you!”

“Hey,” you reply, giving her a toothy grin. “Soda?”

She reaches a hand out and you pass her a Coke.

“I have never seen my dad so stressed,” she snickers, can to her lips.

“Me either. You don’t wanna know how long he took to decide what to get from the deli.”

Sarah silently wanders through to the living room, beckoning you to follow. You glance up at the streamers still hanging from the ceiling, the slanted banner above the TV.

You throw yourselves down on the couch and she rounds on you.

“So…?”

“So?” you say, taking a sip of your soda.

“What’s been goin’ on? We haven’t properly caught up yet.”

You shrug. “Not much. Workin’ at Sal’s, loving life. What’s been going on with you?”

“Oh, come on. You really got no news for me?”

“What news do you want?” You snort, lifting the can to cover your flushed cheeks.

Sarah shrugs. “I dunno, boys? Gossip? Drama?”

“What are you, thirteen? Thought you were a big Cali girl now.”

She tuts.

You sigh, conceding. “No boys, no drama happenin’, and the most gossip I know is Anna called in sick last week and then Sal’s niece saw a picture of her on Instagram at some house party. ‘s all I got.”

Sarah looks unconvinced. She smirks. Her eyes thin, only for a second, but you catch it.

“How’s your dad?” she asks after a tense stare-off.

“Fine,” you reply. “He’s bringing Rita.”

“Aw. I’ll miss ‘im, then. Won’t be here ‘til sundown.”

You giggle into your can, “That’s what I said, dude.”

Joel shuffles into the room then, making for the banner. Your eyes track him as he leans over the TV, strong arms reaching up to fix it into place. He grunts as he pushes the pin back in.

“Need a hand, Dad?”

“Nope,” he replies, “’m good.”

Your chest tightens as the memory of the last time that banner was pinned into place floods your memory. Sat atop Joel’s shoulders, pulling him into you when he set you back down. Then, him fucking you on the couch, right where your legs currently lie, Sarah’s draped over them.

And here he is, able to reach it all by himself all along.

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling flushed.

“You good?” Sarah asks when you sit up straight, fanning yourself with your hand.

“Is it hot in here?”

Joel turns, eyebrows raising.

“Crack a window, Dad.” Sarah’s fanning you now, too, wafting a magazine in your face.

He moves for the window and slides it open, pulling the shades back in attempt to get some airflow.

“I’m fine,” you whisper, hand on Sarah’s wrist. “I’m fine.”

She lowers the magazine and stares you down. “Are you pregnant, or something?”

Joel chokes, clearing his throat over by the window, and you bat Sarah’s leg.

“No, idiot! It’s just hot. You’re not hot?”

Sarah flicks her hair over her shoulder, chin lifting. “I’m very hot, actually.” She stifles a laugh at your expression. When she leans over to set her soda on the table, you shoot Joel a look.

He raises his hands in surrender silently and heads out of the room, reminding you guys that the party starts in twenty minutes.

“You like your decorations?” you ask once Joel’s gone.

Sarah’s eyes widen and she nods. “I heard you had a thing or two to do with ‘em.”

“I was creative director.”

“He’s so cheesy, ain’t he?”

“He just loves you. I think it’s cute.”

“I’ll bet you two got into, like, six arguments while you were puttin’ them all up. Right?”

You blink rapidly, trying to clear the memory from your eyes in case she reads it. “Nope. None. No arguments.”

You’re thankful when Joel’s front door pushes open and you hear Rita calling down the hall for Sarah, who jumps up and skips to meet her. When you follow, Joel’s in the kitchen doorway, watching you carefully. You know he heard every damn word, from no arguments to you thinking he was being cute.

You ignore him as you brush past, smug smirk on his face.

The backyard slowly starts to fill with more and more people as the afternoon goes on, sun rising higher and higher into the sky. Sarah is swept off by a small wave of school friends, all nineteen, none of whom you really know. One of them asked if you were her sister, and you choked on your drink before Sarah snorted and said, “No, dumbass, she’s my dad’s best friend’s daughter.”

They’re standing like a flock of seagulls over by the pool, shrill giggles piercing the air every ten seconds. Taking selfies, updating Instagram stories. Oh, to be nineteen again.

Being a senior citizen of twenty-three means, unfortunately for you, that you spend most of the afternoon tailing your dad and his buddies. At the food table, slowly depleting of the snacks your dad had practically raided from Costco, you’re witness to a conversation between him and Bill about the housing market.

“…I mean, if she wanted to get a place of her own,” your dad waves a hand in your direction, “how’s she meant to do it? What are they doin’ to help the younger generations get their foot in the door, hm?”

Bill’s shaking his head. Looks like vexation, like he’s agreeing with your dad, but you’ve a sneaking suspicion he’s just pacifying him.

“Maybe you’re better headin’ back to New York, after all, hon,” your dad says, and you raise your eyebrows, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Missin’ it yet?” Bill asks.

You shrug. “Sometimes. Was nice being around people who were into the same stuff as me. But I like being home.”

He nods, looking back down at the pool, sunlight gleaming off the water in ripples.

“She’s got plenty to keep her occupied,” your dad snorts. “Me ‘n Joel keep her right.”

You bite back a laugh. If you only fucking knew.

Bill chortles. “Joel Miller, keepin’ someone right? Now that’s a sight I’d like to see.”

You look over to him, pretending to laugh along, but your brows drop in confusion.

“Ah, they’re close, y’know?” your dad says. “He looks out for her. Think he keeps her on the straight and narrow better ‘n I do, these days, doesn’t he?”

“He, uh…Yeah, sure.” You can barely look him in the eye.

“Tell you what,” Bill twists around to grab another fistful of nuts from the table, “there ain’t nothin’ the good Southern air won’t fix. I notice a difference in you, this time around, kid.”

“Yeah?”

He nods enthusiastically, cheeks full. Still chewing, he says, “Oh, yeah. Hell, you used to come home for Christmas or whatever, ‘n it was like you were bored. Miserable. No offense, don’t take that the wrong way.”

You scoff. “Which way should I take it?”

“Now that you’re back here for good,” he continues, not hearing you, “‘s like someone switched a light on. Doesn’t she seem brighter?”

Your dad turns to survey you and eventually nods. “You happier here, kiddo?”

You shrug, mumble an, “I dunno.”

The men laugh. Bill gives you a clap to the back and strolls off back inside, leaving you and your dad alone.

“Why didn’t you ask that– that boy along?”

“Who? Sam?”

He nods. “Remember you had that date scheduled– I mean, not-date?”

You narrow your eyes. “I don’t think this is his scene.”

“Garden party not macho enough?”

You shake your head in bewilderment. “Macho?”

“Who’s macho?” Joel’s gruff voice sounds from behind.

You swing around to tell him, “Nobody,” and he shrugs, cheeks full with the sandwich he’s just thrown in his mouth.

“Nice,” you muse. “Very garden party of you.”

“Right?”

You smirk, peeling back the wrapper of the cupcake on your plate.

“Those,” Joel leans in, smirk on his lips, voice low, “were made by Nat.” He nods over toward the patio doors, where a blonde woman in a long purple dress stands, chatting to another of Joel’s neighbors. “Remember I told you she was makin’ a cake?”

You turn back to face him, narrow eyes set on his. He smiles innocently, and you can’t help but return it, butterflies tickling your stomach.

“Damn good cake it is, too,” your dad mumbles from your side. “Try some, hon.”

You lift the cupcake to your mouth, never letting go of Joel’s gaze, and run your tongue along the pink icing, collecting it all on the tip. Joel doesn’t move. He’s watching your lips.

Your teeth sink into the soft cake – it is fucking good, though you’d never admit it to Joel. He’s having far too much fun watching you; any more inflation to his ego and he might explode.

“Hm,” you run your tongue over your top lip, “tastes alright. But it’s pink. Sarah’s too old for pink.”

You throw the cupcake back onto your plate and roll your eyes.

Joel scoffs. Entertained. Nice job, kid. “Here,” he says, “you got some icin’ on your–”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead, licks his thumb and wipes it along the edge of your lip, collects the icing, then slots it back between his own, and sucks it clean.

Right in front of your fucking dad.

You’re honestly about to mutter a sincere thanks when you remember he’s standing right at your elbow, watching the whole thing. Watching his best friend run his wet thumb across his daughter’s mouth and then taste her on his tongue. Like it’s nothing.

Joel realizes halfway through what he’s doing and yanks his thumb out of his mouth a little too abruptly, nodding at you as if he’s just been courteous. He clears his throat when his arms are back by his side. “Uh…”

Your feet are heavy against the patio. You feel like your limbs are stuck in place, save for your hands, which cause the paper plate locked between your fingers to tremble.

“Th…Thanks.”

It’s all you can muster up the courage to say. You can feel your dad’s eyes on your shoulder like the sun burning your skin.

“Yeah. No problem.”

You stare between the two of them, unsure who’ll break first. Unsure if either of them will, or if you’ll have to cave and say something.

A swish of fabric against the back of your calves jolts life back into you and you hear a soft voice in your left ear.

“See you’re enjoyin’ the cupcakes, then?” she hums to Joel. Your stomach tightens.

“Uh, yeah, they’re, uh…real good, Nat. Thanks again. We were just sayin’ how good they are, weren’t we?” He holds a hand out, past you, to your dad, who nods along. You start to back away.

Joel can tease you all he wants about his next-door neighbor and her pink cupcakes, but you’ve truly never felt more grateful to have another woman approach him and take some of the heat off of you. In a blur of embarrassment and the tiniest sliver of thrill, you take off into the house.

Bill’s in the living room with a couple other men, watching something on TV. You flash by the door and straight upstairs, where it’s quiet, empty. You lock yourself in the bathroom, head immediately falling into your hands.

“Fuck,” you whisper into your palms.

Your pulse is racing, face flushed with color and heat, embarrassment seeping all over you. What the fuck was he thinking? Was he even thinking?

It’s not unlike Joel to do stupid stuff like this just to mess with you when you’re alone. But you know, from the look on his face, from how speechless he suddenly got, you know he didn’t mean it. You know that, right now, he’s probably outside, still being pestered by that lady Nat, feeling the exact same as you are on the inside.

You steady your breathing and crack the window, peering through the sliver of light. Your dad’s still by the snacks. You can hear Nat resuming conversation just below you, out of sight by the patio doors. Where is Joel?

You pull the window open a little more, and crane your neck to scope the entire yard. There, by the pool, Sarah’s friend is stuffing as many marshmallows into his mouth as he can, while the rest video him, hysterically laughing.

You notice a flash of flannel by the work shed and spot him; making his way down a stone path between some bushes. Rita’s on his arm. Good. Means he escaped your dad without much damage done.

You rinse your face over with splashes of cold water, check yourself in the mirror, and head back out. A roar sounds from the living room as you round the bottom of the stairs.

“I didn’t know bowling was so fuckin’ excitin’!” Bill yells.

You slip through the kitchen, drowned in golden sunlight, and back outside. Nat shifts to let you by her and you smile gratefully, her purple dress sweeping across your legs again.

You follow the path behind Joel’s shed, up some steps and dip your head beneath the greenery. It’s obvious what he’s been up to since you and Sarah left; he’s good with his hands. He’s landscaped most of his yard; starting behind the work shed is a small, private pathway which leads to a secluded patio, decorated with potted plants, shrubs, and two wooden chairs. It’s out of view from where the rest of the party are, but you can look down on pretty much everyone from here.

Rita and Joel are in conversation when you round the corner and his eyes lock onto yours.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greets you, so casual you almost forget what just happened. The man is so fucking cool, it almost riles you.

“Thought I saw you guys wander off.”

“Oh, honey, here, take my seat.”

“No, Rita, really. I’ll sit on the arm of Joel’s.”

You lean back onto the wooden arm, thighs dangerously close to Joel’s hands. He flinches as you settle, like he wanted to put a protective hand over your leg, and then remembered your company.

“Nice garden party, huh, Rita?” you chirp, eyes flashing across Joel’s face.

He shakes his head, knocking your leg with the back of his hand to tell you off.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous. Fine day for it, too.” Rita looks up to the clear sky. “Only the best for our Sarah. I’m just keepin’ Mr. Grump company over here.”

“Mr. Grump?” you snort, looking from her to Joel.

He sighs. “I am not bein’ a grump.”

“Are too,” she replies flatly, and Joel turns to stare at her.

“It’s hard work hostin’ so many people, alright?”

Rita chuckles, giving his arm a light slap. “He’s all the way over here to escape the party,” she tells you, sweet smile on her face.

You return it, saying, “That doesn’t sound like Joel at all. He loves people, don’t you?”

Joel grumbles, taking a sip of his beer.

The three of you sit quietly for a few minutes, Rita relaxing in the warm summer air, shade from the trees keeping her cool. You, too close for comfort to Joel, breaking out in a sweat with the need to talk to him about the cupcake incident. And Joel, almost looking bored, right arm on his armrest drawing shapes at the small of your back.

You could fucking scream.

“Well, honey,” Rita eventually says, “since you’re here, I’m going to run to the ladies’ room. You help me up?”

You carefully pull Rita to her feet, and she shakily wanders off back toward the rest of the party, waving a hand and telling you not to let Joel out of your sight. You take her seat in her absence.

“Arm not comfortable?” Joel asks, eyes on the party.

“Huh?”

“I said, arm not comfortable?”

“Not as comfortable as a whole chair.”

“Hm.”

You mock hum in response. “You want me back on the arm? You that needy, baby?”

He looks at you. His tongue in his cheek. “Nah, want you on my lap. But arm is less obvious.”

His words knock the wind out of you, but only for a few seconds. You’re getting good at not swooning at every sexual reference this man makes. You’re also getting shamelessly good at responding to him, matching his energy.

So, you stand, and, while checking nobody’s watching, shuffle over. Back to Joel, you lower yourself down onto his thigh. Swing your head around to look him in the eye.

“Better?”

In reply, he takes your waist in one hand and shifts you so you’re at a ninety-degree angle to him. His knees facing north, yours west.

“Better,” he confirms.

Your brows furrow. “What are you–”

“I thought it over. You ‘n that Zack boy.”

“Wouldn’t say he was a boy, was probably my age–”

“That Zack boy,” Joel repeats. “Him chattin’ to you, asking you about New York. Wantin’ to know if you’re single.”

How much of that conversation did Joel hear?

“He was just–”

“Makin’ conversation? Nah. He was into ya.”

“Well, if you say so. So, you thought it over?”

“Uhuh. I don’t know how I feel about it.”

“About what?”

“About walkin’ up to find you bein’ chatted up by some loser.”

“Oh, ouch, Joel. Zack’s feelings are hurt.”

The corner of his mouth trembles, holding back a laugh. Then he leans in.

“I don’t like to see anyone with their eyes on my girl.”

His girl.

Something inside you stirs. Something between your legs…tenses.

“Your…”

“You think that was nice? The way he was lookin’ at you? You think he wanted to be your friend?”

You stare at him, mouth agape. No words bubble to the surface.

“Nah, baby. He wanted you the way I want you. The way I have you.”

“You…have…And how is it you have me?”

“Sat on my lap, pretty little mouth wide open, wet enough that I can feel you through my jeans.”

He leans back in his chair, and you watch him wordlessly.

Your breath stammering, brain struggling to compute, you mumble, “What are you gonna do with me, then?”

“Hm?” he tilts his head.

“I said, what are you gonna do? With me?”

“Well…” he takes a drink from his bottle, and then studies it in his hand. “I thought you could sweeten my beer for me.”

Your eyebrows raise on their own, your body on autopilot.

“S-sweeten…your…b…”

Joel nods. His eyes track over to the rest of the party, and then back to you.

“Nobody’s watchin’, darlin’. It’s just you ‘n me. Go on. Do it for me.”

He takes the bottle and uses it to part your legs, before sliding it under your dress. You watch like you’re not even inside your body, just a passenger to Joel and his movements. All you know is you want him to do whatever the fuck he’s about to do.

The lip of the bottle pushes your panties aside, and you feel it line up at your lips. Joel looks up at you then with a question in his gaze.

You stare at him a few moments longer, and he lets you. He knows you’re taking this all in, even if it feels like it’s all in slow motion. He lets you take your time with your answer.

You nod, breathless. Do it. And he pushes up.

Your fingers immediately lock around his wrist, the beginnings of a moan escaping your lips. Joel tuts softly, wrist never stopping, just slowly inserting the bottle, neck gliding through your wet folds to your center.

You’re gasping, still holding onto him to steady yourself, coming back to earth only momentarily to check nobody’s nearby.

“Ain’t no one comin’, sweetheart,” Joel coos in your ear, “I’m watchin’. Just you enjoy.”

When the bottleneck fills you up, he pulls it back again. Your eyes begin to roll at the feeling of it dragging out of you. Your head cocks, body going limp. Lips seal shut, trapping a whine.

You rationalize it with three things. First off: nobody can see you here, not from down on the patio. Second: even if they could, Joel’s watching. And thirdly: you don’t give the slightest of fucks.

Joel and his ideas, Joel and his fucking ideas, forever pushing any other thought out of your head and replacing it with a want to please him, a need to do the things he asks of you. Forever washing away all your good instinct, leaving behind only the ache between your legs and the lust behind your eyes.

Joel starts fucking you – really fucking you – pumping the neck of his bottle in and out of your cunt. You’re doing everything not to scream out. Your hand grips tighter on his wrist and he smiles, looking down to the sight of the pair of you working together, fucking you together, chasing your high together.

“Liked it when I touched you, didn’t you,” he breathes, wrist jacking, “liked when I put my hand on you in front of everyone.”

“Did you like it?” you ask, head lulling, eyes folding shut. Legs opening wider just a fraction. Back beginning to arch.

He laughs. “Yeah, I liked it, baby.”

“Then I liked it, too.”

You like it when he talks to you. Like picturing the things he’s saying. The shock of Joel’s thumb on your lips. The desire you felt to part them and suck on it, right there and then.

Then, a twisted thought crosses your mind.

“Did you…did you like…oh…did you like N-Nat comin’ up…to you?” you whisper as Joel pushes the bottle deeper.

He growls, teeth locking together in some weird grimace of a smile. “Who’s jealous now, baby?”

You smile, head falling back. The sky is bright and blue and it burns your eyes to look, but then, your whole body is aflame.

You know he doesn’t care about anyone else. Know you’re the only one he wants to be doing this stuff with. But you’re there now, so might as well follow it through.

“You don’t– Fuck, Joel, fuck…You don’t think she’s…h-hot?”

He hums. Considers it. “Who’s sitting on my lap gettin’ fucked right now, pretty girl?”

“M-me,” you wobble, grinning.

“You,” he agrees, and pushes the bottle further.

You start to feel dizzy, the blood pumping through your ears deafening you. You place your hand on Joel’s knee to steady yourself as your legs give, cunt dripping everywhere. You can hear it, can feel it.

“Joel,” you pine, “’m close.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Joel’s purring, lips pressed against your ear. “You can cum, baby, I got you.”

Your hand comes up to grip the collar of his shirt – you’d worry about it looking suspicious, but your mind is somewhere else entirely as the pressure between your legs starts to unravel at rapid pace. It all becomes too much too quickly, and you can’t stifle the sounds from your lips any longer.

Your legs clamp shut, knuckles whiten, pussy throbs around the neck of Joel’s beer bottle. You cum for him for the second time today, quietly whimpering as his free hand rubs your hip, coaxing you back to earth.

“That’s my girl,” he breathes, “good girl. All over it, darlin’, that’s it.”

“Joel…” you’re panting, orgasm bearing down on your body.

He’s still lulling you through it, whispering words you can’t make out into your ear, lips pressed against your hair. He slowly slips the bottle from between your legs and sets it on the armrest, replacing his hand on your bare thigh.

It’s fucking covered in you. Your wet runs down into the beer, slick coating the outside of the neck. You can’t take your eyes off it, can’t fucking believe what’s just happened.

You take a deep breath of the sweet breeze, Joel’s arms around your waist, rubbing you gently. You lean down and nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck.

A few minutes pass, couple songs on the stereo go by. Your hands toying with one of his, your breathing steadying against his chest. Joel mumbles into your hair.

“Your dad’s lookin’ for us.”

“How d’you know?” you mutter into his shirt, eyes closing over.

“That’s the third time he’s gone in ‘n out of the kitchen.”

“Maybe he’s just hungry.”

His chest jumps once with a laugh and he sits you both up. You stand wearily and Joel holds onto your hand as you slink back into the chair by his side. As you heave one leg over the other, core still throbbing, your dad emerges from around the shed. Joel lets your hand drop.

“Rita’s wantin’ home,” your dad murmurs, rolling his eyes.

“She ain’t much of a partier,” Joel says, lifting the beer to his lips. You stare at the lip of the bottle as his mouth kisses it, drink mixed with…well, you, spilling out onto his tongue. The neck is pearlescent with your cum. You feel lightheaded.

“You alright, honey?” your dad asks, and his hand comes down on your shoulder. Gently, but it still makes you jump.

“Y-yeah,” you reply, dragging your gaze from Joel’s lips. “Just…the sun, I think.”

Your dad looks worried, rubs the top of your back. “You need to go home?”

You shake your head, panting a little. “No, I’m good.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Joel says. The bottle’s between his thighs now, he’s twirling it. It’s like it’s a trophy to him. He props his elbow on his armrest and gives your shoulder a squeeze.

Your dad gives Joel an appreciative nod, then glares back at you. “You call me if you need me, alright? I’ll be ten minutes, tops.”

You muster up the energy to make some joke about going too fast in the car with Rita. Your dad chuckles, then nods again to Joel, and disappears around the corner.

“You okay?” Joel asks when he’s gone.

You return his glance, energy coming back. “Sweeten your beer? Where the fuck did you come up with that one?”

He’s grinning. Do you want to slap him, or mount him?

“Can’t let you in on all my secrets, can I, darlin’?”

You roll your head back, resting softly against the wooden chair.

“Alright. Just keep doin’ that.”

“Doin’ what?”

“Surprising me. See where it gets you.”

Joel laughs through his nose; you hear the quiet rumble of his chest.

“We better get,” he says, tapping your knee as he stands. “Before everyone goes home.”

“Thought that’s what you wanted?” you reply, taking his outstretched hand and pulling yourself up.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Joel mutters as you walk off in front of him, “did I say before everyone goes home? I meant to make everyone go home.”

Joel gets his wish soon enough. It’s almost four o’clock when you return to the party; Sarah and her friends are up in her room, Bill’s roped about three others in to join his new bowling watch party, and most of the guests are either gone, or getting ready to head. The garden is empty when you throw yourself back on a lounge chair, enjoying the quiet.

You feel yourself dipping in and out of sleep, sun keeping you warm, breeze lightly kissing your cheek. The music from the stereo has been turned down, so you listen contently to the quiet hum of country, making a mental note to tease Joel about it later.

You’re filled with a peaceful content, a little tired from your ridiculous antics, but happy. You’re starting to understand what Bill was talking about; that bright cheeriness always makes an appearance when you’ve been around one person in particular, doesn’t it?

“Dad?” Sarah’s voice sings through the open door from the kitchen. She peers through the shades, spotting you by the pool. “You seen my dad?”

You shake your head. “Not a clue.” Lifting the bottom of your bottle to drain the last of your beer on your tongue, you haul yourself up – with a huge effort – to sit up straight.

“Will you tell him I’m goin’ out? We’re gonna catch a movie.”

“I’m not invited?”

She snorts. “You can come if you want. Thought you might still be feelin’ funny, is all.”

“I’m good. Enjoy. I’ll tell ‘im when he makes a reappearance.”

“Bye, babe!” she disappears back into the house.

You give her a wave as her silhouette heads down the hall. Joel’s back gate squeals open and your dad’s voice calls in from your left.

“That Rita can chat, huh?”

He latches the gate closed, then drags a deckchair over beside you.

“You were quicker than I thought you’d be.”

“She wanted to show me some cross-stitch thing she’s been workin’ on. Told her you weren’t feelin’ great ‘n I should probably head back.”

You furrow your brows. “Poor Rita, she means well.”

“I know, I know. Just, next time you see her, keep the story up.”

You scoff. “You seen Joel?”

Your question is answered by the grumble which sounds from the kitchen. He appears seconds later, stretches his arms high above his head, then stalks over.

You did try to avert your gaze from the trail of hair under his belly button. You swear. But it was right fucking there.

He hoists a second chair over to your right. “Too much effort,” he mutters, throwing himself into it. “I’m glad they’re all gone.”

You laugh lazily and rest back. “Sarah’s gone to the movies.”

Joel nods in response, the sun hitting off of him and lighting him like some kind of Adonis. You struggle to pull your eyes away from him, mesmerized by the way the light hits his worn skin, reflects out of his deep-set brown eyes, ignites strands of his graying hair.

You fucking hate what he does to you, the aftermath of him making you cum. As if there’s some drug running through your veins, making you want him, need him. Need his arms around you, his skin on yours. Need more of his attention, as if phone sex and whatever the fuck that was with the bottle weren’t enough for the day.

Your eyes travel down his strong, thick arms, hair covering them just the perfect amount, down to his hands; rough, worked, but gentle, kind. They grip the armrests of his chair, and you imagine the same grip around your neck as he…

“Y’know, actually, this was a lot less stress than I thought it’d be,” your dad yaps, bursting your bubble. “Why so last minute, Joel?”

“Sarah only decided she wanted somethin’ a few days ago, and she’s out of town next weekend, so had to be this week.”

“Oh? Me ‘n her both. Where’s she off to?”

Your head darts around to look at your dad. Then, when he speaks, back to Joel.

“Nashville. Just for a few days. Goin’ with some friends from school, I think. They’re flyin’ out on Friday, be back Monday night. Girls’ trip, I guess.”

You shoot back to your dad, like you’re watching a damn tennis match.

“Funny that. Don’t you have a girls’ night on Saturday, hon?”

Staring at him dumbfounded for a few seconds, you nod slowly. “Mhm.”

“I’m headin’ up to Fort Worth for work,” he tells Joel.

Joel looks at you from the corner of his eyes. You slowly draw your gaze to meet his, mouth falling open a little.

“Yeah? This that big fancy client of yours?” he asks your dad, shifting in his seat.

“Sure is. He’s askin’ too much of me, these days. All these late nights, now workin’ the weekends?” He lets out a little chuckle, shaking his head.

You tear your glance from your Adonis to the pool ahead of you. You finally find your voice, knowing that, with this final piece of information, the fate of your weekend is sealed.

“You there long?”

“Just Saturday through Sunday.”

Well, fuck.

You and Joel exchange a knowing glance, his eyes darkening already.

“I’m sure you’ll be alright without me for one night, hon,” the voice from your left chuckles, but you’re both already elsewhere.

You will be fine without him, of course you will. You’re twenty-three. You’re a grown-up.

And you’ve got Joel to keep you company.

----------

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aurumacadicus · 3 months

Text

"Miss Widow, I need you to be my partner in crime," Peter said, dropping from the ceiling. He waited for a beat, expecting a rolling of eyes or an exasperated sigh. When he received nothing but a raised eyebrow, he hesitantly asked, "Aren't you going to correct me, or..."

"It's good that you have some fear of me, Peter," Natasha told him simply. "Has the crime already occurred? If you want a body buried, ask Bruce."

"...Hmm," Peter hummed, deciding he wasn't going to unpack all that. "Mr. Hawkeye said that you're the resident matchmaker."

Natasha sat up straighter. "Oh?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

Peter thrust his phone at her. "I have video evidence of Captain America being totally gone on Mr. Stark."

"Explain," Natasha said, clipped, even as she opened up his phone.

Peter did not ask how she knew his nine-digit code. Instead, he dutifully recounted, "So Mr. Stark decided we should swap playlists, ostensibly so I could listen to 'good music' but I think he wanted to see what the kids are into. I get some of my songs from TikTok and I think one of them is a bit of an ear-worm for him."

Natasha thumbed open his gallery and went directly to his last video, taking only a moment to turn the volume up. In it, she saw Tony in the common kitchen, fixing himself up a cup of coffee. He was swaying slightly like he did when he was humming. Steve was sipping a protein shake at the table, as if he was not glancing at Tony every other shift back-and-forth.

"I, wish I could synthesize, the picture perfect guy," Tony suddenly mumbled out loud, in that way he did when he had no idea his brain-to-mouth filter had stopped working. "Six, feet tall, and super strong--"

Steve perked up, sitting straight from where he'd been leaning on table.

"--We'd always get along--"

Steve flopped back onto the wood surface and took a morose sip from his protein shake.

Natasha felt her mouth drop open in shock as she watched Tony, oblivious, go back to humming and turn to leave the room. Despite Steve's obvious disappointment, it didn't stop him from tipping in his seat to be able to see Tony's ass properly.

"I'm going to kill him," Natasha decided.

"That's not the crime I wanted to be partners for," Peter cut in.

Natasha lifted her gaze to him, scowling. "He will express his feelings for Tony or die."

"...Hmm, " Peter hummed again. If he remembered correctly, both Sam and Bucky had said that Natasha expressed her affection to the people she cared about with cheesy jokes and threats to their lives. Steve would be fine, probably. "He didn't even sing the best part," he sighed instead.

Natasha slanted another sharp look toward him. "Oh yeah?"

"'He'd pick me up at eight, and not a minute later, 'cause I don't like to wait,'" Peter recited. "'Kind, and ain't afraid to cry, or treat his mama right. That's right, that's what I like.' Which, like, Captain America would rather bleed out than cry, but he doesn't sound constipated when he tells other people it's okay. Also I wish he would be less punctual," he added mulishly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Aunt May keeps raising her eyebrows at me when he shows up to pick me up for training and I'm not ready."

Natasha bit back the urge to howl in rage. Of course Tony would get a song basically about Steve stuck in his head and not notice. Of course he wouldn't notice Steve panting after him like a dog. They were both stupid. That's why she was there, though, she supposed. "I will do the actual crimes," she told Peter firmly. "And you will keep your mouth shut."

"There will be actual crime!?" Peter yelped.

Natasha ignored him, instead returning to his phone and scrolling for more blackmail on Steve. He was the weakest link in this chain of idiocy. "Keep that up, Mr. Man."

"Oh boy," Peter sighed, shoulders sagging. There was some regret in his tone.

Good. It would solidify that modicum of fear he should keep about her.

#ideas #team as family #stony

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nolita-fairytale · 9 months

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burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter nine

summary: you catch up with an old friend and luca makes you dinner.

warnings: fluff, eventual angst not use of y/n, conversations about divorce, slow burn, baby, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the storyline of the bear.

word count: 3.3k

listen to: the official 'burn your life down' playlist (songs mentioned in chapter are in this playlist!)

a/n: i've always pictured mathilde & jesper as the chalamet siblings AND astrid is in fact played by rina sawayama i don't make the rules (i do). thank you for all comments, reblogs, and screaming at me because we are all obsessed. seriously, it's an honor and i'm just so excited that you all are just as excited as me. let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist.

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

You spend your first Sunday afternoon without Luca, for the first time in a few weeks, deep cleaning your home. Between your new relationship and your work at the restaurant, you’d found yourself falling behind on chores. But he’d worked the late shift last night, filling in for a cook who called out, which is how you’d ended up with a night and morning of divine alone time.

With your headphones on, it’s easy to multitask, simultaneously folding clothes while you catch up with your friend, formerly-sister-in-law, over the phone.

“Anyways, work’s kept me so damn busy that I’ve barely had a moment in my own home but… we are all doing quite alright over here,” she explains, after detailing her travels all across Europe.

Being a buyer for Nordstrom UK keeps her on the road, or rather, in the sky, at a frequent rate.

“Well I’m glad you called. It’s good to hear from you. And It’s really good to catch up, Astrid,” you say, smiling to yourself as you finish folding a pile of t-shirts.

“Well, just because you and Joe didn’t work out doesn’t change anything. You’re still my sister,” she replies, with a small laugh. “We’re family, regardless of the fact that he couldn’t keep a good thing around.”

“Astrid! You know it wasn’t like that,” you protest, though you know it’s all in jest.

“I know,” she sighs, and you can practically hear her rolling her eyes from all the way to England. “Selfishly, I’m just feeling a bit contrary about it, is all. But enough about me. How are you? How’s everything at the restaurant?”

“It’s been great. I… can’t believe that I have a restaurant,” you answer as you shake your head in disbelief.

“God, I’ve gotta get out there soon. I haven’t stopped thinking about that lumache from my last visit – what was it – last November? Yeah, it’s been too long,” Astrid recalls lightheartedly.

“Yeah, it really has. Just let me know. You know I’m always up for hosting you,” you agree, hopeful that she’ll come visit soon.

“Besides work, what else’s new? And don’t tell me you’re still just burying yourself in the restaurant because I don’t want to hear it,” she asks, a curious tone in her voice as she segways from work to

“Well um…” you trail off, treading lightly over the delicate subject.

The thing you want to tell her about is Luca, because he is what’s new in your life. His presence in your life is evident – it’s in the pair of sweatpants he tossed in with your laundry that you’re folding now, the spare toothbrush you ‘lent’ him that sits right next to yours, and the way that thinking of him makes your heart race.

You don’t want to lie to her… but you’re also not sure what the etiquette is either.

It’s not like this is included in the divorcee handbook you never got in the first place.

“I’m… sort of seeing someone,” you admit, hesitantly.

“What?!” she gasps, instantly giddy with excitement. “Yeah, we uh…” you hesitate, testing the waters since she seems excited about it. “We’ve been dating for about a month now, maybe.”

“Shut up! That’s mega! How’d you meet? Tell me everything,” she gushes.

“Well, he actually came into the restaurant. Kind of became a regular and uh…” you explain, and she can hear the smile in your voice as you do. “He’s great. You’ll love this story, actually. He’s also a chef – a pastry chef. One night after coming in, he left a box of croissants for my staff and a handwritten note inviting me to come to the restaurant he works at. It was very….”

“Romantic. Wow…” Astrid adds, too excited for you as she listens. “And a bold move. Knows what he wants. I like him already.”

“Yeah, he’s… he’s really incredible. I swear. He has the patience of a saint, especially as I’ve uh… you know, I’ve been trying to figure this whole… dating after you end your marriage kinda thing,” you continue, chuckling in response to the awkwardness of it all.

“We were friends actually, for a while. Just friends, which, I know you’ll yell at me about when you see what he looks like. But I think it was good for us, for me, really – to be friends first.”

“Well, now you have to send me a picture,” she requests, even more intrigued as you fiddle with your phone, pulling up a photo you took of Luca the other day.

You wait a beat. Then another, seeing that the photo has been delivered as Astrid shrieks in your ear.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me, mate?!” she practically screams.

“I know,” you squeal.

“You are absolutely unbelievable,” she shakes her head, staring at the gorgeous blonde on her screen. “How did you not jump right into bed?!”

“Trust me,” you reply, the room suddenly feeling 5 degrees hotter. “After we agreed to start seeing each other, we didn’t wait very long.”

”Sounds like you have a boyfriend,” Astrid comments smugly, as she waits for your reaction. You have expect yourself to panic, but you don’t as you the words tumble out of your mouth.

“I… it does sound that way, doesn’t it?” you ask her, your voice soft as you reply.

“Absolutely, my darling,” Astrid replies, before changing the subject. “Okay, so how’s the sex?!”

“Astrid!” you protest with a laugh. “Do you really want to-?”

“Of fucking bloody course I do! Now spill!” she demands.

You pause, grinning as your cheeks blush.

“It’s fucking incredible,” you admit, eliciting a giggle from your friend.

“Shit, babe,” she sighs, contently. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” you say back, because you’re pretty damn happy too. “Astrid, will you keep this between us? It’s just that it’s all still so new and….”

You pause.

“I just don’t want Joe to hear it from anyone but me.”

“Of course,” she replies, compassionately, in deep understanding.

“What else are sisters for?”

-------------------------------

You showed up to Luca’s flat uncertain of what to expect, but then he’d pulled you into his home and kissed you like you’d been on his mind all day – and in his defense, you really had.

“Why don’t you come over Sunday night, then? Let me cook you dinner for a change,” he had suggested as you were figuring out your schedules for the week.

“You sure you’ll be up for that after working overtime this week?” you’d asked in response.

“I’ll be alright, love,” he’d answered, like he had unlimited energy when it came to you.

And even though you’d asked him if you should bring dessert – only to be met with a cheeky comment about you being dessert – you showed up anyway with a matcha basque cheesecake in hand and a deli container filled with a yuzu scented whipped cream to top it with.

So this is how you find yourself perched on top of Luca’s kitchen island countertop, after having watched his exceptional knife skills for the last thirty. You spend your evening snacking on sliced sourdough bread you’re not sure how he had the time to make, and sip on your glass of red wine while watching him prepare a coq au vin. You swear you’ve got hearts in your eyes when you look at him, watching his muscular, inked forearms flex with how he grips his chef’s knife. As music plays softly in the background, a playlist you can only imagine is the entirety of Luca’s music library put on shuffle, you busy yourself, refilling your wine glass for your second glass of the night.

“Want another, babe?” you ask him, noticing that he’s on his way to empty as well.

“Sure. Thank you, my love,” he replies, scooping a handful of chopped carrots up from his cutting board with a bench scraper, depositing them into a small bowl. You watch as Luca picks up his glass of wine and makes his way over to you.

He hands you the glass, then places a gentle kiss against your lips, a smile spreading across his lips. Luca takes a few steps away so that you can fill his glass again, making a few swift movements to turn the heat down on the gas burner.

“How was your day?” he asks, while still moving around his kitchen.

You fill him in on your productive day of chores and catching up with an old friend while Luca listens, busy with removing the pieces of chicken out from the heavy, enameled, cast-iron pot and onto a plate. By the time Luca’s added hot oil to the pot, followed by the chopped carrots and peeled, halved cipollini onions, you’ve caught him up on the long version of Jesper’s latest love-life updates, since he and Claudio have now decided to make it official.

“So you used to make this with your mom?” you ask curiously, changing the subject as you watch Luca scrape the browned bits off the bottom of the pot.

He nods in response, stealing a glance your way, his lips turned up into a half smile.

“Yeah. Most coq au vins can take up to three to four hours, but my mum didn’t have the time,” Luca explains, as you watch him remove the pieces of chicken from out of the heavy, enameled, cast-iron pot and onto a plate. “But it was important for her… to cook for me… to share that ritual with me when she could.”

The sound of the wine and cognac mixture hitting the hot pan sizzles throughout Luca’s home, your nose filling with the smell of deglazed caramelized bits.

“And I spent a lot of time as a kid watching the cooking channel, so while we didn’t exactly spend all Sunday cooking a classic French coq au vin, Jamie Oliver’s did the job quite well,” Luca recalls, sharing a piece of his relationship with food with you.

“Well, it smells incredible,” you say, as he approaches you once more, this time with a full glass of wine in your hands, ready for him.

As Luca leans in again, the way he kisses you is much more languid, slow, like time is limitless. You breathe him in, completely enamored with the man that’s kissing you, and before anything too wild can happen, he pulls away, leaving you wanting more. Luca smirks, and you swear he knows the effect he has on you. He presses a quick peck to your lips this time, before taking the glass of wine from your hands and heading back to his post in front of the stovetop.

“This all goes back in,” he continues, using tongs to add the chicken and pancetta bits back into the simmering pot. “Then we braise it in the oven for about… thirty, forty minutes maybe.”

You raise your glass of wine to your lips, taking a quick sip of the beaujolais you’re using both for the coq au vin and to unwind, listening as the song changes in the background, instantly recognizing the drum pattern. The corners of your lips turn up into a smile as you close your eyes, enjoying the familiarity of the song as you say:

“God, I love this song.”

Luca smiles, “It’s a classic. Great song.”

Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick

The one that makes me scream, she said

The one that makes me laugh, she said

Threw her arms around my neck

“You know, I saw them when I was in my early 20s. It was just me and a bunch of somebody’s dads,” you grin, in reference to The Cure.

Luca chuckles at your comment, before asking, “Did you really?”

“Yes. And when they came out on stage, smoke machine and all, I wept because it was the fulfillment of a childhood dream – to see them. I… was a bit of an angsty teen,” you answer, raising your wine glass to your lips once more.

“Think we all had an angsty phase, more or less. Mine was less pining to The Cure and more stirrin’ up trouble,” Luca admits, lightheartedly.

“Again, and I’m holding you to it. You promised me pictures,” you remind him with aplomb.

“I did, yeah,” he chuckles, shyly, with a sigh of resignation.

You focus on enjoying one of your favorite songs and sipping on your glass of wine, as you watch Luca put the enameled cast-iron plot, full of the ready-to-braise coq au vin, into the oven.

Comfortable silences between you and Luca have become more frequent. There are days that all you want to do is stay up till the early hours of the morning talking and kissing and fucking, and there are others that you love leaning into the quiet intimacy that seems to be developing between you. It’s almost as if you’ve forgotten what this feels like – the excitement of something new where you’re learning so much about each other and everything feels like the first time.

It’s thrilling and it’s also safe.

Luca makes you feel safe, and you can’t imagine doing this with anyone else but him.

For a first time relationship, post-divorce, you really hit the jackpot, you think to yourself.

Luca continues moving around the kitchen, drinking his wine in between clean up tasks, as if he’s at work, hell bent on keeping his station clean. He’s much better than you are at that, you observe, as he does a few dishes that he’s used up, instead of leaving them in the sink for tomorrow.

As he dries his hands on a dish towel, the song changes, and the opening notes of Beyonce’s Love On Top begin playing. You smile as you hear the undeniable:

Bring the beat in!

“Alright, mate. Hear me out,” Luca proposes, spinning around with excitement. “And I don’t say this lightly. But this. This is one of the greatest songs of all time.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you giggle as you watch Luca dance to the song in his kitchen with a smoothness that’s somehow simultaneously a little silly.

“What? You don’t agree?” he asks, shooting you a look as he ball changes towards you, earning another laugh from you.

“No, I do. I love this song,” you grin from ear to ear. “I’m just so tickled by the fact that you love this song.”

“It’s Beyonce,” he defends, in his best ‘well-duh’ kind of tone, gesturing wildly. “C’mon. Let’s dance.”

“Wh-,” you begin to say, before Luca’s practically pulling you off of the counter to join him. “Luca!!”

But he’s not having any of your protests as he wraps his arms around you. You hang onto him, holding him close as he leads you in a silly uptempo kind of dance, spinning and turning you with him in a way that has you in a fit of giggles. The two of you stumble from his kitchen into the living space area as you move together, embracing how goofy and ridiculous you both feel.

Luca sings along softly, something you get a better listen to as soon as he’s pulling you close to him.

“What the fuck!” you practically shriek, your jaw practically on the floor.

“Hmm?” he hums in response, unphased by your outburst.

“You’re unfuckingreal,” you balk, as you listen to him hum along to the Beyonce song. “I mean. You-, like, you look like this, you’re great in bed, and you have a nice singing voice? How-, how’s a girl ever supposed to stand a chance?”

He chuckles, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, sending chills down your spine as he coos, teasingly, “I’m great in the sack, hmm?”

Your heart skips a beat as you pull back, just enough to look into the eyes of your lover as you say, “Oh fuck off.”

He laughs again, this time, leaving a soft kiss against your ear, hugging you closer to him as you slow your dance down as the song begins to end. There’s a pause between this and the next song, providing the perfect opportunity for Luca to answer your earlier question.

“You weren’t,” Luca replies, his voice quiet but sure. Supposed to stand a chance, he means. “I think we were supposed to meet. Supposed to be here.”

Supposed to fall in love.

He leans down to kiss you as the next song begins, transitioning into a much bluesier sound. The crooning sounds of Etta James blast from Luca’s living room speakers, as you smile into the kiss. You groan, your heart aching in the best way as kiss him to:

I want a Sunday kind of love

A love to last past Saturday night

And I'd like to know it's more than love at first sight

And I want a Sunday kind of love, oh yeah, yeah

“My God. I think tonight’s shuffle is proof that you may just have the most versatile taste in music history,” you mumble, pulling away for a moment from the kiss.

As you open your eyes, Luca’s just admiring you, an awestruck look on his face that steals your breath. No longer able to deflect with humor or anything else really, you lay your head on his chest, settling into the soft swaying motion of the dance that you and Luca have fallen into. Your arms go around his neck once more as Luca holds you close to him, making a mental note to remember this forever.

“How did you know?” you ask Luca, softly.

“What’s that, love?” he asks back.

“You said that you thought we might be good at this. At… at an ‘us.’ When we talked about starting to see each other,” you begin, choosing your words carefully, underscored by the violins of the song.

Luca takes a deep breath admitting that, “I didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, looking up at him, your eyes full of adoration for the man that’s captured your heart.

“Babe, I-,” he starts, letting out a small laugh. “I knew we got on well. And that I liked you. And I thought… if we got on this well as friends and you felt the same, that we could give it a go. See what happens.” He takes a beat, choosing his words, before continuing with:

“But, my love, I can’t predict the future. It could work out in the long run, it could not. But I wanted-, I want to see how far we can take it.”

You take a deep breath, because this conversation is deep-breath worthy.

Notorious for wanting to read the last page of a book first, you know he’s right, that you can’t predict the future, and you, now just as much as he does, would like to see how far this could go.

“Yeah it-, that makes complete sense,” you stammer, feeling incredibly vulnerable all of a sudden. You rest your head against his chest again, settling back into your slow sway to the beat.

Like clockwork, the song ends, something a little more upbeat trickling in through the speakers. You and Luca remain in each others’ arms, content to stay here forever. You’re amazed at his confidence, at his fearlessness to take a chance on love, and you think to yourself, he might be teaching you some of that too.

“Let’s take a trip together,” Luca suggests, the low resonance of his voice cutting through the quiet. “Maybe end of the month or something. An end of summer trip.” He chuckles, a hand coming up to stroke your hair as you enjoy the way his voice vibrates in his chest.

“Fuck it. I could care less if we make it in time for the end of summer. Let’s just get out of the city together.”

“That sounds spectacular,” you answer.

And it’s there, in Luca’s arms after a dance party for two, that you think to yourself, you couldn’t be happier.

#chef luca #will poulter #luca the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear headcanon #luca x reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #chef luca x reader #pastry chef luca #burn your life down

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cryptomiracle · 3 months

Text

★ creepypasta music headcanons ★

characters mentioned:

ticci toby, nina the killer, jane the killer, clockwork, eyeless jack, jeff the killer.

★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆

WARNINGS (?)

I apologize if any of the genres are wrong, I looked most of them up on google.

I do not own any of the songs/albums I'm also not part of the bands mentioned, nor am I the singer/songwriter.

I claim NO ownership to any of them.

Also, if any of these bands/singers are involved in any serious controversies, please tell me so I can replace them.

Please understand that these are headcanons, and may not be 100% accurate to the characters themselves.

(I just felt like I should say that before I start this)

★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆

Ticci toby

Midwestern emo / indie rock

Duster, modern baseball, the smiths, mom jeans, neutral milk hotel, merchant ships, etc.

He thinks he's super cool and special because of his music taste

He's the type of person to say stuff like "YOU CAN'T POSSIBLY LIKE THIS SONG THE WAY I LIKE THIS SONG"

he will argue with someone over the smiths

He likes to sit outside in the snow and smoke a cigarette while listening to music, even though he got hypothermia once from doing that.

Nina the killer

crunkcore / metalcore / rap

Bullet for my valentine, brokencyde, millionaires, breathe carolina, dot dot curve, hollywood undead, etc.

she goes around the manor saying "BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, POW, POW, POW, POW" (dot dot curve song reference) all the time, and it gets on everyone's nerves

there's not a time when she isn't listening to music tbh, even when she's out killing

sometimes she'll make her victims listen to one of her playlists and rate it, if they give it a good rating she'll give them a fast and easy death, but if they give it a bad rating.. slow and painful.

Clockwork

rock and roll / glam metal

Joan jett & the blackheart's, guns n' roses, the rolling stones, ramones, queen, the runaways, etc.

Joan jett is her idol

Her walls are COVERED in band posters, and she also collects old magazines just cause she thinks they're cool

She knows how to play guitar, the only reason she learned how to play was because of slash from guns n' roses

She will try to fight you if you talk shit about her favorite bands

Jane the killer

dark wave / post punk / gothic rock

siouxsie and the banshees, she past away, bauhaus, the cure, london after midnight, lycia etc

She's a fan of the cure, tobys a fan of the smiths.. they fight, a lot.

she collects a lot of cd/tapes of her favorite bands, and plays them ALLLL the time

if she's not too busy sometimes she'll go to a goth club, she doesn't really dance though.. she'll just stand at the back of the club and vibe

She usually doesn't care about other people's opinions when it comes to music, but if you diss robert smith she's throwing hands.

Eyeless Jack

Alternative hip-hop / britpop / psychedelic pop

Blur, tame Impala, oasis, MF DOOM, beastie boys, out kast, etc.

he will correct you if you spell it "mf doom" instead of "MF DOOM" but other than that, he's a pretty chill guy

He secretly thinks that blur is a bit better than oasis, but he'll never say that out loud.

he doesn't take music too seriously

he has a "each to their own" mentality when it comes to music

he does collect records though, and if he sees even a tiny scratch on one of his records he freaks out.

If you need a good playlist to listen to during a smoke sesh, he's your guy.

Jeff the killer

dsbm / hardcore punk / death metal

Woods of desolation, bathory, cradle of filth, forgotten tomb, carcass, the exploited, etc.

Regularly calls people "posers" and he will make you name eight songs instead of five

he thinks any other music is overrated, and will voice that opinion.

Average reddit user (I'm sorry)

He looks cool as hell in corpse paint though

He frequently goes to shows, but he has no "mosh pit etiquette" if he sees someone fall, he'll just stomp over them and continue moshing.

#creepypasta #headcanon #creepypasta headcanon #jeff the killer #nina the killer #clockwork #ticci toby headcanons #ticci toby #headcanons #jeff the killer headcanons #jane the killer #jane the killer headcanons #eyeless jack headcanon #eyeless jack #music #nina the killer headcanons #clockwork headcanons

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toulousewayne · 3 months

Text

Batfamily Shenanigans:Head-canons Pt: 4

The Wayne family attends Gala all the time. Some have for years, but that doesn’t mean that all enjoy them. Bruce and Damian attend them purely for appearances, Dick is there to kept his siblings from burning down the building, Jason always sneaks in as different undercover identities, Tim has to go because he has to also keep up appearances but most of the time you will find him indirectly call the investors idiots. Duke and Steph are at the snack table, Cass sticks next to Babs at the table and they watch the chaos together. Alfred joins them sometimes.

It comes as to no shock that Tim has severe Narcolepsy, but Dick and Bruce have insomnia.

Damian watched Tim while he sleeps. No one knows when he started but he always tells the other it’s because Tim is prone to falling. Which is lie but no one ever stops him.

Stephanie is very skilled mechanic, sometimes when there’s down time she’s found repairing or working on of the bat bikes or the Batmobile.

Dick Grayson is color blind. It’s only when he comments on Stephanie’s brown sweater that Jason points out to him. Barbara and Bruce knew the whole time and just thought he was doing it to be funny, it comes as a shock to Dick though.

Duke and Cass go to the flee market every Sunday. The buy fresh produce and eggs for Alfred. Cass even thrifts a few clothing pieces.

Speaking of Clothes, no one has all their clothes anymore. Jason’s hoodies are always stole from the manor, his safehouses in the city and out of the country it doesn’t matter. They’ll usually end up in Cass, Tim or Steph’s closet. Dick’s T-shirts are public domain at this point because all his siblings have at least one of them. Barbara can never find her fuzzy socks until she visit the manor next and find them on Damian and Stephanie’s feet. Tim’s jewelry is always around Cass’ neck. Damian is the only safe because no one can fit his stuff but he does get Duke and Tim’s clothes they’ve outgrown.

Cass will sometimes spend time with Alfred in the cave repairing the suits. She’s very good at sewing.

Selina is lactose intolerant, Bruce finds this hilarious.

Duke took dance classes sense he was eight. He can dance the waltz, break dance, ballet, jig, salsa, and a few others.

Bruce allowed Tim create the design of the newest bat tech.

Alfred enjoys his tea with sugar and crème, Damian of course likes sugar and lemon. They have weekly tea parties in the sunroom with Alfred the cat and Titus.

Dick has the most mixed playlist of songs. So, whether he’s on a steal out with Bruce, driving Damian to soccer practice, or even just cleaning his apartment by himself he’s got something for everyone.

Barbara loves Amy Winehouse, she plays her record several times a day in the Clocktower.

While on the subject of music, Tim can sing and it was very embarrassing when his family found out. Tim was in his room singing with his headphones on but his door was open and he didn’t realize how loud he was. Dick and Steph came across him singing. Stephanie record it and sent it to the group. Tim was embraced by his family for his beautiful voice and they wanted to hear more, but poor Tim wanted the world to swallow him whole. Jason can play guitar and Dick can’t sing well but he can also play guitar in addition to the bass.

Damian is able to find his family with little tech involved. The OG Titans came back to the tower after helping Donna with a mission and Robin was perched in their living room. He gave Wally a heart attack. Tim was having a game night with Conner,Bart, and Cassie and the scream Bart unleashed when they found Damian in the kitchen starring at the pizza boxes on the counter and questioned Tim on lack of a proper diet.

Clark has nearly broken the sound barrier twice over not being able to hear Bruce’s heartbeat. Luckily both times Bruce had to slow his heart rate to be near death to escape sticky situations and both were ended due to a worried Krypton.

“I wanted Red Claw to think I was dead, I had to slow my heart rate to throw her off.”

“AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO SAY THAT TO ME, I WAS IN AUSTRALIA?”

Speaking of the Man of Steel, when Dick was freshly Robin and before Clark married Lois, the Boy Wonder tried to set up his father and Clark on several blind dates. Once he canceled a date of Bruce’s and rescheduled a business dinner for Clark and the two ended up on a romantic balcony date in Metropolis. They were both shocked and a blushing mess. It got worse when the waiter address the “Happy Couple” has was instructed from the reservation that Dick set.

Robin got an ear full the next morning from Bruce but to Dick it was worth it and even Alfred may have pulled a string or two.

Another time Bruce couldn’t watch Dick and Alfred was visiting London for the next week and Bruce had to Wayne Enterprises Event. He asked Clark if he could watch Dick for the night and of course he offered.

Not even five minutes after he left did Dick turn to Clark,”So, your dating my Father?”

Clark was as red as his cape and he tried to explain to Dick they are just friends. “Whatever you say Clark, but just curious would you take his last name or will he take yours? Because honestly I don’t see why you can’t use both—“

Clark cover his face as the young bird continued to show his support for his favorite ship.

“Are you also gonna adopt me too now?”

“Okay, time to see what time your Father’s coming back.” He sighed.

117 notes · View notes

sunkissedchldrecon · 1 year

Text

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚

the piles go from left to right. therefore, pile one is the new jeans CD, pile two is NCT, and so on and so forth.

take your time to use your intuition to choose the pile that will best resonate with you. lastly, please don’t be afraid to say if the message resonated or not. it helps me in determining if my interpretations are correct or not, and i appreciate any sort of feedback - even if it’s “bad”.

good luck to you, reader 💿

𝐃𝚰𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝚰𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒:

this PAC includes mentions of specific celebrities! this is in an attempt to describe the energy of each pile.

in one pile's moodboard example, i use a tweet from stan twitter to visualize how one's fandom might be. i don't necessarily agree with the example tweet, but it was a good example of the pile's energy, so i used it. it doesn't imply or show my true feelings about that fandom or artist.

additionally, sections of this PAC make reference to adult topics such as sex, drugs, alcohol, addiction, and more. please use your discretion when reading your or each pile.

𝐈

Your Playlist:

Cards:

Queen of Swords, The Fool, Four of Wands, Two of Coins

King of Wands (Rx), Ten of Cups, Eight of Cups (Rx), The Devil, Four of Coins, Nine of Coins

Page of Coins, The Emperor

Knight of Swords (Rx), Ten of Swords, King of Swords, Page of Cups

The Star

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be soloists.

the music you make would be hard-hitting and active! tons of choreography would be involved, and you'd make people want to learn your dances even if they weren't professional dancers! a significant amount of your songs might even go viral on platforms like tiktok. your music would be a fresh breath into the music industry; you would probably write your own songs and not be afraid to venture into a variety of music genres. you might do surprise releases (like beyoncé did with her self-titled album)! you'd gain tons of success with your works, so much so that you'd end up throwing celebration parties often due to it! you might find it hard to keep up with so much work (you're probably booked and busy with interviews, concerts, promotions, etc.), but you also love the lifestyle, and that energy shows through the music you make.

in your musical career, you may come off as some sort of diva who knows how to talk their way to success. you come off as someone who has a great personal and professional life. you would have the type of career and life others' dream of having. you may stay in a healthy relationship. again, most of your songs would be upbeat and about happiness - which may be a breath of fresh air in relation to more emotional, heavy music. as you continue throughout your career, you may lean towards that emotional music because of depression or life struggles. you may be worried about the future of your career after your "prime". this might be after a period of time of years of hard work and seemingly little rest; you might fall into addictions to materialism, drugs, or alcohol. you will be protected though! people will be looking out for you and steer you back onto the right path which will keep you from going downhill.

your fans would look up to you a lot. it's giving "these are my kids" energy. you may pay off their student loans or even party with some of them on a night out if you see them. you might appeal to a younger crowd - teens, college, and early adults. your fans see you as fair and as a pillar of authority. they look to you to determine how to move and act as a fandom. you act as the compass for order in their eyes. whatever you say to do, they will do. want to win a specific award? your fans will make sure they buy enough albums and vote enough for you to win it. want to collab with a specific artist? your fans will flood that person's timeline to make sure you two interact. it's almost like they fulfill your wishes! it reminds me of the saying ARMYs have about "anything yoongi wants, yoongi gets".

the general public may have some conflict with you. some people may be prejudiced towards you (maybe because of race, gender, sexuality). some of the public will be hasty to judge you and bash you. this feeling will change fairly quickly. the public will realize they were wrong to judge you and feel horrible about what they did. some people may pray for your downfall and instead bring their own because it's like negativity towards you is reflected back on those who want to harm you; this goes back to you being heavily protected. in the end, the general public will see you as trustworthy and fair. some will think you're very innovative and great at executing your creative ideas. you could become a county's favorite artist. kind of like how Girls Generation is seen as the "Nation's Girl Group'' in South Korea - that would be your title as a soloist. the general public would end up doting over you and loving you.

𝐈𝐈

Your Playlist:

Cards:

Knight of Swords, The Devil, Four of Wands (Rx), The Hermit

Four of Coins, Five of Cups, King of Wands

The Moon (Rx), The Sun

Page of Coins, The Emperor (Rx)

Ace of Coins

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group.

you'd probably be the main rapper in this group. your group's music would be fast-paced and energetic. tons of choreography and you all would do major concept changes often. you all would also travel often or experiment with different cultural music. your sound would be bold - you might talk about taboo topics (ie. addiction, sex, violence, obsessions, death). your music might get spoiled before release. there may also be some times when the album is expected to debut on a certain day, and it isn't released until later - maybe because of music clearances or lack of preparation. your music would force people to confront difficult life topics instead of ignoring them. you all would also help people with mental health issues because they relate to the music so well.

your group would achieve a ton, but i still think your company would be a little tight on finances. your company may be cutting it close to making payments on time, but you and the other members would be financially stable. the company would stay afloat, but it's like they struggle with money management maybe? you also would have a strong fanbase and a strong personal group sound (even while exploring so many genres). i feel like your company's struggles would impact the group and bring down morale. you all would have good successes but it's like your company takes you one step forward and three steps back. regardless, you all pushing through would just create more inspiration for music which in turn makes your fans appreciate and relate to you all more.

i feel like fans would feel very protective and proud of you. the mismanagement of funds happening within the company would be revealed to the fans and public, but your fandom still has fierce loyalty to you all. they outwardly call out the mismanagement and want better for you all. you might have a lot of sasaengs because of fans' fierce loyalty to you. specific to you, fans may feel like you're very masculine or heavily into you masculine energy. you may be seen as the "sunshine" of the group. people look to you for happiness; there may be tons of compilations of your funny moments. you're like a light to a room to your fans and others.

the general public learns a lot from you all. that sounds nice, but i think they mostly learn how not to run a company. you all definitely start important societal conversations on taboo topics like explained before, but that really gets overshadowed by company misadventures. people may see your company as young and maybe ignorant of how to be run? they'll feel like your company is abusing their power. you all may not get tons of promotion, so you may only be known to the public for your company's failures.

𝐈𝐈𝐈

Your Playlist:

Cards:

Six of Swords, Nine of Wands (Rx), Three of Coins (Rx), Page of Swords

Knight of Wands (Rx), King of Cups, Page of Cups (Rx), Three of Cups, Nine of Coins (Rx)

Five of Swords (Rx), Five of Coins, Five of Cups (Rx), Knight of Swords (Rx)

The Hierophant, Three of Wands (Rx), Six of Cups (Rx)

The Wheel of Fortune

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group.

you'd probably be a vocalist. your music would have a theme all throughout your discography. it would be very consistent, and the albums would play beautifully altogether. each song would fade into the other and almost seem like a movie with just music. people may think you steal songs or there might be plagiarism controversies. someone from the group might be ousted, and that may be talked about in the music or hang over the group for a long time. this might be connected to the music you make in that your group isn't afraid to talk about being left behind and having to forge your own journey. someone in the group may be lazy.

i think your group might break up, and you become a soloist? then, you'd be left to prove your worth in the music industry. you would come out on top, and let people know that you have a message that you're getting out regardless of the struggles you have to go through in order for it to be heard. i think ultimately you'll be left to work behind the scenes in the music industry - maybe as a songwriter or producer. it'll be the situation of people wanting to hear your words and you wanting to get them out, but it only materializes when it's told through someone else if that makes sense.

your group career would be very messy. again, some members would be lazy; others would have bad attitudes and either be jealous and even violent. there's tons of in-fighting between members, and it's a major mess for everyone involved. you personally will not be like that though! you'd be the member others feel like they can trust and confide in. you're insightful and might even protect your members who are being bullied or on the receiving end of jealousy. similarly to pile two, your group's album would experience delays - due to plagiarism, samples not being cleared, lazy members, etc.

your group produces music that's similar to what you all would be experiencing - troubled and emotional youth, manipulation, moodiness, immaturity, and unrequited love. despite all the in-group issues, you all would experience success for a time! ultimately, it will go away due to company mismanagement and all the group issues coming to light.

fans might not like you because of what messy group members say about you. they'll say you're attention seeking and manipulative even though it's other members doing those exact things and NOT you. you might feel isolated because of the hate you receive. you may think no one likes you, and you might stare off during interviews because you're being ignored. you'd feel really lonely. as you keep going, you will gain strength and feel confident enough in the fact that you know you're a good person despite others believing the opposite. you'll know your truth is more grounding that others' lies. i think this is what will ultimately lead to you preferring to be behind the scenes rather than in the light of the music industry.

i don't think the general public will hate you as much as fans seem to. the general public would be way more understanding of circumstances and would be willing to hear your side of the story rather than blindly believing you members. you'd have a major impact on the collective, and you might even become an expert in whatever you do behind the scenes. i think people will see that you were used by the machine called the music industry and would feel for you. i also think the public would pick up on the fact that you eventually feel unsure about your musical abilities. they'll see you as disorganized because of how the industry left you. your past would be at the forefront of the general public's mind, so it would be best for you to work behind the scenes, so the music can speak for itself rather than you speaking for the music.

𝐈𝐕

Your Playlist:

Cards:

Five of Swords (Rx), Queen of Coins (Rx), Six of Wands, Strength

Queen of Wands, Knight of Wands (Rx), The Magician, The Hanged Man (Rx)

Page of Swords, King of Swords, Three of Wands

The Star (Rx), Seven of Cups

Four of Cups

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐦

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group.

you'd probably be a main dancer and a vocalist (but not a main vocal). your group's music would be shocking. it would deal with topics like manipulation, gossip, paranoia, and the theme might revolve around uncovering secrets and overcoming those who want to harm you. almost like a horror concept! i'm slightly reminded of xdinary heroes or even rage against the machine. your music would seek to uncover immorality in the world and put it in the face of society instead of trying to hide it like we've been taught to. super unique concept! your listeners get the feeling that they can uncover and fight through anything after listening to your music. the music is very strong (maybe even in the rock genre for some of you), and there's a confidence in the music (including sexual confidence).

there's strong sexual themes in your music. femme fatale and dominatrix vibes are present. this group would be filled with strong female figures who are confident in who they are. in some instances, you all want to be seen as arrogant in order to provide a view of women that's not often seen in the music scene - at least not in a way where women are in control of their own power. this group would play off of gender stereotypes and archetypes in order to make a point to society. again, super creative concepts, and it might even include the occult! like divination tools might be seen in the background of some of your music videos. the point is to show young women that they can be powerful and also know when to hold back in order to show all sides of that power.

your fans might be on the younger side - teens and young adults. they will like giving you handmade messages and gifts. it's almost giving you being the older sibling, and your fans are the younger sibling who looks up to you. they learn a lot about themselves from you, and see you as this intellectual that has great creative ideas. they also see you as just and fair and might come to you for advice. they may see their future selves in you and look up to you because of that. both of you have tons of love for one another (it's so cute!).

the general public may not really like you. you may disappoint them because there's this societal view they have of how gender roles should be enforced or how your group should behave, and you all totally go against that. it's like they're thinking "that group would help themselves out if they just followed with the standards. they make it hard on themselves". they see you all as immoral and a bad influence on the younger society. they also see you all as delusional.

reader's note: do not think of the general public's view as a bad thing! personally, it's important to remember that change only comes when society is forced to confront irrational and prejudicial thinking. if anything, the general public viewing you as this is a compliment in my opinion.

𝐕

Your Playlist:

Cards:

The Lovers, Eight of Swords, The Emperor, Queen of Coins, The Star

The High Priestess, Ten of Cups, Knight of Swords

Five of Cups, Six of Wands, The Hermit

The Chariot

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group.

you'd be the face of the group/the center - maybe a visual position? your group focuses on love songs and relationships. you all would talk about all the ups and downs of creating, maintaining, and losing relationships. i feel like on the outside, the concepts of each title track might be visually very different, but the major theme of relationships would always be present. for example, there would be a very rosy and cheery song about how in love you all are in a romantic relationship (like a Twice title track), and then your next comeback would be more solemn and serious about how you lost a loved family member or something like that (like what's mentioned in DaBaby's "Gucci Peacoat"). you all would have long lasting careers and be seen as good senior musicians. you all would probably be very personally involved in the music making process. your music would be very comforting and relatable for whoever listens to it. i think you'd give many people hope when it comes to handling relationships.

i feel like the group's music heavily focuses on emotional connections - so much so that spiritual and occult elements might be present in the process or music videos and things of that nature. your group might be seen as mysterious outside of the music you all make. it's like you all are only focused on the music aspect in the public eye and don't really reveal a ton about your deep personal lives (like siblings or TMIs or things like that). you all really want to emphasize the music! you and your group members would be very close in personal and professional life! you all may feel more like family members rather than friends which will translate into the music. it's like you all will recognize that you'd achieved your dreams all together and you would cherish one another greatly for that. you all may be internationally famous or gather fame quickly - maybe as soon as you debut! it also may be super easy for you all to make and release music.

i get very despondent energy from your fans for some reason? they may frequently feel disappointed with you all - maybe because of how different title tracks and aesthetics can change for you all? it could also be that they're the type of fans that are always focused on how much bigger you all could be, so they never stop to appreciate how far you all have come and therefore they seem ungrateful. they will eventually get over this though! so maybe in the beginning they feel disappointed about how little known and unappreciated you all are, but when you blow up they feel very proud of your successes and feel like all of yours and their effort has paid off. your fans will look to you for guidance and support when it comes to mental health issues and gain personal strength from you. they may like how withdrawn you and your group can be when it comes to disclosing personal information.

i didn't get any cards when shuffling to ask how the general public would view you. i only got the bottom of the deck energy which was The Chariot. i feel like this means your success will be so widespread it's hard to contain how the public views you to a couple tarot cards that may give a more in-depth explanation. they'll see you and your group as having great drive and ambition that leads you all to great success despite a long, uphill battle that comes with pursuing a musical career. i feel like they'd be especially impressed because you all come from a small company? it's like you all started from the absolute bottom to become major stars, and the public finds that admirable.

𝐕𝐈

Your Playlist:

Cards:

Nine of Cups, The Emperor, Four of Cups, Five of Wands, Six of Wands, The Empress

The Sun, The Fool, Five of Coins (Rx), Three of Wands, Knight of Coins, Four of Swords, Knight of Cups

Three of Cups (Rx), Strength, Page of Coins

The High Priestess (Rx), Five of Swords, The Star, Six of Swords

Ace of Coins

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐠𝐲𝐧𝐲

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be a soloist.

off bat, you'd be super successful! i get the feeling you'd always be happy, and that might translate into your music. you may encourage listeners to be happy and invite abundance and gratefulness into their own lives the way you welcomed it into yours. i think you'd be very hands-on with your music, and you'd take the reins in everything you do - i'm almost reminded of beyoncé and how people view her as a perfectionist about her work. despite your perfectionist tendencies, you'd definitely be open to others' ideas, and you'd be nice to work with. people wouldn't have a bad word to say about you in that aspect. you'd be super hypnotic as a celebrity, so people would totally be drawn to you. i think you'd be open about all the "goods" and "bads" of fame. you'd talk about how financial abundance and overflowing love from people is very enticing, but isn't all it's cracked up to be. you'd be open about your struggles, and people would find that refreshing and admire you for your honesty. i think your spirit guides would be guiding you to and throughout fame because you were destined for it. you'd be spiritually protected.

you'd exude energy and success in your music. you might even make perfect manifestation music! your music would be very original, and i believe you'd write music directly from your heart. you wouldn't worry about being "too vulnerable" because you want to be because it's like that's the essence of music for you. you take setbacks from your life and still find hope in them in order to take good from the indecipherable bad. i think that's what would make your music most unique. you'd treat music as your past, present, and future and because of how close you hold it to your heart, it becomes obvious in your music. the point of your music is to show personal growth, and people would connect with that immediately. i also think relationships and romance would be important in your music since your emotions would always be in your songwriting. your breakups, makeups, and new connections would always be written and released to the public - i'm reminded of Taylor Swift and Ariana Grande.

fans (or maybe more so the general public?) may see you like the two artists i just mentioned are viewed - promiscuous, always in a relationship, and maybe even excessive and overindulgent in life and financial endeavors. others will say that you're confident in yourself and your sexuality and find that empowering. they see you as someone who is secure in themself and doesn't need public approval to do whatever you want. there's a subtle, grand confidence in you that people see. your fans may want to be like you and be students of you, writing your every word down. you might be popular with teens and young adults.

the general public will see you as someone who is secretive and doing shady things behind the scenes. they'll feel like your energy and personality is too good to be true. they'll say you're immoral and maybe even involved with the illuminati or something like that. some might even say you're misusing spirituality or witchcraft to get your fame. people would want to speak negatively on you and cause you distress; they might often engage in smear campaigns to lower your credibility. for others, you give them hope. overall, people's negative intentions will not matter because, as said before, you'd be heavily spiritually protected. you'll be able to brush off smear campaigns and negative, false publicity very easily. your foundation is too strong to be broken by bullies and those who are so miserable in their own lives they push it onto others.

𝐕𝐈𝐈

Your Playlist:

Cards:

Knight of Swords, King of Coins, The High Priestess (Rx), Three of Cups (Rx)

Ten of Swords, Nine of Swords (Rx), Three of Wands, Knight of Coins

Queen of Cups, Ten of Cups (Rx), The Fool, Page of Cups

Five of Cups, Five of Wands, King of Wands (Rx)

Judgment

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be a soloist.

you'd be very involved in the musical process. you'd likely write most (if not, all) of your music. anything you make is sure to be a hit. you're ambitious with your ideas, and you're quick to create and hop onto new trends. i get the feeling you wouldn't trust your musical abilities despite how they always seem to work out for you. maybe you need a ton of outside support to finally decide "okay, this is a good idea". you might even be older than expected when you become a musical artist. you might feel unfulfilled in life in general and especially in the music industry despite your successes. you might spend way more money than you have, or you might just flaunt your wealth excessively. you might rely on drugs, alcohol, or sexual adventures as an escape from your feelings of loneliness. it seems you'd be successful but unhappy.

your music may include information about the traumas you have. whatever is causing you to turn to your addictions will be explicitly mentioned in the music you put out. a lot of your music may mention themes like grief, depression, and hardship. it's like your music allows for you to constantly relive your traumatic experiences and that makes it hard for you to heal or create different thematic content if that makes sense. i think once you gained success you thought you would be happy, but it only made it worse because you realized fame and money does not automatically bring happiness. ultimately, i think those around you will urge you to gain confidence and help you to know you're on the right path. you'd slowly but surely become more emotionally stable and start traveling more and feeling more happiness.

your fans would see you as very in tune with your intuition and femininity or feminine energy. they'd see you as caring, sensitive, and emotional. i think that's because those are the elements you use to make your music. they also see you as wildly artistic and creative. they might feel like you come up with music and ideas that no one else would even think of. they'd see you as an innovator. i also think they'd see you as broken or coming from traumatic and undesirable circumstances. i think they'd recognize and feel your pain. they'd view your life in the music industry and your fame as a new beginning for you and would see it as a chance for you to be free from what's hurt you. they might like writing out their love for you through social media campaigns or through giving you handwritten letters. they'd see you as someone who is constantly growing and learning, and they'd feel happy seeing you happy.

the general public may have wishy-washy feelings towards you. they might find out about your addictions and feel disappointed with you. some people will feel empathetic and recognize how your misfortunes affect you and may have the view of "oh, it's horrible that they went through that. i hope they no longer do that and start feeling better and happier". others will feel like you're selfish and didn't appreciate what you were given if you engaged in your addictions while you were successful. they might think "they gained all that money and fame, so why even go down the route of addiction? they were just wallowing in their sadness". very different points of view, so the general public would feel split on their feelings towards you overall.

𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

Your Playlist:

Cards:

Ten of Coins, King of Wands, Five of Wands, Temperance, Four of Wands

Nine of Swords (Rx), The Emperor (Rx), Five of Swords, Three of Cups

The Devil (Rx), King of Coins, Six of Cups

Ten of Wands, The Hanged Man

Knight of Coins

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬; 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be a soloist.

you might be discovered purely by "chance". maybe you posted a song cover on YouTube or became popular on TikTok, and a label decided to pick you up. your music may have to do with your personal life like your family, how you gained your fame, your life history, and things of that nature. your music would be very motivational and strong. you may be very specific about your aesthetic and visuals because you want to stand out among the artist-filled industry. you would be super competitive when it came to the music game. you might be a rapper? i feel like you'd focus a ton on things like word-play. you also might like making society and listeners think about life, society, and spirituality/their life purpose. i'm reminded of artists like Jhene Aiko and J. Cole. you'd benefit a lot from your fame.

you may be a perfectionist about your craft. you might miss out on healthy sleeping and eating patterns while working on an album. you may love the idea of working yourself until you can't work anymore. you see the struggle of work as a labor of birthing these creative ideas and appreciate each time you can create something new. i know i mentioned earlier that a record label may have wanted to pick you up, but i think you might prefer to be an independent artist. you wouldn't want to be confined to company standards and expectations; you would want to focus on the music. people and companies may want you to fail because of this. they may intentionally block your music from being played on the radio or from being nominated for awards. despite this, you would still gain success from you giving to others and others finding your energy welcoming. a strong group (could be your fans or the collective) would ensure your success.

your fans would see you as someone that breaks free from the societal mold. they'd see you as someone that knows how to think for themselves even if the group wants them to think differently. they also see you as someone that knows how to keep going and growing when shit hits the fan. you'd be seen as someone that doesn't allow for life circumstances to bring them down. they'd see you as a successful business person who has the perfect ear for music and eyes for aesthetics. they may also see you as someone that is very guided spiritually. they can tell someone is watching over you to be sure you succeed in the industry.

the general public would see you as someone who made something from nothing. they may not view you as this huge, international superstar, but you would be somewhat known. some parts of the population would be able to recognize you from a photo or from the mention of your name. some of the public may feel like you're delusional in what you're trying to achieve (especially if you're an independent artist going against big companies). i think the general public would also be able to tell that you're spiritually guided and protected. parts of the public will like that you give a fresh perspective to them and the rest of society. you could begin an idea shift in the collective.

#tarot #oracle #pick a card #PAC #Spotify

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blueywrites · 1 year

Text

Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x chrissy cunningham x steve harrington x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, swingers, smut, fingering (v), oral (f & m receiving), p in v, praise kink, emotional sex, aftercare, infidelity

chapter eight : just pretend (13k) | playlist | AO3 | next

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. the songs for this chapter are #25-27. The middle song is not mentioned by name.

Weigh down on me, stay 'til morning

Way down, would you say I'm worthy?

Just Pretend — Bad Omens

The entrance ramp to the freeway is less than a quarter of a mile away. You've been inching towards it for the past fifteen minutes, fingers tapping restlessly on the steering wheel. The sunlight streams like a piercing veil through the windshield, forcing you to squint despite your sunglasses as you stare dully straight ahead, eyes fixed on the little bumper sticker family on the minivan in front of you. You've barely budged; the mile marker to your right is still winking at you mockingly, and you avoid its gaze. Damn summer rush hour traffic. Shouldn't you all be heading to the beach?

It's crazy to think that exactly one week ago, you were boarding a plane on your way to a tropical vacation in Miami. Now, not only are you back to the daily grind, driving home from the pediatrician's office in a reverse commute back into the city— a direction that usually serves you well in terms of traffic— but you're also in the midst of a major heat wave, with temperatures still close to ninety degrees at six in the evening. Hotter than it'd been in paradise, even. You'd be groaning aloud in frustration if the air conditioning wasn't blasting you in the face with a sweet, blissful chill and the radio wasn't playing Miley Cyrus' new song Flowers, which is surprisingly catchy and equally as cathartic.

'Can love me better, I can love me better, baby….' You've already caught on to some of the lyrics and are singing softly along, head bobbing as your eyes go a little unfocused, staring straight ahead. All in all, this week back to work wasn't bad. Monday was rough because you'd gotten very little sleep Sunday night, but by Tuesday, you'd thrown yourself back into your weekday routine, taking solace in its familiarity. Your head bobs a little more emphatically as Miley belts, 'I can love me better than you can—!' A delighted smile spreads across your lips as you hear the raspy strength of her voice, a smile of mutual appreciation from one singer to another. Okay, Miley, I see you—

The little bumper sticker family your eyes have been resting on is partially obscured by a wafting plume of gray.

Mind blank with confusion, you blink as another waft of gray quickly follows, streaming up from the blue hood of your old Honda Civic. Your eyes dart to the dash, and that's when you see it: the needle of your temperature gauge is now slanted up near the top of that alarming red band. The blaring orange check-engine light is just the icing on the cake.

The spike of panicked adrenaline that pierces your chest is accompanied by only one thought:

Oh, fuck.

Thankfully, fate has dealt you two small miracles this day. First, you're already in the right lane, ready to take the entrance ramp onto the freeway and thus directly adjacent to the shoulder. And second, during your Miley jam session, the minivan in front of you had moved up a few feet, leaving a sizeable gap where previously your bumpers had been nearly kissing. It's surprisingly simple to wordlessly cut your wheel to the right, pull up and over onto the wide stretch of asphalt, and turn your key to kill the engine.

You sit in your panic for the briefest moment before you're scrambling for the door handle, snatching your phone from the cupholder as you stagger from your vehicle. Thankfully, the shoulder is sizeable, and the traffic is still moving at a crawl, so you don't have to fear being hit as you put some distance between yourself and your lightly smoking vehicle. Your heart is still hammering as you unlock your phone, blood rushing in your ears as you pull up your contacts. Your finger hovers over Steve's contact picture: the two of you at the basketball game he'd taken you to for your anniversary last year.

You gaze at Steve's white smile, and you hesitate.

It's almost twenty after six, and you know Steve is on his way to happy hour with his colleague visiting from California. Part of you feels a little pang of selfishness at the thought of interrupting him, though you know he'll be more than understanding when he hears why you're calling. Another part of you whispers that there's someone better to call— someone who knows much more about cars than Steve. Someone who works with them every day, someone who can diagnose your problem and tell you, in no uncertain terms, exactly what you should do in this situation.

No picture accompanies Eddie Munson's contact card, just a little purple circle with a black 'E' in the middle. Your finger hovers there as you hesitate again. Because Eddie's text— his song— is still sitting lonely in your messages app, read but unanswered. Though it's only been five days since you'd seen or spoken to him, it's longer than you've gone without some form of contact in months. And it had felt strange, an absence you couldn't stop noticing, like the gap where a tooth had been. But you also couldn't bring yourself to fill it.

You'd tried to answer Eddie on Monday and then again on Tuesday. But every time you'd pulled it up, staring at the message he'd written and hearing the echo of his smoky voice crooning in your head, you'd been filled with a tangle of difficult emotions, woven so impossibly tight there was no unraveling them.

In the end, the reason you didn't answer Eddie was simple. You just didn't know what to say.

It weighs on you now, your conspicuous silence for the last five days. You're afraid to call him. Afraid to hear that smoke voice come through the phone sounding flat and quiet, bitten curt and short, or edged with irritation. Afraid because this week is the first week in five months that your normal group play plans haven’t been made. Albeit, it’s because Steve had another obligation, but you can’t deny that you were relieved to have an excuse not to see Eddie after your extended silence, or to see Chrissy’s lithe porcelain body, a reminder of what she is and what you are not.

But one last glance at the lingering stream of smoke still floating from underneath your hood, much thinner and weaker now but still present, has you pushing past your hesitance and tapping on the call icon. Because above all else— despite the little read receipt beneath the MP3 file, despite the dove gray paint now chipping on your nails— you know that Eddie is kind. You know he'll help you.

Eddie answers after the first ring. "Hello?"

He doesn't sound annoyed like you'd feared; instead, he sounds mostly surprised, if not confused. His voice makes that poignant yearning bloom behind your sternum, an utterly unhelpful feeling in this situation, especially since you're already on edge because of your car. You try to keep your voice from wobbling as you respond. "Hi, Eddie."

"...Hi, y/n. Ah, what's—" You hear a bit of shuffling, some noise in the background like he's somewhere out in public. "What's up?"

You're already nervous and unsure, fiddling unconsciously with the ID badge still clipped to the pocket of your scrubs. Your voice goes high, words coming quick as if your mouth is stumbling over itself to explain. "I'm sorry to call you out of the blue; I just— I didn't know—"

You cut yourself off with a quick huff of frustration, dropping the badge and forcibly stilling your fingers at your side. You take a quick breath to start again. "My car started smoking from the hood, so I had to pull over on the highway—"

"Shit—" Eddie hisses, and then his voice is suddenly louder, clearer, like he's taken you off Bluetooth or brought the phone closer to his mouth. His voice has an edge of panicked urgency as he demands, "Are you safe? Is the car still smoking?"

Your lips pinch, a flutter blooming low at the sound of his concern; you glance toward the car, watching for a moment for more wisps of gray. "No, it's not really smoking anymore. I'm okay. I'm standing on the shoulder. It's a wide shoulder, and there's a lot of traffic, so the cars are moving slow. It does look like it's clearing up, though." Are you over-explaining? Probably. "I'm right outside the city," you add as if he'd asked. "I was driving home from work."

"Okay. Okay." A heavy sigh of relief distorts on the other end of the phone, and, Eddie continues much more evenly, "Then, uh… start from the beginning and tell me what happened."

You describe what you remember happening— sitting in traffic, seeing the smoke, then noticing the spike in the temperature gauge. Brow crumpled, voice a little small, you ask Eddie, "So… what should I do?"

"Well, definitely do not drive," he says through a wry chuckle, and before you can help it, you're retorting sarcastically.

"No, really?"

You hear him husk a chuckle, warm and throaty and genuine, and the sound makes your belly flip. “Is it an old car?”

"Yeah, it's my sister's old Civic. I think it's, like, a twenty-ten."

"Right, makes sense. Doesn't usually happen in newer cars, but it's definitely your radiator. Probably overheated sitting there in traffic since it's a hundred fuckin' degrees out today." There's a pause, and Eddie sighs— not beleaguered, just a little light huff before his tone turns business-like. "Look, I'm gonna call my buddy from the shop. He'll come with a tow. It'll be after hours by the time it gets there, but tomorrow we can take a look at it. I had the early shift today, and I'm at the gym now, so it'll be a few, but I'll come give you a ride home."

Instantly you prickle with regret upon hearing that you're disrupting his plans. "Oh, Eddie, you don't have to do that. I can just call an Uber—"

"No," he interrupts you, voice still kind but firm. "I'm coming to get you, y/n. I'm not leaving you on the side of the highway." His tone brokers no argument, and you can't help but feel a flutter of moth's wings at how resolved he is. Like he would never be satisfied leaving you in anyone else's hands but his own. Your throat goes thick.

"Okay?" Eddie prompts when you don't respond.

You clear your throat to keep your voice from wobbling. "Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Eddie. I'm sorry I ruined your gym plans."

"What'd I tell you about being sorry?"

You can hear the smile in his voice even as he chides you lightly; you chuckle a little, unable to help the smile that blooms warmly on your face. "Right. Just thanks, then."

"You're welcome. Ping me your location, and I'll be there soon." You bask in the answering warmth of his smoke before he hangs up.

In the silence that follows, the first emotion that trickles in is relief. Relief that Eddie isn't upset at you, that he hadn't rejected you. Though you didn't really think he would, a tiny part of you still feared he might, so to hear it confirmed has tension melting from your frame. The relief is short-lived, however, when you look down at the front of your navy scrubs, which are wrinkled both from working a full day's shift and from the oppressive heat that is still beating down on your head, heating your hair and making sweat spring at your temples and on your upper lip. After sending your location to Eddie, you quickly pull up your front-facing camera on your phone, feeling a little ridiculous when it occurs to you that every car that passes can see you checking yourself out on the side of the road. The self-consciousness is still nothing compared to the spike of nervous anticipation that flutters within at the thought of seeing Eddie soon, so you push the thought aside in favor of examining yourself closely. And it's just as you feared: your hair is limp, lifeless, and a little tangled, and your skin is dewy from the heat but lacking the charm of mascara, blush, or lip color. Of course, I would choose today to sleep in a little and skip putting on makeup.

You stuff your phone back in your scrubs pocket, working your fingers hastily through the tangles in your hair before flipping your head upside down and shaking it out, seeking some semblance of volume. You swipe at the wrinkles on your scrub shirt next, giving up quickly when your efforts do nothing to smooth out the fabric. Do I have a spare shirt in the backseat? You stare at the iridescent blue shimmer of your Civic, now radiant in the ever-deepening light, wracking your brain for what may be back there and whether it's worth it to try approaching your car considering the smoke. Probably just some empty paper Dunkin' bags, you figure, but you also need your purse, and the smoke seems to be gone, so you venture over anyway.

Sure enough, the backseat search turns up no spare shirts. You collect your bag and detach your car key from the ring, slipping it into your pocket before you pull out your phone again to shoot off a quick text to Steve. 'Car's busted. Have to have it towed.'

He answers quickly. 'God babe, you okay??'

'Yeah, I'm fine. Radiator went because of the heat, Eddie said. He's having a tow truck pick up my car to take it to the shop.'

A longer pause to accommodate the longer response. 'Do you want me to come pick you up? I can be out of here in fifteen minutes.' Your stomach swoops, and you type your reply quickly to head him off.

'No, it's okay, no need to leave. He said he'd give me a ride home.' Before sending, you add, 'Have fun at happy hour!! I'll see you when you get back!'

There's an even longer pause before Steve's final reply. 'Okay babe, see you tonight,' he says, ending with a smiley face. Your stomach settles, and you lean against the back bumper to wait for Eddie. Despite the heat and humidity, you're better off there than sitting inside the car with the engine off. You mourn the lack of air-conditioning as a bead of sweat trickles down the center of your back.

It doesn't take too long for you to spot Eddie's van angling from the left lane to the right. If you didn't recognize his car, the recklessness of the driving would've been a dead giveaway that it's Eddie behind the wheel; still, as he cuts over onto the shoulder, his breaks nearly squeal as he slams them excessively, slowing to a crawl as he approaches you. You huff a little breath through your nose, amusement briefly cutting your nerves. Sweet of him not to run me over.

Eddie's out of the van almost as soon as it rolls to a stop, and you wipe your sweaty palms against your scrub pants as he hops down. The sight of him like this— dressed in sneakers, joggers, and a loose muscle tank, hair scraped back off his neck, striding toward you with purpose— makes your wings flutter so wildly that your head feels suddenly fuzzy and your throat goes dry. You swallow to wet it, gaze darting around his face, catching on those wide honey-brown eyes before they flit away again when your heart thumps.

You manage to compose yourself enough to say, voice smaller than you'd like, "Thanks for coming."

The quick flash of his grin makes you both melt and seize up. "'Course," Eddie replies easily, pausing before you. "I'm gonna check it out real quick," he tells you, eyes sliding away just as yours return his stare. Even that brief flash of contact has you chewing on your lip as you trail after him.

You watch Eddie from a short distance as he feels around the edge of the hood for the catch. As your eyes run over those dextrous hands, those ruddy knuckles absent his usual silver, you can't help but remember the feeling of his callouses rasping against your bare waist, so slow and tender. You feel a thrill of heat bloom low at the memory, though you squash the impulse almost immediately. This is not, in any way, the appropriate time to think about that. Pointedly, you avert your eyes from his flexing biceps as he lifts the hood.

After a brief perusal, Eddie lets it fall with a decisive thunk. "Yup," he says, "definitely the radiator." You hear his footsteps crunch on gravel as they approach, stopping a brief distance from you. You glance up to see that his expression is neutral, but those brown eyes are unnervingly unreadable. "Wanna sit in my van while we wait for the tow? It's hot as balls out here."

The promise of relief from this oppressive heat has you nodding immediately. "Please," you sigh, genuinely grateful, and Eddie rewards you with another flash of his eyeteeth in a broad grin.

"C'mon." He leads you to the passenger seat, opening the door for you in an unnecessarily chivalrous gesture that strikes you as dangerously charming. Dangerous because, as you watch Eddie lope around to the driver's side through the windshield, that impossible tangle of emotions rises within you again, conjuring memories. Memories of broad hands holding you close, of tender kisses pressed to your wet cheeks. Memories of bow lips spilling sweet words about boys and girls, of butterfly-wing whispers during backseat conversations. A war wages inside you, a war between hope and despair, like two hounds with their muzzles locked tight, neither willing to release.

When Eddie pulls himself into the driver's seat, it stirs the air in the van, which is musty with stale cigarettes but blessedly cooler than outside. Silently, he turns the key, and with a cheery chime, the vents sputter and begin pumping air into the cabin. You shoot him a tiny smile, one hand resting in your lap, the index of your other hand running back and forth along the plastic edge of your ID badge. Now that there's nothing to do but wait, you're beginning to feel awkward. And it seems Eddie might feel that way too because, though he's lounging casually back in his seat, his thumb automatically seeks a knuckle before he glances down and notices he's not wearing his rings. He splays his fingers against his thighs instead, and you glance away.

He's the first to break the silence between you. "So, uh…" You look up, catching the quick glance he tosses at you. "Haven't talked to you lately. How are you?"

The question is stilted, anything but smooth, ringing like a sour note between two people who shared an incredibly intimate moment less than a week ago. You appreciate the gesture, even though it doesn't do much to quell your tense emotions. You find yourself babbling in your nervousness. "I'm okay, besides my car, obviously." A little awkward chuckle, and then you're plowing on. "Work's been normal. The same. I spend my days sticking thermometers under tongues and brandishing lollipops to ease the sting of immunizations. You know. The daily grind." It suddenly seems extremely important to explain to Eddie why this Friday is the first in nearly five months plans weren't made for group play. You dart a look at his face before turning your eyes back down to stare at his fingers, voice tight with frenetic energy. "Steve's been working like a fiend since we got back. Just, like, so busy. There's a new project he's heading. He said they're making sure their systems are ready for the student loan relief bill that just got passed. It's all really technical, and he tried explaining the details, but that kind of stuff is just in one ear, out the other for me." Another glance up, and Eddie's watching you with those dark eyes, face inscrutable. You explain, "He's at happy hour with his coworker who's visiting from California tonight, so…" that's why we didn't make plans, is how the sentence would probably end, but you let it trail off into implication.

Eddie nods; you suppose it's to show he was listening, and you rush to continue. "Um, anyway. How's Chrissy? I've texted her a little this week, but not much."

The most minute twitch of Eddie's brow follows; if you hadn't been watching him so closely, you would've missed it. "She's fine," he says simply.

You nod, head bobbing more enthusiastically than necessary. "And, um, how are you—?"

"How come you left me on read?"

You fall instantly silent as Eddie interjects. Just gonna come right out and ask, huh? You suppose it's never been Eddie's style to be subtle. It's not accusatory, his tone, but nevertheless, it makes your chest squeeze tight. Your eyes dart down to your lap as you mumble your excuse. "I dunno. Just… getting back into the swing of things after vacation. I've been busy." It sounds lame as you say it, and you can feel yourself wince as the words come out of your mouth.

Eddie's voice is even quieter when, after a beat, he replies. "Too busy to listen to my song?"

The edge of hurt in his voice has your eyes wide and stuck to his in an instant. Your brow crumples, expression earnest as you rush to say, "I did listen to it, Eddie. I listened to it a lot, actually. I just…" A little oozing guilt seeps up at the bottom of you, regret that you know he can probably read in your face. "I just didn't text you back."

Eddie looks at you with those dark eyes, examining your face silently for a moment. And then the corners of his mouth soften just slightly. "And what did you think?" he asks, brow pinching.

You want to reach out, smooth the wrinkle between his dark brows, bury your nose in the crook of his neck and hold him, or let him hold you.

'I think Eddie's gonna propose!' Chrissy squeals, blue eyes wide and sparkling with uninhibited joy.

Your fingers twitch with the impulse to reach for him, but you twist them together in your lap. Still, you can't help but be honest, and your answer comes out soft, unable to be wholly scrubbed of the tender poignancy you feel. "It was beautiful: the music, the lyrics. Your voice. Your voice is always beautiful," you say, speaking slowly, "and I don't really know why, exactly, but… something about it made me sad."

Eddie's eyes dart between yours— honey brown deepening as the sun shifts, bathing him in a shaft of deepening gold, turning his dark curls richer. The wrinkle eases on his forehead, and your gaze drops to his plush lips, pink and pillowy-soft in the pale quartz of his face. You watch his tongue dart out to wet them before he responds.

But as they part, the rumbling sputter of a truck interrupts. It draws Eddie's gaze to the side window, and you both watch the truck pull off onto the shoulder, skirting around your car to park in front. You meet his eyes when he looks back at you, a moment of hesitation lingering before you exit the car. The loud thunk of a door slamming outside breaks the moment, and mutually, wordlessly, you both open the van doors.

Eddie and his coworker meet by your front bumper, clasping each other in one of those manly, complicated handshakes guys do. You pull the car key from your pocket and pass it to Eddie, cheeks heating at the brush of his hot fingertips against your palm when he plucks it from your grasp. You hope he doesn't notice and step back to let them work on hooking your car up to the tow.

Once they're done, his coworker hoists himself back into his truck. When you call out a thank you through his rolled-down window, he jerks his chin in acknowledgment. Eddie leans an elbow on the doorframe, and after they exchange some brief parting words, you watch your old blue Civic finally roll onto the freeway entrance ramp you'd been staring at nearly an hour ago now.

A nudge at your elbow and your eyes dart to Eddie, who withdraws his hand quickly but motions with his head back towards his van in a silent prompt. You follow him, sliding again into the passenger seat and clicking your belt into place as Eddie falls into the driver's seat, long legs stretched comfortably beneath the wheel.

You're suddenly overly aware of your own body in this space that so clearly belongs to Eddie. The scent of the air you’re breathing— stale cigarettes atop soapy, artificial pine— is conspicuously foreign, and the scratch of the fabric seat under your palms is unfamiliar, too. Though you've ridden in the back of Eddie's van before with Steve, this is the first time you've been privy to the passenger seat. The van is scattered with debris of Eddie’s daily life: gas station receipts and half-full boxes of cigarettes littering the center console, empty fast food wrappers stuffed in the door pocket, the odd guitar pick stuck along the seam of the floor mat under your feet. A life you’re now witnessing up close, inserting yourself into as you ask for his help. Selfish. You press your thighs together, folding your arms in your lap as Eddie turns the key and the van rumbles to life beneath you. Despite the tinge of discomfort, you’ve already accepted his help, so there’s no point dwelling on that now. You let out a slow breath from your nose, squinting as it occurs to you, when Eddie makes no moves to pull out onto the road, that he probably doesn't know how to get to your apartment from here.

"Hey—" Your voice isn't loud, but it still seems to startle him. Eddie's wide eyes dart to you, and you bite back the apology at the tip of your tongue, unable to keep your lips from curling in the tiniest smile as you think about his warm voice over the phone. 'What'd I tell you about being sorry?' "I can put my address in Google Maps if you want," you offer, and Eddie doesn't hesitate to tilt his hips and pull his phone from his pocket, swiping it open before passing it over.

You blink as you take it, the weight of his phone familiar— the same model as yours— but also so conspicuously foreign, just like the smell of his van and the sight of all his personal items scattered around the cabin. Little bits and pieces of Eddie that you can't help but savor. Crumbs that burst with flavor on your tongue. And you can't stop yourself from collecting another morsel: you stare at his phone background for a moment before you open up the apps.

It's a photo of Eddie and three other guys, faces all squashed together to fit in the frame. It’s slightly blurred and grainy like it’d been taken at night, and the handle of a shopping cart peeks from the bottom edge. Eddie looks younger than he is now, and the unmistakable joy on Eddie's youthful face— the brightness of those brown eyes, the smile lines at the corners of his mouth, those full lips stretched in a manic, delighted grin— makes your leaves quiver. That poignant yearning rises to the surface, untangling from the rest of your emotions to settle behind your ribs. It comes out in a soft smile as you think about Eddie's eyes while you set your address.

You pass the phone back, and Eddie scans the directions before fitting the phone into the closest cupholder, pressing it up against an open packet of cherry-red Twizzlers. "Don't forget to rate me five stars at the end of your trip," he quips, shooting you a brief grin. Only once you return his smile does he glance out the side window, looking for an opening before pulling off the shoulder in a controlled squeal of rubber. You take a steadying breath, reminding yourself to be grateful for Eddie's help even though his driving makes your heart leap into your throat.

You think back to the conversation the tow truck's arrival had interrupted. 'Your voice is always beautiful,' you'd said, and that emotion that had wrinkled his brow— nervousness, maybe self-consciousness?— had eased. You want to know what he was going to say in reply, but you sense that the moment has passed as you peek at him. Eddie's eyes are focused on the road; one hand lightly grips the steering wheel while the other taps an erratic beat against his thigh.

Eddie's constant motion makes the lack of music suddenly obvious. Before the silence can get awkward again, you ask, "Can we put the radio on?"

"Never gonna say no to that." Eddie's lips quirk in a crooked grin as distorted guitars and haunting vocals suddenly blare from the speakers. No chance of hearing Miley Cyrus on this station, you think dryly. He cranks the volume, settling higher than you find comfortable, but you don't really mind. He starts headbanging lightly, dark curls swaying until the song breaks down into a soft melodic interlude as the singer croons, 'Can't you see that you're lost? Can't you see that you're lost without me?' When the beat drops back in, you bite back a giggle as he resumes more emphatically, both palms now tapping against the steering wheel as he bites his bottom lip, movements frenetic and exaggerated but also oddly endearing. Your giggle breaks free, barely audible above the music; Eddie glances at you, brown eyes glinting as his smile widens through that bitten lip.

"What is this?" you ask, nearly shouting to be heard over the music.

Cheekily, he replies, "Metal, sweetheart."

You huff, shaking your head fondly as he resumes tapping on the wheel. But when his hands leave it entirely, beating on his thighs as he gets hectic, you intervene. "I know you're the craziest driver to ever exist and all, but if you kill me before I get home, I can't rate you five stars." Your voice is lightly dry though tight with genuine anxiety, considering how you're currently cruising down the highway and Eddie has no hands on the wheel.

He huffs lightly but quickly complies, and you flash him some playful side-eye. "Thanks," you say, still dry, though not so dry that he would think you're really upset.

You make it into the city without incident, and Eddie's steady speed is significantly reduced once you hit the gridlines, that labyrinth of red and green lights that stretches on perpetually into the distance. You're about fifteen minutes away from home when a song comes on that you actually recognize: Just Pretend by Bad Omens. You find your head bobbing as you watch the setting sun glint off the tall glass buildings that cage you in, towering over the cars crawling block by block toward their destinations just like you and Eddie are. At that first emphatic chorus, when the singer croons, ' I can wait for you at the bottom, I can stay away if you want me to,' you glance at Eddie, expecting to see that emphatic headbanging again. But Eddie's head is still, and his brown eyes are deep and dark as he stares out the windshield. You frown slightly, concern rising at the whiteness of his knuckles where his hands grip the steering wheel. He doesn't return your stare, tongue working the inside of his cheek, eyes pensive and far away. Consumed by the blaring metal and Eddie’s headbanging, you'd briefly forgotten the tangle of your emotions, the war of hope and despair waging within you. But Eddie's shift in mood brings it back. The hounds are still locked in a bitter feud, neither yielding, both equally matched. You turn your eyes to your lap, worrying at the hem of your navy scrub shirt to keep your fingers occupied.

The next time the chorus refrains, the words ' heaven knows I ain't getting over you' grow gradually quieter, and you glance up to see Eddie nudging down the volume. The gesture is simple, but coupled with his shifted mood, it feels meaningful. There's a spike of nervous trepidation in your chest mixed with a tiny shiver of anticipation, and then he's speaking.

"Look, I need to say something."

"...Okay," you reply cautiously, nerves spiking again as you wait for him to continue. Your eyes lock on his face, and you watch Eddie's jaw twitch before he continues speaking slowly and seriously.

"What happened on the way back from the airport… what Chrissy did… It wasn't right."

That hot rush similar to mortification needles down the back of your neck as he glances at you, brow lightly furrowed. You avert automatically from the flash of his brown eyes, not wanting to read the look there. You find yourself wanting to avert from the conversation entirely, to protect yourself from what might come. Regret. Reluctance. Pity. All would be painful, and you don't want any of it.

Quickly, you reply, trying to keep your voice even and pleasant as you head off his concerns. "What do you mean? We've literally all had sex together, so what's the big deal? It's not like we don’t know you’re having sex with each other."

Eddie's frowning now, brow knit tight, full lips pressed into a line. Bothered, but not angry. Despite your attempts, he pushes back. "Sure, but… she didn't need to talk about it like that in front of…."

Your eyes dip back to your lap when he trails off, and you can feel his gaze on the side of your face. You feel exposed, vulnerable; the hounds growl, teeth gritted tight. Hope and despair warring fiercely within you.

Eddie's waiting for your response. And you try; you really, really try to maintain that pleasant evenness you'd achieved before. But it wavers as you remember Chrissy's bright red acrylics, her happy chattering in the salon chair, talking about her future with Eddie. "In front of me?" you ask, predicting the end of his unfinished sentence. Your voice is dull, nearly impassive. "Why would that matter?"

It would sound nearly impassive to someone who doesn't know you well.

But Eddie knows you well.

You aren't looking, but you hear him huff a humorless chuckle. You tense immediately, heart dropping in that brief pause before he says tightly, "Dammit, y/n. Fuck it."

Eddie turns into a narrow alley between blocks, swerving quickly to the right to pull along the curb. The van skids and rocks as he throws it into park. You're reeling from the abrupt change, eyes wide as Eddie turns to you, looking so serious. Before he speaks, he jams his thumb against the radio dial to cut the music entirely. "It killed me to hear her saying all that. I didn't wanna go along with it; I just didn't know what else to do." His brow creases, brown eyes imploring as they stare into yours. "I'm sorry."

Your heart begins pounding as Eddie stares at you. His obvious earnestness isn't lost on you, and you hadn't realized how much you yearned to hear him say that— to feed your hope— until you heard it. Still, the despair hasn't released you. Its grip has loosened with his words, but it still clings stubbornly, prompting your quiet reply. "Don't be sorry, Eddie." You nearly smile because you won't stop telling each other that, but you can't quite bring yourself to. You swallow, throat thick as you push out the words. Acknowledge the truth. "She's your girlfriend."

Poignant yearning aches within you, rising to the surface as you voice it. Your gaze draws across Eddie’s face, caressing the darkness of his curls; the pale quartz of his cheeks; his brown eyes, wide and framed by long lashes. It lingers there, and you see when those eyes go so soft. Eddie wets his lips, and they fall slightly open. And then his smoke fills the space between you.

"But I don't want to hurt you." Hoarse, quiet. Sincere. "I really care about you."

The smoke settles within, fluttering your wings. It sinks into the peat at the bottom of you, turning to charcoal that nourishes your roots. You feel wobbly, head fuzzing, blood rushing in your ears, but as your green reawakens, the despair releases its teeth.

Hope wins.

Your admission isn't more than a whisper, but it's enough. "I really care about you, too."

Something shifts behind Eddie's eyes, then. They dart between yours, honey deepening to amber as he rasps, "And…" He breaks off, brow furrowed, nostrils flared. His internal struggle is obvious, and the seconds tick by— loaded, motionless seconds that hang heavy in the waning light as evening approaches. You wait, fingers fisting in your lap, for the resolution of that tension inside Eddie, for whatever that will mean for you. Your eyes want to flit away as you wait, but they can't. They're stuck on amber brown, drawn inescapably in, helpless to the pull of its brightness.

You see the moment Eddie reaches his decision. It's written all over his face the instant before he speaks.

"And all I can think about is how much I wanna kiss you right now."

Your breath catches in your throat, but the smoke sinks straight through your scrubs and into your chest. Your reply is inevitable; it was written long ago. As you stare into the light of Eddie Munson's eyes, it comes as a tremulous whisper. "Then kiss me, Eddie."

The flash of those brown eyes and the instant heat on Eddie's face hit you so hard you're left trembling, fingers fumbling the buckle of your seatbelt. You're leaning toward him, straining against the strap, brow furrowed in frustration as it holds you back— and then Eddie's hand is there, fingers brushing hot against yours as he unclips you, and you're free.

You lunge for him at the same time he grabs for you. The center console digs painfully into your hip as you tilt awkwardly over it, hand fisting for purchase in the shoulder of his tank; Eddie's fingers on your face are pressing hard into your cheeks, molding your flesh in a grasp rougher than he's ever been.

But when he finally mashes his mouth to yours, nothing else matters.

The press of Eddie's full lips is ecstasy. They're warm and supple despite the fervor of his kiss, offering sweet comfort and sweltering heat alike. He moans into your mouth— a deep sound of utter relief as your mouth opens unhesitantly, allowing him access to you. His tongue seeks yours, and he tastes like smoke and spice, like cigarettes and cinnamon gum, that flavor so uniquely him. Your desire is a wild thing, more frenzied than you've ever experienced before. Just the feeling of Eddie's hands on your face and his tongue in your mouth has your pussy throbbing already.

The kiss is careless in your mutual haste, borne of desperate need that propels you together without finesse. After a moment, Eddie tilts his face, slotting his lips more ideally against yours, soft nose brushing as he works into your mouth. And it was affecting before, but Eddie's kiss now is utterly delicious— deep and thorough and oh, so sensual. His fingers soften on your face, rasping back to cup your neck, dragging up to palm your skull, unconcerned about the mess he's making of your hair. That low heat catches to embers in your belly, flaring as he licks along your bottom lip. And then he bites down on it, tugging gently in a move that has your mouth falling open in an involuntary gasp and your pussy pulsing hard.

Fuck, you want him. You want him more than you've ever wanted anything in your life.

The sounds of the city filter through the walls of Eddie's van— horns honking, tires crunching gravel, thunks and clanks of cars rolling over sewer grates. You're in a side alley off the main road, but anyone who pulls down this tiny street would see you through that wide glass windshield: cheeks flushed, eyes closed, lips locked as you release the fabric at Eddie's shoulder from your fist to drag your hand up the length of his thigh, feeling around blindly until you cup the hard bulge in his joggers.

You feel Eddie exhale sharply as you touch him; his fingers tighten against your scalp as you press down with the heel of your palm, rubbing along his length. Eddie's hips jerk up into your touch, and your blood sings in your veins, yet he breaks the kiss almost instantly. Your eyes pop open in surprise, though you flush hotter as you see him: eyes burnished with deep need, cheeks stained high, plush lips dark and swollen, chest heaving as he pants. His hand gently cradles your face, fingers splaying against your neck. When his thumb presses underneath your jaw to angle your head up, you can't bite back a little whimper of need.

Eddie's eyes flash, and his voice is gritty as he rasps, "Are you sure about this?" He pauses before adding quietly, "We can still stop."

You consider his words: We can still stop. We haven't yet crossed that line. On this side, rule upheld; step over, rule broken. But it's not just that, not anymore. Not here in Eddie's van.

On this side, faithfulness; step over, infidelity.

The hounds of hope and despair have released you, but this is a beast of a different kind. You know Eddie is right to pause, to take a moment to think before you both do something you can never take back. You search inside yourself— search for that ooze, for that green.

For what feels right.

In your silence, Eddie examines you, and his hand slackens on your neck. "Maybe we should stop," he says finally. And the look in Eddie's eyes— the concern, the gentleness that shines in beautiful brown— resolves you.

Your words come from the bottom of you, from the roots that could never be choked by the ooze of shame and guilt. You cover Eddie's hand on your neck, weaving your fingers together. "Eddie, I want to," you admit, and your voice nearly cracks with the force of your longing. "I really want to."

He shudders a sigh, a full-bodied thing that tremors through him. A sigh of relief. "So do I, sweet girl." The rumble of his smoke voice is so tender, and you drag his hand from your neck to your cheek, listing into his touch as you flutter and bloom. His lips tilt with a gentle smile. "C'mere."

The back of Eddie's van is dark inside; there are no windows back there. The third row of seats has been removed, and you suppose it's to make room for his band gear. The empty space is wide and relatively clear aside from a random assortment of loose cords. It’s lined with fabric rougher than the seats when you press your palms to it and hoist yourself in.

You turn and watch as Eddie hops up after you, one hand wrapped around a handle on the ceiling as he crouches. There's a bundle of fabric stuffed underneath his other arm. He kneels beside you, and wordlessly, you help him clear the cords and spread the flannel blanket as a buffer between your bodies and the scratchy floor. When the back doors thunk closed, you're plunged into darkness until Eddie flicks a switch above him, filling the space with warm light that casts his black and white in a soft glow. The back of Eddie's van affords enough privacy that the sounds of the city recede from your mind.

Nothing is stopping you now.

He's kneeling before you, the lines of his body stretched as he reaches for the ceiling light. You don't know what to reach for first— there are so many different places you could kiss or caress that you're overwhelmed with the possibilities. Eddie is a feast spread out before you, and you're burning to devour him. And it seems that Eddie may be thinking the same thing because his eyes are dark and molten as they drag slowly over you as if he’s savoring the sight. And it's a peculiar thing. So often, the presence of others' eyes on you makes self-consciousness squirm uncomfortably in your gut. But when Eddie consumes you with his heated gaze, you don’t feel self-conscious. Instead, as his eyes linger on your face bare of makeup, your hair limp from the heat and mussed from his fingers, and the formless, wrinkled shape of your scrubs, you feel nothing but desirable.

You're already melting before Eddie tells you, "It's just you and me, sweetheart. Don't hold back."

You can’t.

You won’t.

"Touch me, Eddie," you moan, "please—"

Hearing you beg has Eddie reaching for you instantly, hands pushing up your scrub shirt to expose your soft belly. You help him, pulling it over your head as he shoves your pants down your hips, and you fall back on your butt as he yanks them down to your ankles. You laugh as he grumbles when they get stuck on your sneakers. "Hold on, fuckin'... stupid shoes…" he mumbles to himself, and you sit up to untie the other pair of laces while he works on the first. Your shoes and socks end up flung heedlessly aside, and then you're tearing at Eddie's clothes next. Your arms wrap around each other as he gropes at the clasp of your bra and you drag his shirt up his back, your hastiness more of a hindrance than anything as you mash together, fumbling until you're both down to underwear.

His brown eyes lock eagerly on the generous swell of your bare breasts and the dusk of your soft nipples. "Tits really are so fuckin' perfect." Eddie grins, and you glow with pleasure, smiling broadly back as you playfully tighten your arms to push your breasts together. His brow tugs up as his grin turns wolfish, and without warning, Eddie shoves his face into your ample cleavage.

You squeak a surprised giggle as his curls tickle. "Smother me." His words muffle hot against your skin. "I'd die happy like this."

You laugh harder, breasts shaking as he emerges for air. "You're such a weirdo," you say through chuckles, eyes bright and fond as he tugs you against him in a tight embrace.

"You like it," he hums cheekily, smile charmingly crooked, brown eyes honeyed and warm. You soften, leaning in to bring your faces closer.

"I do like it," you confirm, and the playfulness on Eddie's face fades, smoldering into heat as he drops kisses down the side of your throat— slow and light and delicate at first, then deeper, more insistent as your head tilts to give him access. The press of his fingers splayed against your back, the warmth of his skin against your chest, the sensual caress of his plush lips and tongue; they all settle low in your belly, stoking the embers of your desire. You hum your pleasure as his lips trail slowly back up, teasing until you're throbbing insistently again, body hot and flushed.

Eddie's smoke voice rumbles against your throat as he murmurs, "Been thinking about makin' you cum on my tongue."

"Mmm." You drag your teeth against your lower lip; your voice is hoarse and soft with feminine heat as you reply, "Yeah? You've been thinkin' about me, Eddie?"

He nips and sucks at that sensitive spot beneath your ear, making you shiver with pleasure. "Always thinkin' about you," he mumbles, and you flutter as you wrap your arms around his shoulders in a tender embrace. Eddie sighs as you hold him, hands rasping slowly up your bare back. These words don't just feed your desire— they nourish you deep inside, perking your growth until your flowers quiver and awaken.

Softly, you tuck your face against his curls; your voice is barely more than a whisper as you admit, "I missed you."

I'm sorry I never answered. I thought about you every day.

"I missed you, too," Eddie murmurs back, warm and gentle, and you cup his jaw, kissing him tenderly. He sighs through his nose, relaxing into your hold as your thumbs stroke lightly against his cheeks.

Slowly, your languid kisses heat, turning more fervent. When you feel Eddie's hand dip beneath your panties, you press your hips forward to encourage him. He parts your folds, seeking the honey at the center of you, and the burn in your belly flares as his fingertips graze your clit.

He breaks the kiss but stays close, and his brows jerk in surprised pleasure. "Holy— you're soaked, sweetheart."

You flick his lips playfully with your tongue, pussy pulsing when you see his eyes darken and heat further. "All for you, Eddie," you murmur. He groans and grins crookedly, an eager, manic flash of eyeteeth.

"Is that right?" he husks, and when you nod, he pulls you into a firm kiss that steals your breath.

And once Eddie starts to kiss you again, he doesn't stop. Those kisses travel down your body, trailing heat in their wake as you lay back against the flannel blanket. He presses his face to your covered pussy, and you buck into the tease of his touch over fabric, grinding yourself against his nose as he groans at your eagerness. That wild desire resurges as he bares you, prying your puffy lips apart with his thumbs so he can finally bury his tongue in your wet heat.

Your fire catches instantly as Eddie's broad tongue drags like a slick blaze from your entrance to your clit. There's no reason to muffle your sounds as his fingers quickly circle your entrance before plunging inside. And with nothing to distract you, nothing to inhibit you— with your focus entirely on Eddie and the pleasure he's giving you— you feel that fire lick high up to your navel, tightening so quickly that your mouth falls open in a loud whine.

Eddie moans into your heat, and your hand shoots down to grasp his curls as the vibrations rumble deliciously against you. "Fuck, Eddie," you whimper, hips rolling as he works the flat of his tongue against your clit, fingers moving insistently inside as he pants against your heated flesh. His eyes flick up to watch you intently, brown deep and hazy as his gaze remains locked on yours while he pleasures you, and the sight of his pale face between your plush thighs makes you writhe.

When Eddie curls his fingers, rutting against that soft spot on your front wall as he rests his chin on the soft curls covering your mound, you throw your head back, moaning unabashedly. You feel him press a kiss to your mound, and the tenderness of it makes you whimper; your petals quiver, opening their faces. "Taste so fuckin' sweet," Eddie husks, arm wrapping around your thigh to hold you securely with a hand on your hip. "Could eat you every day and never have enough." And then he dives back in, lips suckling at your clit as he works you with his fingers.

Your chest heaves with your breath, a flush spreading down your neck as his words and his mouth and his hand drive you relentlessly toward your completion. "Oh, Eddie, oh—" His name is all you can say as that tingle spreads low between your hips, licking like fire up to your navel. He hums against your pussy, a little sound of reassurance as if he's trying to tell you he understands. You imagine the cadence of his words, can nearly hear them as if he's murmuring them low in your ear. 'I know, sweet girl. It feels good, doesn't it? I'm gonna make you cum, aren't I?'

Your fist tightens in his hair, holding on desperately as Eddie propels you straight to the brink. "Yes—!" you gasp as if in answer, and then the tension snaps, flooding you with sweet release.

Eddie's fingers slow, working you evenly as your orgasm rushes through your body, washing you with waves of tingling pleasure. You whine and whimper, muscles flexed, hips pushing up into his mouth as he swipes at you with the flat of his tongue. Eddie pulls out his fingers as your hips fall, replacing them with a lapping tongue that greedily gathers your slick until you twitch away, heated flesh oversensitive. He contents himself with kissing your thighs instead as you sigh, stretching luxuriously against the flannel beneath you.

But your orgasm hasn't left you sated; instead, as Eddie's head pops up from between your legs, curls adorably disheveled and pink lips glistening from his attentions, you're even more ravenous for him.

Eddie starts to travel up your body again, but he's moving too slowly for your taste; you haul him closer by the arms, and he grunts and chuckles as your mouth clings to his when he lands at your side. You kiss him hungrily, tasting smoke and spice and musk until you've licked your own taste from his tongue— and then you shimmy down, nose brushing the softness of his belly as you fix eager eyes on the waistband of his boxers.

It's unceremonious how you expose Eddie: not dainty, not coy, just a quick tug of plaid to his knees, rushed in your need. He pops out stiff and flushed, bobbing with his own weight, sticking proudly from that thick snatch of dark curls. You pull his boxers off entirely, hasty to taste the bead of precum weeping from the deep, mouthwatering pink of his tip. You don't have the patience to tease; he looks too delicious, too tempting. You take him into your mouth, humming in relief as you feel him hot and heavy, taste him briny on your tongue.

Your enthusiasm hits Eddie hard. As you quickly engulf him, lips stretching over his length til he's sunk halfway into your mouth, his groaning cry sounds like it was pulled from deep in his belly in desperate surprise. It hits you low, leaving you already tingling with renewed pleasure as you draw your head back, only to take him deep into your mouth again just as quickly. Eddie props himself on an elbow to watch you as you set a brisk pace, and you're gratified when his palm settles on the crown of your head, a heavy weight that doesn't inhibit your motions. You suction your lips around his head as you maneuver your arm to cup his balls, pulsing as you hear Eddie whimper when you knead them lightly. The vein on the underside of his cock becomes your focus; you trace it with your tongue as you start to bob again, savoring every twitch of his legs under your arms, every sound that spills from his plush lips. That smoke voice is tight, pitched higher than normal, and you burn with the knowledge of how you're affecting Eddie. You want to make him feel good; you want to make him feel so, so good.

"Holy fuck, your mouth is like— like f-fuckin’ heaven—" Eddie chuckles breathlessly before breaking off in a sudden sharp moan, hips jerking as you take him even deeper, motivated by his praise. He's always so composed, and your thighs squeeze, pleasure pulsing low as you realize you've reduced him to a stuttering mess. "Oh, fuck, y/n… oh, fuck—" Eddie sounds like me now. The thought is delightfully thrilling, and as you hum in satisfaction, Eddie's fingers suddenly tighten on your head, voice now breathless and urgent, not heated like before. "Wait—wait—wait, hold on—!"

Instantly, you pop off him, eyes wide; you pant through swollen lips, brow creasing with concern. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

He chuckles again, though it's a bit sheepish this time. "Yeah, no, sweet girl, it's— it's really fuckin' good. Just, if you keep doin' that, I'm gonna blow way too fast."

Oh. Your concern melts back into pleasure, and you glow with a smile as you drape your arms over his hips. Eddie's cheeks are flushed; his inked chest rises and falls quickly as you rub your cheek against his stiff length. You pout playfully as you say, "Don't do that."

He laughs again, husky and genuine this time, and your smile widens as you crawl up his body. You straddle his waist, pushing his shoulders down flat to the blanket as you capture his mouth. He presses up into your kiss, returning it eagerly, and when you pull away, Eddie stares up at you with brown eyes bright with awed delight. "Look at you," he murmurs, hoarse and smoky. "Takin' what you want. So fuckin' sexy."

You inhale his words, smoke settling rich and heady in your belly. "Yeah?" You're almost surprised to hear the lowness of your voice, the feminine husk that deepens it to a sultry hum. You sit up straight, reaching back to run your hand over the length of his cock slick with your spit. "You gonna give me what I want, Eddie?"

You feel powerful when Eddie's wide eyes darken, pupils blown wide. "Fuck yes," he groans keenly as you bite your lip and hover above him, notching him between your swollen lips. His hands settle automatically on your hips, holding you steady as you begin to lower down onto him.

Eddie is thick, and he stretches you tight, but you moan in nothing but relief as you slide down onto him, taking him all the way as your hips fall flush with his. The grit of his hair against your clit isn't overstimulating anymore; it just makes you spark with pleasure as you begin to rock on him.

And you don't rock with tentative little movements like the first time. No, this time, you ride him, chasing your pleasure from the first moment you feel him hot and thick and unyielding inside you. You writhe, abdomen rolling as you lean forward, hands bracing on Eddie's strong biceps for leverage as you fuck yourself on his cock. And all the while, Eddie watches you, eyes glittering with satisfaction as you take what you need from him. He lets you do it freely, happy to give you what you want.

The embers reignite, hot and heady, as Eddie's cock presses against your front wall and his hair grinds against your clit, still swollen from the orgasm he'd given you. "That's it," he encourages you. "Just like that. Good girl—"

You moan, head lolling as his words coax your fire. "Oh, Eddie—" Your voice is breathy and delicate as you sigh with bliss.

Eddie's fingers press into your hips, kneading your soft flesh. His eyes capture yours, holding fast as he says, "Show me how much you love my cock, sweetheart."

Your breath hitches as you flutter wildly, blooming verdant and green. Because it's a daring thing to say, daring words that play at the edge of what's forbidden. Bold. Thrilling.

You feel another thrill race through you as you anticipate the words you'll reply with. Soft, hoarse, delicate, you tell him, "I do love your cock, Eddie. I love it."

Eddie groans in response, and you feel raw, charged like a livewire as you rock harder on his length, lifting higher and falling back down with loud, fleshy smacks. And Eddie's hands are everywhere: rubbing over your wide hips, squeezing the heft of your ass, pressing into your soft stomach, fingers molding into your flesh. Your hips are shaking, your body is swaying, and all the while, Eddie is watching you intently. You're exposed, fully visible, on display— and you don't care. You don't care at all.

Eddie watches you, and you feel beautiful.

And you watch him, too. Your eyes run over his face as if you're gazing at something treasured, something precious. You savor the way his bangs feather against his forehead, damp with sweat; the way his curls fan against the plaid flannel beneath you; the way his soft nose and cheeks are flushed from heat and pleasure, pink spreading down over the pale cords of his neck to the inky armor of his chest. Black, strong, masculine and sharp; but also white, gentle, tender, and kind. Eddie is captivating, all light and charcoal, ink and smoke that feeds your soul. Suddenly, it's not enough to be on top of him, to have his thick cock inside you. You want him as close as he can be. You want him to enclose you in his strong arms, to sink inside you and never, ever leave.

Abruptly, you stop moving on top of him, and Eddie's hands still on your waist as his brow tugs up. "What is it, sweet girl?"

He sounds so soft, so concerned that your plea comes out nearly choked. "Hold me," you beg him. "Hold me close, Eddie; I need you close—"

His hands tighten on your waist, pressing up so you'll lift off him. Quickly, he maneuvers to his knees, widening his stance as he hauls you onto his lap. With your thighs spread wide, you cling to his shoulders as he cups under your ass and presses his length back into you, warm breath puffing against your cheek. This. This is what you'd wanted— for your breasts to squish tight to Eddie's chest, for his lips to seek yours, warm and soft and wet as you writhe against him and he thrusts up into your tight heat.

You pull from the kiss, noses brushing as you whine against his mouth, "Fuck me, Eddie, please—"

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath and exhales an eager groan, breath puffing warm against your lips. Your brow pinches as you stare into beautiful brown, arms tightening around his neck, fingers sinking into soft curls. You inhale that smoke voice up close as he fucks into you, splitting you open so deliciously. "Makin' me feel so good, sweetheart," he pants out. "So needy for me."

It's not particularly daring, not as it is, but you can make it so. Turn it bold. "I do need you, Eddie," you admit, soft and whiny, hoping he understands. "I need you—"

Eddie presses his face close, and as he whines against your lips, you bloom. You thrill and pulse with pleasure, licking with tingling fire that tightens in your belly. Arms and legs quivering, you rest your sweaty forehead against his. He jostles you in his grip, readjusting his hands as he grunts, "Tell me when it feels good, okay? Tell me—"

He hikes you up a little higher, hips seeking as best he can in this limiting position, angling until you gasp and your fingers tighten in his hair when he ruts against that soft spot inside you that sparks bright. "Right there," you breathe, "right there, Ed, right there—"

Eddie kisses you, humming desperately as you whimper. You can feel his arms trembling as he holds you steady while the tingle spreads again between your hips, tightening up to your navel as he drives against that spot over and over and over. But this time, you're not afraid. You feel nothing but bliss as you press a tender kiss to Eddie's lips, breaking away with a little panting mewl. "You're gonna m-make me cum again, Eddie," you wobble, voice airy and soft as you communicate your pleasure.

Eddie exhales sharply again, a desperate sigh as he pulls his face back to look into your eyes. His brow is pinched, skin damp with sweat, wide eyes dark and deep. "Cum for me, y/n," he rasps, arms tightening, "It's okay. I've got you— I'll never let you go."

And Eddie's voice is so tender, so soft, and his gaze is so gentle… you think these might be more of those daring words wrapped up in the guise of sweet talk, but you have no time to dwell on them as your pleasure overtakes you and your mind goes blank.

You keen as your orgasm rips through you, white-hot and more intense than the first, as Eddie keeps moving inside you. You blossom with wondrous feeling, tingling pleasure rushing through your tense limbs as you gasp and writhe in his grip; Eddie grunts, working hard to hold you as you squirm on him while you whimper out the depth of your feeling. But Eddie doesn't let you go, just like he promised. He holds tight until you relax, arms shaking as you cling to his shoulders. "Eddie," you gasp a dry sob, and he peppers your cheek with kisses, moving gently inside you. Your want spills out from your lips in trembling words, fingers shaking where they cup the nape of his neck. "Please, fill me up, Eddie. Cum inside me. I want you, I want all of you, please, give me everything—"

Caught up in the heat of the moment, it's more daring than you intend. You feel suddenly that you've peeled your own layers back, exposing the green at the center of you, the white of your flowers, the tiny fruit that has sprouted on your growth. Fear, sharp and acrid, pierces your chest as you realize what you may have revealed. It freezes out from your sternum, frosting along your ribs—

But then Eddie moans, smoke voice tight and high and so achingly sincere. "Anything for you—"

And when his hips stutter, pressing up into yours, and Eddie digs his nose into your neck, you gasp, nearly overwhelmed at the feeling of his seed spilling warm inside you. Your eyes prick with tears as you hold Eddie close, cradling his head as his length jerks and twitches until it finally falls still. Your chin trembles as you rest your cheek against Eddie's hair, reeling with emotion as he holds you for a long moment.

That fear that pierced you— it wanes, soothed as Eddie pulls out and lays you down flat, draping himself over you as quickly as he can as if he doesn't want to leave you for a second. Your thighs are sore and burning, and his cum is leaking thick between them, but it doesn't matter once Eddie presses his weight down on you, enveloping you in black and white. He's still panting, deep, gasping breaths of exertion, skin damp and hot as it sticks to you. You brush back the curls clinging to his cheeks as your emotion wells up, and you're struck with the desire to say more. Shakily, you stare into the light of Eddie's brown eyes and manage a whisper: "Eddie, I—"

But the words choke, sticking in your chest as you gaze at him. Your eyes begin to dart; your thumb traces his jaw, stroking quickly as frustration builds in your chest. Eddie must see your rising distress because he softens, shushing you quietly before he presses his lips to your brow, lingering there. Your breath shudders; bitter and wanting, you're desperate to fight against the blockage and tell him. But when Eddie presses tender kisses to your lips, slow and gentle, you finally give in to his patient coaxing. You release, easing your effort as you wrap your arms around him, drawing your fingertips over the planes of his back.

You cuddle naked in the back of Eddie's van for a long time, smelling of sex and smoke. Cleaning up, getting dressed, checking the time— none of these are your concern, and neither are they Eddie's as he works his fingers gently through the tangles of your hair, and you drag your nails lightly along the ink of his arm, tracing patterns into his wrist and then up to his shoulder. Your legs are woven with his as you lay side-by-side, Eddie propped on an elbow, your head pillowed by the plush material of his folded joggers.

As you draw your finger up a vein in his neck, the sight of Eddie's tank strewn nearby has you musing absently, "I didn't know you work out at the gym."

Eddie eyes you with a slanted smirk. "What," he snaps playfully, "you callin' me a weakling?"

You flush, heat flooding your cheeks as he calls you out. "No! Clearly not!" you defend, withdrawing your finger. "I just—" you cut off, no excuse readily, and he chuckles huskily while you pout.

"Between working at the shop and carrying gear, it pays to keep in shape." Eddie lifts his arm and flexes his bicep, waggling his eyebrows at you wolfishly.

You pretend to roll your eyes, but a smile breaks free. "So, was this gonna be leg day?" You tease, eyeing his pale thighs pointedly.

He laughs again, and you savor the sound and the bright flash of his eyes as he murmurs, "Still got a full-body workout, after all." He ducks close, hand cupping your cheek and stroking back your hair as he kisses you slowly, languidly, like you have all the time in the world.

You hum fondly, contentedly, hand settling again on his shoulder and drawing lightly across his chest. You've been close to Eddie many times over the last five months, but you've never been able to take your time examining the dark body armor he wears— the ink that scrawls across his arms and chest, which you've been captivated by since the first time you saw him on stage. "I love your tattoos," you tell him, and the bright smile that stretches his cheeks makes you warm with fondness. You trace the bats at the crook of his elbow, adding, "I feel like I've never really looked at them. I mean, I've seen them a bunch of times, but…." Your gaze drops to the strange dice on his wrist, thumb stroking the tendons there. You know what you're really trying to say— that even though you've seen them, you don't know them. Don't know why Eddie has them; don't know what they mean to him. And you want to know more about Eddie— to see inside him, down to whatever grows at his core.

"Ask me 'bout 'em," Eddie offers, and your wide eyes dart to his. His face is calm, brown eyes clear, mouth crooked with an easy smile.

"Okay," you say shyly, peering down at his arm. You start with an easy one— the ink on the wrist you'd been stroking. "What are these?"

"Those are dice," he replies, gentle and free of judgment despite the obviousness of the answer. "Used in several different contexts, but I have 'em because of a game called Dungeons and Dragons. I was really big into it in high school. Ran a club and everything."

A tentative smile blooms bright on your face, and Eddie's eyes soften as he sees your enthusiasm. "Really?"

"Yeah," he says. "It's a role-playing fantasy game, kind of like League of Legends. Have you ever played that?" You shake your head, and he seems to settle in, head resting more comfortably against his palm. "Well, you basically—"

Patiently, thoroughly, Eddie shares himself with you as you examine the tapestry of his ink. He walks you through the weaving of old and new alike— explaining the fuzzy blow-out of that demon head on his chest, done by a kitchen-scratcher when he was seventeen, and the crisp lines of the hobbit door along the curve of his shoulder to bridge the gap between two other pieces, completed last year. A clear pattern emerges— dark imagery, chaotic and unruly in its skulls and snakes and knives, scrawls of metal lyrics, and anti-conformist sayings proclaiming individuality and rebellion. But his collection is not without outliers. You spot a small raccoon, shaded softly and nestled in the crook of his left elbow. "'Cause I always fed the ones around the trailer park," Eddie tells you, smile manic as he adds, "Used to drive the neighbors nuts when they started hanging on their porches looking for more scraps." You grin at his boyishness, head settling in that crook to cover the raccoon as you snuggle closer. And that's when you see it— innocuous, just below his clavicle, small compared to the black widow spider nearby. A simple outline, a stamp of white quartz skin in the heavy black surrounding it, one you've never noticed before. You raise your head to peer at it, brow crinkling confusedly.

"Is that a…" you squint, head tilting. "...a mug?"

Eddie turns his face down, chin wrinkling into folds as he pushes his shoulder forward to see what you're looking at. When a corner of his lips tugs up into a gentle smile, and he looks back at you, his eyes tell you it isn't because he'd forgotten about it. "Kind of different from everything else, right?" You nod wordlessly, and he lays back flat against the blanket, eyes scanning the ceiling, plush lips slack as he goes quiet. You nestle against the plush of his joggers, eyes locked on the side of his face. He looks suddenly pensive and wistful. The dip in Eddie's mood is obvious, and you're about to tell him he doesn't need to talk about it, but then his smoke voice is filling up the back of the van— hushed, low, but unwavering.

"I told you I grew up in a trailer park," he says, brown eyes fixed on the soft glow of the ceiling light. "But I didn't always live there."

Eddie tells you about Indianapolis. About his mother, how the house had smelled of shea butter and burned plastic until she skipped out when he was seven, track marks sunk in her arms. About his father, how Eddie spent evenings in the backseat of a dark car parked outside rundown stash houses until he was old enough to come inside. "He didn't teach me how to fish," he tells you, "but he made sure I knew how to hotwire." He tells you about the drunken rants, the acerbic insults he weathered once his mother left father and son trapped together. About the bruises on his stomach and his arms, but never on his face. Never where they couldn't be hidden.

And once your chest is heavy with the weight of your sorrow, Eddie's lips quirk in a tiny grin. "And then there was Wayne." His uncle, his father's gruff older brother, who plucked him from that house and gave him the only bedroom in his tiny trailer without a word of complaint. He slept on a fold-up in the living room, pulling doubles to put food in Eddie's stomach, a roof over his head. Providing a refuge Eddie could hide in until he healed and emerged, blinking in the sunlight, finally able to be himself at fourteen years old. "He has this gigantic mug collection, and every Christmas, I get him a new one. The most ridiculous one I can find. Used to hide stuff in them, too, to see if he'd ever find them." He chuckles, a husky sound of fondness. "He never did."

Eddie settles, brown eyes sliding to yours as he says quietly, "Wayne's more of a dad to me than my father ever was." You marvel at him— how Eddie could be broken into something rugged and sharp but still remain gentle at his core. Your heart aches for the boy he was, but it yearns, it longs, for the man he is.

"I'm so sorry, Eddie," you whisper, voice thick with emotion. "You didn't deserve any of that. But I'm so glad you had him." When that little wrinkle forms on his forehead, you smooth it with your thumb. Your touch is gentle as you draw it over his brow, stroking slowly. "To go through that and still be as kind, as good as you are…." You swallow thickly. "It's something rare, I think."

Eddie stares at you for a moment, and you hold his gaze until he shifts, rolling over.

Rolling towards you.

Rolling onto his side, head landing on your shoulder as your arms wrap around him. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, pressing himself to the length of your body. One hand strokes his hair while the other presses flat to the warmth of his back, and your chin rests against the top of his head.

And there you both lay— still, quiet, breathing one another in. And as you hold Eddie, as he bares himself to you, your roots stretch. Your leaves quiver and your white flowers spread their petals, blossoming soft and full. And the fruit that sprouted abundantly along your green begins to grow plump. It ripens until it hangs heavily from the vine: succulently red, deeply sweet.

Latent and ready to provide nourishment; just waiting for the right moment to burst from your tongue.

–

Eventually, the evening must end. No longer can you just pretend that the back of Eddie's van is all that exists.

It's nearly nine-thirty by the time he pulls onto your street, and when the van rolls to a stop against the curb outside your building, you take a moment to shoulder your purse and check that your phone is inside. You pat down the length of your hair, smoothing the wrinkles from your scrubs, anything to delay the moment you'll leave the smoke and artificial pine of the van's cabin. Anything to keep the tangle of your emotions quelled by the light of Eddie's brown eyes and the rasp of his callouses on your cheek.

As it's fluttering around your thigh, Eddie gently snatches your hand, and you bite your lip as he slowly weaves his fingers between yours. Your eyes catch beautiful brown as Eddie stares at you mutely, gaze all melty soft, the same way you feel inside. Deliberately, you squeeze his fingers; deliberately, he squeezes back.

There are no parting words from either of you. Instead, your hand slips from his, and when you finally step outside, the sweltering heat has waned. Now, the air is balmy like turquoise sea water.

You spend the elevator ride up to your floor chewing on your thumbnail, mind racing to decide how you'll justify the length of your absence. But when you finally turn the doorknob, the interior of your apartment is dark and still. Steve is not yet home. You check your phone; there's a text from ten minutes ago. It's Steve telling you he should be home in about twenty minutes.

This stolen time without your boyfriend is welcomed, and you shed your disheveled scrubs immediately, heading straight for the shower. The spray washes the sweat from your skin. Conditioner smoothes the tangles in your hair. Soap washes the seed from between your thighs. You take your time in the steam, letting it loosen the tangle of your emotions until you can lay them out flat, uncoiling each strand to examine its meaning.

When you emerge, swiping your hand across the condensation on your mirror, you gaze at your reflection. At the brightness of your eyes. The healthy flush of your cheeks. The soft sheen of your hair. The radiance of your skin, a radiance that glistens from the swollen red flesh of fruit now fully grown at the center of you. You acknowledge the truth, calling back to the surface that realization you'd just begun to fathom sleeping next to Steve in the hotel room, watching Eddie's back rise and fall in the next bed over:

Steve Harrington is your boyfriend, but you aren't in love with him anymore. And your feelings for Eddie are stronger than what you felt for Steve, even at the beginning. Because Steve never shone a light on the deep earth concealed at the bottom of you. He never planted a seed, tended your roots, or encouraged your growth. And you aren't angry at him for it. You think he would have if he could. He simply hadn't known how to.

Words don't come easy to you, and you know these won't, either. But you're going to do it anyway.

Tomorrow, you're going to break up with him.

#tkym #blueywrites #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #steve harrington

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landothemuppet · 1 year

Text

Please, notice me | part. one

wordcount → 3.4K

summary → It has been eight months since The Blip. It also has been months since you live with Peter’s new obsession, increased feelings for a girl who isn’t you. You believed you would finally spend time with your friends during the Europe trip, this summer. It was without counting on Peter’s Plan. You try to enjoy those last days in New-York with your best friend.

disclaimer → This mini-series takes place during the events of FFH and NWH movies. The fic will contain many of those movie scenes, including some bonus scenes. the Spider-Man divider is from @silkholland

pairing ↳ peter parker x female!bestfriend!reader

warning(s) → angst, jealousy.

taglist: @justapurrcat @delightfulmuffinclamauthor if you want to be added in my taglist, please let me know just here

“I have a plan” Your best friend announced, as he sat spontaneously in his chair, somewhat agitated.

He didn’t wait a second longer to state his so-called plan, as if it seemed the best idea in the world.

But Peter wasn't Peter without his hard-contained hyperactivity, which didn't stop you from smiling to yourself. All of Peter's clumsy features made him incredibly endearing.

Ned listened intently to your friend's ramblings as you absentmindedly continued your drawing in your sketchbook. In fact, Peter always had a plan. Well, he almost always had one, except in the important moments when he let his instincts or his feelings take over. But lately, your sweet best friend had a multitude of plans, all aimed at one and the same goal. And that's why, despite all the consideration you had for the boy with the curly brown hair, you didn't give importance to his new schemes.

You still caught Ned telling your best friend not to do any of this, with a lot of irony, which made you split a small chuckle. You loved your friend’s candor. Ned always had the gift to make you laugh, or just smile, even when it was serious. He tried to convince your friend with arguments about the single life, which you didn’t really pay attention to. To tell the truth, it often happened that you locked yourself in your world while your two best friends rambled about various subjects. Today was not an exception.

Ned had never understood Peter’s sudden fondness for MJ, so do you. It was like your best friend, the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man from Queens, had woken up one morning with an obsession… Some wake up from a coma by speaking a language they never spoke… Others, like Peter, discover relatively sudden feelings for people they had never considered before. He always talked about her as if she were the most impressive person on the planet, He always looked at her as if she could hang the moon and the stars, He drank her words as if she could put the universe in a bottle. And it had been going on for months, without you knowing why his feelings had grown overnight. You felt like one day he was madly in love with Liz, the next day he was fighting his father, and the next day MJ had become all of Peter’s conversation subjects. And since then, you felt like your head was going to explode.

Your fingers continued to scribble while your mind continued to wander in your own thoughts. Chance, or the irony of fate, call it what you want, wanting the next song on your playlist to reflect exactly the feelings that lay dormant in you.. You were that kind of person who created incredible scenarios in your head when you were listening to music. Thus, a cover of “Mr. Sandman” could send your mind into a torrential rain, where your body was lying in a pool of blood while your soulmate, the biggest charismatic mobster in London, begged you to stay with him.

"Y/N ?" Peter asked

You looked up, the cloud of thoughts dissipating from your eyes to meet your best friend's chocolate gaze.

There was something with his eyes, something that always attracted you. A comforting warmth, a spark of innocence, an open window to the extraordinary person that was Peter Parker. But at that moment, his expression was one of expectation and as you turned your head towards Ned, you only met the same expression. A question on hold, awaiting your response, your opinion.

“No, yeah…Peter’s right. It’s a great plan”.

Ned shook his head in resignation while your other best friend gave you that idiot puppy smile. You always followed Peter's path, the Filipino knew it. And that sometimes caused tensions in the past. It had always been Ned, you and Peter but your friend was not fooled and knew that your feelings for the one who embodied Spider-Man during his free time, would always take over your decision. It was unintentional.

Yet, You didn't want Ned to feel left out again. You were therefore in an awkward position, not knowing the details of the conversation. But admitting you weren't listening might hurt Peter.

"But Ned isn't wrong either" you added, hoping to satisfy everyone.

Peter grimaced, a look of incomprehension on his face. At that moment, you wished you had listened to Peter's plan, but your heart wasn't in it.

"Okay, sure…" Peter said "But I really like MJ, man"

You have chosen this moment to return to your notebook until Peter's restless behavior distracts you from your drawing again.

"She's coming up. Just DON'T say anything." Peter panicked a bit.

MJ stood in front of you. You politely greeted her with a smile as the two boys rambled on. Ned threw the information that Peter had a plan then tried to catch up. You raised your eyebrows at the "teaspoon collection" excuse, even more so when Peter simply blamed it on Ned. What did you do to deserve friends like that? "Oh. Okay. Well, that was a real rollercoaster." MJ said and again, you try to suppress your chuckle. The brunette girl turned to you, patiently waiting, standing a bit awkwardly as she always did and you pinched your lips and shrugged. She was waiting for your own plans for this trip.

"I guess, I’m going to keep an eye on these idiots and take a little interest in art in Venice… but above all, keep an eye on these morons." "It sounds like a great responsibility," she said in her legendary laid-back manner. "It is."

Peter and Ned gave you their offended but quite adorable looks. It would be a lie to say that you weren't the quiet strength of the group. MJ then advised you to use VPNs to protect yourself from the government and you nodded politely again, this time uninterested in why the young woman was interested in conspiracy theories. Ned merely added a remark about the fact that all this had gone well, implying that MJ had not discovered Peter’s plan, and you laughed as your friend gave the Filipino a somewhat impressed and annoyed look, stalling his tongue against his cheek to suppress a sarcastic remark of which he had the secret.

You liked that side of Peter. You found it rather amusing. That little something, those little facial expressions that hinted that Peter could be pungent. That kind of look he just gave at Ned that told you he was holding back some sarcasm…a little verbal rant that would be extremely well thought out and not necessarily harmful. A kind of "no kidding?" non-verbal. And that made Parker sexy.

Sexy wasn't the first word one would associate with Peter Parker. Some would say: loser, weird, nerd or even would ask ; "who?". Usually, You would have said cute….but at that moment, his somewhat sarcastic attitude made your stomach turn deliciously. Peter's gaze softened as it rested on you and you felt your cheeks heat up.

"So, what are you going to do on this science trip?" he asked, as if you hadn’t already answered the question a few minutes earlier, when MJ asked you to. "Anything but science. I really go there for the art. I mean Italy and France are two countries known for their talented artists, right?"

Your gaze shifted to Ned, who shrugged, unaware of your words. Ned and Peter weren't really cheerful or interested with the Renaissance paintings, they were more like: Star Wars LEGO Death Star. What you also appreciate, you would not lie, but you appreciate the poetry in old paintings and sculptures. Some would call you pathetic, others would simply call you romantic.

The bell rang and you simply put your sketchbook in your backpack. You followed Ned and Peter down the halls, this time a little more focused on the conversation. Several students rushed to clean their lockers before the end of the year, while others seemed eager to throw away their classes as if they would no longer need them. You walked through the doors to a new hallway where you saw Flash throwing food from his locker into a trash can. You could not suppress a grimace of disgust.

"So what are you going to do on your last days in New York?” Ned asked Peter while you three walked through the hall. “Ooh, I have some errands to run.” started to answer Peter

You continued on your way when you felt the projectile thrown by Flash fall on your shoulder bag. You looked at the man with an angry look, not doubting that this piece of stale pizza was undoubtedly aimed at Peter. But the widespread indifference of your best friends about it just kept you going your way, so you could focus on the conversation again.

“I have to get a mini toothpaste, pick up my passport and then take down the Manfredi crime family.” “Oh” Ned said, impressed about the last part of Peter’s to-do list. “Can I come? I need to do that too!” you quickly said, only to face two surprised looks from your friends. “ I mean, except the take down Manfredi crime family thing”

There was hope in your eyes. You wanted to spend some time with Peter because a strange feeling told you that you wouldn't during this trip to Europe. The exchange of glances between your two friends indicated a silent conversation and Peter seemed to hesitate. He looked at you with his sheepish expression, his mouth forming an O, waiting to speak his words.

"Uh yeah.. yeah, I mean, if you have to do it…you can do it with me," he said, moving his head and shoulders frantically in a mismatch between his gestures and his words. You could sense the anxiety and hesitation in his behavior. "Are you sure? I can do it alone if you don't want me…it's just…"

You didn’t want to be a burden on Peter, You initially thought his reluctance was due to his Spider-Man business. Although you’ve been his friend for as long as you can remember, you were only made aware of his dual identity after Ned. The truth is, you discovered his secret recently at the prom. As you were leaving the bathroom to join your group of friends, you had met Peter who would run quickly towards the exit, without having seen you. You saw him lifting a bunch of lockers like he was wearing a light weight. Then Ned disappeared from the evening. The next day, you confronted them and were told: Peter Parker was Spider-Man.

You then thought that his purchases were then about his plan to seduce MJ. So, if he had things he wanted to do in your absence, that was perfectly legitimate. You asked only from a practical point of view. You could see the various feelings passed through the eyes of your best friend: the misunderstanding of your withdrawal, the fear of having possibly hurt you, the panic of your weak disappointment. Peter Parker was a quick emotional kettle.

"No. No, you can come with me. Come with me, please Y/N." Peter asked more peacefully, almost begging you to come this time.

You smiled politely, mixed emotions, and then nodded your head in acquiescence. You weren’t really sure that Peter wanted you to be there. You looked at Ned who shrugged and said he had to be with his Lola for the rest of the week.

You first went to Delmar to buy the necessary supplies: mini toothpaste, and small bottles to pour hygiene products into (shower gel, shampoo, make-up remover), without forgetting about electric plug adaptors. The best grocer in Queens kept cheering you up. He always did. His eagerness and interest in the lives of his clients were always remarkable and you loved the interactions he had with you or with Peter. You were amused to see Mr Delmar’s enthusiasm for the call-up of Europe, and how Peter had destroyed all the hopes of your favorite grocer by evoking science. Once again, you could only understand his reaction, the saw was not the main reason that convinced you to make this trip.

You quietly laughed at Peter trying to ask in Spanish for a headphone double adapter, - knowing that Spain was not a stopover on your trip to Europe, and that Italian, despite what you might think, did not look like Spanish at all - . You pinched your lips so as not to laugh more when the grocer answered him nonchalantly with a simple "what" in Spanish. However, you were not able to suppress a funny smile when Peter asked for the dual headphone adapter, this time in English. Mr. Delmar corrected him with a smile, as you strolled through the nearby candy stand, cuddling Murph who was laying on a display. Peter’s interaction with the grocer made your cheeks warm. Peter had this facility to joke with such confidence, blatantly denying that his Spanish was wobbly and that his request was almost accurate in comparison to the words used by Mr Delmar.

“You finally asked Y/N’s out. You’re a great guy, Peter Parker” Mr Delmar said with a “dad proud” look on his face. “Oh, no…no Mr. Delmar it’s not what you.. ” started Peter, trying to find his words.

Peter's gaze turned to you then to the grocer, several times in a row. His mouth opened and closed to find the words. He seemed to run out of words, overwhelmed, like a stray puppy.

Why did everyone keep believing that you and him could be a thing? May, now Mister Delmar, even Karen, the AI of his suit seemed to believe that Y/N was more than a friend to him.

Could you think so too? Could you think that you both could be " a thing" ? Peter’s heart went crazy, not sure to be excited about it or stressed out, or terrified. You were his friend, right? He really liked MJ, by the way. But the idea of you both dating as…lovers? It couldn't be that bad… Peter shook his head to clarify his mind, trying in vain to find an answer to the grocer.

“We…well, She’s…” the brown haired boy continued.

How could this adorable stuttering boy be the brash and brave Spider-Man? You could clearly see two aspects of his personality… The mask must have helped, you thought.

You had to save Peter from this embarrassing situation. You must have. That's what friends do, right? And to be fair, it was awkward for you too. You wished it were true. You hoped that Peter feels the same way as you do. But you clearly could see how the thought of it disturbed your adorable dork friend. It was hurting you to hear your best friend arguing with his thoughts and words about it, over and over and over…and over. You approached the counter placing three small packets of gummy bears on it.

“We aren't together, Mr. Delmar… There’s for another girl.” you say with a small shy smile, lips pressed together, your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Peter looked at you, he gave you the same smile you gave him a few seconds ago. You could feel the look of pity the grocer was giving you. This man knew everything, he was, as you liked to call him, the soul of Queens. Nothing escaped him, not a single gossip, not a single crisp story escaped his ears. He had always listened, voluntarily or unintentionally. He was the confidant of an entire neighborhood. The best sandwiches in Queens but also the best advice. Peter’s eyebrows frowned at the sight of the gelatin gummy bears, not sure of the reason for this compulsive purchase, on his check.

“Hey, what’s that for?” He practically shouted, somewhat offended by your audacity

You shrugged nonchalantly, almost too confident, a mischievous little smile on the corner of your mouth.

“You owe me one. I bought you some churros the other day” “Fine,” Peter said, defeated.

You wrinkled your nose smiling victoriously and, in your spontaneity, you thanked him while laying a kiss on his cheek, as his became redder than your favorite candy. He might be in love with another girl but Peter Parker, remained Peter Parker. An adorable boy very clumsy with girls.

It was a bad idea. It was even a very bad idea to follow Peter everywhere he needed to go before packing his suitcase for your student trip in Europe.

You were now in a pawn shop and your best friend was trying to resell figurines to get money to offer a special jewel for MJ - unsurprisingly -. Once again, you took a step back, letting Peter do his stuff as you had nothing to sell to this guy who seemed a little unpleasant to you.

“You’re sure about this ?” the salesman asked him. “Yeah. I wanna buy a girl I like something really nice”

Jealousy, Jealousy. You felt your blood boil and turn into liquid acid, and if curses had been real - after all, you lived in a world where your seventeen-year-old best friend had fought an alien in space - your skin would’ve turned a bright shade of green. Not the elegant, poetic emerald green, no. A straight-up radioactive green one that was the perfect metaphor for how "corrosive" was the feeling who grew in your stomach.

Especially since one of these figurines were gifts that you had given to Peter. So, seeing him like that, selling his goods to impress a girl, that put you out of your mind. You were hurt. You felt your worth was less than MJ’s. It wasn’t really about the figurine, you were aware that we were all growing up at some point in our lives and that it was normal for us to separate from material goods over time. You couldn’t understand his logic. Peter was in love, certainly…. But to the point of abandoning objects related to his passions, for a girl? It was improbable. It was totally disproportionate.

‘Hm. Well, I hope she’s worth it. Is it her?’

The man pointed to you, as you walked down the aisles again in search of a trinket. There were so many things at such different prices. You were pretty sure you’d find some treasures in the stalls of that second-hand store. Peter looked at you and his ears turned red.

“Oh. No. No, she’s my best friend Y/N. She’s nice, but she’s not… That’s not her” He tried to whisper so you wouldn’t hear him…as if you possessed his super-hearing. “Whatever.” “Are you done Peter? The passport office will close soon” you asked, a bit anxious to be late at the passport office.

Peter quickly looked at you, his chocolate surprised doe eyes. He blinked, tightened his grip on the strap of his backpack, eager to sell his figurines while hoping not to be scammed by the seller.

“Yeah…yeah” “So, all of them, buddy?” “Actually, can I keep the Lobot” Peter asked, like a sad child, moving almost unbalanced from foot to foot, hesitant.

He reached out to his figurine and the seller gave it back. Peter’s eyes landed directly on the little plastic toy, as if relieved to have picked up the Lobot, an adorable smile on his face.

“Thanks. Yeah, I'll keep that one.”

You rolled your eyes again, but this time, you were softened by the attitude of your best friend. Even though he was love-struck - and it always hurt you to realize that it wasn’t for you - there was still the Peter Parker you had always known. Same old nerd Peter Parker : nerd but cute.

Finally, you both went to the passport office. The line up was long and you felt Peter become increasingly stressed during the day. As your best friend seemed impatient, you looked up at him and saw him tapping on his phone. You dropped a little surprise cry when a little animal spider came out of her backpack.

"It’s all right, miss," the man in front of you asked you, looking worried. "Yes, yes… I… thought I saw a bee flying near me. It was a simple fly" you covered up your discomfort by coughing.

The stranger frowned and you felt the judgment, you offered him a tight smile before the man turned to focus on the waiting wire. A second later, the metal railing flew to a sold-out window and the red light vigil pointing to the closed station now indicated that it was open. You pinched the fun lips while watching Peter try to be discreet, turning on himself to reach the counter to ask for his passport. You followed it to take advantage of it as well. The trip to Europe could finally begin.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fics #peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker fics #far from home

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