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sirfrogsworth · 7 months

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Froglock Holmes, Internet Sleuth

I don't remember dates very well, but I believe sometime in the mid 2000s I had a friend drive me from St. Louis to Detroit. It was a very difficult journey. I have never done well as a car passenger and driving for an entire day was one of the more miserable experiences in my life.

But I got through it because I was *convinced* I was about to be cured. Back then it was the only thing I wished for and I was willing to try absolutely anything.

So we were off to see the Wizard about my wish.

During that time there were no doctors in St. Louis who knew anything about Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. But I found a website for a medical company that claimed if I saw one of their approved doctors, they could guarantee a 50% improvement. And when I did my pre-interview on the phone, that lady said some patients experienced a full recovery. To which I replied, "Yes, I will take one full recovery please."

But the closest approved specialist I could find was in Detroit and she would only treat me if I did my first consultation in person. She would then continue treating me over the phone.

My friend took three days off and she borrowed her parent's SUV so I would have leg room during the 8 hour trip. We loaded up on snacks and compact discs and began our road trip to wellness. We merged onto the Yellow Brick Road (a.k.a. I-70 East) and headed toward the land of Marshall Mathers.

The more I got car sick, the more I focused on asking the Wizard to grant my wish.

A new... mitochondria?

Plus several trillion.

A new several trillion little powerhouses.

This doctor was part of a national network of facilities that claimed they could effectively treat Fibromyalgia and CFS with a groundbreaking 6 step "holistic" approach. It was super holistic. Extra super duper holistic. The website made sure you knew it was holistic.

And those 6 steps sounded very fancy.

I mean, that all seems pretty legit. They were going to enhance my cells and address coagulation deficits. That's a thing, right?

Now I know that "holistic" is a buzzword that should be met with skepticism, but back then I was really hopeful they could help me. They enthusiastically made bold promises and filled me with such assured hope that I sold my car to help pay for everything.

We arrived in Detroit the evening before the appointment. I slept maybe an hour. Morning eventually arrived and we headed to the office. They gave me a clipboard full of paperwork that took forever to fill out.

"Can I please just see the Wizard and get my wish?"

I got to the exam room and they put me in a gown with the butt showing—which I don't think my friend was prepared for. I have a condition known as Hank Hill Butt and it can take a bit of getting used to upon first glance.

My poor friend refused to make eye contact while I was wearing it.

The doctor finally arrived and this supernatural healing wizard turned out to be a very short Greek lady. She asked dozens of questions—most of which I answered on the forms already. She poked my belly, checked my reflexes, and at no point did her examination require a gown with the butt showing.

She officially diagnosed me with severe Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and told me she was going to type up a custom treatment regimen and while she was doing that, I was going to get a special IV they designed to specifically combat CFS.

They took me to a room full of comfy reclining chairs and hooked me to an IV full of orange nonsense. Once that was done I met back up with the Wizard and she had created the afore-mentioned "customized" treatment regimen full of expensive supplements and vitamins that were not covered by insurance. Many of which I had to buy directly from the facility. As I looked over the treatment worksheet, I realized they gave the same document to all of the patients.

It was at this point, 560 miles away from my home, stuck in some office in the suburbs of Detroit (which will eventually be taken over by a tooth pulp dentist), with my Hank Hill butt hanging out...

I realized this could have been an email.

I decided to put everything on three different credit cards. Combined with the money from my car, I had about $20,000 to invest in fixing my broken body. My plan was to get all better so I could get a job and pay everything back. I even told the doctor this brilliant financial stratagem and she agreed it was a good plan. No notes.

Young Froggie was being hit in the face with red flag after red flag and Old Froggie is a little embarrassed about that.

I don't remember any of the supplements, but they had names like "EnergyMax Plus" and "Ultra MitoBooster 3000." They definitely sounded like legitimate, evidenced-backed medical supplements and not knockoff energy drinks endorsed by D-list Instagram influencers.

It wasn't all overpriced vitamins though. The doctor had some silly ideas that were actually covered by insurance. She said I should thin my blood so it took less energy to circulate. And I should boost my testosterone levels above the typical range to improve energy. So I had to inject myself with blood thinners and rub testosterone cream on my legs every day for months.

The blood thinners gave me tons of painful bruises at the injection sites and made me dizzy from time to time. The shots became so painful I would have to close my eyes and have my dad inject me. Otherwise I would chicken out. We kept running out of places that didn't have bruises so he would just pick the smallest bruise and stick the needle there.

And the testosterone cream had an interesting side effect that I am debating whether to talk about as I write this sentence.

Okay, I'm just going to tell you.

We are all adults here and we can handle adult conversations while remaining dignified and mature.

The testosterone cream gave me constant, spontaneous, hours-long boners.

I hadn't experienced anything like it since I was a teenager. No erotic inspiration required other than a gentle breeze. Only this time I didn't have a math book to hide behind.

None of it helped my fatigue.

In fact, the constant bonerpalooza was exhausting to deal with.

"Oh look, that actress I enjoy has a fully exposed ankle." "I bet that attractive lady has boobs under that heavy winter coat." "Hey, is it Wednesday?"

At some point it becomes a chore, ya know?

Thank god it was well before 2014, because if I had seen Chris Evans bicep curling a helicopter I probably would have needed hospitalization.

/end dignified adult conversation

After six months I had 0% of the promised 30-50% improvement 90% of the time and she kept saying I just needed to give it more time. She said it works quicker with the IVs full of orange nonsense. But they custom made those IVs and can only administer them in Detroit. She claimed the oral supplements were filled with the same nonsense, but took much longer to kick in. She told me I could be patient or drive to Detroit once a week for an IV treatment if I wanted faster results. If that were true, I feel like that should have been disclosed at the beginning. But I was assured I could get the same results without the IV treatments.

It didn't matter at that point. My credit cards were maxed out and I was out of money. I called the doctor and asked if there was any treatment she could recommend that was covered by my insurance. She got very quiet and awkwardly said she would try to figure something out. Roughly 30 minutes later I was emailed a coupon for $20 off our next phone consultation. I responded and told her I literally had no money left.

I never heard from her again.

The Wizard had no ability to grant my wish for several trillion properly functioning mitochondrias. She had no magic treatment. I finally saw her for what she truly was.

With perfect hindsight I could now see all of the red flags.

Though if I hadn't at least tried, I probably would have wondered and regretted it.

Hard to say.

I was kind of amazed how they built a country wide collection of clinics and they were able to operate for years solely on the placebo effect.

Years later I was curious what happened to this network of quackery. I found a news article saying it was all shut down due to fraud. I don't think they had a holistic approach to paying their taxes.

The reason I am telling this tale is because I have been playing detective and gathering evidence for my disability case. I started to wonder if maybe I could find my fraudulent Wizard to see if she had any kind of records or something that might help me. I knew it was a long shot, but I didn't want to leave a stone unturned.

At first all I could remember was her last name and that she was a D.O. and not an M.D. Standard Google searches were not turning up anything. I couldn't find her current practice nor any contact information. Apparently her Greek last name is a popular Arabic first name for men... so all my searches kept resulting in doctor dudes. This was not the time for a sausage fest and I was getting frustrated.

And then I finally remembered the name of the medical company.

Fibromyalgia & Fatigue Centers, Inc.

I even remembered their URL... fibroandfatigue.com

So I went to the Wayback Machine and I was able to find their now-defunct website. I suddenly remembered its cloudy banner image and "concerned_woman.png" like it was yesterday.

Why, yes... I am tired of being tired.

I also remembered their promise that over 90% of patients had at least a 30-50% improvement. Which was the claim that sent me down this rabbit hole to begin with all those years ago.

I started searching different versions of the site to see how their claims of effectiveness changed over time. At first they basically implied they made everyone completely better.

If I saw that I would definitely think I was getting a cure. But I imagine this caused some problems so they had to dial it back a bit.

I couldn't find the 90% version, but I did find the 30-50%.

This actually sounds like you have a 100% chance of a 30 to 50% improvement.

As I skipped around to the archived captures of different years, the promised percentage kept changing. I don't think they did an actual statistical analysis of their patients. I think they just picked a percentage that sounded enticing without promising too much. Just enough to be life-changing with a built-in excuse for when it all goes tits up.

Years after my experience, the site finally settled on a 65% improvement in energy levels. It was on their new page detailing how "affordable" their treatment was.

$20,000, you say? Balderdash, no one would spend that much.

If you were curious, they claim their treatment is now affordable due to a new monthly payment plan system. It did not become any cheaper.

However, under the 65% promise, they added this disclaimer with a large bold heading...

Success depends largely on your dedication and commitment. Our most successful patients are the ones who make the commitment to follow the treatment program rigorously. Patients who are aggressive and comply with the treatment process experience significantly better long-term results than those whose dedication is half-hearted and whose compliance is minimal.

In other words, "If our bullshit supplements don't work, it is YOUR fault."

Or in my case... "If you run out of money, it is YOUR fault."

Oh and there was also this...

Looking at all of the versions of the Fibro & Fatigue, Inc website was certainly fascinating, but I had to quit dicking clicking around and find my focus.

I still had detective-ing to do.

I was on the hunt for a Detroit-area Greek doctor of osteopathy.

There were ~250 captures of the site between 2004 and 2016. She wasn't listed in the newest captures, nor the oldest captures. So I kept trying to drill down to find the exact time period she worked at the company.

And then... EUREKA!

She was hiding in 2005 on their "Meet the Doctors" page.

Her first name was *drumroll* Sultana!

I can't imagine why I didn't remember that common first name.

Finally, after weeks of trying to figure this out, I now had enough information to do a proper Google search and discover what the heck she is currently up to. Probably putting people in open-butt gowns to check their tonsils or something.

*googling noises intensify*

I'm not sure I've ever come across such a literal dead end.

Should I be making puns about this?

I mean, she did help exploit me out of my entire life savings and put me in significant credit card debt with the Sex Panther-approved promise of a guaranteed 30-50% recovery 90% of the time.

And the institution she was a part of was shut down for fraud.

Still... I never wished an early death upon her.

I would have been happy with a trip to small claims court.

#long post #trigger warning #needle mention

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takethistoyourstardust · 10 days

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also for anyone who cares, the creator says indigo park takes place around 2023, so if we replace the “20XX” with “2023”, the day the park closed was October 9, 2015.

we can even spitball the time! when you’re closest to going into the park in the opening cutscene, you see a trailcam with the time 21:48. converting that into 12 hour time, that’s 9:48 pm. if we assume that by the time our main character got into the park, it was about 10 pm, that would make the time the park closed 6:37 pm. accounting for human error and me being REALLY bad with time, we can assume that the park closed around 5-6 pm that day.

i don’t know if knowing the date/time is gonna be significant in any way, but seeing that indigo park is pretty heavily based on the disney theme parks, it seems significant that it closed earlier in the day, because most disney parks close around 8-9 pm. it seems like, especially considering the park is in pretty bad shape, that the park was very hastily evacuated.

#the Mage rambles #indigo park

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jjungkookislife · 10 months

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Sunday, Monday...

pairing: bartender!jungkook x f. reader

genre: fwb, f2l, coworkers au, smut [18+]

summary: what's that saying? don't fuck your coworker... unless he's Jeon Jungkook.

wc: 3.8k

warnings: alcohol use/mentions, mention of smoking (cigarettes), (exclusive) friends with benefits, sex at their workplace parking lot, reader calls jungkook a brat a few times, pet names (babe, baby, good girl), fingering (f. receiving), hair pulling, marking/biting, car sex, unprotected sex, spanking, a little degradation, creampie, morning sex, implied sex in public

a/n: I have been in a writing funk as of late, so i hope you enjoy this. i adore them both so much <3

date: July 29, 2023

Exhaustion lingered in your body as you pulled into the parking lot of your job, choosing the darkest corner with the burnt-out lightbulb hidden just out of view of the camera. You checked your appearance one last time as headlights nearly blinded you from the entrance of the lot.

You were early; the reason pulling up next to you as they parked next to your car. You shut yours off, taking your phone that no longer buzzed incessantly like it had just an hour before.

“Hey,” you grumbled as you climbed into the passenger seat, shutting the door harder than necessary, ignoring the wince of your coworker and your new alarm clock, apparently. What a bastard! He knew you liked your pre-work nap, and yet he texted you over and over just to make sure you’d be coming tonight. As if you’d miss a night to make slamming tips with him at your side. Besides, your pre-work fuck was becoming a routine, a little energy boost to get you through the night when your Red Bull concoctions didn’t.

“That happy to see me, huh?” Jungkook grins anyway, used to your sour mood when he bombarded your phone with texts. Some border on sexual, some not.

[Kook from work] 6:55 pm

What are you wearing?

[Kook from work] 6:58 pm

So we can match not…well, I wanna know what I’m taking off too 🥴

[Kook from work] 7:08 pm

Do you want to do body shots off each other like last week? 🤤🤤🤤

[Kook from work] 7:10 pm

Replyyyyyyyyyyyyy 🥲

[Kook from work] 7:10 pm

I’m lonely 😞

[Kook from work] 7:12 pm

Are you still sleeping?

[Kook from work] 7:21 pm

Wake upppppp

[Kook from work] 7:21 pm

WAKE UP 😭

[Kook from work] 7:22 pm

WAKE UP

[Kook from work] 7:22 pm

WAKE UPP

[Kook from work] 7:22 pm

WAKE UPPP

[Kook from work] 7:23 pm

WAKE UPPPP

[Kook from work] 7:23 pm

WAKE UPPPPP

[Kook from work] 7:24 pm

WAKE UPPPPPP

[You] 7:25 pm I’m up! I’m up! You annoying little brat

[Kook from work]

Hi 😚

Jungkook doesn’t wait for a response as you set your phone in one of the cup holders, accidentally hitting the button to light up your screen. Jungkook pouts when he sees his name hasn’t changed on your phone.

“Still just ‘Kook from work’?”

“Yup,” you sneer.

“Not even a ‘Jungkook from work who blows my back out’ or anything?” He questions with a smirk when you roll your eyes and playfully shove him.

“You’re so annoying,” you huff, leaning back in the seat to stare upwards. Jungkook's soft laughter fills the tinted SUV for a moment.

When you first started working at the nightclub, you were inexperienced and overeager. The tips were good and the clientele was mostly regulars who enjoyed not having to pay an entrance fee. Your boss, the owner, Min Yoongi, took shit from no one and took your side for every bad customer interaction. He was sweet, friendly, and loved his whiskey neat.

You got along well with the bouncers, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Jimin, who took no shit from anybody and of course one of your closest friends, Hoseok, worked most nights at your side, either behind the bar or training the new barback, Taehyung. Jungkook had joined the team a few months ago, another friend of Hoseok and Yoongi’s. He was outgoing, overeager, and learned his shit pretty quickly. You requested being put on his shifts, his nights drawing large crowds and tips your way. Hoseok drew in huge crowds as well, until the clientele realized flirting with Yoongi’s husband was a bad idea. Yoongi would raise a brow, and the customers would falter, order an extra shot to down to get over the shock of his stare, and go on their way.

Hoseok both loved and hated it. Now, he works whenever he feels like it, along with a few other bartenders that were hired part-time to fill the gaps.

“I think ‘Jungkook with the huge cock’ would also work wonders for my self-esteem,” Jungkook jokes, cackling when you reach out to shove his shoulder. After making contact, he laces his fingers with yours, pulling you closer to him.

Thoughts whirl around in your head, most of them being ‘just friends’, but you both know at this point that’s another bullshit lie. You spent so much time ignoring your feelings for him but for now, hooking up before work seems to work for the two of you. Despite all your coworkers/friends insinuating otherwise. You thought you were being secretive hiding out in the darkest spot on the lot each night before your shift, but Yoongi was well aware of what went on in the shadows.

Unfortunately for him, he’d shown up to work early one day, needing a smoke before Hoseok turned up and scolded him. He’d been trying to quit again but working long nights during Spring Break was getting to him. He’d regretted the moment he spotted Jungkook’s SUV rocking beside your car.

“You’re insufferable,” you groan when you slide closer to him. Jungkook lets his seat slide back, allowing you more room but you know you’ll end up lying on the folded back seats with the array of fluffy, fuzzy blankets and pillows set up for the occasion.

“You adore me,” he whispers in response, his hand gently caressing your cheek. Your eyes meet his, your body thrumming with excitement.

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate in kissing you, his lips soft against yours until you’re resting your hands on his shoulder. Slowly, you climb into his lap, moaning his name in between kisses as his hands grip your hips. His large hands slide under your skirt, feeling the softness of your skin. He squeezes your ass firmly, groaning when you grind down against him. He’s got on a pair of sweatpants and a loose tee, waiting to turn into a demon once he hits the locker room on the upstairs floor, restricted to patrons but available for staff to shower and change after a shift.

Normally, you’d do the same but you needed to give Jungkook easy access, forgoing your undergarments and slipping on a shirt and skirt. You’d probably share a shower, and get ready while the club opened and Jungkook entertained whilst you did your hair and makeup.

“I fucking love your ass, baby,” Jungkook groans as he squeezes once again. You giggle, kissing your way down his jaw to his neck. You're mindful of leaving marks on his beautiful skin, knowing they’d stop the tips, and that’s the last thing you want on a Sunday night. The crowd will be reduced exponentially, but his regulars always like to stop by, anyway

Your hands run over his chest, tugging his shirt from under you and slipping it over his head to discard on the passenger seat.

Jungkook's body always amazes you. You wonder if he’d let you oil him up someday and just feel every little bit of it.

“Baby?” Jungkook whines when you stop kissing him, your fingertips brushing over his pebbled brown nipples.

“Got distracted,” you answer honestly.

Jungkook chuckles, pecking you on the lips.

“Don’t you always when my shirt comes off?” He giggles and you shush him, kissing him again as your hips roll against his. You know you have very little time. The start of your shift lingers over both your heads and your alarm is set for fifteen minutes before the start of your shift to give Jungkook time to get ready before you and have someone behind the bar to keep Yoongi’s wrath at bay.

Besides, you’d been waiting for this all day; already wet and ready whenever he was.

Jungkook must note the change of urgency in your movements because his hands grip you harder, every touch is more intentional and each of your moans shoots straight to his cock. He was already at half-mast when he pulled into the parking lot and now, with your warm body on top of his, he didn’t need much to get him hard.

Your kisses were an aphrodisiac, your touch like fire. Jungkook’s head spins when you tongue the tattoo behind his ear, teeth gently nipping at his earlobe as his fingers tease between your thighs, drawn to the warmth in between.

“Please,” you beg, biting your lip as he teases you with his fingertips, cursing when he slips one finger inside you.

“Jungkook,” you whine, head falling onto his shoulder. His breath flutters your hair as he chuckles, set on teasing you but another whine from you and a reminder of the time gets him going. He hopes tomorrow when you’re both off work, he can take his time with you but for now, he’ll settle for this.

With two fingers inside you and his thumb on your clit, he uses his free hand to tug at your shirt. Your nipples poke against the fabric and his mouth waters at the sight. He aches to wrap his lips around them and make you melt for him before he fucks you silly. Perhaps he should go easy on you, but you’re gripping his hair tightly, nearly riding his fingers and making a mess of his sweatpants.

Jungkook resists the urge to just rip your shirt down the middle. The fabric would tear so easily from a few tugs, but your wrath after would be more than he could handle. Besides, you look really cute in your shirt.

With his inaction, you take charge and remove your shirt, tossing it to join his shirt in the empty seat.

Jungkook lifts your skirt to bunch at your hips as you greedily palm at his hard cock, throbbing in his gray sweatpants.

“Give it to me,” you groan when his lips kiss down your neck, his teeth sinking into the skin to get you to curse and moan his name. You’re lost in your lust, grinding against him and tugging at his pants until his cock slaps against his abs. He smirks at your eagerness, stroking himself as you beg him to fuck you. He listens to your whines and begs, knowing you’ll take action into your own hands and just sink yourself on him.

Just as expected, you take his cock in your hands, wishing you could suck him off, but time is ticking and you’re sure Yoongi had pulled in while you were taking your top off. It was only a matter of time before he came over to interrupt or your alarm went off. Either way, you had to get going.

“I hate rushing,” Jungkook huffs as you line his cock against your entrance, teasing him by rubbing the head against your wet cunt. Jungkook's head falls back into the seat, body nearly arching off completely when you do it again and again until you’re cursing and biting your lip as his dick slides inside you.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, pressing your lips to his to silence yourself as you take all of him. The stretch is delicious but still gives you pause. “So big.”

Jungkook feels pride in his chest, hiding the blush on his cheeks by kissing your neck and shoulder. His hands cup your breasts, fingers rolling your nipples as you set a slow pace. He wishes he had taken your skirt off but it’s cramped enough in the front seat and you feel so fucking good wrapped around him to even think about repositioning you.

With the slow roll of your hips, Jungkook curses. He takes your tit in his mouth to hide his face and how much you're affecting him. He’s gentle when he circles his tongue around your nipple but quickly tugs on it with his teeth just to get your eyes to roll to the back of your head.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so fucking wet for me,” he growls as you slide easily on his cock, your moans filling the space between you as he touches every bit of you that he can. He curses when you tighten around him, his hand smacking your ass in response. You giggle, repeating your action to get another spank and a fiery kiss that curls your toes.

Soon, Jungkook grows tired of the slow pace. Mindful of your head, he lifts his hips to meet yours. You dig your nails into his skin as you hold on tight, screaming his name as the windows fog. Jungkooks pace rattles your bones, his moans mixed with yours in his eagerness to cum.

“Fuck, Kook. Babe, please,” you feel his thumb rub rigid circles on your clit as he slams into you, rocking the vehicle. He groans, kissing you as your fingers grip his hair as tight as possible. Pleasure courses through you, your orgasm building until you’re finally screaming his name into his sweaty chest, begging for more.

“Nothing but a cock hungry slut, huh? Need my cock so bad you’re willing to get fucked before work just to feel my cum sliding down your thighs all night. Hmm, perhaps you can actually keep it inside tonight like a good girl?” Jungkook spurs on.

You nod, head empty but needing to be filled and orgasm. Your body trembles, lips pressed to his own as his tongue slides past the seam of your lips, his two lip rings cold to the touch.

“Jungkook!”

“That’s it, baby. Take my cock just like that. Fuck!” Jungkook’s head lolls back, stomach clenching and you’re right behind him as your orgasm hits, thighs shaking on either side of his hips as he continues to thrust into you, cursing your name when he finally cums.

Jungkook smiles, his hands stroking your back as you slump against his chest.

“Ugh, my thighs are burning,” You complain on his chest. His chest rumbles as he laughs, his hands adjusting your skirt as he holds you. He kisses the top of your head, his breath ruffling your hair as he continues to laugh.

“I told you to join me at the gym,” he reminds you and you lift your head just enough to stick your tongue out at him.

“Fuck off,” you grumble as you cuddle him for a few more minutes before you’re peeling yourself off his sweaty chest and groaning as you try to climb back into your own seat without getting cum on the fabric.

Jungkook reaches behind him, grabs his duffel bag, and opens the side pocket. He hands you a pair of clean panties and you roll your eyes.

“Just because I left them at your place doesn’t mean you have to bring them with you,” you mutter.

Jungkook’s grin is wide as you put your underwear on and then your shirt.

“But you’re glad you’re not dripping everywhere, huh?”

“Shut up,” you huff as you hand him his shirt and he tugs his sweatpants back into place.

“Come on, we need a shower and there’s a Red Bull calling your name,” Jungkook groans as he pops his neck and grabs his duffel bag. He arranges his seat back into place and climbs out of the SUV.

You wait for him to open your door, your legs are still shaky as you go to your car to grab your belongings.

Jungkook waits for you, taking your small bag over his shoulder to join his own. Normally, he’d wrap his arm around your shoulder, allowing you to lead him to the back door, where your key unlocks the entrance to let you both in.

However, tonight he’s feeling a little bold, and he laces his fingers with yours, ignoring the heat of your stare on the side of his face. His hair is ruffled and falls over his eyes to curtain himself out of your direct sight. He’s grateful when you don’t say anything, just give his hand a squeeze in assurance.

The obnoxious chirping of birds wakes you up the next morning. You groan, covering your head with a pillow and throwing the covers over you for good measure.

However, your eyes pop open when the scent of a familiar cologne hits your nostrils. Flashes of last night slam you in the face and you groan again as you realize you’ll have to pick your car up from work later.

“Good morning,” Jungkook’s sleep-addled voice greets you. You turn to face him and groan, reaching out to cover his mouth before he can speak again. You feel his lips turn upward in a grin and you curse before pulling the pillow and covers off your face.

“What time is it?” You mumble as you palm at the nightstand to find your phone.

“6:34,” he answers you as the light from your phone makes you wince. You’d gotten home and showered a little over three hours ago. You were planning on sleeping in and going grocery shopping and now you were waking up in Jungkook’s bed again.

“Why are you up so damn early?” You huff.

“I needed a snack and heard you tossing and turning. Did you miss me?” He wiggles his eyebrows and makes you laugh.

“Not even a little bit,” you lie, but Jungkook can see the way you’re holding back a smile, so he kisses your cheek instead.

“Always so mean in the mornings,” he whispers as he wraps his arm around your waist.

“And you’re still in my bed, so,” you shrug as best as possible as you turn to press your back to his chest. Jungkook cuddles you, his head resting on your chest.

“Technically, you’re in my bed,” he grins.

“Brat,” you scoff.

“You love it,” he hums as he kisses your shoulder. You don’t say anything else as he continues to kiss his way up to your neck, resisting the urge to sink his teeth into you until you’re moaning his name.

The first moan that escapes you, has you spreading your legs.

Jungkook smirks. His fingers dance down the curve of your body. He pauses at your nipples to tease them with his featherlight touch, watching your eyes flutter shut and another moan escape your lips.

When he presses against you, he’s already hard. The only thing separating you is his boxers. You stole one of his shirts to sleep in when you got to his place, too tired to throw anything else on.

The shirt bunches at your ribs before he’s slowly lifting you to help you out of it. He watches as you tease your nipples, his hand going to stroke his cock over the cotton fabric of his boxers, before he’s kicking them off to get lost in the covers.

“Please, Kook. I want to feel you,” you whisper as he presses himself against you. He lifts your leg over his own, lining his cock up at your entrance, unsurprised to find you dripping wet already. He bites back a groan, sinking into you in one thrust. Your eyes shut and you curse, the stretch just as delicious as the night before.

Jungkook’s thrusts are slow, your hips meeting his as he mouths at your skin. Your soft moans are muffled by the pillow under your head when you turn. Jungkook frowns, making you look at him from over your shoulder.

His eyes are dark and filled with lust, the twinkle long gone and you curse when he fucks into you deeper.

“Focus on me, baby,” he demands as he grinds against you, his thumb rubbing your clit as his lips take a nipple into his mouth. You melt beneath him, gasping when he tugs at your nipple with his teeth.

“Fuck, just like that, Kook.”

Jungkook hums happily, grinning as he continues and you turn into a puddle. You ignore the way your heart skips a beat, adoration for him invading your mind.

You know this whole friends-with-benefits would backfire for you. You could never keep it casual and maybe you knew that when you agreed and maybe you were willing to put your heart on the line for him because a part of you hoped he wanted more.

Jungkook kisses you. “Stop thinking so much and take my fat cock, baby.”

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you moan when a sharp thrust makes your tits bounce and your thoughts are forgotten.

Jungkook chuckles, kissing your cheek as he fucks into you nice and slow. He laces your fingers together, moaning softly into your neck, and he can’t help but think how intimate it feels to take you like this. There’s nothing better than having you in his arms, moaning his name as he holds you tight, refusing to let you go for even a second. He knew the moment he met you, that you’d be everything to him, but somehow things got lost in translation. Jungkook doesn’t let his thoughts consume him another second, though, focusing on your pleasure and his instead.

Before long, you’re both spent. Panting, you turn on your back as he sits up to face you. He’s smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he tongues his lip piercings.

“Babe?” He asks with a shy smile.

“What?” You ask as you sit up with the covers over your chest.

“Check your phone,” he says simply, nervously playing with his lip ring.

You groan and reach for your phone, deleting the notifications from the hours you were asleep or otherwise occupied.

Once all your notifications from your social media are gone, you spot Jungkook’s text. Only this time you’ve changed his name and the message has you pausing.

[Kookie 💜] 6:31 am

Will you go on a date with me?

“Jungkook,” you say his name quietly and he ignores the way his heart seems to clench.

“I’d love to!” You throw your phone onto the bed, forgotten until later when you change the sheets and the thump startles you.

Your arms drape wound his bare chest and relief washes over him. He kisses your cheek, then your forehead.

“Come on,” he says, patting the bed. “Let’s get some sleep and then we can go on our date.”

“I have no clothes here,” you remind him and he shakes his head.

“You have that pink sundress and sandals here from that one time you came over and stole my clothes,” he states with a playful roll of his eyes.

“A sundress?” You raise a brow. He nods over eagerly and you can already tell he’s got plans for you. Perhaps he’ll hike the dress over your ass in need of a quickie before your date.

Regardless, you’re very much on board for later, but for now, sleep is calling your name and so is Jungkook as you stare at his broad chest.

“My eyes are up here,” he teases, yelping when you pinch his nipple in retaliation.

“Get some sleep,” you poke his cheek, settling into bed with his arms around you and your head on his chest.

Jungkook can’t help but think, this is the best Monday I’ve ever had.

next >>

thank you for reading! ♡ if you liked it, please let me know! 💌

#bangtanarmynet #btsgoldnet #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader insert #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #bartendender!jungkook #fwb!jungkook #coworker! jungkook #sunday monday jjk #jungkook x reader

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jhkfan123 · 5 months

Text

enchanted- tom blyth | ch. 6 (includes ch.7 TEASER)

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

✦vi.

when you woke up, you woke up to notifications. and lots of them. texts from all your friends. they were all something along the lines of,

"were you on a date with the guy in your movie?"

"girl, have you checked tmz?"

"im so jealous rn. check instagram."

oh. god. you immediately opened instagram, and there it was. the first post.

"actor y/n spotted with tom blyth on coffee date!" connected to the headliner, was a photo of the two of you through the window of the coffee shop. this was going to blow up. it already had, according to your friends. you weren't sure what to do. do you reach out to tom? is that weird? you were going to see him tonight anyways. you texted your closest friend, who reassured you that if you wanted to shut this rumor down, you could. but did you want to? what if you didn't, and tom did? the only thing you could think to do was bring it up to tom at the party.

...

the playlist you had made to get ready for tonight was unbeatable. you were always the playlist maker in high school. there was always a song that fit the vibe perfectly in your back pocket. you had named this playlist "what is even going on." you felt it fit right because truly, what was going on. why all the sudden hints, and now the articles? you weren't complaining, per se, but the switch up was pretty weird.

according to tom's completely blunt description of the party, it was 'less formal', which gave you the idea that he didn't want to tell you it was a rager. so, you dressed appropriately. on your way there, you stopped for food, because you weren't sure what type of food would be there. when you arrived at his rental home, there was a valet outside, which made you question if this was actually a rager. you valeted your car, tipped the worker a few bucks, and made your way inside.

when you walked in, the lights were dimmed, there was pop music playing, a bar, and a group of people dancing. but it was nothing compared to what you imagined. you realized that maybe hollywood people don't have full on ragers. it looked like a lot of fun. you placed your coat on the coat rack and walked in. you headed straight for the bar. you needed a shot for confidence. when you approached the bar, you ordered, and took your shot. then, you wandered. looking for anyone you recognized.

eventually, you found yourself talking to someone you had met at an awards ceremony a few years ago. they were a year older than you, and according to them, had just landed a major role.

"well, remember me when your famous." you said. she laughed. you ended the conversation as she found another friend of hers. you looked around, but it was a sea of unknown faces, and still no tom. you decided to plop yourself on the couch. hopefully someone would approach you. you began to watch the people.

you loved people watching. watching people dance, drink, laugh, you loved it. it was so nice to see into other peoples lives, and forget about your own. just by watching their actions, you could tell so much about a person. you could watch people for hours on end.

"i had thought you bailed." you heard. someone sat down next to you, and tom got your attention. when you looked at him, you swore you felt lightheaded. he was wearing slack-esqe pants, with his silky button up shirt not very buttoned up. in fact, there was maybe three buttons still buttoned. jesus. you weren't sure how much more of this you could take.

"i would never. i've just been lost in this sea of people, couldn't find you." you replied. he laughed. his hair was slightly wet, which gave you the inclination to believe that he had been dancing. that must have been why you didn't see him. there had been at least 30 people dancing in that pile. you noticed the thing chain around his neck, and his one earring. not many people talked about his earring. but you noticed it the first time you met him. you loved it.

"i'm assuming you've seen the stories?" he asked, his smile dropped slightly. you thought you were going to have to bring it up first, but clearly not.

"i would have to live under a rock to not have." you replied. he nodded, thinking for a moment. you decided to keep talking. "but look, there's nothing we can say to change the stories. i'm trying not to think about it or get to involved." you said. he nodded again.

"you're right. you're so right. and I'm glad you are because honestly i came over here and had no idea what to say about it. so thanks for being on top of it." he replied. you smiled at him. he smiled back. and then you were silent for a few seconds.

"so, this is quite a party." you gestured to the room.

"it's really not. but thanks anyways. i was originally going to have a quieter party, like rachels, but my friends convinced me to have a bit more, 'fun' with it, i guess? it's stupid. we're not in college anymore." he looked around the room before returning his gaze to you.

"sometimes people need this kind of fun though, especially in this industry. every single party and gala and ceremony or gathering is on television and photographed, and it's nice to just have a fun party again." you commented. he agreed with you.

"im going to go get us a drink, ok? what do you want." you told him he could bring you anything, and he was off. however, it was not long until someone took his seat. you recognized him as brady, from rachels party. although this time, he was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. his hair was a mess. clearly he didn't put himself together for this. and mostly, he reeked of alcohol. you did not want to talk to him.

"hey pretty, remember me?" he said. he plopped his head down on the cushion. you rolled your eyes.

"yes, i do, brady. what do you want." you asked. he threw his arm up on the cushion on the couch. not technically on you, but it still made you uncomfortable. you scooted away slightly.

"nothing, nothing, i just wanted to know if you were enjoying the party?" he was slurring his words. looking at him, he looked tired. even worse, he had another drink in his hand, probably after a lot of others.

"yeah, i am, but shouldn't you lay off the drinking dude? you look pretty drunk." he did not like that.

"i am literally fine, back off girl." you were searching for a way out of this situation. no one was paying attention to the two of you. "besides, i want to keep talking to you." this time, he put his hand on your knee. that was enough.

"alright no, i'm not doing this." you tried to get up but he moved his hand from the cushion onto your shoulders, and applied pressure. he was trying to trap you. "hey, dude get off. i'm serious." you tried to remember the self-defense you had learned, but in this moment of panic, nothing came to mind. you froze. "get off. get off!" you kept repeating it, but he kept getting closer. he tried to kiss your neck, and he was trying to slide his hand up the back of your shirt.

things were starting to blur, nothing was helping. you starting kicking but you couldn't get your feet where they needed to be. the room felt like it had started spinning. the music louder, the people louder and faster, the lights darker and darker.

"hey! hey! get the fuck away from her." you heard someone begin to speak, but he wasn't getting off. then you heard a crack and a few thumps. he stopped. someone grabbed your hand and you followed them into a room. your eyes were blurring from tears, but the lights were on in this room. "sit down." your eyes finally cleared, the spinning had finally stopped, and you finally recognized that tom was standing in front of you.

you took a few deep breaths.

"are you ok?" he asked. he sat down next to you, and put both hands on your shoulders, signaling you to try to stop tensing, when you finally did, he let go. you hadn't responded to him yet. you were still processing what just happened.

"i think so. i mean, obviously no, i'm not, but i'm doing ok." he got up and entered the bathroom, and returned with a box of tissues. you took one and wiped your nose, and eyes.

"good. i'm going to text someone to call the police on him, make him leave." he assured you. his voice made you realize what he had actually done for you.

"tom, did you actually hit him?" you asked.

"um, yeah, i beat the shit out of that man." you couldn't help but laugh. he had managed to make you laugh after everything that just happened. "i may have broke his jaw, but then again, i wasn't aiming for any particular area. i wasn't thinking. i just needed him to get off you." you saw his face grow more somber. you remembered him mentioning to you that he had known brady almost his whole life. "i wouldn't have imagined in my wildest dreams that brady would have done that. he just lost all my respect."

"thank you, tom, for getting me out." you saw him peer down at his phone.

"don't thank me. i feel so guilty that i left you there. i should have known , or something."

"hey. there is no way that you could have known that was going to happen. don't beat yourself up about it." out of impulse, you placed your hand on his face. he didn't shift, didn't move, nothing. in fact, you swore you felt him relax a little at your touch.

"i already have. why would i assume that with all the men at the party, not one would touch you?"

"it's not something anyone expected to happen. please, please don't get mad at yourself." he nodded. then he looked at you, and he didn't stop. the two of you seemed to be getting closer, then. you realized that you were. the two of you were leaning in. eventually, you closed your eyes expecting a kiss.

"no." you heard. you opened your eyes. he was shaking his head, looking down.

"what?" you asked. your stomach immediately dropped.

"i won't kiss you. not right now." he answered. you straightened up your posture.

"why not...but..you just.."you began to stutter.

"y/n, you were just panicked, and almost taken advantage of, and even though, i really would like to kiss you, i feel like by doing so i am also taking advantage of you." he seemed to be kicking himself over this. "your in a state of shock that i have seen before. if your not thinking straight, i don't want to do this, not right now at least." you sat there for a moment. was he right? you realized that it was really hard to decide. you said nothing. "y/n, listen. the police are here, and i'm going to go talk to them. stay in here." then he left.

after he closed the door. there was only one thing you could think about:

'i really would like to kiss you'

but he didn't. you didn't kiss. he got up, and left.

...

next thing you know, he was driving you back to your house. you had heard some yelling when the police arrived, and the party ended as soon as they arrived. you supposed that no one really wanted to party anymore after a man was arrested for attempted assault.

about five minutes later, once you heard all the voices stop, tom came back in. he told you he was taking you home, and then, once you had stood up, he hugged you. you held the hug for an entire minute. you really needed it.

on the way home, you called your closest family member and cried to them.

once home, tom waited for you to shower, and get in bed before he finally left.

what a night.

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

TEASER FOR CHAPTER SEVEN

you had spent the entire rest of that second day in bed. you canceled the meeting you had planned, and just sat in bed. you slept a little, cried a little, and most of all, you had texted with tom occasionally. he checked in almost every hour of the day.

when you woke up the day after that, you woke up to no notifications. so you decided to check social media. bad idea. after a few scrolls, another post from tmz popped up. but it wasn't about you and tom. instead, it read:

RACHEL ZEGLER AND TOM BLYTH DATING RUMORS ARISE.

#tom blyth #jhkfan123 #hollywood #fame #coriolanus snow #hunger games #rachel zegler #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanussnow #coryo #tom blyth x you #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth x reader #hungergames #tbosas #snow lands on top

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pandoraslove · 2 years

Text

Secret

Simon “ghost” Riley x reader

warnings: typical cod shit, angst & fluff, reader is a single mom but it doesn’t go into to too much detail. This is my first Ghost one shot.

I always wondered what it was I did in a past life to make me deserve this one. Despite my strength there were moments I felt so weak that it surprised me to even be able to walk back to the facility. It’s been 2 months. I left 2 months ago on a solo mission to get intel on a human trafficker in Chicago. He was a disgusting and vile man that deserved worse than hell. The mission was originally set to last 3 months, I was a month early- I think. This mission didn’t go as smoothly as it was supposed to. Someone gave my true identity away. They knew every. Single. Detail about me. Where I was born, my family, everything.

I walked into the facility and I could feel stares on me. Laswell was walking with Price when I walked in but they stopped when they saw me.

“Blaze?” Price calls out. I finally let myself deflate when I hear my name. I give him a cheeky smile.

“Miss me?” I mutter, I felt my knees buckle and my body beginning to fall.

“Woah there kid, Where’ve you been?” His voice alone told me who it was. There was no need to look up and inspect his face, not that I could since there was a 100% chance his mask was on.

“On my mission, where else.” My voice was raspy and it slightly hurt to talk.

“It’s been 4 months.” Laswell says.

“What?- no. how?” I could’ve sworn it’s only been two months. The calendar in the room they held me in- I was counting the days- they-.

“We need to get you to a medic.” Price says. Everything was going dark. My hearing was going in and out. The last thing that was going through my mind was the face of my daughter. The last time I saw her was 4 months ago. How…

I was young when I got pregnant with my daughter. I had barely turned 19, she was born 4 months after my birthday. I was enlisted already and on active-duty, Laswell was the only person I trusted at the time.When I went home I was kicked out and left for dead with a newborn baby. I was able to rent a shitty little apartment for a couple weeks before being kicked out once again. During that time I met a wonderful older woman and she helped me with Morgan. Laswell gave me the keys to a safe house and allowed me to stay there. I went back to the force when Morgan turned 6 months. I trained harder than ever, I got stronger and faster, so I could come back to her after every mission. Everything I do is for her. Laswell is the only one who knows.

The room was bright, my body ached since every bit of adrenaline left my body. Laswell, Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost were all in the room. I cleared my throat slightly and tried to sit up despite the aches in my body.

“How are you feeling?” Laswell asks.

“Perfect.” I mumble.

“We thought you were dead.” Soap says. Despite him always being the first joke around at this moment his tone was nothing but serious.

“I’m fine.” I reassure them. Ghost was the closest to me scanning my body. “I’m fine,” I repeat quietly leaning back on the bed. I saw Kate leaving the room from the corner of my eye and called out to her.

“Laswell,” She turned to look at me and nodded, she knew what I was going to ask.

“Rest and I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” I give her a small smile and relax. Price, Gaz, and Soap left shortly after her. Ghost was the only one left in the room with me.

“I’m fine, Simon” I turned my head to watch him, his forearms rested on his knees & he stared at me intensely. Part of me wanted to shrink under his stare but I refrained.

“You were gone for four months” he remarks.

“you were worried…” I say a little sarcastically.

“No shit.” He grumbles.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, staring back at him. It isn’t a secret that Simon is a very reserved & secretive man meaning our relationship was also secret & very very new. When I left for my mission we had barely started ‘dating’ for 3 months. It honestly felt like it had been 3 years. I was supposed to tell him about Morgan before leaving for my mission but he had a mission to go on himself.

He hums. His hand grabbing mine, tracing his thumb along my palm. “What happened?” he asks softly.

“Someone blew my cover. They held me hostage in a room with no windows. There was a calendar- it was a trick.”

“Did they touch you ?” he asks, anger hidden beneath his soft soothing tone.

“Nothing too bad, knives & punches is all,” I explained before sighing, “Simon…”

“Yes, love?”

“I haven’t been completely honest with you & if you want to leave… I completely understand, I mean part of me knows that I should have told you sooner but-“

“y/n. what is it?” he asks, confused by my rambling.

“I have a daughter.” I say quietly, the tears brimming my eyes now falling down my face, my fear of losing the first man who’s actually made me feel loved taking over.

“How old is she?”

“five…” I couldn’t stop my tears, so I stared at my hands.

“Can I meet her?” I looked up at him in surprise. His eyes softened under his mask when he noticed my tears. “Did you think I would be mad? that I would leave you?” A sob racked my body, Simon stood up & wrapped his arms around my body.

“I just want her to be safe and I was scared of losing you.”

“You aren’t losing me anytime soon, You & me are taking some time off.” He says, his rough voice determined.

“I can’t ask you to do that.” I mutter into his chest.

“I want to. Gives me time to spend with my girls.” He mutters into my hair. my chest swells with happiness, the words coming out of his mouth felt unreal. I look up at him & stare into his eyes, the eyes that I've grown to love & constantly think about.

“Okay.“ I say bring my hand up to his neck to lift his mask up. I bring his face down to mine & kiss him. they were soft, the type of softness that made me feel like I was floating.

#simon 'ghost' riley #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #modern warfare #simon riley x reader #modern warfare 2 headcanons #simon riley headcanons #simon riley requests

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markrosewater · 1 year

Note

Happy birthday! Can we get some birthday trivia about you on your birthday?

Sure. I turn 56 today, so here’s fifty-six things you may or may not know about me.

1) I never lost a baby tooth. Every one had to be extracted.

2) I was once a contestant on Trivial Pursuit: The Game Show with Wink Martindale. I answered the most questions correct, but didn’t win.

3) I once had scarlet fever (the thing the boy gets in the Velveteen Rabbit).

4) I’ve been told by doctors I have very weird blood.

5) I self taught myself to juggle.

6) I was a magician when I was a kid with the stage name The Wiz Kid. I mostly performed for kids parties.

7) I was once a freelance greeting card writer. My favorite (that didn’t get printed) showed a jug of maple syrup tipped on its side making a puddle of syrup. In the syrup was a top hat. A hand is pulling a can of green paint with a shamrock out of the hat. You open up the card and it says Sappy Paint Hat Tricks Day. It’s a triple Spoonerism.

8) Sara Gilbert (of “Roseanne” fame) and I once went out for lunch. (It wasn’t a date or anything.)

9) I broke my collarbone doing a prat fall off a stage.

10) I once pet a cheetah. In South Africa. My face from the picture of me doing that was used as my “Making Magic” photo for years.

11) I once made a root beer float for Keanu Reeves. It was at a play I was volunteering for.

12) I once get trapped inside Fred Astaire’s Estate. This factoid is oddly on my Wikipedia page.

13) Starting during the pandemic, my family began fostering animals. So far, we fostered four dogs, six cats, and two Guinea pigs.

14) In college, I wrote and directed two plays, started an improvisation troupe, and a writing workshop.

15) I still have all my wisdom teeth.

16) I have visited every continent except Antarctica for Magic.

17) I once asked Clint Eastwood for directions, not realizing who it was until he started talking. I was lost on the Warner Brothers lot.

18) My first job in Hollywood resulted from me taking part in someone else’s interview. I snuck on the lot, and ended walking into a room where they asked “Are you here for the production assistant interview?”, and I said, “Yes.”

19) I once had a disease the doctors couldn’t identify. They called it Mark’s Disease.

20) I was born in Mississippi. My dad was in the Air Force at the time.

21) I asked out seven woman to my senior prom who all turned me down. I ended up going with a friend who also couldn’t get a date.

22) I took six years of Spanish.

23) Most of my family’s vacations growing up were ski vacations, so I’m a decent skier.

24) I once delivered a pizza to Richard Gere. It was as a production assistant, not a pizza delivery person.

25) I once broke into an actor’s apartment building to deliver a script. It was so late, they were asleep and didn’t hear the buzzing of the door bell.

26) I once drove six hours (three in each direction) to pick up one five-stick package of Blackjack gum as a runner (production assistant).

27) Dennis Miller once thought I was a crazy man. I was sent to get him from the parking lot for a shoot and he thought I was stalking him.

28) I have over two hundred tee-shirts. They are organized by color.

29) I was supposed to pitch to “The Simpsons”, but it got cancelled when I got hired in the “Roseanne” staff.

30) I pitched multiple times to “Star Trek: The Next Generation”, but never sold a script. The closest I got was a pitch about Data malfunctioning.

31) I once ate crocodile. In Australia.

32) I played the Tinman in fifth grade in a production of “The Wizard of the Oz”. I was so hot, my silver make-up had to be reapplied halfway through as I sweated it off.

33) My mother turned down being on “Oprah” to come to my college graduation.

34) My parents are both retired. My dad was a dentist and my mom a psychologist. I used to joke I had a “paradox”.

35) Every birthday since I was 9, I’ve celebrated my birthday with crab legs.

36) Since I was in grade school, every Valentine’s Day, I hand out candy hearts, and every Halloween, I hand out mellowcreme pumpkins (basically pumpkin shaped candy corns).

37) My tee-shirts every week are themed. Some themes are pretty obvious, but they often get tricky. R&D likes figuring out the theme.

38) I got a BS in Communications (no, really) from Boston University’s College of Communications.

39) I collect superhero Minimates (they look Lego-ish). I have somewhere around two thousand. They are displayed in a number of cabinets built by my dad.

40) My podcast was inspired by a talk by Kevin Smith (at San Diego Comic-Con) where he said anyone could make a podcast.

41) I have attended over twenty-five San Diego Comic-Cons.

42) I am related to Lorne Green of “Bonanza” fame.

43) My dad’s family came from Germany and my mom’s from Russia. In Germany, my family’s name was Rosenvasser, but it was changed to Rosewater when they came to the U.S.

44) There are so few Rosewaters in the United States, that if you meet a Rosewater odds are I’m related to them.

45) I have lived in five states (Mississippi, Ohio, Massachusetts, California, and Washington, in that order).

46) I have visited over thirty states for Magic.

47) I once met Jim Henson when I worked on a clip show that Kermit was on. The question I asked him was if Ernie and Bert were named after the characters from “It’s a Wonderful Life”. He said not consciously. Jim Henson is one of my idols and I feel so blessed to have met him. He died a few months later.

48) I met Stan Lee at Hascon. He is another of my idols that I feel so lucky to have met.

49) On “Roseanne”, I worked with Amy Sherman-Palladino (just Amy Sherman back then) and Chuck Lorre. She made “Gilmore Girls” and “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel”. He made “Big Bang Theory” and “Two and a Half Men”. Amy was super sweet and we got along well. I don’t think Chuck liked me.

50) I am a super picky eater. For example, except for apples, I don’t eat fruit. I hate bananas with a passion.

51) I have been a game player since very young. My dad loves games and introduced them to me early in life.

52) I get the writing bug from my mom.

53) I used to collect lint in a giant jar. When I got married, Lora made me get rid of it. It was an impressive amount of lint.

54) I have a bad tendency to burn myself a lot. My family loves to make fun of it.

55) I own over fifty flannels. My favorites are from Japan because they are more colorful with their flannels. Normally I wear a large, but in Japanese sizes, I’m an extra large.

56) My favorite number is 254. I chose it when I was little.

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sanccharine · 7 months

Text

15:47 | mm

pairing: assassin!momo x handler!reader

summary: good speakers are good liars, too bad momo is neither. co-written by @eternallyghosting chapter summary: momo puts a man in his place

warning: use of guns sidenote: we don't know anything about guns,,,and we gave up on researching and being accurate, sorry ;-;

word count: 2.6k

a/n: as promised assassin!momo is here, also this connects to 15:34 (momo finds a gun). additionally, indigo wrote everything, i didn't do jackshit for this part, im just here to post and disappear like avatar aang

masterlist

You were seated on your recliner, taking advantage of the quiet in the house to read one of your all-time favorites, a copy of Metamorphoses you had treasured since you were a teenager, before the silence was disturbed by a beep on your phone.

As you hurried to put your book away, you frowned at your phone screen lit up with a notification from your shared calendar.

This Friday, 5-6 pm. Momo had not added anything more.

Figuring she must have woken from her nap if she was scheduling things, you called out to her.

Silence. Before you could say anything again, you were interrupted by another beep, signaling the change in the time slot from 6-7 pm.

And then another, shifting it back to 5 pm.

You sighed. What was going on?

Deciding you were done with your reading for the time being, you got up to carefully place your book back in its curated spot on your bookshelf before making your way upstairs.

You pushed open the door to your bedroom to find Momo fiddling on her phone in bed, the sheets tangled around her.

“Hey,” you leaned against the doorframe, “what’s this?”

“Hm?” she yawned.

Pointing to your own phone screen, you asked again. “What’s this Friday?”

“Oh!” Momo rubbed the sleep out of her eyes mid-sentence. “It’s for our shooting class.”

“Our what now?” Hearing Momo casually mention shooting came as a surprise to you, no matter the amount of hours you had spent in her earpiece discussing the exact same thing.

“Remember that gun we have in the back of our closet?”

How could you forget? For all its innocence and claims of self-defense, it was a thrilling reminder of what you both faced on the daily. Well, Momo did. Although you supposed sending her out there, day after day, knowing what she was getting herself into put you on the frontline as well.

Yes, you had trained for this, and yes, you had signed the contract agreeing to be the permanent handler of Agent 64, but a hidden part of you would always put up a fight whenever a new mission file came along, wanting nothing more then to go back to when you were just Y/N and she was just Momo.

Seemingly unaware of your inner turmoil, Momo continued, “Well, I have a license, but I think you should also get some practice in. Just in case, you know?”

Just in case.

“A gun date!” You exclaimed, trying to make light of the situation. In all honesty, it had completely slipped your mind, what with unpacking and settling in as well as meeting all your neighbours who insisted on inviting you two over for meals.

She rolled her eyes. “Sure, yes, a gun date, if that makes you feel better.”

Nothing about this situation would, but you would take it. After all, it meant getting to spend more time with Momo. And despite everything you knew about her capabilities and renowned skills, you had yet to see her actually wield a weapon. This could be fun. You wondered if she would actually shoot as she had been trained to, or if she would fumble her shots on purpose.

Her pride wouldn’t let her. You hid a smile as you thought about Momo at the range. Perhaps you would come up with something to bring out her competitive spirit. After all, you had to get your shots in too.

You nodded as you finally stepped into the room, moving closer to the bed. “So, Friday then?”

“Yep, I had emailed the closest range the very day we moved in, but they only just got back to me saying they could pencil us in for a slot.”

“Sounds good,” you hummed noncommittally, throwing yourself backward onto the bed. Momo did not seem like she would be getting out of bed anytime soon, and your sleep schedules were messy anyways. Dinner could wait.

Despite your previous reservations (and you wouldn’t say this out loud), you were actually excited to go to the range with Momo.

It had been an easy week for the two of you; having no immediate missions meant Momo could stay around and help you organize the house. It had been weeks since you had moved in, but there was still so much to do. You and Momo had found an easy rhythm of working, wherein you would organize and dictate the layout of the house, while Momo helped build all your furniture. After all, I am good with my hands, she had smirked.

Although the session you had booked was at five, you had to leave much earlier. Curse this town and its lack of accessibility. Although, you mused, that was precisely why you had chosen to relocate here, so you couldn’t really complain.

Momo had volunteered to drive, so you sat back and shuffled around the playlists on your phone as she pulled into the freeway with ease.

You wouldn’t say this out loud either, but you had been thinking of silly bets you could make with Momo to make the shooting session more fun.

“I’m pretty sure I’ll get like, eight bullseyes,” you began confidently.

She kept her eyes steady on the road, but you could see a smirk make its way across her face.

“Pshh, in your dreams.” Her fingers tightened imperceptibly on the steering wheel. Aha, so her competitive spirit had awoken.

“How about… ” you drifted off as if deep in thought, “loser does the dishes for two weeks?”

She shook her head. “Make it three and then it’s worthwhile.”

“How about laundry? Or gardening?” As you continued to think of new ways you could torture her with chores, she suddenly straightened in her seat.

“Loser goes out for dinner with Mr. Jones.”

You shuddered. “Ugh, I wouldn’t want to wish that on you, babe.”

Her smirk never left her face. “You seem pretty confident.”

“Oh, yeah! I told you already, how hard can it be?” You mimicked explosions again, only for Momo to swat your hand away.

“Fine, if you’re so confident, then dinner with Mr. Jones it is,” she said resolutely.

“You’re on.”

Although Momo was a highly sought-after assassin, you were not one to back down from a challenge. Settling further into your leather seat, you spent the rest of the ride jokingly trash-talking her, thinking of gross food combinations that your elderly neighbour would probably have on his dinner table.

As Momo pulled up into the tiny parking lot attached to the gun range, you couldn't stop the restless shaking of your legs. You weren't really worried about handling a gun; despite not being in the field you were confident in your abilities and comfort with a gun. As strange as it sounds, you were nervous about seeing Momo wield one.

Momo sensed your nerves and put a warm palm on your knee, her touch comforting. "Hey, it'll be fine. An instructor will be guiding us."

You managed a shaky smile as she continued, "and after all, it's for self defense, right?"

Right, self defense...

A strange look passed Momo as she said that, one you couldn’t decipher, though it disappeared when she nodded.

Your instructor turned out to be a burly, unsmiling man who made no effort at conversation. You supposed that was just as well, you needed no distractions in the range.

As he talked through the make of the gun, as well as its safety features, both you and Momo tried your hardest to act as if you were paying attention. Chancing a glance at her face, you could see her eyes trained only on the pistol in the instructor's hand. Not because she needed a reminder on how to load a bullet, but because she had already planned out an entire scenario in her head where she would have to face the opposition without having ready weapons. You could see it in the clench of her jaw, her unblinking eyes seemingly boring holes into the unsuspecting pistol.

You turned your attention back to what he was saying, only to catch the tail end of his sentence. "...and make sure you store it in a reclined postion."

Your eyes narrowed. You weren't supposed to store it that way.

Although the instructor was in the wrong you decided to keep quiet and let him finish talking. Momo however, couldn't help herself.

“Storing it that way increases the chances of the bullet getting stuck, potentially backfiring the weapon," she said sharply, her eyes never leaving the gun.

"Um, oh. Well…”

"Do your research before you teach civilians how to fire guns." You winced at her harsh tone.

Although the man towered over the both of you in height, he seemed to shrink a couple inches upon Momo's rebuke, speechless at her interruption.

"Carry on," she waved a dismissive hand when he showed no signs of continuing his lecture.

"Right so um, let's move on to aiming," you tuned out again when you realised these were the extreme basics you'd learnt in your first few days at the academy.

You let your thoughts wander to the period of your youth, undergoing grueling training in similar ranges with your friends. Only then it was a much more serious matter. You sighed. How had it already been so many years since you passed out of the system? Since you moved on and became a handler? Momo’s handler.

You came back to the present as Momo grabbed your arm, leading you to get fitted with a weapon. She seemed very in her element here, which you supposed wasn't too far off from her persona on the field. Although never having seen this in person before, you decided you liked this confident Momo.

Once you had both been fitted with guns, safety goggles, and ear plugs, your instructor led you over to an enclosed room. It was a long hallway, with narrow channels created by glass separations, and targets stuck onto the far wall.

Momo gestured at you to make the first shot, smirking as she did so. Clearly she was enjoying this.

Despite the flutters in your stomach caused by her confident aura, you forced your eyes away from her as you steadied your hand.

Taking the all too familiar shooting stance, you took a deep breath and fired.

A clear hole could be seen on the ring marking a nine. It wasn’t bad, but you were better than this.

Momo raised an eyebrow at you. “Beginner’s luck?”

If only she knew.

You shrugged, signaling her to make the next shot.

She took the same stance you had, the same pose holding the gun aloft, her eyes narrowed on the target the same way yours had. Then why did it look so much cooler?

The sound of a buzzer led to a temporary pause in your admiration of Momo.

You glanced at the target. A bullseye. Of course.

Her cheekbones would surely hurt at night from all the smirking she had been doing. It seemed the smile never left her face as the two of you alternated between rounds. Your instructor, after observing you two for a few shots and coming to the fairly obvious conclusion that you wouldn’t do something stupid like shoot at the ceiling, had left you to your own devices and had wandered over to chat with the employee at the weapons station.

“Alright,” Momo clapped her hands once before extending it, “warmup’s over. Let’s begin the bet, shall we?”

“You’re on.” You solemnly shook her hand, not one to back down from the ridiculous dramatics of the bet.

As she reloaded her pistol, you stood still to take stock of the situation. You had purposefully fumbled a few shots during your warm-up so as to not make your wife suspicious, but could you really risk doing that when the stakes were having dinner with Mr. Jones?

No, you obviously could not.

You’d just have to pretend to be a fast learner. After all, Momo had first-hand observed how you took on new recipes and mastered skills after a few tries. It wouldn’t be too far off to say you were already good at target practice.

You reloaded your own gun and waited for Momo to go first this time, thinking you would continue to alternate shots as you had before. However, you were sorely mistaken.

If you thought Momo had been in her element during the warm-up, this was an all-new, evolved Momo. Her eyes never left the target as she swiftly reloaded her pistol after each shot, her hands a blur from the fast motions. She did not look to see if you were shooting, nor did she wait for you to catch up. She had ten bullets and she made ten bullseyes. The sound of the buzzer was a neverending cacophony of success.

Only after silence had once again settled in the room did she move away from the shooting platform, pushing her goggles up over her forehead.

“Pick your jaw up from the floor, babe, there might be flies around here.” She sauntered over to you, casually holding the gun loose between her slender fingers.

Holy shit. How were you supposed to one up her now?

She must have sensed the resignation on your face, as she moved closer to pat you between your shoulder blades.

“I’m sure dinner won’t be that bad,” she said with a teasing grin.

You rolled your eyes at her before focusing on the gun in your hand, steadying yourself once again before letting the bullets fly.

To your credit, you were really good. For someone who had not been active in the field for many years, you did not disappoint on your top-of-the-year status. However, Hirai Momo was simply better. Eight bullseyes and two 9s when you had briefly hesitated in the beginning could not compare to her perfect score.

As you turned away from the sound of the buzzer and made your way over to her dejectedly, you were surprised to find a pair of arms encircling your shoulders. You looked up and found a gleam in her eyes. She was happy, not just from winning the bet, you realised, but because she was able to share a part of her daily life with you, even just for a few hours.

At that, the anxiety over the impending dinner plans faded away. This was what you had been wanting too. Sharing a home and a bed with her was absolutely perfect, but the joy at being able to share an aspect of her life while being civilians was more than you could have thought of. Before the embarrassment at this public display of affection could draw her away from you, you pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

That wasn’t good enough for Momo.

“You’re pretty good with a gun, you know,” Momo hummed out before she pressed a kiss to your lips. She pulled back just enough that your noses were still touching, her eyes wide and searching.

“Like you said,” your voice was soft. “Beginner’s luck.”

“What if I take some food over to his house?”

“Absolutely not! You have to eat the dinner he makes.”

The two of you bickered over the loopholes of the bet while returning your equipment, and all the way till you were back in the car.

As you fastened your seatbelt, you felt Momo gently touch your palm to get your attention.

She looked strangely nervous and didn’t fully meet your eye, “I just wanted to say, you did really well back there. Seriously.”

There was that strange emotion again. It wasn’t something you understood, but you had the urge to divert away.

“Enough to get me out of dinner?” you asked cheekily.

She groaned. “Don’t start with this again!”

Her eyes softened as she fully turned to look at you. “I’m proud of you though.”

You mirrored her position on the seat as you smiled at her. “Self defense, am I right?”

“Yeah, self defense.”

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: ^shower indigo with love and praise otherwise i will fucking come for you, i am in your walls. okay, im done with threats now, have a good day/night everyone :]

taglist: @someone-who-likes-broccoli @happilychaengs

#a game of hide and seek #mala's collection #sanccharine #indigo's archive #eternallyghosting :]#momo x reader #twice x reader #momo fluff #jype twice #twice imagines #momo imagines

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hayleythesugarbowl · 7 months

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HEYYYYY it’s been awhile since I’ve asked for something and I thought today I would like to have some more Angela stuff I’m not gonna be picky about it just give me something to feed on and I’ll be happy I was hoping a nice long story that’s all I got for you you can write on it when you feel like it or have the time thanks :))) hope your doing well and have a nice rest of the week ;)

Second Chances || Angela Giarratana x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: when the smosh cast goes on a company retreat and you and angela are forced to share a hotel room you have the opportunity to rekindle an old romance

word count: 3.3k

warnings: none

a/n: hey!! hope this is what you wanted, i just kinda had this idea and ran with it and i had to include the one bed trope because c’mon. also fem!reader like all of my other angela fics. anyways enjoy!! 💌💋

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Everyone say vacation!”

Courtney smiled as they took a group photo of you and everyone else at Smosh. You grinned, looking forward to the time away from work and daily life.

You and the rest of the cast had all flown to a sunny beach town for a week-long company retreat and you now stood in front of a large, bustling resort taking in the warm air, the pinkish glow of the now-setting sun, and sounds of laughter and shouting.

“Alright everyone, we’re going to have to share rooms because apparently this place is busy this time of year and someone forgot to check availability,” Ian announced, turning to his best friend.

“Why are you looking at me?” Anthony said.

Everyone began discussing who they wanted to bunk with—Shayne moving to stand closer to Damien, Courtney and Olivia linking hands, and Anthony and Ian were already discussing who would sleep in the bed closest to the window—and you watched as everyone paired off. You turned to find Angela next to you.

“So, everyone’s paired up…what do you say? Roomies?” She asked.

“Roomies,” you answered, trying to smile. Of course, just your luck. You were glad, in a way—you didn’t want to start your vacation off not finding someone to share with and be stuck feeling like this was middle school all over again—but you couldn’t decide which was worse, that or having to share a room with your ex for the whole week. You figured Angela would have felt the same way.

You were over Angela. You thought. You two had dated for the better part of 6 months but you had ultimately decided your relationship was better off as strictly coworkers a couple of months ago. You had both had your part in the relationship failing and you recognized that things were better off this way. But you couldn’t keep away the nagging part of you in the back of your mind that constantly thought what if? What if you had made a mistake ending it? What if your story wasn’t over?

You pushed those thoughts away—they were no use to you now—and tried to focus on getting though this week without any uncomfortable experiences.

You were brought out of your thoughts by your party moving towards the resort and you quickly hurried to catch up with them. You saw Angela glance back at you but you ignored it and the feeling you got in your chest as she did so.

You all found your rooms relatively easily after a long trip up many stairs—of course the elevators were out of order for service this week—and many of them were on the same floor. You walked towards the door of your room and slid the keycard in.

Small. The first thought you had as you walked into your and Angela’s room some hours later was that it was incredibly small for a five star resort hotel. You figured since they were so booked it must have been all they had.

Which explained why there was only one space that doubled as a bedroom and a living area, one closet, and, you realized with horror, one bed.

You heard Angela come up behind you.

“This is it,” you gestured to the room.

“Where’s the rest of it?” She asked, stepping in and looking around.

You set down your suitcase and sighed as Angela glanced around, her eyes landing on the bed.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Angela offered.

“Angela, I can’t let you do that. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Angela threw up her hands. “So, we’ll both sleep on the floor then.”

“Doesn’t that seem like a waste of a perfectly good bed?” You asked.

“I wouldn’t say perfectly good,” Angela mumbled, “I’ve seen documentaries about how they don’t wash those.”

You rolled your eyes at her internally, but you had to try not to smile. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard this spiel.

“Well, someone has to sleep in it,” you said.

Angela pulled at a strand of her hair. You looked at your shoes. This was ridiculous. You could be adults about this. What was the harm if you and Angela shared the bed? There wasn’t anything weird between you. You were…acquaintances, weren’t you?

Before you could change your mind you said, “We could share it.”

That got Angela’s attention.

“I mean, there’s no reason why we cant, right?” You added. The words even though we broke up were left unspoken between you.

“Of course not,” Angela said but she looked like she would rather sleep on the floor.

You figured this whole thing must be awkward for her too. Of course, you knew she had moved on from you. You had no doubt of that. But still, you assumed sharing a bed with your ex had to be uncomfortable for everyone, right?

Either way, it was settled and so a few minutes later you found yourself climbing into bed with Angela on the other side of you, careful to keep your back to her and your body as close to your edge as possible.

The last thing you remembered before you drifted off to sleep was hearing Angela’s snores and thinking that you were right back where you were a few months ago.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

When you woke up Angela was already out of bed and you breathed a sigh of relief that you didn’t have to face her and could avoid a potentially awkward situation. At least that was something, you thought, as you made yourself get out of bed at what you thought was far too early a time to start a day on vacation.

You heard the water water running and decided you would shower that night rather than cross Angela in the bathroom. You threw on the first pair of pants you found in your suitcase and began looking through tops in the closet. You finally settled on one and had just taken off your pajama shirt when something made you pause and you stopped moving as you heard a familiar sound.

Angela was singing in the shower. You instinctively took a step closer to the bathroom. She was singing some show tune that you didn’t recognize but the sound was so familiar, so comfortable that you felt as if you’d heard the song before.

You took another step closer. It was a quiet sound, but her voice grew louder as you stood outside the bathroom door and all you could think of was that it was beautiful.

You didn’t know why this was affecting you so much. Probably because it reminded you of when you and Angela were you and Angela. You’d heard her sing plenty of times when you were together. In fact, she’d always made you sing with her so she didn’t hyperventilate trying to sing all of Non-Stop. You’d say you had a lousy voice and she’d tell you the angels were jealous of the way you sounded. You stopped yourself before you got lost in the memory.

Unfortunately, you didn’t stop yourself in time to hear Angela’s shower water turn off or her singing stop.

You were made aware of this by the door opening and nearly hitting you in the face. Angela looked as shocked to see you as you were to come face to face with her.

“(Y/n), what are you—”

She cut off and her eyes widened as she looked at you. You caught your reflection in the mirror of the bathroom and you immediately understood why. You had forgotten that you were in the process of changing when you had stopped to listen to Angela.

You now stood in your pants with your shirt in your hand and nothing but your bra on top—you praised all that was good and holy that you had been too tired to take it off last night before you went to bed—and you stood there in shock. You quickly covered your chest with your shirt but it was too late. The damage had already been done.

Angela stared at you and you couldn’t read her expression. Surprised? Annoyed? That had to be it, you supposed you wouldn’t be too happy either if you got out of the shower to find someone half-naked lingering outside your bathroom.

“Angela, I’m sorry, I was just—” You tried, but she interrupted.

“It’s ok, bathroom’s all yours,” she said, stepping past you and looking at the ground. You figured it was in your best interest to go along and pretend that you had been waiting for the bathroom so you just stepped in and locked the door, trying not to notice how the room smelled like her. Like her perfume, her conditioner, everything that you remembered from before. You looked at your weary reflection in the mirror.

It’s going to be a long vacation, you told your reflection, but all it did was stare back at you.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The next day passed in flashes of beaches and gift shops and avoiding Angela. You had been having fun, or trying to really, despite your living situation.

Things with Angela were especially awkward after that morning. What was wrong with you?

I am over Angela.

And that became your mantra. As you watched her laugh and talk with all of your cast mates. As you tried not to stare at her and her adorable blue bikini. And especially as you dreaded that night and the horrors it would inevitably bring. At least with everyone else around you could safely navigate your vacation without really having to interact with her. But then you would have to go back to your room and back to your bed and you didn’t know if you could take it. Maybe you were wrong about being able to be perfectly fine with this.

I am over Angela.

And maybe if you said it enough times you’d actually believe it.

“(Y/n), did you hear me?” Angela tapped you on the shoulder.

“Oh, no sorry, what?” You asked, dazed.

“I just asked if you wanted a snow cone, I was going to buy us some,” she gestured to a stand a few hundred feet away.

“Oh, no thank you,” you answered and all you could think of was her touch on your arm.

You were doomed.

“(Y/n), are you ok?” You felt someone come up beside you and you turned around. Arasha was looking at you with a concerned expression on her face. “You’ve been acting weird all day.”

You supposed you had. “Oh, I’m just tired, that’s all.”

You risked a glance at Angela and Arasha just nodded but you didn’t think she believed you.

After that, everyone started to part ways and go off to explore the city on their own.

Amanda turned back to you from where she and Shayne were standing. “You coming with?”

“I’ll catch up,” you called. You weren’t in any hurry. You stopped to look in the window of a cute little candle shop. There was no reason you couldn’t enjoy your vacation on your own. You were glad of the peace and quiet for a moment.

“Hey, where’d everybody go?” Angela ran up to you with a tray full of snow cones. You shrugged.

“That’s the last time I do anything nice for those lousy—”

You let out a chuckle. She smiled at you and it was impossible for you not to smile back.

“So, any place you particularly wanna see?” Angela gestured around as she began eating a snow cone. She held one out to you and you took it.

“Nothing in particular,” you answered honestly.

“Well, then we can see nothing together,” she began walking and you kept pace with her.

This was good, you thought. Just a nice, casual walk around the city with Angela like two coworkers would do.

You made small talk about your job and the things around you and it was easy enough. Angela talked enough for the both of you, so you just piped in when necessary and kept your eyes firmly on the snow cone in your hand. Which was probably why you didn’t see the pole in front of you.

“(Y/n), watch out!” Angela jumped in front of you, throwing down the tray of snow cones, and pulled you out of the way just before your forehead connected with the metal pole.

Your heavy breathing had nothing to do with the near-accident that had almost occurred. Angela gripped your sides tightly and you were closer to her than you had been in a while. For a moment you two just looked at each other before you pulled away and mumbled a quick “thanks”.

You were debating wether or not to say more when Chanse walked out of a shop in front of you and fell in to step with Angela. She looked back at you briefly before continued again and as you walked behind them you repeated the only thing keeping you sane.

I am over Angela. I am over Angela. I am over Angela.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

By the time you got back to your hotel room it was late and all you wanted to do was fall asleep and not think about Angela or this day. You were just about to climb into bed when you realized that someone was already there.

Angela. She must have gotten back before you and was already asleep. You paused a moment to watch her sleeping form—she looked so calm and peaceful—before slipping in to your side of the bed, staying as far away from her as possible. You shivered under the sliver of blankets that you had—Angela had wrapped them all around her. You supposed it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you scooted a tiny bit towards Angela in order to be covered by the warm sheets. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it would do, you thought. Your eyelids began to droop as you shivered again. Maybe if you just…shifted… a little…towards…

…Angela. You awoke that morning and the first thing you saw was Angela. Her head was on your chest and your arms were over her back. Your initial horror dissolved into contentment as she nestled her head into you in her sleep and her hair tickled your collarbone. She felt warm in your arms and you didn’t want her to wake up quite yet. Because she wouldn’t be doing this is if she were conscious. You knew you should just sneak out from under Angela and out of bed before she woke up and found you like this but you couldn’t make yourself.

Because as you lay here like this with your ex-girlfriend you couldn’t seem to remember why you broke up. This felt right. You knew you could never say any of this to Angela—she’d moved on from you like you’d failed to do with her. Because you realized then that you weren’t over Angela.

You felt Angela begin to stir and you tried to move your body out from under hers but you only got about halfway when she opened her eyes and blinked at you.

“(Y/n)?” She took in your close proximity and her head in your chest. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Her voice was gravely from sleep as she said, “Well, I guess we were cold last night.”

You nodded and let yourself pretended that was it.

“I’m going to go get us some more towels,” you said, standing up and walking towards the door. You didn’t even bother putting on a robe or clothes and figured you’d take your chances wearing your pajamas in the hall rather than staying in here with Angela.

Once you were out of the room you leaned up against the door and took a deep breath. Your cheeks were hot and you ran a hand through your messy hair.

“(Y/n), what are you doing?”

It was Arasha. She walked towards you from a room down the hallway and you met her in the middle.

“Getting some air,” you said, “You?”

“Couldn’t sleep” she answered and you looked out a window, seeing the dark sky and realizing it was earlier than you thought. Probably no later than 5:30 in the morning.

“Are you ok, really?” She asked hesitantly when you didn’t answer.

You sighed. What was the harm in telling her really? She knew you and Angela had dated. Everyone did. She could probably guess on her own; maybe she already had.

“It’s Angela,” you admitted. “I thought sharing a room with her would be fine since it’s been a couple months since we broke up but it’s not fine.”

Arasha frowned, “You’re not on good terms? I thought you two stayed friends after your breakup.”

“No, it’s not that,” you said, swallowing. “I—I think I’m still in love with her.”

Arasha’s eyes widened and you fumbled for words.

“Everything she does reminds me of how things used to be and I’ve tried to keep my distance and remind myself why we’re not together anymore but none of those reasons really seem compelling anymore and I know it’s a bad idea and it could never happen but—”

Arasha put a hand in your shoulder, interrupting you. “I think if you really love her, then tell her. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I could make things more awkward than they already are?” You bit your bottom lip.

“If worst comes to worst, you can stay with me. Amanda snores anyway.” She laughed and you joined her, grateful for her help and advice.

“So does Angela,” you remarked fondly, “Thanks, Arash, I appreciate it. I’ll find a way to tell her. I just don’t know what she’ll say.”

“I think she’ll say that she completely agrees with you.”

You spun around at the sound of Angela’s voice.

“Angela, I—”

She put up a hand. “I heard everything. I was going to ask you to bring up some muffins with you.”

Arasha backed up. “I’ll catch you guys later.” She gave you an encouraging smile as she went back into her room and left you and Angela alone in the hall.

You said, “Angela—”

At the same time as she said, “I love you too, (Y/n).”

“I didn’t mean—wait, what? You do?” You stared at her in shock.

“I still love you. Actually, I never stopped loving you,” she said, more quietly now. She looked so vulnerable then and you wanted to reach out to her but you didn’t.

“But we said we were better off as coworkers, as—”

Angela shrugged, “And how’s that working for us?”

You thought about the way this week was going so far for you and realized you hadn’t even considered that Angela felt the same way. That everything was just as hard for her as it was for you. If this trip had taught you anything it was that some things—some people—were worth second chances.

You closed the distance between her and kissed her. Kissed her like you’d been waiting to kiss her for thousands of years. In a way, it felt like that. As she kissed you back, you thought that this was how it was meant to be.

“You know what? You’re right, I think this works a lot better,” you said breathily.

She smiled at you. “So, what do you say we go back to bed?”

“As long as you stay on you’re side,” you teased her, starting to walk towards your room. You were glad things were more comfortable between you. It wasn’t perfect, but you’d make up for the time you lost together. You still had five whole days of vacation, and you were going to make the most of them.

“That,” Angela responded, walking through the doorway and turning back around, looking at you with a twinkle in her eye, “I can’t promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed this babes!! have a lovely week and expect a couple more angela fics coming out soon!! 🤭🎀

#angela giarratana x reader #angela giarratana #smosh #smosh fanfiction #smosh imagine #smoshblr #smosh pit #smosh squad #smosh games #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #x reader

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eddies-house · 10 months

Text

The Under-Ground (18+ ONLY)

Chapter Seven - Bake Sale

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - The calm after the storm.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

8.7K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, mentions of drugs and drinking, drug dealing, allusions to mental illness, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: i think im super proud of this one omg guys also...I put a little note at the end cause i didn't wanna spoil anything by saying what i was gonna say. also i fixated so much on each section of this as i wrote it so its like half proof read and then i was like ok the rest is up to god

Masterlist

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The storm subsided at around 2:00 AM and it would go down as the biggest storm in Hawkins’ history to date. The flooding was unlike anything anyone had seen in years and the poor unequipped town was drenched to its roots. Minor water damage affected homes and businesses, nothing too devastating but an inconvenience nonetheless. A few trees had been struck down, if not by lightning then by the high winds that coursed through the night like they owned it. Streets were blocked off with caution tape and traffic cones as the damages were assessed and Hawkins Square was littered in deep puddles that would soak you up to the knee if you happened to misstep.

It was fitting. The world seemed to look just as you felt. Mutilated. Tarnished. The calm after the storm, indeed. Although things that night looked up between you and Eddie, an invisible peace treaty signed by the ink bleeding on the coffee cup, the scars didn’t just vanish. This wasn’t a movie, this was real life and things didn’t just become beautiful again over night. Pain didn’t just cease because you wanted it to or because someone said the right thing. Someone could say a million of the right things but it doesn’t excuse their wrongdoings and the harm they’re capable of. And it doesn’t erase them as someone who would pull the trigger on you if given the chance.

The sun flowed into the room at just the right angle, the kitchen countertop illuminated with the faintest rainbow in the morning light. Beauty after tragedy. It was cold, god was it cold. The apartment might as well have been a walk-in freezer at this point, a place where you could store cold cuts and popsicles without hesitation. But it was hard to complain about your living conditions when there was a warmth blossoming deep within your very being. Whiskey colored eyes had the same effect as the real thing. Warming you up from the inside out, relaxing every tensed muscle, melting away every stupid problem. It pooled deep within you, a buried desire that was clawing its way out of your chest. You’d been without a glance of those rich and honeyed irises for at least six hours, well into the beginning of the hour of 8:00 AM and yet it felt like you’d drank them in seconds ago with the way your veins heated. The way your blood pumped and your nerves mellowed out. If he was like a smooth shot of whiskey, you were at risk of becoming an alcoholic if you weren’t careful.

Snap out of it.

This was not a fairytale, things could not be fixed overnight. He was still a stranger to you, a shell, you could not settle into comfort so easily, no matter how good it felt. It didn’t matter that the buzz lingering beneath your surface was far more powerful than the first time at sixteen.

It didn’t matter.

All you knew was hurt by the hands of those closest and you weren’t going to let it happen again. Never again. Not even for boyish dimples. Not even for the stupid cup of hot chocolate. And certainly not for the way it felt to be pressed against his back when you begrudgingly accepted a ride home on his death machine of a motorcycle the night of the storm. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have prime real estate in the back of your mind.

–

His hair. Several curls falling from the confines of the low messy bun that should warrant a lecture from you on the food safety guidelines but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Soft brown tendrils framed a concentrated face, tongue poked out in deep thought at the simple task of blending ice and coffee. The grinding of the blades against the ice for longer than necessary should have you in shambles, causing an uproar, at the very least scolding him under your breath. You don’t. Instead it’s as if you’re under some kind of spell, a spell that continuously draws you to the insufferable but absolute Disney prince of a man before you. It had been years since you’d seen him in such a light and it made everything all the more conflicting.

I hate him.

Several curses escaped his delicately pink lips as the blender came to a halt, the consistency of the liquid was long overblended and almost became a thicker milk but all you could focus on as his back came to face you was his broad shoulders, far more adult than you’d ever realized. He was no longer a lanky high schooler, his frame had filled out and it filled out in his favor. Had his arms only recently become a touch manlier or did your subconscious automatically blur it out all those times you encountered him only to end up with even more distaste after each interaction? A distaste which would only blind you to the man he grew into.

No, I hate him.

But the moment you would tear your gaze away it would only gravitate right back to his hands which you guessed were noticeably larger than your own but you were in no position to find out. With his rings more than likely temporarily abandoned atop the table in the back, his fingers seemed bare. It only further made you appreciate them, a flash of a daydream posed in your mind where large hands decorated with chipped black polish rested at your waist.

No, no, no.

He was not yours to daydream about nor would you want him to be.

Although…it was okay to think of him as physically attractive all while still keeping him at a distance wasn’t it? After all, he was still awful. You force yourself to recall the horrible things he’s said to you but you can only counter it with the appalling remarks you’d made in return. Though he committed a horrendous act years ago that would make you bleed for years to come, you knew it didn’t warrant some of the comments you’d snapped at him in passing. Especially those about his social status. It was becoming apparent after the previous night’s conversation that you both struggled verbally and that his crude comments were always met with your degrading criticism. You were both instigators.

But it was proving difficult to keep him in such a villainous light when he was so radiant. So effortlessly alluring even as he tossed his liquified concoction into the sink with his brows knit tightly together and profanities falling from his tongue, thankfully quiet enough as to not alert any customers. In all honesty, all he’s proved was that he was an awful barista. Even then, it didn’t bother you as much as it should, your desire to scream at him would’ve been off the charts 24 hours ago. That desire hadn’t even been simmering beneath your surface, the only desire burning within your depths was something unspoken and something you could never let bubble over ever again. You wouldn’t.

Reality began settling back in, an enraged customer snapping his fingers at you, demanding your attention as your eyes widened at the realization that he’d been waiting on a simple black cup of coffee for the past few minutes. Had the shop been busier you would’ve found a polite way to shut him up but in all fairness there were only three other customers at the moment, two of which were already enjoying their drinks. Regardless, it didn’t seem to warrant the entitled behavior of the frowning middle aged man, a simple where is my order? would have sufficed.

“I’m so sorry, let me check on that for you.”

Customer service served with a smile. And a side of sarcasm.

“Oh, you’ll check on that? It’s a cup of coffee. How hard is it to make—“

“There was a mix up with the orders, here’s your coffee. My fault.” Eddie slid the cup across the to go counter to its awaiting consumer, eyes slightly narrowed.

There was no mix up. You really did forget all about the bland coffee up until you were rudely reminded. And it definitely wasn’t Eddie’s fault.

—

1 Week Later

There was no escaping how absolutely enchanting a mundane task such as scrubbing the sink was. It didn’t make sense and yet you lingered, pretending to rinse out the blender one time too many with the hope of catching Eddie’s forearms flex in his movements as he maneuvered the sponge around the sink.

Pathetic.

Which is why you tried so hard to snap yourself out of it. Though you told yourself a week ago that you could admire from afar, even that was starting to not feel like enough which is why it needed to stop. Eddie Munson had finally apologized to you but that didn’t mean throw caution to the wind. You don’t just suddenly trust someone that for years only gave you reasons to steer far from them. The key phrase was that he finally apologized. Meaning he took far too long. Fucked up too long ago and prolonged inexcusable behavior so far into the future that it was beyond repairing. He didn’t deserve your sympathy or your persisting gaze. Sorry meant nothing in the face of years of destruction.

Keep telling yourself that.

Because all you did was remain fixated on those stupid bats decorating his forearm for as long as rinsing out the blender would allow. You had no idea how big of a breath you were holding in as you stood there next to him until you pulled away, snagging a rag from beneath the coffee bar to dry the container. Lungs suddenly exhausted, you attempted to regain a semblance of your composure.

Every conversation since that one night had gone the same. A few words exchanged pertaining to work only, some on his behalf coming off as silly banter only for you to keep your focus on any task you could grasp nearby, acting as if he bored you. It killed him but he respected it. That didn’t mean he’d stop trying to make nice. If the only positive response he received from you all week was an accidental crack in your smile he would take it. It’d be gone quicker than it came but he cherished it all the same. In the last few weeks he came to terms with the fact that he could be on his best behavior but that didn’t mean you had to accept it which in turn meant that he would have to accept that.

So your muffled answers of ‘mhm’ and ‘yeah’ to everything he said felt like the end of the world to him but if it meant peace for you then he’d endure it. The way you’d avoid his eyes made him miss you. You were an arms length away but he missed you. And no, it didn’t mean he necessarily missed prodding at you because you both had this sick game of who could throw the worst insult for years, it meant that he missed your attention, whether it be in spiteful phrases or aggressive stares. He’d take what he could get and now, he was getting nothing. He was starved, absolutely deficient of your gaze even if it did hold such a hateful fire for him. Eddie supposes avoidance feels even worse than face to face conflict that was never even meant to be. And it’s only because the way you shut down made him feel non-existent in your world. At least before he had a place.

—

1 Week Later

Before every night shift at The Under-Ground was a grueling eight hours at the auto shop. Hours that Eddie would spend mentally ripping himself to shreds even more so than before your more recent communication with him. Although he hated himself for even thinking about it, he’d sometimes wager the idea of picking a small fight with you just to earn a fraction of your recognition, even if in a negative light. Then he’d quickly acknowledge that doing so would only provide further evidence that he was never worthy of a moment of your time in the first place. And he still fully believed that. But he was eager to someday become the guy that was.

So when Steve Harrington strolled into the shop, twirling his keys around his finger, Eddie’s grip on his wrench tightened as he pushed himself further under the Chevy he’d been working on. He’d never forgive Steve for all that happened, he’d take responsibility for his side of things but Steve inflicted a kind of pain on you that he could read in your eyes every time he saw you. Though you hadn’t said much about Steve to him directly, the way you fixated on him and Eddie being ‘together’ dulled a certain light within you. How could Steve let it happen if he knew the outcome? The same could be asked of himself but he was concentrating on Steve right now. The best friend. The last person in the world you’d think to hurt you.

“Hey, Munson.”

At his feet stood the man in question. The one that he’d swear to never associate with again. Ignoring him wasn’t going to accomplish anything however he tried regardless.

“Munson.”

Figures.

“Get outta here, Harrington.” Eddie remained monotone, uninterested in any persistence Steve was forcing upon him.

“Please, I need-“

“Need what? Need me to get you off again? Get out.” It was said between clenched teeth, patience no longer a virtue. There was rage bubbling under the surface and if he wasn’t careful, it would boil over and create an even bigger mess. His conscience silenced his true inner monologue though that didn’t completely shut down his capabilities of biting back. It was just much more stifled.

“No—what? No, of course not.” Steve’s nerves were fried and Eddie could tell just by the shake in his voice. Fluorescent lights did him no favors, his usually radiant glow now dull in the stuffy garage.

“Then what, what are you doing in my bay?” A seething Eddie slides out from underneath the sedan, sitting up to glare at the king himself. “‘Cause I don’t have time for—whatever this is.” He gestures between himself and Steve, fingers covered in grease.

“Just—I—have you, have you talked to her?” Distraught. Steve has the audacity to come off as distraught. Eddie’s deep breath only furrows Steve’s brows, the vein in his neck straining as he focuses on the nearly irate mechanic before him.

“Listen.” Eddie’s coveralls are further tarnished with the oily substance from his hands as he wipes them on the rough navy material, frustration evident in the way his eyes squeeze shut for a mere second. “You two seem to think communicating through me is going to fix this whole thing but it’s not.” If he could run a hand down his face out of habit he would. Instead he offers another sigh, a disappointed one. “You need to talk to each other. You keep using the enemy as a pawn and it's just gonna blow up in your face.”

“Munson, you’re not the enemy–”

Steve attempts to make nice, tries to let Eddie know that he’s not what he claimed him to be all those times. Truth be told, Steve was always jealous.

“Don’t try pitying me, dude.”

It’s silent aside from the clanging of some tools a few bays down, the two staring at each other, one displaying an expression of warning while the other creases his forehead in some form of a plea. An unsaid call for help.

“I’m not, I’m not! I think we’ve both fucked up. Bad.” Way to go, Steve. That’ll really help your case. “Only difference is you fucked up in high school, we were all still kids.” His words are lost on Eddie, he can tell by the way he reaches back to release his unruly curls from the confines of a bun, his head shaking around like a shaggy dog. “I fucked up now so there’s no–no excuse of ‘we were so young! I was dumb!’”

His excuse was that he’s selfish. That was really all there was to it, no bigger picture, no hidden meaning that might bring justice to his name. Steve was a horny guy and he in all honesty hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions. Not even after Robin just about tore him a new one after she found out about the first time. It’s like he’d forgotten all about the absolute heartbreak you went through, the fact that Eddie harbored a sore spot in your barely beating heart was miles away from his thought process. King Steve must not have been buried that deep beneath his surface after all, not long forgotten back in junior year like he’d thought. He was right here all along with the knife in his hand, unintentionally but still brutally stabbing you in the back. And in the aftermath he was forced to bathe in the product of his egocentric ways. No amount of self help books could remedy what seemed to be another broken heart, but even worse, platonically.

This wasn’t like when he and Nancy called it quits back in senior year. This was in a way, more gut wrenching and possibly pulled more tears from him than Nancy’s cutting but truthful words ever could. And that’s saying something. He shed a lot of tears that dreadful night but he’d go as far to say that he shed more the night you caught him hopping out of Eddie’s van. Repercussions slammed his very existence and all he could do was blame himself because you had done nothing wrong and yet he went and severed the very friendship of someone who stuck by him through every questionable thing he had done.

And it was all over someone he never had any feelings for in the first place. And over someone you did. At least at some point.

“Steve, I don’t have an excuse and you know it.” Eddie was aware that he sounded borderline pathetic but what else did he have to hide? His gaze lowered to his filthy boot, eyes as tired as his brain was before exhaling in defeat. “I still keep fucking up whether I mean it or not.” His pupils seemed to dilate in mourning, of what exactly, Steve couldn’t pinpoint. Then Eddie shook his head, resentment etched into his features as he ran his tongue behind his teeth before clicking it in displeasure. “Why are you even searching for an excuse? What we both did was shitty. But for you it might be even worse because while I was the ‘bad guy’ the whole time, you were still her best friend.”

Steve was well aware. He craved the bliss that came with being ignorant but that was no longer something he could allow himself to do.

“Yeah.” He breathes out, earnest eyes dropping to the scuffed floor below him.

“Yeah? That’s it? You need to like, go beg for mercy or some shit.”

Receiving advice from Eddie Munson was the last thing Steve ever thought he’d be doing and yet here he was. Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson was schooling him and suddenly everything felt so backwards. But maybe that’s how it needed to be in order for things to go back to how they were. For you to at least talk to him, if not to beg for your mercy then to apologize profusely before leaving his fate in your hands.

“I know, man.” A pitiful sigh escaped his lungs, too pitiful for Eddie’s liking.

The smell of fumes throughout the shop lingered in Steve’s nostrils which left him with a tinge of discomfort but nothing could prepare him for the way Eddie almost instantly stood to tower over him despite being around the same height. It was his demeanor that made him feel inferior. Dark eyes, deepening even more so from aggravation, lips contorted into a condemning scowl, fists clenched at his side, knuckles white.

“I don’t think you do, ‘cause why are you coming to me?” Flared nostrils declared a new vendetta against Steve.

“I-I…”

“Man up, Steve. Say whatever you’re trying to say to me, to her. I’m not the one who needs an apology.” It was fair enough. Steve wasn’t sure why he walked into that garage just minutes ago. Maybe it was because despite what everyone says, Eddie was fairly level headed. Maybe it’s because Steve needed someone stubborn to mentally beat some sense into him and Eddie was the only one he could think of to do it with no remorse.

With a noticeable gulp, Steve felt his eyes sting but didn’t dare let any tears surface. He was not throwing a pity party. “I don’t know how. She won’t even talk to me–I–every time I try–”

“That’s not my problem is it? ‘M just your boy toy, remember?”

Ouch.

Among the turmoil Steve had created, he failed to understand that Eddie could be just as affected. And what Eddie wouldn’t willingly reveal was that he was genuinely hurt. Because you were hurt. And because Steve seemed like the most oblivious idiot on the planet. Sure he had his words with you and he wasn’t proud of most of them but that was another beast. He had always been the opposing force, Steve was your right hand man the entire time. In all honesty, Eddie couldn’t care less about Steve using him for pleasure, he cared that he did it at your expense whether he bothered to know that or not the few times they met up. He knew he was just some guy so what was there to lose but Steve? Steve had a lot to lose.

“Eddie, you wanted it too.” Steve’s head shook in contemplation, longing for the right words but always finding the wrong ones.

“Yeah, well not anymore.”

Eddie’s harsh front faltered, exhausted as his shoulders slumped. Steve ran a nervous hand through his stupid big hair and for some reason it put Eddie on edge.

“Obviously.” Steve exhales, nodding before his eyes give away that he was lost in thought.

“So why are you here?”

A valid question. A question that Steve was finding he didn’t want to answer. But he had to.

“Because–because I feel like I, I owe you an apology.” He babbled at first, humiliating himself further before finding his footing and grasping the words that he knew would ground him. Even if he didn’t like it, he knew this was the start of putting the pieces back together.

“Again, you’re talking to the wrong person–” Eddie appeared worn out, head tilted back and gaze fixed to the ceiling as he let out a self soothing breath before being interrupted.

“I’m sorry for trash talking you for as long as we’ve known each other and then using you.” He never thought he’d hear such words from Steve Harrington. Which made it all that much more awkward to respond to.

“Thanks?”

Eddie expects that to be the end of it, waits for Steve to press his lips into a straight line in the silence and then stride out the large bay door without another word but he doesn’t. And he kind of wants to kick his ass as more words begin to pour from his mouth.

“I know…I know she should be the first person I apologize to, and, and I’ve tried to but she’s not my biggest fan right now.” Boo hoo. That’s the only response Eddie can conjure up so he keeps his mouth shut. “And I guess, I feel like I can’t until I fix this first because Eddie…” Steve sucks in such a large breath that Eddie feels like he may have been on the verge of passing out. But he also senses it’s because all of this is very difficult for Steve to say aloud. Within the same breath, Steve releases the rest of the words he was clutching so tightly to in his chest. “She was so head over heels for you back then and I fucking spit on your name no matter how much she talked you up. And I know you ruined things on your own but I went and fucked things up on my own and I don’t know how I could’ve done it so easily knowing, knowing how much she liked you and then how much she was hurt by you. And then I went and did what I did, it just–it doesn’t make sense, I know.”

It’s quiet again. Neither man speaking, only looking at each other in anticipation. And after several moments of distant metal clanging against metal a few bays over, Eddie finally clears his throat.

“Harrington,” He starts, eyes flashing with the most intimidating fire you’d ever see. “You’re throwing the biggest pity party I’ve ever seen and if this is how you plan to apologize to her you should just give up now.”

The sentiment was cruel but beneath it was a plea of ‘get your shit together, please’. And god, he hopes Steve picks up on it.

“Yeah…yeah.” Steve’s eyes were glazed over, the thinnest sheen of tears coating them before he blinked them back, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Eddie guesses Wayne is rubbing off on him because his next words come off more wise than cruel. An unexpected empathy resonated within him though he doesn’t fully believe it’s well deserved.

“What you need to do is just admit you messed up. No excuses. If she really matters to you, you don’t need to sit here and apologize to me and get all up in your feelings. You need to talk to her and if she doesn’t wanna listen…” He sighs, a sort of calm overtaking him. “Well, respect it.”

Steve seemed to ponder, the advice overwhelming him but still penetrating through his thick skull.

–

Steve👸: Hey

Steve👸: Can we talk?

Sox🧦 : No

Steve👸 : Five minutes. And then you’ll never have to hear from me again. Promise.

“Who are you texting?” Will leaned over to view your phone screen, ever the nosy boy. Quickly clicking the off button, you refrain from sharing any messy details of what happened between you and Steve. Sure he’d seen the initial smack down in the parking lot which you regret but he didn’t need to know anything more. Hell, he didn’t even know that Robin was out of your circle.

“No one, I was just checking something for one of my assignments.”

“Liar.” What you always forgot was how much of a bloodhound he was. Could sniff out anything that smells slightly off. It always caught you off guard although it only made you look like a fool since he did it time and time again. Throwing a surprise party for his sixteenth birthday was impossible with the way he was such a detective.

“Nuh uh!” You defended, placing your phone face down on the flour coated counter of the Byers kitchen, an egg taking its place in your hand as you cracked it against the off-white ceramic bowl.

“Yuh huh! Give me that–”

“Knock it off!” Waving Will off, you threaten in a simple gesture to let the slimy egg white and yolk ruin his newest Hellfire shirt, a special edition design created just by him. It was quite impressive actually, dragons symmetric on the front, breathing fire onto the logo overlaid with a skull and crossbones.

With a scoff, Will surrenders with his hands thrown up and eyes wide, amusement prominent across his face. “It’s Steve, I already saw it. So what are you trying to hide from me this time?”

“What–I’m not trying to hide anything.” You were just further certifying yourself as a liar, but you felt this one time it was for good reason.

“Then why can’t I see it?”

An intense stare burned into the side of your face as you attempted to resume your unfinished baking, barely even started but the kitchen showcased several dirty bowls, some housed in the sink piled high in soapy water while others were scattered across the laminate. Brownie batter, cookie dough, cake mix, the works. It would appear as if you were preparing for a bake sale if anyone were to walk in. But was just a Friday night turned into a full fledged baking frenzy on a whim. Which was much needed after a particularly stressful shift at The Under-Ground, it had been busier than most days, mostly because fall activities began to ensue. Hawkins’ famous hayride had started up for the season and dropped off several families in the square who only trickled into the shop for hot drinks and buttery yet sweet pastries. Screaming children were not something you were anticipating hearing all night but it made you appreciate the calm of closing up after, only the sounds of you dropping change into the register mixed with Eddie humming under his breath as he swept up graced your tired ears.

“Just leave it alone. Please?” An eggshell is tossed into the makeshift scraps bowl you’d set aside nearby, a bit too aggressively for comfort. A telltale sign that Will should not leave it alone.

“I’m not a baby. You don’t need to protect me from all the ugly shit that happens.” He was seventeen, still a baby to you. But the irritation was apparent in the way that he grabbed the bowl of brownie batter from the counter, glaring at it like it owed him money, however you knew the glare was meant for you. “I wanna be there for you like you’re there for me.”

Fuck. That just about ripped your heart in two. He was such a sweet kid, always wanting to do right by those he cared about. You bounced the idea back and forth, should you enlighten him or continue shielding him? Your decision was made for you when the words tumbled from your lips, your subconscious declaring that Will could forever be the baby of the group but he was growing up regardless and you couldn’t hold him to that standard for eternity. He would eventually have to face uncomfortable situations and hiding them from him completely might do more harm than good, he deserved to be in the know and to feel like an equal rather than some naive child.

“Okay. Um–yeah, it’s uh, it’s Steve…”

“And…?”

“He just wants to talk.”

Your wooden spoon scraped against the bowl, combining the dry and wet ingredients together, your concentration never leaving the forming batter. Red velvet. Will set down the brownie batter he had been inspecting, reaching for a glass dish and proceeding to butter it up generously, the oven already preheated behind him.

“You haven’t talked to him since…” He cocks a curious brow at you, momentarily looking up at you from his current task.

“No. No, I don’t even wanna see him.” Your admission is quiet, almost ashamed. “But, um, let’s just, let’s just finish this up.” The attempt to change the subject fails, the boy dropping his head down to catch your averted eyes.

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“No.” You tread carefully, ever so cautious of the fact that Will had the ability to catch the slightest hesitation in your tone.

“Really? Cause I smell bullshit.” Such a damn bloodhound.

“Why would I want to talk to him? Didn’t you see what happened?” Though it was a fair point, you knew you were being avoidant and that it wouldn’t necessarily help anything, only prolong the pain and the awkwardness that would come with finally speaking to him. It had been weeks which would already create a nasty film between the two of you, something grimy and difficult to just scrub away.

Will offers a sympathetic sigh, and unspoken ‘I know you’re hurting but isolating yourself is only going to hurt more’ and you’re fully aware that he knows that feeling all too well. “I did see and it was really bad. But you’re not even gonna hear what he has to say about it?” His gentle approach was appreciated though it was just the way you talked to each other about these things. No judgment, only the right questions.

“Will, you have no idea of some of the other things that happened years ago that make this so much worse than it already is.” You’d regret how whiny you sounded except he’d seen you at your most vulnerable before so it was nothing he hadn’t experienced before.

“Okay, then what do I not know?” The gooey chocolate batter is poured into the glass dish he had prepared, resembling how your feelings were about to ooze right out of your very being.

“I’m not getting into all that now.”

“No, you don’t get to do that!” He doesn’t sound unkind but not the friendliest either, slamming the now empty bowl on the counter. You had it coming, you suppose. “You’re visibly stressed out, even worse lately, I’m one of the only ones that notices and I’m not even allowed to know the full story?”

“Will.”

There’s no saying no to his expression, blue eyes blinking at you and brows raised in anticipation. There’s no trace of judgment, just curiosity and worry. And just as you’re about to dive in head first and reveal all that you tried to withhold, the ring of the doorbell shuts you up just as fast.

The digital numbers on the stove read 10:46 PM, an ungodly hour for anyone to be ringing someone’s doorbell which is why you and Will share the same puzzled look, eyes shifting from each other toward the front door just off the kitchen. Will doesn’t necessarily live in the most populated area so there’s reason to be concerned over a visitor at such late hours.

“You get it.” Will rushes out. “Nose goes!” A speedy finger touches the tip of his nose, your cheeks flushing in irritation as the doorbell chimes once more. “Go!” He whisper yells, gently pushing you toward the door. A scowl remains on your face as you take your time. Will would do anything for you. Except sacrifice himself to the serial killer knocking at his own front door apparently. You’d never cursed a door so harshly for not having a peephole.

Deep down, you knew it’d more than likely be someone like Jonathan. It was the logical explanation, he’d lost his key and since he didn’t live here anymore, now residing in an apartment closer to downtown with Nancy, he didn’t have the urgency to replace it. But Jonathan would usually be pounding on the door, announcing that it was him. Could it be Joyce? Doubtful. She always knew where everything was and keys were the most important out of everything you’d come to learn after she scolded Jonathan for not replacing his old key to the house just in case of an emergency. Maybe it was Lucas? He never screamed or announced his presence when showing up. Couldn’t be Dustin or Mike, they were too rowdy and would never wait this long before jiggling the handle and yelling that they knew Will was home and to ‘answer the damn door’. It could be El? But never Max. Max had a distinct knock, firm and heavy, no bullshit, never rang the doorbell. The build up was only making you more anxious by the second as you’d reached for the doorknob. You’d probably be the first one dead in a horror movie, you had no idea why you let Will force you to answer his door. Regardless, you ever so slightly twisted the knob and the door creaked open, only a sliver of the outside visible as you tried your best to peek around the crack. And before you could even begin to make out any figure awaiting entry on the porch, a large hand splayed across the wood and pushed it effortlessly, sending you stumbling back as the wind knocked out of you.

“Okay, Byers. Where’s my dice? And my game controller?”

Eddie.

He’d side stepped through the door, forcing his way in obviously only expecting Will but still not realizing you stood before him as he glanced around the house.

“C’mon you knew I’d be stopping by after work, little Byers. I’ve been looking for that controller for fucking weeks–”

You could pinpoint the moment realization hit him that he was mouthing off to you and not Will. His eyes seemed to almost soften. Pupils dilating so suddenly. And then he was speechless, mouth opening and closing but words never spilling out. Then it hit you that you probably looked ridiculous in the Mickey Mouse apron you had been strutting around in, various types of batter smeared on your cheeks and chin, maybe some on your nose too but you couldn’t remember. And god, you were wearing your fuzzy pajama pants littered with pumpkins and bats finished off with some fuzzy socks that were striped like candy corn.

Eddie had never wanted to fall to his knees for someone so badly in his life.

He’d never seen you like this before.

Tacky.

In the most adorable way.

“I–um, I was looking for–”

“Will?” You finish for him, desperately trying to pull our eyes away from him but finding it impossible. And then you realized what he was wearing which only spurred on your need to drink him in. A black Metallica shirt cropped just above his happy trail, sleeves cut off to display his tattooed arms and black sweats that hung just right on his hips complete with a pair of black converse on his feet. For a second you wondered how he wasn’t shivering. You could only hope that he wouldn’t notice your drooling, praying that the dim lighting would cast enough shadows over your face that any fondness you were displaying would be hidden.

“Y-yeah.” He swallows, fingers tangling in a few of his curls before resting back at his side, keys dangling in his other hand.

“Kitchen.” You mumble, pointing.

He nods, the silence taunting you both as you trail behind him into the kitchen. Will is already staring wide eyed as you enter, looking between you with something amusing behind his expression. And in that moment the awkwardness melts off of Eddie, his usual cocky self returning.

“Dice? Controller? Man, I told you I was gonna come by–”

“I forgot but I have both–”

“Oh, you forgot?” A mischievous grin overtakes Eddie’s face, Will playing along with it as they both brace their palms flat against the kitchen island, staring at each other instantly but with playful intention.

“Ed, don’t do this.” Will warns, unable to maintain a serious face, corners of his lips pulling despite his best efforts.

“Oh, I have to.”

Eddie fakes him out, body about to move to the right but instead quickly changing to the left to which Will screeches in mock fear, rushing to the other end of the kitchen. Any time Will goes to make a move, Eddie is seconds quicker than him. When Will tries to make his big escape he’s instantly caught in a chokehold, the metalhead’s arm secured around him as he ruffles his hair with a fist, the classic noogie. Will’s laughter is contagious, a few ‘stops’ littered throughout and you can’t help but join and giggle as you watch the scene play out before you.

“Dice?” Eddie halts his movements to ask, side eyeing the boy.

“On the desk–in–in my room.” He answers out of breath, clutching onto Eddie’s forearm.

Eddie continues his torture on Will, rough housing a little more before stopping once again.

“Controller?”

“Coffee table! Are we done?!”

“Nope.” A full on wrestling match takes place in the small confines of the kitchen, both boys stumbling around and bumping into cabinets.

It was weird. You knew Eddie and Will were pretty close but you’d never seen them like this and maybe it's because you refused to linger in a room long enough if Eddie was there. Now you didn’t really have the urge to leave. All you could do was watch. Eddie’s dramatics flared as he cackled in Will’s face, Will telling him to ‘shut the fuck up’ between gasps for air.

“Tap out.” Eddie demands.

“No!”

“Tap. Out.”

At some point you hadn’t even paid attention to the way Will hesitated in surrendering, you were too caught up in the way Eddie’s already cropped shirt rode up in the position he was in, his waist looking all too enticing, lower back on full display however you refrained from trailing your eyes up his spine.

Stop it.

“Okay, I tap out!” Will smacks his hand against Eddie’s forearm that was secured around him, instantly granted relief after saying the magic words.

“Eddie The Banished reigns supreme.” He pumps his fist in the air in triumph, face scrunched in victory.

You roll your eyes but in all honesty, it’s not out of pure annoyance just this once. It feels more like when a friend does something stupid and all you can feel is warmth flush through your body and your initial reaction comes naturally. Effortlessly.

“Okay, now get your precious things and go.” Will points at the door, sass overtaking every movement, the playful energy still buzzing between them.

A pang in your heart says don’t go. But you remain quiet as a mouse in the corner between the sink and the microwave. You don’t mean that. You try to bargain with yourself. Seeing him in this light does not excuse his past no matter how much of an ache you feel in your chest. The good kind.

“Okay, okay.” Eddie sighs, catching his breath, a grin still stretched across his face. “Hey, what the fuck happened here?” He stops in his tracks, gesturing to the atrocity that has become every surface of the kitchen. Batter and dough of all kinds smeared along the countertops, eggshells discarded along with balled up foil on Will’s side of the mess, and of course the towering bowls just about ready to tumble out of the sink, filled with suds, wooden spoons and whisks. And of course the bag of chocolate chips that had spilled, sprinkled across the surface, some even dismissed on the floor, there was even some kind of dough caked onto the handle of the fridge.

“We’re having a bake sale.” You break your prolonged silence from the corner, mouth upturned in almost a smirk but not quite, it’s more like you’re holding in a laugh. At the sound of your voice, Eddie’s head snaps in your direction, molten chocolate eyes landing on you in such a way that has your breath hitching.

“A bake sale?” He questions, doubt written across his handsome features, his tone hinting at the fact that he knows you’re bullshitting him.

“Mhm.”

“Aren’t you like–aren’t you bad at baking?”

How does he know that?

Will’s eyes widen and he sucks in the most subtle breath. That’s how.

“Can’t I be bad at something but also still try?” You argue.

“I dunno, can you?” It’s almost mean, almost. But it doesn’t feel the same as when he’s usually ridiculing you. The dimple peeking out at you provides evidence of an opposite intention. He’s teasing but not to be a dick, unless you were reading him wrong. And there was very little chance that you were since the past few weeks at work, he had almost left you alone all together save for a few questions here and there and maybe a few bad jokes. But other than that he was solely a coworker who you held no personal ties to.

“Well that’s how you learn. You keep trying until you get it. So far nothing has burned and the batter tastes good–try it.” You don’t know what you’re trying to prove but your body had already been on autopilot, it’s sole mission to keep him from leaving. A wooden spoon coated in red velvet cake batter is offered to him, you twirling it to keep it from dripping everywhere. Eddie glances from you to the spoon a few times rather quickly, almost as if he’s waiting for you to psych him out and tell him to go to hell. In a way he wishes you would just so he knows he isn’t dreaming. He makes his way around the island, standing next to you, not too close but just close enough that he can steal the spoon from you, his tongue licking up the back of it. The sight is strangely erotic.

“Not bad.” He hums, continuing until the spoon is halfway clean. You want to mention that he’ll risk getting sick from eating too much, raw eggs aren’t exactly ideal to eat even if disguised as a delicious batter, but that would show that you care. Which you don’t.

“What am I missing?” Will addresses the elephant in the room, containing a smile that might be too big for his face if he were to let it take over.

“What?” You ask, head tilted in a way that has Eddie’s eyes lingering for a moment before turning his head and copying your actions, tongue still committed to the spoon, licking up every ounce of sweetness.

“Are we–did we–end up in a parallel universe? Why aren’t you threatening to kick his ass?” He points an accusatory finger at you. “And why aren’t you making snarky comments?” He points to Eddie who is still too busy licking any remnants of the mixture.

All you can offer is a casual shrug before snatching the utensil right from Eddie’s hand, tossing it into the overflowing sink. “I’ll kick your ass if you were even going to think about double dipping that spoon in my bowl.” You warn, a touch mean. “There, are you happy?” You look to Will for approval, skepticism still painted all over his face, his arms crossed in uncertainty.

“I wasn’t done.” Eddie frowns, ignoring your threat to instead dip a daring finger into the bowl of artificial red.

“Hey!” Both you and Will begin to reprimand him.

“Just one more–” He doesn’t finish his thought as you grab the bowl, holding it behind your back.

“Say I’m good at baking. Both of you.”

Eddie and Will look to each other in perplexity. Will can’t comprehend the sudden playfulness you have for both him and Eddie. Usually this would end up in an argument, one saying something a bit too offensive for the other’s taste and from there it would spiral. Instead neither party is engaged in conflict but rather play and it’s not unwelcome, just…weird.

“Excuse you?” Eddie takes the bait.

“The two of you seem to talk trash about my baking skills behind my back but I didn’t see you complaining two seconds ago while you salivated all over the spoon.”

You only receive a scoff in response, Eddie crossing his arms as if to appear more intimidating. He only looks more like a misunderstood teddy bear.

“Say it.”

“Anyone can make cake out of a box.” He retaliates, Will releasing a small gasp as he hides his smile under his hand.

“Oh, okay. I’d love to see you out of all people bake a cake.” You challenge him.

“This is more like it.” Will mumbles, though he knows this is not at all the usual bickering that happens between you.

“Oh, you want me to out-Betty Crocker you?” Eddie threatens.

“You can try.” You shrug, setting your bowl back onto the counter.

“No, no. I will.”

“Guys it’s literally cake from a box.” Will intervenes.

And so started the greatest bake off the Byers’ kitchen has ever seen.

–

“Okay, wait. I have a grievance with this competition.” Eddie speaks up, abandoning an uncracked egg on the countertop only for it to roll off and crack at his feet. “Damn.”

“What’s the matter now?” Will asks in mock annoyance. Every other minute Eddie had a near microscopic complaint but it only entertained you. Curses at wrong measurements, that his bowl wasn’t as pretty as the others, or that he wanted the whisk Will was using.

“Why don’t I get matching pants?”

You glance down at your Halloween themed pajama pants and then to Will’s. They were a steal at Target and you couldn’t resist, knowing Will would love them as much as you did. That, and every year you bought a matching pair for both fall and christmas. You can’t help but feel a huge smile pull at your lips, the sight of Eddie pouting with his hands on his hips is all too endearing.

“For one, you weren’t even invited to this sleepover.” You sass, pouring your newly mixed chocolate cake batter into its pan. “And two, this is our thing.” You gesture between you and Will standing a few feet next to you, Eddie directly across the island sporting an even bigger frown.

“Yeah, you kinda crashed our party.” Will adds, snickering with you.

“Wow. I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that and instead you pledged your undying loyalty to me.” Always a drama queen. “Whoa–wait, wait! How are you already done I haven’t even–” He quickly realizes you’re already setting your masterpiece in the oven while his bowl still contains both dry and wet ingredients, unmixed.

“Guess we can already tell who’s gonna ‘out-Betty Crocker’ who.” You smirk.

“Oh, hell no.” He mutters under his breath, suddenly focused on mixing.

While Eddie just about buries his head in the bowl, Will graces you with a look. A knowing look. You claim innocence with a lift of your brow but you both know. You’re just too ignorant right now to acknowledge it.

–

Seeing Eddie Munson dancing and screaming to Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift was something you could never even fathom and yet here he was. Unapologetically singing every word and putting on one giant show with Will, singing into random kitchen utensils while the speaker blared the song. He knew every word. You didn’t dare interrupt the choreography they had come up with on the spot, watching from your comfortable perch on the stool at the counter.

Will sounded like a dying animal and it occasionally had you reaching up to cover your ears but your smile never faltered. And Eddie was unstoppable. He didn’t sound that bad though he was shouting along with Will at the top of his lungs so you figure if he actually tried he would sound angelic. Once the song reaches the bridge you can’t help but drown in your own laughter, both of them strutting in between where the living room meets the kitchen as if it were their own personal runway.

Your eyes open, nearly crying only to find Eddie just feet away extending his ‘microphone’ to you with a raised brow and a cocky grin. Your immediate reaction is to shake your head, your nerves instantly on edge at the mere idea of holding any kind of attention.

“C’mon, you’re gonna miss the bridge again!” Eddie waves you over in a rush. You don’t budge, a flash of worry washing over you and it seems that it was written all over your face. “C’mon Roadkill, don’t make us finish off without ya.” He half jokes, Will still screeching like a banshee behind him. “Do it for little Byers.” He cocks his head toward the boy, pleading eyes begging you to change your mind.

Slowly, you emerge from your comfy perch, snatching up your own ‘microphone’ with a bashful gleam in your eyes. Just in time for the bridge again, you strut toward Will who excitedly starts jumping and nodding at your participation.

“I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you!” You yell in each other’s faces, wheezing as you continue dancing–if you could even call it dancing. Your confidence skyrocketed. Turning toward Eddie, you sing to each other the last line of the bridge.

“And I screamed for whatever it’s worth, I love you ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard!”

Chests heaving and mouths hung open, his eyes swallow you whole, dark honey slowly pulling you under. Your first instinct is that you should run but he feels too much like home to ever willingly leave. If it’s so wrong, why does it feel so right to stare into pools of deep amber?

~end~

Author's Note: okay if you're reading this TY SO MUCH. The scene where reader is kinda admiring eddie at work, i had 1 step forward 3 steps back by olivia rodrigo playing along with it for me and rather than something super sad, it's kind of the opposite in this case as theyre coming out of their angsty era so if you just listen to that and imagine her admiring him with a little content smile on his face as he works it makes me want to SCREAM lmk if it does the same for you ok BYE <3

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tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi @batkin028 @obscureenigmatic @micheledawn1975 @dreamerjj @hideoutside @hellfirefiend @emilyslutface @rustboxstarr @3rd-conchord @eddiessteady @lightcommastix @kittydeadbones @shadows-echoes @str4ngerthingsslut @winchester-angel @elegantkoalapaper

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson series #stranger things fic #st fic

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lucky38-2077 · 18 days

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OC Interview: Vincent Ibarra & Naota Vasile

Tagged by @dreamskug It was really fun to do this and thank you for tagging!🖤🖤

NICKNAME

V: Most people call me V. Some people I've known since I was little still call me kid, but I guess I'm not a kid anymore, am I? Naota: My family and friends often call me Nao.

GENDER

V: Male. Naota: I am a demiguy.

STAR SIGNS

V: Don't know my exact birth date but I heard it was middle of December. So the thing with the archer? Sagutti...something. Naota: It's Sagittarius, V. (yeah that it!) Mine is Capricorn.

HEIGHTS

V: Why do people even care about the height? I don't know, haven't checked since teenager. Naota: I'm about 5′ 7″ and V is a little taller than me. I think... he could be around 5′ 9″. V: WOW. I'm learning about myself here.

ORIENTATION

V: I like men. Naota: I... I think the closest one should be Pansexual. Do you have preference? If you don't mind talking about. Naota: I really don't know, and it doesn't matter to me anymore.

NATIONALITY / ETHNICITY

V: Nobody knows who my parents were at all. Valentino is my thing. Naota: My father was Italian and mother was Japanese. I feel close to both. V, have you ever tried to look for your biological parents? V: Nah, have my family already. I've got old man Padre and Mama Welles. But don't you even think about a thing between them. They are good friends, nothing more.

FAVE FRUIT & FAVE SEASON

V: Green grapes and lemons. Well I don't enjoy eating lemons, but love lemonade. Naota: It's hard to choose... apples, oranges, cherries... V: And season? Summer. Not because of the weather, because I can play in water a lot. Naota: I like winter. I feel cold easily but it's still my favorite. Warm clothes, soft blankets and hot... Wait we have another question for that, please save it! Naota: Oh.

FAVE FLOWER

V: Not really interested in, but red or yellow ones are pretty. Naota: I do love flowers. Peony and hibiscus are my favorite. V: Don't forget a desert rose, D-rose. Desert rose- Adenium? Is there a story about it? I'd like to hear. Naota: Um... my partner gave it to me as a gift before. I still have the pot and it means a lot to me. And D-rose? V: The whole family calls him D-rose because of it. (Looking at Naota) You're blushed, amigo. Naota: ....

FAVE SCENT

V: Hmm never really thought about that. I think my man uses kinda perfume. No clue what it is, but he smells good. Naota: Fresh ones such as herbs. I like the smell of flowers, too.

COFFEE, TEA, HOT CHOCOLATE

V: Soda. But coffee is also good. Naota: Hot chocolate... oh this is why you stopped me earlier. Yes, I like winter and I like hot chocolate.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP

V: 6 or 7? I'm not a morning dude so probably wake up later than most people. Naota: I used to have a sleeping problem but it's getting better. V: Thanks to the biiiiig cuddly teddy bear. I have some plushies on my bed too. How big is it? Naota: No! It's... not... a plush. Let's move on.

DOG OR CAT PERSON

V: I like both, but with my baby Nibbles I'm currently a cat person. Naota: I've been always fond of cats.

DREAM TRIP

V: I want to go to the most beautiful, clean beaches in the world, not ones that are full of trash. Not sure if there is any left. Naota: I haven't thought about it. But with my family now, wherever will be great.

FAVE FICTIONAL CHARACTER

V: Rocky Balboa. If you want to talk about this with me, we should make another schedule. Naota: Unico. He's a baby unicorn who has a power making people happy. He's also very cute.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS YOU SLEEP WITH

V: Do you need more than one?? Naota: Yes, V. I usually have two blankets, more in winter. V: What? I mean. WHY? Naota: It's warm, comfortable... V: Man. I don't get it.

RANDOM FACT

V: I can hold my breath pretty long in water. Without any gear or cyberware. My record is 6 minutes 28 sec. Naota: That's amazing, V. Indeed. Do you train for it? V: Maybe a little? Think I was born with it. I just feel comfortable in water. How about you? Naota: I can't think of anything... I'll pass. OH.

I think most of people I know have already been tagged, but if there's anyone interested please go ahead!🤗

And this is Unico Naota mentioned, in case anyone was wondering. The idea just came up with when I saw the question. It was pure coincidence Naota has pink hair like Unico and I like it🤣

#omg that was long lol #and yes the big cuddly teddy bear is saul #vincent is such blunt ass but naota is not offended xD #oc:vincent ibarra #oc:naota vasile #saul bright #ship:wildflower #oc lore #oc interview #cyberpunk 2077 #my post

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juletheghoul · 11 months

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Let Me Follow (Part 6)

AN: Phew! So this was fucking torture. I don't even know how to explain how hard it's been for me lately. Interaction on this site has been abysmal-and while I know we do this for fun, it sort of feels like I'm talking to myself sometimes. It's so hard to not take other people's success personally but I am trying! I have such a clear vision of where this story will go, and I have so much planned that I don't want to give up. I figured the best way to build up my self-esteem, build up my confidence was to go back to how I did it in the beginning, just write, and post. I've done my best to edit this myself, but it hasn't been beta'd. Hopefully, it pays off, enjoy! xo (enjoy the softness before the storm😅)

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) angst, language, age-gap (about 10-11 years, legal, reader is of age), Yearning, post-apocalyptic world, piv sex (wrap it up!), the softest version of this Joel that I've written to date, Grief, panic attack / ptsd / nightmare

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist Series Masterlist

It felt wrong to smile, almost silly. How could anyone smile with how things were in the world? With Johnny gone, with the pounding pain in the back of your head, with the effort and the hunger shredding a hole through your insides—you’d wipe it off your face. Had managed to keep it off for a long time, but then an animal had jumped onto the road and Joel’s arm had shot out in a protective gesture and it had creeped back in.

“Looks like the rest of the way is on foot.” What had started out as a grinding noise, had quickly turned into dark plumes of smoke from the engine, filling the car with an acrid smell. “Shouldn’t be too far now, few hours.” His scowl was in place, but you saw it differently now–saw it for what it was. A mask, a representation of what this world did to you.

“We can manage that.” Ellie was grabbing her pack, helping Luke with the door before making her way towards the direction Joel pointed you all in.

“Yes, we can definitely manage that.” You smiled at her, wincing slightly at the way your head pounded.

“You okay, Sunny?” His hand lands gently on the side of your neck, turning your face towards his. “You can walk, right?” His hand sweeps up, prodding gently at the throbbing goose egg on the back of your head.

“Yeah, I’m okay, my head hurts like a bitch though. Need water soon.” His scowl seems so different now, it’s worry you see there now, instead of anger. He nods once, lingering for a moment before turning and leading the way. Luke doesn’t comment on the exchange, just gives you a small smile and follows Joel, but Ellie; she gives you a toothy grin and a thumbs up.

Hours pass, thick trees give way to open space. A vast, beautiful landscape stretching out before all of you, seemingly untouched. Everyone is quiet, but alert as you all move closer to your destination.

“How much longer do you think we have left, Joel?” Ellie is lagging a little bit, the hunger and thirst evident in her voice.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer.” He turns to look at her, slowing down to let her catch up but he tenses at the sounds of horses just over the ridge in front of you. His gun flies up, but there are too many. Instantly you’re all surrounded by armed people on horseback, twenty people at least. “Get behind me.” He raises his hands in supplication, letting the gun fall onto his shoulder. “We ain’t lookin’ for any trouble, we’re just passin’ through.”

“Drop the gun.” The person in front of Joel has a rifle pointed at him, a lot of them have guns pointed at the four of you. They have coverings on the lower halves of their faces, the one closest to Joel is yelling, and Joel drops his gun. “You-” He gestures to you, Luke and Ellie. “Take five steps back, separately.”

“How about we just talk this through-” Joel starts to speak before anyone moves.

“How ‘bout you shut the fuck up.” The man cuts him off, and gestures to the rest of you.

“It’s okay, do what he says, we’ll be okay.” You nod at Ellie, moving away from Joel, your own hands up.

“You been near infected?” The man asks no one in particular.

“There’s no infected out here.” Joel responds.

“The hell there ain’t!” The man answers before whistling, from somewhere behind them another man emerges with a dog. “Last chance for a bullet, if you’ve been infected, he will smell it, and he will rip you up.” The dog barks, and your heart sinks. Ellie looks to you, big eyes pleading and you take a tentative step towards her, stopping when another of the riders points his gun at you. The dog makes his way over to Joel, sniffing at his feet for a moment before rising up, friendly.

“Like I said,” Joel calls out. “We’ll just move on.”

“Now the rest of you.” The man calls out, and the dog sniffs Luke, and then you, moving on lastly to Ellie. Your stomach drops and your hand inches towards the knife in your pocket but after a tense breath, the dog licks Ellie’s hands. You can’t help but take a deep breath in relief.

“You just bought yourself more seconds.” The man doesn’t lower his gun. “What are you doin’ out here?”

“We’re just lookin’ for my brother, that’s all, nothin’ more.” A woman rides forward at his words, her dark eyes focused intently on Joel’s face.

“What’s your name?” She asks him.

“Joel.” He answers, and it’s the magic word. She gestures for them to lower their guns. “Joel Miller, right?” She lowers the covering.

“Yeah, do I know you?” His voice is thick with confusion.

“I know Tommy, come on, we’ll lead you to him. Give them a few horses.” She calls out the command to no one in particular, but they rush to obey her nonetheless.

You ride with them, nervously clutching Joel where you sit behind him on the horse they gave him.

“You’re okay Sunny, just hold on. Don’t squeeze your thighs.” He speaks low and you take a deep breath.

“Sorry, I’m afraid of falling off.” You tighten your grip on him, squeezing tightly around his middle.

“I won’t let you.” He presses his hand to yours, reassuring you.

It isn’t long before you arrive at a high wall, with people walking along the top of it. A giant gate is closed to all, until Maria–the woman on the horse gives a signal, and the giant gate opens up for your party. The scene that greets you just inside the gates shocks you into silence. It’s a town, a lively, inhabited, working town. People mill about a central high street, kids play and watch your party move through the street with curiosity instead of fear.

It’s a lot to take in, working lights and shops seemingly open and in good condition, scaffolding and people repairing things–working together.

“Tommy!” Joel yells out, startling you and you see one of the men on the scaffolding turn and look, rapidly making his way down while Joel dismounts the horse you’re sharing and runs towards him. It makes you smile to see and hear Joel so happy, to see him find his own brother and it makes you think of Johnny.

I wish you could have seen this place, Johnny.

–

The food tastes too good to keep any semblance of decorum, instead you shove it into your mouth faster than you can chew it, breathing deeply through your nose in order to fill your belly. Maria and Tommy sit across from the three of you in what was essentially a town cafeteria–Luke had been taken straight to the town doctor and you’d all been assured he’d be fed.

Joel speaks, Ellie argues, and you keep quiet. Tommy and Maria are an item, and if you had to hazard a guess, Tommy has been less than kind in his description of his older brother. There’s something in the air between them, Maria and Tommy, the two of them versus Joel. A look of judgement in her gaze and it raises your hackles.

“The house across the street from us is empty, the one next to it too if you wanted your own place–” She looks at you but Joel cuts her off.

“We stay together. The three of us.” He reaches over, taking your hand in his. Tommy isn’t the only one who’s found someone and it makes your heart soar to have him claim you openly like this.

“That works.” She smiles politely, Tommy too. “How ‘bout a tour?” Joel nods, and you make your way out, with a full belly and a full heart.

The town is well and truly a marvel, the culmination of hard work, strategic location and the well oiled machine that is their patrol. They’ve managed to rebuild a functioning, safe town; full of most of the comforts the world had had before, only on a much smaller scale. You keep quiet as she guides the three of you through their little corner of normalcy, unable to stop yourself from noting where all of the supplies are kept, where the food stores are, how many horses are in the stable.

There’s a tense energy flowing between Joel and Tommy, something unspoken in the air, an anger, a resentment and you can’t exactly blame Joel for his share of it. His brother has been here, safe and happy, with a purpose–content to leave his brother in the dark in order to protect what they have here. You can almost understand why, there’s something else though, something in the way Maria watches Joel that plants a seed of suspicion in your brain. Your suspicion deepens and if you had to hazard a guess, he’s told her some unsavoury things about the man you’d come to–what, love? The thought is sobering, you push it away.

Maria suggests showing you where you’ll be staying, mentions getting cleaned up while she moves away from them, gesturing for the two of you to follow, and with a nod from Joel, you do.

The house was furnished from before, everything old and a bit dusty, but otherwise in good condition. Relatively clean, working lights, a hot shower. Heaven. You stay in there a little longer than necessary, too content in the warmth of the water to make it as quick as you’d planned. Your little trailer–although having served as an oasis by today’s standards–didn’t hold a fucking candle to this.

You smile to yourself, picturing Joel melting in the warmth, his handsome face tipped back in unadulterated joy. It almost made you regret not waiting for him, almost. That first time Johnny had rigged up the trailer to catch rainwater and figured out a way to somehow connect the whole thing to a powersource and heat it, that same feeling coursed through you now as the steam filled the ensuite, only now it was painted with a bittersweet brush. You’d gotten good at pushing away thoughts of Johnny and what could have possibly–probably–happened to him, and you did it again now. You forced his breezy smile, his dumb jokes, the comforting piece of home that he’d been out of your mind and focused on getting clean.

Maria had left some clothing for the three of you in the house, doing a remarkably accurate job at guessing what would fit and once dressed, Ellie had run out of the house, itching to explore. It served you well enough. It gave you time to rest and to regroup. It gave you a chance to think about exactly what it was you wanted to do now that something like this was an option.

—

The house looks normal, really normal. Not just the normal he’s had to adjust the definition of the word to over the last twenty years, either. It’s just a house. It’s just a suburb, just a neighbourhood relatively untouched, by the ravages of the last two decades. A two-story home with good bones, a home he imagined could be stable for him, for Sarah.

The thought of her forces the air out of his chest, punches it out of him with the force of a gunshot. He hadn’t let himself think about her in so long that it shakes him, freezes him where he stands on the porch like some sort of statue. It had been twenty years since he’d lost her, and yet he can still smell her hair in his nose, can still feel the weight of her in his arms, can still hear the sound of her voice and it breaks his heart all over again. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and lets the anger, and the hurt, the rage of his monumental loss pass engulf him.

His heart pounds in his chest, the blood it beats booming like a drum in his ears. His vision blurs as he stands there, terrified and bewildered, swaying as though caught in a massive wave and struggling to breathe. His hand shoots out and he braces himself against the wall of the house. He focuses on the brick under his hand, the grit of it digging into his palm.

Breathe Joel, breathe.

His lungs fill with air.

In. Out. Repeat.

His vision eventually clears as he catches his breath, the pounding in his ears lessens and he finally feels like he can move his legs and after a few more steadying breaths, he leaves whatever the episode was, and the memory of his daughter on the porch.

—

He groans as he makes his way up the stairs and you can’t help but smile, anticipation and excitement and a whole bunch of feelings you can’t, or maybe won’t name swirling in your gut as you wait for him to find you. The scowl is there when he finally opens the right door, his eyes burning into yours but there’s something else there too.

“Everything okay?” You sit up at the sight of him, pale and no doubt clammy by the looks of him, “Did something happen?” The fear doesn’t creep, it slams into you.

“No no, everythin’s okay. Just tired.” His eyes soften, but only a little. “You look…cozy.” He raises an eyebrow at finding you in bed, quite obviously cleaned up and relaxing. “Shower working?”

“Yes, I am very comfortable. It’s a real bed, Joel—real blankets and a real house… lights and hot water.” You can’t help but gush, and smile and kneel up to speak to him, “go, go shower and get clean. Maria brought us some clothes, here—“ you all but crawl out of the bed and rush over to the dresser, grab him a towel and soft sleep things, hurrying to shove them into his hands.

“Hold your horses, girl—where’s Ellie?” He quirks his head, listening for her.

“She’s fine, in the bedroom down the hall, she was passed out when I checked in on her about an hour ago. Now go! Get clean, mister.”

“Okay okay, Sunny, I’m goin’.” Both his tone and his smile are soft, “be right back.” He grumbles halfheartedly, but does what you ask all the same.

He takes just as long as you thought he might, the hot water and steam casting its spell on him, just as it had on you.

“Jesus Christ,” He looks so much softer than you’ve ever seen him, standing at the door in a loose shirt and some boxer shorts, holding his dirty pile of rags, “that was the best shower I’ve taken in years.” He sets down the pile before making his way over to the bed.

“Life Changing, truly.” You smile up at him, giddy at the thought of having him here, safe and protected, in a real bed. “I had almost forgotten what it was like.” You move in a little closer as you speak, itching to snuggle up to him, but keeping your distance all the same. Despite his kiss, his open declaration in the dining hall, it wasn’t easy to forget being pushed away.

“The little setup you had was pretty good.” He must see the doubt, must see the way your fingers twitch with want and he makes the first move, pulling the blanket up and opening his arms. You crawl into his embrace with a toothy grin.

“Nowhere near as good as this.” You bury your face into the skin of his neck and inhale, eyes rolling into the back of your head when his clean scent hits you, “God, I love soap.” You all but moan it into his neck and he laughs, a genuine, deep rumble that fills your heart with something.

“Yeah I bet you do, I’m sorry about the state of me before. You smell pretty great yourself.” He wraps himself closer too, skimming his nose along any inch of skin he can reach and it’s almost as if the world outside doesn’t exist. This is the only thing that matters. Him, you, this bed—Ellie, safe in her room.

“I scrubbed a lot, l probably took off a few layers of skin.” You run your fingers through his hair, basking in the feeling of his touch, basking in his voice and the soft caress of his breath against your skin. Ignoring the tiny little voice that warns he might change his mind later.

Stop that, just enjoy a good fucking thing here.

You scold yourself, bringing your focus back to him.

“Me too, reckon I needed it, bad.” His hands move from your back, up to your skull and you wince when he touches the goose egg. “Still hurts? I should go find Tommy, see if he’s got any painkillers for you.” He almost goes to move away and while your heart sings at his readiness to leave the comfort of this to take away your pain, your fingers dig into his back and hold.

“Don’t you dare.” He laughs, and gets back into place.

“Yes ma’am, I’ll do it in the morning.” He takes another look at where you’d been hurt before tucking you close, and pulling the blanket up over you both. “It feels so strange to lay here, almost normal.”

“I know, it’s almost too weird.” Your leg lifts of its own accord and hooks over his middle, “I have my knife on the nightstand beside me, but I almost feel like I should have it under my pillow.”

“I know what you mean, been livin’ in fear a long time. That doesn’t just go away after a hot shower and a good meal.” His hand comes down and holds onto your thigh, as though you’d both done this a million times, you smile into his neck.

“Can we stay here?” The question has been there all day, burning a hole in the back of your brain and into the tip of your tongue, “Do you want to stay here?”

“I don’t know, I don’t even know what I’d do with myself here.” You bite your lip at his admission, “If you wanted to, I would. I’d go wherever you go.” His tone is soft again, his eyes averted and you can see it’s hard for him to admit that out loud. “I know I’m hard to be around sometimes, but I’m tryin’.” His hand sweeps up your thigh as he speaks, giving himself something to focus on, ground himself with.

“I know, Joely. I can see it.” You lean in and kiss his cheek, pressing yourself closer to him, pushing past the lump in your throat to speak. “Once Ellie does what she needs to do, we can all live here.”

“We’ll have to see how that goes, her and the fireflies.” He says nothing more, and you leave it there.

A yawn slips out and before you’ve even finished, he’s reaching over and turning off the light on his side. His arms, the soft sweep of his hands on your skin, his voice in your ear and his lips at your temple all work their magic and lull you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

His whole body twitches, and that’s what wakes you up, bleary eyed and half terrified. You barely have time to rub at your eye with the heel of your hand before he’s moving again, his head jerking side to side and you call to him, but he doesn’t hear you.

“Joel, wake up,” you put your hand on his shoulder, softly, “Joel!”

He lurches forward violently, his arms flailing in the darkness and you know he’s still in the nightmare, the terror bleeding through into reality for a moment before he realizes where he is.

“It was just a bad dream,” you reassure him, keeping your voice soft and calm, “you’re okay, come.” You open your arms to him and even though he’s awake, he still takes a few deep breaths before moving. Whatever he’d dreamt, it had been bad. He breathes hard as he settles beside you, the sheen of terror shining on the parts of his face illuminated by the moon filtering into the room. “Do you want to talk about it?” You run your fingers through his hair, doing your best to soothe him.

“I–” He frowns, opening his mouth, then closing it, and repeating the action a couple of times before answering again, “It’s just, everythin’.” He lets go of a big breath, and melts into the bed, melts into you. “I just, I dreamt somethin’ bad happened–I think. I don’t even know anymore.” his breath fans across your skin as he speaks, raising goosebumps in its wake.

“I get it,” You press your lips to his neck, “Happens to me too, sometimes.”

The novelty of this moment isn’t lost on you, the stark contrast between when you first met and now would have been unbelievable to you back then.

“First night in a real bed, and this is what happens.” He scoffs in the dark. The words are meant to be light, but he can’t hide the annoyance threaded in the tone.

“Well, we could take advantage,” your thumb brushes against the plump of his lower lip, but you don’t push it further, “what do you think?” He almost doesn’t let you finish your sentence, instead his mouth presses against yours, forestalling any further conversation, and filling your stomach with butterflies.

It’s almost embarrassing how fast your body responds to him, the trail his hands leave across your skin like an electric current. His palm skates up under the loose shirt and finds the weight of your breast, his thumb brushing over the stiff peak in sync with the groan he feeds directly into your mouth. You scramble to get closer, feeling the frantic energy in his hands and matching it.

It feels so fast, feels like just a moment before you’d been sleeping and not clamouring to eat each other alive. But it also feels so slow, like no matter how hard you both breathe one another in, no matter how quickly you rip off each other's layers, you cannot get close enough, fast enough.

It’s then that the realization hits you. There, on the edge of this bed that isn’t yours, but could be. It’s there when the layers are finally fucking gone, when your mouths are fused together but barely moving, when you’re finally fully seated and your aching pussy is stretched around the thickness of him.

I love you.

His forehead rests against yours while you sit on him, snug, and tight, and wet. The two of you sharing each other's breath, the nightmare forgotten, or most likely repressed. You try to shoo the thought away and focus on the way he feels, on the way he fills you so perfectly. You focus on the hands that hold onto your ass, on the broken moans he breathes onto your skin.

God, I love you.

It pops up again, unbidden and you frown to yourself, trying again to focus on him.

“What’s wrong baby?” His eyes are on you now, his frown a mixture of pleasure and worry. “Am I hurtin’ you?” He holds your chin so tenderly, it makes your heart ache.

“No, Joely, it feels so good.” You kiss him, relishing in the fact that you can, but it isn’t enough because he pulls away for a moment.

“You sure?” He cradles your face in his big hands and it’s a double edged sword. It’s everything you never thought you’d have, it’s comfort and belonging, but it’s also a void. A black hole you could fall into, and never crawl out of. It’s a weakness, a stupid, wreckless risk that this world no longer seems to have any space for. You can see it, the black pit of despair in his eyes, the trust and gamble it is to love another person and it shifts like the colours of an oil slick stain on concrete when it rains. From terrifying, to beautiful.

“I’m okay, I promise.” You press a soft kiss to his mouth again, and lie to both him, and yourself.

---

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justinspoliticalcorner · 29 days

Text

Eric Cortellessa at Time:

Donald Trump thinks he’s identified a crucial mistake of his first term: He was too nice. We’ve been talking for more than an hour on April 12 at his fever-dream palace in Palm Beach. Aides lurk around the perimeter of a gilded dining room overlooking the manicured lawn. When one nudges me to wrap up the interview, I bring up the many former Cabinet officials who refuse to endorse Trump this time. Some have publicly warned that he poses a danger to the Republic. Why should voters trust you, I ask, when some of the people who observed you most closely do not? As always, Trump punches back, denigrating his former top advisers. But beneath the typical torrent of invective, there is a larger lesson he has taken away. “I let them quit because I have a heart. I don’t want to embarrass anybody,” Trump says. “I don’t think I’ll do that again. From now on, I’ll fire.” Six months from the 2024 presidential election, Trump is better positioned to win the White House than at any point in either of his previous campaigns. He leads Joe Biden by slim margins in most polls, including in several of the seven swing states likely to determine the outcome. But I had not come to ask about the election, the disgrace that followed the last one, or how he has become the first former—and perhaps future—American President to face a criminal trial. I wanted to know what Trump would do if he wins a second term, to hear his vision for the nation, in his own words.

What emerged in two interviews with Trump, and conversations with more than a dozen of his closest advisers and confidants, were the outlines of an imperial presidency that would reshape America and its role in the world. To carry out a deportation operation designed to remove more than 11 million people from the country, Trump told me, he would be willing to build migrant detention camps and deploy the U.S. military, both at the border and inland. He would let red states monitor women’s pregnancies and prosecute those who violate abortion bans. He would, at his personal discretion, withhold funds appropriated by Congress, according to top advisers. He would be willing to fire a U.S. Attorney who doesn’t carry out his order to prosecute someone, breaking with a tradition of independent law enforcement that dates from America’s founding. He is weighing pardons for every one of his supporters accused of attacking the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, more than 800 of whom have pleaded guilty or been convicted by a jury. He might not come to the aid of an attacked ally in Europe or Asia if he felt that country wasn’t paying enough for its own defense. He would gut the U.S. civil service, deploy the National Guard to American cities as he sees fit, close the White House pandemic-preparedness office, and staff his Administration with acolytes who back his false assertion that the 2020 election was stolen. Trump remains the same guy, with the same goals and grievances. But in person, if anything, he appears more assertive and confident. “When I first got to Washington, I knew very few people,” he says. “I had to rely on people.” Now he is in charge. The arranged marriage with the timorous Republican Party stalwarts is over; the old guard is vanquished, and the people who remain are his people. Trump would enter a second term backed by a slew of policy shops staffed by loyalists who have drawn up detailed plans in service of his agenda, which would concentrate the powers of the state in the hands of a man whose appetite for power appears all but insatiable. “I don’t think it’s a big mystery what his agenda would be,” says his close adviser Kellyanne Conway. “But I think people will be surprised at the alacrity with which he will take action.”

The courts, the Constitution, and a Congress of unknown composition would all have a say in whether Trump’s objectives come to pass. The machinery of Washington has a range of defenses: leaks to a free press, whistle-blower protections, the oversight of inspectors general. The same deficiencies of temperament and judgment that hindered him in the past remain present. If he wins, Trump would be a lame duck—contrary to the suggestions of some supporters, he tells TIME he would not seek to overturn or ignore the Constitution’s prohibition on a third term. Public opinion would also be a powerful check. Amid a popular outcry, Trump was forced to scale back some of his most draconian first-term initiatives, including the policy of separating migrant families. As George Orwell wrote in 1945, the ability of governments to carry out their designs “depends on the general temper in the country.” Every election is billed as a national turning point. This time that rings true. To supporters, the prospect of Trump 2.0, unconstrained and backed by a disciplined movement of true believers, offers revolutionary promise. To much of the rest of the nation and the world, it represents an alarming risk. A second Trump term could bring “the end of our democracy,” says presidential historian Douglas Brinkley, “and the birth of a new kind of authoritarian presidential order.”

[...] The spectacle picks up where his first term left off. The events of Jan. 6, during which a pro-Trump mob attacked the center of American democracy in an effort to subvert the peaceful transfer of power, was a profound stain on his legacy. Trump has sought to recast an insurrectionist riot as an act of patriotism. “I call them the J-6 patriots,” he says. When I ask whether he would consider pardoning every one of them, he says, “Yes, absolutely.” As Trump faces dozens of felony charges, including for election interference, conspiracy to defraud the United States, willful retention of national-security secrets, and falsifying business records to conceal hush-money payments, he has tried to turn legal peril into a badge of honor. [...] In a second term, Trump’s influence on American democracy would extend far beyond pardoning powers. Allies are laying the groundwork to restructure the presidency in line with a doctrine called the unitary executive theory, which holds that many of the constraints imposed on the White House by legislators and the courts should be swept away in favor of a more powerful Commander in Chief.

Nowhere would that power be more momentous than at the Department of Justice. Since the nation’s earliest days, Presidents have generally kept a respectful distance from Senate-confirmed law-enforcement officials to avoid exploiting for personal ends their enormous ability to curtail Americans’ freedoms. But Trump, burned in his first term by multiple investigations directed by his own appointees, is ever more vocal about imposing his will directly on the department and its far-flung investigators and prosecutors.

[...] Trump’s radical designs for presidential power would be felt throughout the country. A main focus is the southern border. Trump says he plans to sign orders to reinstall many of the same policies from his first term, such as the Remain in Mexico program, which requires that non-Mexican asylum seekers be sent south of the border until their court dates, and Title 42, which allows border officials to expel migrants without letting them apply for asylum. Advisers say he plans to cite record border crossings and fentanyl- and child-trafficking as justification for reimposing the emergency measures. He would direct federal funding to resume construction of the border wall, likely by allocating money from the military budget without congressional approval. The capstone of this program, advisers say, would be a massive deportation operation that would target millions of people. Trump made similar pledges in his first term, but says he plans to be more aggressive in a second. “People need to be deported,” says Tom Homan, a top Trump adviser and former acting head of Immigration and Customs Enforcement. “No one should be off the table.”

[...] As President, Trump nominated three Supreme Court Justices who voted to overturn Roe v. Wade, and he claims credit for his role in ending a constitutional right to an abortion. At the same time, he has sought to defuse a potent campaign issue for the Democrats by saying he wouldn’t sign a federal ban. In our interview at Mar-a-Lago, he declines to commit to vetoing any additional federal restrictions if they came to his desk. More than 20 states now have full or partial abortion bans, and Trump says those policies should be left to the states to do what they want, including monitoring women’s pregnancies. “I think they might do that,” he says. When I ask whether he would be comfortable with states prosecuting women for having abortions beyond the point the laws permit, he says, “It’s irrelevant whether I’m comfortable or not. It’s totally irrelevant, because the states are going to make those decisions.” President Biden has said he would fight state anti-abortion measures in court and with regulation.

Trump’s allies don’t plan to be passive on abortion if he returns to power. The Heritage Foundation has called for enforcement of a 19th century statute that would outlaw the mailing of abortion pills. The Republican Study Committee (RSC), which includes more than 80% of the House GOP conference, included in its 2025 budget proposal the Life at Conception Act, which says the right to life extends to “the moment of fertilization.” I ask Trump if he would veto that bill if it came to his desk. “I don’t have to do anything about vetoes,” Trump says, “because we now have it back in the states.”

Presidents typically have a narrow window to pass major legislation. Trump’s team is eyeing two bills to kick off a second term: a border-security and immigration package, and an extension of his 2017 tax cuts. Many of the latter’s provisions expire early in 2025: the tax cuts on individual income brackets, 100% business expensing, the doubling of the estate-tax deduction. Trump is planning to intensify his protectionist agenda, telling me he’s considering a tariff of more than 10% on all imports, and perhaps even a 100% tariff on some Chinese goods. Trump says the tariffs will liberate the U.S. economy from being at the mercy of foreign manufacturing and spur an industrial renaissance in the U.S. When I point out that independent analysts estimate Trump’s first term tariffs on thousands of products, including steel and aluminum, solar panels, and washing machines, may have cost the U.S. $316 billion and more than 300,000 jobs, by one account, he dismisses these experts out of hand. His advisers argue that the average yearly inflation rate in his first term—under 2%—is evidence that his tariffs won’t raise prices. [...]

Trump’s intention to remake America’s relations abroad may be just as consequential. Since its founding, the U.S. has sought to build and sustain alliances based on the shared values of political and economic freedom. Trump takes a much more transactional approach to international relations than his predecessors, expressing disdain for what he views as free-riding friends and appreciation for authoritarian leaders like President Xi Jinping of China, Prime Minister Viktor Orbán of Hungary, or former President Jair Bolsonaro of Brazil. That’s one reason America’s traditional allies were horrified when Trump recently said at a campaign rally that Russia could “do whatever the hell they want” to a NATO country he believes doesn’t spend enough on collective defense. That wasn’t idle bluster, Trump tells me. “If you’re not going to pay, then you’re on your own,” he says. Trump has long said the alliance is ripping the U.S. off. Former NATO Secretary-General Jens Stoltenberg credited Trump’s first-term threat to pull out of the alliance with spurring other members to add more than $100 billion to their defense budgets.

[...] Trump has historically been reluctant to criticize or confront Putin. He sided with the Russian autocrat over his own intelligence community when it asserted that Russia interfered in the 2016 election. Even now, Trump uses Putin as a foil for his own political purposes. When I asked Trump why he has not called for the release of Wall Street Journal reporter Evan Gershkovich, who has been unjustly held on spurious charges in a Moscow prison for a year, Trump says, “I guess because I have so many other things I’m working on.” Gershkovich should be freed, he adds, but he doubts it will happen before the election. “The reporter should be released and he will be released,” Trump tells me. “I don’t know if he’s going to be released under Biden. I would get him released.” America’s Asian allies, like its European ones, may be on their own under Trump. Taiwan’s Foreign Minister recently said aid to Ukraine was critical in deterring Xi from invading the island. Communist China’s leaders “have to understand that things like that can’t come easy,” Trump says, but he declines to say whether he would come to Taiwan’s defense.

[...] Yet even his support for Israel is not absolute. He’s criticized Israel’s handling of its war against Hamas, which has killed more than 30,000 Palestinians in Gaza, and has called for the nation to “get it over with.” When I ask whether he would consider withholding U.S. military aid to Israel to push it toward winding down the war, he doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t rule it out, either. He is sharply critical of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, once a close ally. “I had a bad experience with Bibi,” Trump says. In his telling, a January 2020 U.S. operation to assassinate a top Iranian general was supposed to be a joint attack until Netanyahu backed out at the last moment. “That was something I never forgot,” he says. He blames Netanyahu for failing to prevent the Oct. 7 attack, when Hamas militants infiltrated southern Israel and killed nearly 1,200 people amid acts of brutality including burning entire families alive and raping women and girls. “It happened on his watch,” Trump says.

[...] Another inside move is the enforcement of Schedule F, which allows the President to fire nonpolitical government officials and which Trump says he would embrace. “You have some people that are protected that shouldn’t be protected,” he says. A senior U.S. judge offers an example of how consequential such a move could be. Suppose there’s another pandemic, and President Trump wants to push the use of an untested drug, much as he did with hydroxychloroquine during COVID-19. Under Schedule F, if the drug’s medical reviewer at the Food and Drug Administration refuses to sign off on its use, Trump could fire them, and anyone else who doesn’t approve it. The Trump team says the President needs the power to hold bureaucrats accountable to voters. “The mere mention of Schedule F,” says Vought, “ensures that the bureaucracy moves in your direction.”

TIME Magazine interviewed 2024 GOP Republican nominee Donald Trump twice over the span of just over two weeks, and in those interviews, Trump told Time's Eric Cortellessa his plans for what his 2nd term would be.

His plans would include a full-scale fascist takeover of the United States should he get elected to a 2nd term are as follows:

He would enact draconian anti-immigration policies such as deporting 11M+ undocumented immigrants and build concentration camps for not just undocumented immigrants but those opposed to his agenda.

He would also aid and abet in cruel anti-abortion policies that invade the privacy of a pregnant person and criminalize those who obtain abortions.

He would destroy the nonpartisan civil service system by enacting Schedule F to give jobs to his MAGA cronies.

He would pardon every domestic terrorist who participated in the J6 Capitol Insurrection that he incited.

He would endanger national security by refusing to come to the aid of our allies if attacked, effectively doing China and Russia's bidding.

He would summon the National Guard and the military to put down protests against him and his anti-American regime.

He would turn the DOJ into his partisan political tool to go after his critics.

The Project 2025 agenda would be used to guide Trump into making decisions that would end America as a beacon of freedom and democracy.

These interviews he gave to Time should be a remind that America does not vote to put the tyrant back in office and that re-electing Joe Biden is essential to keeping America free.