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seattlesellie · 11 months

Text

don’t cross the line

pairing: ellie williams x reader

warnings: smut (mdni), cheating, angst, mutual masturbation, just morally wrong, mentions of alcohol

Parties in Jackson fucking suck.

It’s not like youve ever been at a different party, but still. You’ve read about them in the little magazines from the old days you found on patrols. Small blurbs about meaningless celebrities, a concept you barely even understood, drinking themselves to oblivion. Paparazzi pictures of young starlets in black limousines, rappers getting coked up in dark bathrooms. You never really got it. Parties in Jackson were like a parallel universe.

“They must have made that up” you told Dina, your best friend and trusty patrol partner. “Nope” she shrugged. “Heard that Paris Hilton girl was really like that.”

Paris hilton would have hated Jackson parties. A bunch of old people, and a handful of young ones, dancing around to the beat of an old country song, if you could even call that a beat.

You could have responded with a simple “No thanks” when Jesse had invited you to tonights party. You could have told him you were tired, busy, sick, he would have left you alone - But you didn’t, alas, this is how you found yourself here. Alone, in an old barn, listening to the batshit insane, drunk ramblings of an old fart named Seth.

“Ripped that fella’s throat with just one move” Seth mumbled, laughing stupidly at his own words.

“Go — got him real good n’dirty, I tell ya”

Whoever said “respect the elderly” clearly never met Seth. His breath reeked of whiskey and cigarettes that he traded for food and supplies, and my god, he was standing so close you could see the veins in his yellow tinted eyeballs. You really were too polite for your own good, you thought to yourself, because Ellie would have shoved him away already.

Ellie.

You felt like slapping yourself in the face. What the hell does she have to do with this? Why can’t you just let it fucking go already? It truly was desperate, and pathetic, and borderline immoral, the amount you spent thinking about that girl.

So what if she used to be your best friend. So what if she was the first girl who ever made you feel something, even if it was too late. She has a girlfriend, and she’s not thinking about you, she doesn’t care, maybe never has, probably never will. She left you for her, with that useless excuse of “Cat doesn’t like it when we hang out” followed by a pathetic “We can do it in secret, though.”, when she saw your eyes turn glossy and your breath hitch up. Fuck her, and fuck those memories. Fuck all the nights you spent together telling each other your deepest and darkest desires, and especially fuck that time you almost-

“Hey”

You'd recognize that voice anywhere.

A royal blue flannel button up shirt appeared at the corner of your eye.

“Mind if I steal her for a sec, Seth?”

She sounded raspy, laced with that velvety layer her voice had adorned whenever she had a sip or more of Whiskey. When you drank together for the first time, at the ripe age of sixteen, next to a big bonfire and the ever so familiar scent of pine lacing your sense of smell, you told her that she sounds different when she’s drunk. More mature, somehow. Less fidgety, slower, sultrier. She replayed that sentence over and over again in her head. “Sultry”, she whispered to herself. “I sound sultry.”

Seth cleared his throat, a deep cough escaping his lungs.

“Of course, pretty girl like her shouldn’t be around me for too long, might start acting all wild!” The old man threw his hands in the air, and disappeared somewhere in the scarce crowd.

Your heartbeat was faster than normal, but that’s not new. Not when she was around, anyways.

Ellie stood by your side, hands crossed over her chest. She had a glass of Rum in her hand, not Whiskey. Funny.

“You’re a Rum type of girl now?” you questioned, never meeting her gaze. If you bothered to look to your side, you would have noticed she was staring.

“Fame’s changed me, I guess” She responded, mixing the fluid in her glass.

One week ago, Ellie went on patrol. One week ago, Ellie killed more infected in one go than anyone else had in years. She was the town’s hero, the infected slayer. Cat even made her a badge. She wasn’t wearing it now.

“Cat or fame?” you quietly mumbled under your breath.

You weren’t spectacularly brave with your words, but one glass of presumably expired white wine made a simple girl go very far.

“Hah. Funny” she scoffed dryly, earning her Rum another pointless swirl.

“You’re the towns hero, I’m the towns comedian, we’re both pretty famous, i’d say.”

Ellie’s gaze was fixed on the wall. She squinted her eyebrows slightly, humming in response. You looked over at her, for just a second, noticing the dim light reflecting in her eyes. She was a sight to behold, the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. You wish she knew that. You wish you could be the one to tell her.

You inhaled deeply, and it came out so shaky that when you exhaled you were terrified she heard the tremor in your body.

“Thank’s for the save, by the way” you said quietly, apologetic. You even smiled politely, which was absolutely for nothing, because she wasn’t looking at you, avoiding your gaze like the plague.

It’s not like Ellie and you didn’t talk since that night she told you she couldn’t see you anymore. It’s been two whole years. You had to talk, you had to communicate somehow, even if it was through polite smiles and dry conversations during shared patrols. Hell, you even went to Cat’s birthday party you somehow were invited to. Dina was practically on her knees begging you to come with her, and who could say no to Dina when she looked at them with those puppy eyes that could tug at a monsters heartstrings?

“Yeah, no problem. That man’s a fucking dickhead” Ellie scoffed, leaned against the bar and crossed her legs.

“Where’s Cat?” you questioned. Are you sure you only had one glass of wine?

“She’s not here” Ellie responded dryly, seemingly annoyed at your question. She almost tsk’d when you asked. She didn’t look surprised by your rude antics, maybe you got like this more often than you thought. How about that time you told her you’re surprised Cat didn’t pack her a sandwich with a sticker on it’s wrapper during patrol?

“I can tell… why?” you inquired. Your own voice was deeper too, it almost matched hers.

“Didn’t wanna come” Ellie said, stuffing a hand inside her pocket. She was uncomfortable, clearly, and wanted, needed, to make you shut up. It’s not because your presence annoyed her, It’s because she knew she was wrong. She knew she fucked up when she ditched you, and if only you knew how it was eating her alive every day. She had to do it, because in her eyes, she would have done something much worse if she hadn’t.

Being around you when she wasn’t with Cat was hard enough, because she knew she could never have you, that you’d never want her. Not if you knew. You were too smart, and too good, to ever want to be with her. Cat was easy, she didn’t ask too many questions. She’d lay there for Ellie when Ellie told her to, and she would agree to stop a conversation when it got too personal. When Ellie cried at night, and woke up sweating, she didn’t ask why. She let it go, and Ellie knew you never would have. You’d fucking hate her if you knew. She could have saved the world — and she didn’t. He didn’t let her. The wounds she had were too deep, they were clawing and tugging at her skin from the inside. Ellie was a tortured soul, and you didn’t deserve that. That’s why she left, and maybe, that’s why she was here right now.

“That’s too bad” you mumbled quietly. You did your best to make it sound genuine, and you failed miserably.

Ellie scoffed.

“Yeah”

You shifted slightly, and walked over to stand right in front of her. You met her eyes for the first time. Those stupid, beautiful emerald eyes.

Ellie looked down, and looked up at you. She swallowed deeply.

“Anyways” you sighed. “Think I’m gonna go”

“Already?” she questioned, slamming her Rum filled glass on the bar counter.

“Yeah, I’m cold and it sucks in here, so” you said, and smiled politely. It really was freezing, and talking to her like this was painful enough.

“Let me walk you” she blurted.

What?

“Huh?” walk you where? the door? you knew where it was.

She tugged at the loose string on the bottom of her button up. It was ironed, where did Ellie find and iron? Did Maria do it for her? Town hero perks?

“Let me walk you home” she repeated, her voice carrying a touch of insistence. Once again, you found yourself captivated by her burning gaze, those eyes that seemed to hold secrets yet to be unveiled.

“I can walk home alone, Ellie” You huffed, ever the stubborn.

“No” she exclaimed.

“Maria said it’s been pretty dangerous”

“I can have my own back, you know, I’m not an idiot” You scoffed. You knew she didn’t think you were an idiot, why did she have to walk you home?

“I know that — Just wanna make sure you’re safe”

“Gosh, Ellie thank you! thank you!” You said in the most high pitched voice you could fathom. “The town’s hero is at it again, everybody!” You exclaimed, slightly raising your voice, earning both of you a few curious looks from the townspeople.

Ellie wasn’t embarrassed. She was just annoyed. And she wanted to slap you in the face for being so stubborn.

She grasped your arm with an unexpected forcefulness, pulling you along as she swiftly guided you outside. In the process, you accidentally bumped into a few people, hastily muttering a string of apologetic "sorry" and "excuse me" as you hurriedly tried to navigate through the crowd. You attempted to resist her firm grip, trying to free yourself with a burst of strength, but you found yourself overpowered by her determination.

Once she managed to pull you outside, she finally released her grip on your arm, allowing you a brief respite from her firm hold.

“You are not walking me anywhere, Williams” you scoffed. What made her think you needed her help?

“You’ve always been so fucking stubborn” she turned to face you. Her hands were on her hips. Her face wore the same expression she did when you went on your first patrol together, when you insisted on going left, even though she knew you had to go right.

“I’m walking now” you stepped away, and started walking. “And if you followed me — you wouldn’t be walking me home, you’d be stalking me” you exclaimed as you backed away.

Ellie quickly followed your pace, her boots stomping on the snow covered ground.

“You are”

Step

“So fucking annoying”

This was the longest conversation you’ve had with Ellie in two whole years. It felt like nothing’s changed, except for everything.

The following ten minutes were torturous. You were walking fast, Ellie right behind you. No words were exchanged between you, the silence enveloping the crisp air as you both walked in silence. Your attention turned inward, focusing on the sensation of the cold air filling your lungs with each breath, and the soft sound of Ellie's boots pressing against the creaking snow beneath her.

You finally arrived at your place. It’s grey exterior blanketed in a pristine layer of snow. Every inch of its structure was adorned with a delicate coat of white.

You turned around to face her.

Ellie’s skin appeared slightly flushed, with a rosy tinge highlighting her cheeks, and her nose bore a noticeable reddish hue, hinting at the crisp winter air. She didn’t say a word.

You took a deep breath. She looked cold.

“Want me to make you some tea?” you questioned. You didn’t mean to let her in, and she didn’t expect you to ask. She looked surprised, her eyebrows turned slightly upwards.

“M’fine” Ellie insisted, her voice resolute despite the chill in the air. She sought warmth by tucking her hands deep into the pockets of her dark green coat.

“Jesus, Ellie — Just come inside” you urged, the concern evident in your voice.

“If walking you was stalking wouldn’t coming in be breaking and entering?” she inquired, a sarcastic tone lacing her words.

“Just —“ you uttered, your voice trailing off as you reached for the doorknob, slowly opening the door.

“Come inside”

"Fine," Ellie relented, her resolve wavering as she decided to follow in your footsteps.

The house welcomed you with its cozy warmth, though slightly disorganized in its appearance. Yet, amidst the subtle chaos, it remained a comforting sanctuary, always your safe space. Being there brought a sense of solace, as if the troubles of the outside world faded away. And with Ellie's presence by your side, an inexplicable tingling sensation spread through your being.

You proceeded to heat up some water, carefully attending to the task of preparing tea, a familiar ritual.

Ellie never knew where to sit, or where to stand, so there she was, examining every single one of your movements. The air felt thick, like you could cut the tension with a switchblade.

"Your house looks different," she murmured in a low voice, leaning against the cream-colored wall.

“Bad different?” You questioned, taking out two mugs from the cupboard.

“No, just… more stuff” she murmured.

"Well," you uttered as you gently placed the teabag into the awaiting mug. “You haven’t been here in a while, so”

Ellie hummed in response, and bit her lower lip.

“You’ve kind of changed too.” you murmured.

“Tattoos looking bigger. And you look more tired. Plus, your shirt looks ironed, so maybe you even… showered? Woah.” you teased.

“Fuck, you really are funny huh?” she said, crossing her arms.

“Always were a sucker for my jokes” you responded with a sly smile.

She didn’t mean to say what she said next, because that was like opening a pandora’s box. Or, more like, the gates to hell.

“This is the longest conversation we’ve had in years” Ellie murmured. You handed her the green colored mug, your finger brushing her’s for a second. You both flinched.

“Mhm” you took a sip from your tea. It was still so hot, it burned your tongue.

“And who’s fault is that?” You questioned, raising your eyes to meet her burning gaze. It was incredibly impulsive.

Ellie rolled her eyes. She looked baffled.

“You still don’t get it, do you? She questioned.

“Get what? that your girlfriend doesn’t like me? trust me Ellie, I get that, crystal clear.” You smiled, as you slammed your mug on the counter.

“I’m not doing this right now” she declared, her tone firm and resolute.

Oh, did that sentence burn through you.

“I think you are” you stepped forward to face her. She looked terrified, like a lost puppy. Not so “town’s hero” now. Thank god she wasn’t wearing Cat’s badge, because she would have looked ridiculous.

“I’m not” she said quietly, looking at the floor beneath her.

You felt the ever so familiar lump forming in your throat. She owed you.

“Tell me what it is exactly that I don’t get” you spat. The pent up anger from all these years finally just fucking bursted. She left you. She left you for her, your best fucking friend.

“It’s just funny how she didn’t give a shit about Jesse, or Dina, or anybody! Just fucking me, right? I’m the fucking problem?” you blurted. Your voice was shaky, filled with rage. The tears in your eyes started forming. You didn’t even know how much you were holding it inside of you, it all overflowed, at 2AM, right in your kitchen. Right where she told you she couldn’t see you anymore.

Ellie was frozen, her mouth parted slightly. She was flushed, and it showed. It wasn’t the cold weather anymore, it was you. She didn’t expect this to happen so fast. She came inside for some fucking tea.

That’s when you shoved her. And she didn’t even fucking move.

“Don’t fucking do this to me” she begged. Her voice was desperate, and shaky, and what the fuck was she hiding?

You found yourselves standing uncomfortably close to each other, the proximity palpable. The warmth of her breath gently grazed your forehead, creating a tantalizing sensation that sent a shiver down your spine.

She took a deep breath.

“What I did was bad. But — fuck, Jesse and Dina never slept over, you know that?”

The room fell quiet.

“So?” you whispered. You couldn’t even look at her.

“Don’t do this” she begged. Her eyes were glossy. She looked as if she was about to cry, too. Her chest was pressed up against yours.

“I’m not doing anything” you mumbled quietly. Her body was so warm. You felt like you were about to have a heart attack, and Ellie felt like she already did.

“If I would have stayed… I would have done something… so much worse” she whispered. Her hands were trembling.

“What would you have done?” you whispered against her. Dangerously close now. You could feel her unsteady heartbeat.

“You know” she whispered back. You saw the vein on her neck, how beautifully spattered the freckles on her skin were, like a constellation.

“Please” you begged.

That’s all it took.

Almost.

"No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. The proximity between your lips was almost intimate, an agonizingly close distance.

“Please” you begged.

Her eyes were dark, breaths unsteady and fast, like she just ran a marathon. Her chest was rising up and down. She’s dreamt of this moment, for so fucking long. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t fuck more people up. She’s done more than enough.

“You don’t know what you fucking do to me” She whispered against your skin. Her eyes were shut closed. If she didn’t see, maybe it would’ve been less wrong. If she didn’t see, maybe Cat wouldn’t either. She could go home, kiss her girlfriend good night. Walk away. But there you were, pressed up against her, making her head spin like a carousel, fogging her brain with your scent, and your lips, and all of the times she pictured you like this, helpless and begging. She never looked at Cat how she looked at you. Cat never made her feel like she could faint at any given moment. Cat was safe, she was a sunny day. You were a thunderstorm, a cloud, soaking her up. When Ellie said she would have done something so much worse, she meant that.

Cat was right when she told her to stay away, she always was. When Ellie begged Cat to stop her ramblings, Cat told her she looks at you like she’s hungry. That it’s disgusting, that she wishes it was her. She was crying, and begging, and she was right. That’s why Ellie knocked on your door that way. One person she could save.

Ellie’s hands were firmly pressed up against the wall, locking you in.

“You dont know…” she whispered.

You whimpered silently at her words. You were aching everywhere, you just needed her to do something.

“Show me” you said, and it came out more as a plead. You were begging her.

Ellie leaned in, drawing her face closer to yours, and your lips delicately brushed against each other. The electrifying touch sent a shiver down your spine, evoking a soft, involuntary moan that escaped your lips. It went straight to her heart, and then slipped right to her cunt.

Her lips were plump against yours. Just barely touching.

She delicately brushed her lips against yours, causing a gentle collision that sent a jolt of electricity through both of you. A shaky breath escaped her mouth.

“Ellie…” you whispered. Ellie, just do it. you can’t take it anymore.

She abruptly slammed her hands against the wall, causing it to tremor ever so slightly. The suddenness of the action startled you, making you jump in response.

“Shit” she huffed.

And her lips weren’t against yours anymore, neither was she.

Ellie backed away. She couldn’t.

Your lips quivered, and there it was. Her precious thunderstorm erupting.

The tears came out hot, and sticky. They ran all over your cheeks. You let out a quiet sob. Ellie was staring, her breaths uneven and her mouth agape. She almost did what shes been dreaming of doing since the moment she saw you. Almost.

your legs betrayed you, giving out completely. You crumbled down onto the floor, unable to stand any longer. With tears welling up in your eyes, you instinctively curled up, bringing your head between your legs as you tried to suppress the sobs that threatened to consume you.

It was a truly pathetic sight, Ellie towering over your quivering body. It’s been two whole years, and you missed her every single day that passed. It was gnawing at you. Seeing them hand in hand, kissing on the street, making out behind the dumpster. Thinking of Ellie hugging her at night, caressing her skin, touching her everywhere, telling her she loves her, fucking her, tasting her and not you. It should have been you. But it couldn’t be.

If only you knew that when Ellie was between her thighs, you were the only one she thought of. If only you knew Ellie had to bite her lip till it bled to stop from screaming your name. That’s why Ellie always turned off the lights, That’s why Ellie shoved Cat’s face down on the bed with her entire palm when she took her from behind. That’s why she always closed her eyes.

Her body gave up on her, too.

She sat on the cold concrete floor, trying to steady her breaths.

“Look at me” she commanded. It was breathy, and shaky, more of a plea than a real command.

You wiped your tears.

“I can’t” you whispered.

“Please” she begged.

You mustered the strength to lift your face, raising your gaze to meet hers.

“I think about you all the time” you blurted.

She huffed in response. Your soft voice was killing her. She couldn’t even respond. She just watched.

“Ellie…” you whined. The distance between you was torturous. There was so much space, and at the same time, no space at all. You could still feel her lips brushing against yours. You wished you could taste her. She yearned for that even more. She felt like something was chaining her down to the floor, holding her captive.

What you did next, is something Ellie had buried deep inside her darkest fantasies.

You delicately caressed your smooth neckline, doe eyes burning through her’s.

Ellie swallowed deeply.

“What are you doing?” she mumbled, lower than a whisper. Her voice was raspy, and her pupils were blown out. She was imagining, for sure, hallucinating, intoxicated by the picture of you being pressed up against her. It couldn’t be real.

“I need you” you whimpered.

She almost crawled right to you right then and there. Her knees were spread open in front of you. Her breath hitched in her throat. Her heart felt like it was leaping out of her chest.

“You cant” she insisted. It felt like she tried to convince herself, and not you. You couldn’t. There’s no way.

“I want you” you whispered, lowering your hand to caress your breasts.

Something took over you. Being pent up with frustration for years birthed such a desperate sight, she couldn’t fathom it.

She grunted in response. Do that again and she’d lose her fucking mind.

You cupped your breast.

Ellie threw her head against the wall. She forgot how to breathe. Her nostrils were flared, and she almost slapped herself in order to convince her that this was real. This was happening.

“Holy shit” she wheezed.

“Please” you begged, and squeezed your breast forcefully. Your nippled hardened against the material, so you gave them a twist, sending a bolt of electricity right through your clothed cunt.

Ellie’s mouth was agape. She was transfixed, mesmerized. Her cheeks grew more red by the second. It was so fucking wrong, she almost told you to stop, but she couldn’t. Her voice felt dry and her brain was buzzing. Her ex best friend was so desperate for her she couldn’t even help herself.

The image of Cat went through her head. Cat seeing, walking in. Cat trembling and crying, telling her she told her so. Cat screaming at her that she’s an awful person, that she hurt her, That she should burn in hell.

Then, you took your shirt off.

And Cat was gone.

Her eyes were darting from your tits to your needy eyes. You were giving her that look she only saw in her dreams. That desperate, pathetic twinkle in your eye. She saw a girl look like that in an old porno she found. Ever since, that picture of your face replacing the actresses burned through her memory. She knew it was for her, you were showing her, but she looked like she wasn’t supposed to see, a peeping tom, a pervert. Her cunt twitched inside her tight black boxers. Cat never made her cunt feel like this.

The dainty lace bra adorned your body. you looked like an angel, eyes red from crying, cheeks still wet, chest rising up and down. She wanted to ruin you.

You stopped for a second, looked for a sign to keep going.

The room was silent, the only noises that muttered were your soft whimpers and Ellie’s harsh, uneven breaths.

“Take it off” she whispered. You almost couldn’t believe she said that. You nodded pathetically. She always knew you’d be like this. She imagined you nodding your head frantically, kneeling beneath her and undoing her belt, way too many times she wouldn’t dare to admit. Her heavy breaths were a confession to all of her sins.

You unclasped your bra, your tits spilling out of it with a sigh of relief.

Ellie was hypnotized, fully staring. She remembered the first tine she saw you in a bikini. Jesse noticed she was staring, and he gave her some advice. “Look at the ground or the sky, pretend there’s something super interesting going on there”

She didn’t need to pretend now.

“Fuck” she grunted, feeling her cunt twitch inside her briefs. Her mouth was agape, she wanted those nipples between her teeth. Her tongue slightly moved involuntarily inside her mouth, imitating the kitten licks she’d give your tits if she could. It was truly pathetic. Thank god you couldn’t see. Her fists were clenched, and she was forcing her feet onto the ground. If she pretended something was pulling her in, she wouldn’t crawl towards you and take you like she always wanted.

You toyed with your nipples, rolling them between your fingers, almost as if you read her mind.

“Spit on ‘em” Ellie demanded desperately.

“Ellie…” You whimpered, her voice was making you grow wetter by the second. If you took your pants off, she could see the wet patch that soaked through your panties, making them almost sheer. You were almost embarrassed, but it was too late now.

“Do it” she commanded.

“Do it for me” Ellie begged. She brought a hand up to cup at her perky clothed breast. She imagined it was you, your tits between her fingers. She wanted to squeeze the fat, take it in, spit on it, latch her mouth onto your nipples, slap them as you ride her thigh, or her face, or her whatever the fuck you wanted.

The saliva ran down your chest, droplets flowing at an incredibly slow pace, each and every one of them teasing Ellie, mocking her. Almost there, almost reaching your sensitive nipples. When it finally did, Ellie was breathing so heavy she almost wheezed.

You rubbed the spit all over your tits, glazing your nipples with the liquid, coating them shiny with your saliva - all for her. You were staring at ellie with your mouth open. You moaned at the sensation, making Ellie shift and slightly slide off the wall. She was gone.

“Feels so good” you whined.

“Fucking shit” She huffed. She bucked her hips, searching for that friction. She didn’t do it yet, but oh she will.

“Mhhm” you hummed, a high pitched moan escaping your lips.

Ellie almost went cross eyed.

“Need you, please” You whispered while massaging your breasts. You were squeezing the fat harshly, almost punishing yourself for being such a dirty, desperate girl.

“Show me” She begged, in between breaths.

“Show me how bad - shit”

You cupped your cunt, your hand feeling warm over it. Your clit twitched. Ellie let out a moan so deep, you almost came right then and there, all over your panties.

You circled your clit through your pants, teasing Ellie without even realizing. I can do it, and you can’t! It felt like you were mocking her.

“Take that shit off — fuck” she huffed. Her hand was resting on her thigh, pinching it. Stay down. Don’t crawl, don’t fuck, don’t cheat.

In a matter of six seconds, your pants were on the floor. You crossed your legs together in embarrassment. What if she saw how wet you were?

“Spread” She commanded.

You looked at her stupidity.

“Spread ‘em, please” Ellie begged.

You spread your legs slowly, revealing your soaked white cotton panties to Ellie. Her eyes rolled back at the sight.

“Fucking shit” she grunted.

Her hand met her own cunt and gave it a stinging slap, followed by a desperate grunt. She moved her veiny hand up and down, almost grabbing her pussy. She felt perverted, and sickly, and so, so good. The friction of her hand on her cunt was followed by a string of deep moans, chanting your name like a prayer. She didn’t even know how bad she needed it.

“Wider” She commanded.

You spread your legs so wide your thighs almost hurt. When Ellie saw that wet spot, she lost it.

“So wet” she whispered in disbelief.

“Show me that pussy” She whimpered.

“Show me that fucking pussy”

You moved your panties to the side, the cold air hitting your clit making you flinch. You swore you could cum just from clenching in and out, listening to the obscenities leaving her mouth.

“Holy shit” She moaned, and cupped her cunt forcefully.

“So pretty” she whispered. It was even prettier than she thought, glistening folds and a little puffy button poking out. She needed to see inside, everywhere.

“Spread it with your fingers” She grunted. You parted your lips with your pointer finger and your thumb, wide open for her. She saw how bad you were clenching, begging for something inside. Your puffy clit moved with every pull.

“Wanna fuck you so bad” she groaned, it was killing her.

“Need to see you Ellie, please, please” you begged.

With that whine leaving your mouth, Ellie unzipped her jeans, and pulled down her boxers slowly, revealing you of the most beautiful sight youve ever seen in your life.

Her thighs were creamy, a mound of soft, dark hair adorning her pubis. Her slick was shining on her milky inner thighs from the boxer briefs she took off slightly brushing on them. She was so wet, it almost glistened like a far away star, deep in the galaxy. Her mouth was parted and she looked famished.

Tiny droplets of sweat were shining on her forehead, making her hair stick to her face. She was a panting, desperate mess.

You couldn’t help but slide your hand up your thigh, and started running your fingers through your glistening folds. Finally. “Oh god, Ellie” you moaned. You wished those were her fingers, if you could, if you only could.

Ellie moaned like a porn star at the sight. You thought she might tease herself, might play with her cunt before doing something. She proved you wrong.

She slid two long fingers inside her aching hole, squelching sounds filling the air. She pumped them in and out, fucking herself like a madwoman. Her hungry eyes were fixated on your fingers caressing your needy cunt. Her mouth was watering, borderline drooling, soft “ah!”s escaping her lips.

You circled your clit slowly, and felt your lower stomach leap at the contact. You lapped your slick with your middle finger, and sucked on it. It was obscene. Ellie’s cunt twitched. She almost came.

“Good girl” She groaned at the sight.

“Faster” She commanded, a deep moan escaping her lips.

You fastened your pace, and she was looking you directly in the eyes while pumping her fingers inside her cunt. With every pump, you could see a milky cream coating her fingers, the sight alone made your puffy clit ache with pleasure.

It was so wrong, and obscene, and pathetic, and you almost came.

“Fucking shit — fuck yourself, show me, fuck yourself” She whimpered, fastening her pace as well. The moans that left her mouth were deep, bursting from the inside of her soul.

Her fucking ex best friend.

“E — Ellie m’close” you whined, inserting a finger inside your soaking hole.

“Can see how fucking tight you are - fuck”

“Faster, do it f’me baby faster” She groaned.

The harmony of your moans intertwined, creating an intoxicating symphony.

“Ellie — gonna cum, fuck” You babbled, drool running down your chin. You were so close, eyes rolling to the back of your Ellie filled brain.

“Please fuck me, please fuck me”

“Cu — Fuck, shit, m’cuming” Ellie grunted.

“Say my fucking name” She demanded, her words coming out so sloppy and ridiculous.

“Ellie — Ellie! Please!”

Ellie almost screamed. She wanted to tell you to come for her, wanted to hear the noises youd make, see your face twist and the screams of her name, but she couldn’t help herself, the sight of your desperate cunt and the look on your face, so stupid, so cumdrunk, so pathetic, begging her to fuck you - brought her to the edge. It errupted inside of her like a volcano, pumping and squeezing on her fingers. She rode her orgasm until it tickled and hurt.

When you came, Ellie almost shed a tear.

This wasn’t just wrong.

This was vile.

She pulled up her pants up and left without saying a word, too embarrassed to look you in the face.

When she got home, Cat was sound asleep on her bed. She gave her a delicate kiss on the cheek, and whispered;

“I’m so sorry”

#ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfiction #the last of us #ellie williams x you #wlw #lesbian #ellie smut #ellie williams angst

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lo-vearchive · 10 months

Text

Forgive Me (Pt. 2)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x female reader

Summary: After reconciling in your bedroom, Miguel disappears on you for a week. Giving up on any hopes of romance, your friends plan a night out for you to cheer up. Too bad your boss makes an appearance and catches you with an attractive stranger on a stormy night. Read Part One: here

Word Count: 4463 words

Content: Miguel being a rude bastard, Miguel asking for forgiveness (again), arguments, possessiveness, alcohol consumption, tobacco consumption, 18+ (minors DNI), no p in v but things get spicy at the end, female fingering, finger sucking, misogyny, insecurity, swearing, hurt and comfort, office sex (no p in v), questionable Spanish

Note: ANGST! Got carried away once again. Lowkey not proofread. I love angst and Miguel being vulnerable. If you are into angst, you will enjoy this. Feel free to correct my Spanish and ask for any other cw to be added. Thank you for the 1K+ notes on Pt. 1. Have fun, horndogs ;)

It has been seven days since you last saw Miguel O’Hara.

After spending a full 48 hours by your side, he had gone back to work. You decided to join him at Alchemax the next day but found his office empty. At first, you thought he was occupied with Spider-Man business, so you kept yourself busy with answering his overflowing email box. Slowly the sun set behind the skyline of Nueva York and the messages ran out, leaving behind a feeling of uneasiness in your stomach.

You [sent Friday, 6 pm]: Hey, are you coming to work today?

You [sent Friday, 10 pm]: I’m going home for the night. Call me when you are home. I miss you :)

You [sent Saturday, 5 am]: Are you okay?

You [sent Saturday, 1 pm]: I’m getting really worried. Where are you?

You [sent Saturday, 5 pm]: I emailed you in case you lost your phone. Call me asap.

You [sent Sunday, 7 pm]: I’ll see you at work tomorrow.

You [sent Monday, 9 am]: Lyla said you’re okay but won’t tell me what’s going on. Says I don’t have clearance. Please call me.

You [sent Monday 10 am]: Are you actually ignoring me?

You [sent Tuesday, 1 am]: My best friend you’re an asshole and I should never let you near my pussy ever again.

You [sent Tuesday 1:23 am] Are you ghosting me? You know we work together, right?

You [sent Tuesday, 3:30 am]: I hate you Miguel O’Hara.

Friday rolled around and your best friend had enough of your drunk late-night facetime calls. She gathered a group of your high school girlfriends and decided a night out in the town would be the perfect remedy. “Fuck him, babe,” Katy states, sliding a shot glass across the table. “You should report him to HR for being an ass.”

You laughed and tipped the glass into your mouth. The tequila burnt its way down your throat. “I’m just going to find a new job. I can’t be dealing with this shit right now.”

Your friend Soo let out a burp. “Did you let him hit it?”

You shake your head. “No,” you cough. “We came close to it, like above the pants stuff— do you think that’s why he’s ignoring me? Because I didn’t put out right away?”

“Bitch,” Katy chides, slapping the tabletop, “be fucking for real. You look like a busty, hot secretary from some comic book. He should be lucky you let him touch your tits!”

Your friends nodded along in agreement. Katy grabs the sides of your chair and spins it around, facing you to the restaurant bar. “You see that guy there?” she points at a man with messy blond hair in an open-collar white shirt. “He’s been eyeing you all night. Go talk to him right now.”

The tequila must have heightened your bravery as you found yourself walking across the dimly lit restaurant and to the wall. Stealing a glance at him from the corner of your eye, you ask the bartender for, “a rum and coke please.”

“You can add her drink to my tab,” the man says just like you hoped he would. “I hope you don’t mind. I saw your friends fussing over you earlier and you looked like you needed a drink.”

“Is it that obvious?” You ask, letting out a laugh. “You’re right, I do need a little pick-me-upper tonight.”

“My name is John,” he says.

You introduced yourself and slide in the empty seat next to him. “So, what’s going on with you?” he questions, sipping his beer.

You carefully lift your drink from the bar top and circled the rim with your index finger. “I’m not sure if I wanna’ trauma dump on a stranger.”

“Sometimes talking to strangers helps.”

You contemplate his words and sigh. Your friends would kick you if you said the name Miguel O’Hara again in their general vicinity. You chose to divulge a little to the mystery man. “Things got a bit complicated with someone I really cared about. Everything was going well and then he disappeared suddenly, and I don’t know why.”

John listens to you carefully, nodding to himself. “You know what I do when I’m confused?”

“What?”

“I take a smoke break to chill out,” he answers, standing up. “Care to join me?”

You downed the contents of your glass and follow him out a door that open to a back alley behind the restaurant. Rain pours down heavily, and you both huddle under a dingy metal shed. The cold air bites your arms sharply as John lights the end of his cigarette and brings it to his mouth. “It can be frustrating when you’re left without answers but a girl like you has nothing to worry about.”

You smile at his words. You take the cigarette off his hand and take a drag. The smoke fills your lungs, making your head spin a little. The light-headedness reminds you of how you felt last time when Miguel was in your arms. Airy, free, and light. No matter what you do, all your thoughts lead back to him. You shake away the memories and pass the cigarette back to John.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” a stern voice asks.

A man melts out of the shadows in the alley and into the light shining from a streetlamp above. You recognize him. “Miguel?”

He doesn’t look at you and keeps his eyes focused on John. “Who is he?” he asks with a deep frown.

“Listen, I’m off work right now,” you clear your throat, sticking your nose up in the air. “I don’t have to explain—”

“Look, man,” John interrupts, “no need to get all worked about this. We are just talking.”

Miguel lets out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, right,” he spits and gets in his face. “You could have done that at the bar. Why the fuck are you out here alone with her? What were you planning on doing?”

“Mr. O’Hara!” you exclaim, stepping in between them. “You are out of line!”

He raises his eyebrows at your formality but keeps his attention on John over your shoulder. “Buddy,” John says, wrapping an arm around your waist and moving you to the side. “She is allowed to talk to whoever she wants. I suggest you leave us alone now.”

The touch doesn’t go unnoticed by Miguel. His nostrils flare and his eyes turned red with anger. He steps closer to John until he is looming over the poor man. You often forget how big your boss is compared to everyone around him. The scene looks almost comical with how John tries to puff out his chest. “Te calmas o te calmo,” (Calm yourself, or I’ll calm you down) Miguel snarls.

Whatever John sees in his face is enough to make him reconsider. He holds his hands up in surrender and backs away slowly. Stopping in front of you he pushes the half-burnt cigarette into your hand and whispers, “If this is the guy you were talking about, then maybe it’s a good thing he disappears. I’ll be inside if you still want to talk.”

He walks away from the alley and into the restaurant, leaving you with Miguel alone in the alley. You watch in silence as his body trembles, and you can’t tell if it’s from anger or the rain hammering away at his back.

He breaks the silence. “So, you’re letting strangers into our private business?”

You snort loudly. “You don’t get to speak to me like that,” you tell him, taking another drag. “Especially after disappearing on me. You can’t just strut back into my life and tell me who I can confide in.”

“I was tending to some urgent matters,” he says, brushing his wet hair away from his forehead. “So I took the time to handle them. I can’t be around you every second of the day acting as your lap dog.”

The heat from the cigarette burns your skin. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you raise your voice, throwing your hands in the air. “You’re acting like I want you on a leash! I just wanted to know you were okay.”

“Clearly I’m okay,” he replies, rolling his eyes.

Your lips tug into a deep scowl at his tone. “Did you ever stop to consider how your actions affected me? How lost and confused I felt waiting by the phone every day?”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Miguel matches your tone. “You know I am a busy man, and that I have responsibilities. But you’d rather live in some fantasy land where I’m just some monster out to hurt you! You can’t begin to understand the weight I carry on my shoulders.”

Anger surges through your body. “How am I supposed to understand when you don’t tell me anything? Hell, your AI knows more about you than I do. It’s like you only care about missions or work and nothing else—”

“Sometimes in life, personal matters have to take a backseat,” he cuts you off, harshly. “Not everyone can put on a short skirt and high heels, waltz into work, type a few memos and then call it a night.”

“You misogynist fuck!” You scream back at him, resisting the urge to slap him silly. “I hate you!”

“I hate you too!” he yells back in your face with bloodshot eyes.

You spin on your heels and begin walking towards the main road. Rage begins to bubble inside you and reaches your throat. You turn around just as you reach the sidewalk and call out, “You know what? It doesn’t matter if you disappear again because I have hated you since the moment I met you. I hated you when everyone at work warned me about you. I hated you all those times you dismissed me like an afterthought. And I hated you when you came to my room that night begging for a second chance. So, I don’t care if you hate me, or think I’m useless or unimportant cause have hated you longer and harder and for better fucking reasons!”

You take another drag from the cigarette and then crush it underneath your pretty high heels. You make a right at the end of the alley and begin walking up the street. Warm tears spill down your face as you shiver in the rain. Katy was right, he was an asshole. An asshole that made you feel dumb for having a normal job or human emotions. But maybe you were just an idiot for falling in love with a man who didn’t respect you. Love wasn’t supposed to be this hard, but here you were feeling small and crying at the side of the road.

The sound of screeching tires brings you out of your self-pity. A sleek black car pulls up on the other side of the road and the passenger window rolls down. Miguel’s face emerges from behind the glass. “Ven aquí!” (come here) he calls out.

You ignore him and keep walking ahead. You have no idea where you are going, but you would rather eat rocks than speak to him.

From the corner of your eyes, you see Miguel make a sharp left, almost hitting oncoming traffic and pulling up beside you. “Get in the car!”

Your feet don’t stop moving so he slowly inches his car to match your speed. “Estoy harto. (I’m sick of this) Let’s talk!”

Honks and yells filled the night as people grew frustrated with his speed. “Stop,” you hiss, bending down to the window. “You are embarrassing me!”

“Get in the car then,” he says, with a clenched jaw. “You’re gonna’ catch a cold in the rain.”

“Stop pretending like you care,” you snarl, kicking the side of his car.

“A-YO LADY!” a man yells out of his yellow cab. “Get in the damn car! Your boyfriend is holding up traffic!”

A pleased smirk spread across Miguel’s face at the man’s remarks. You let out a frustrated grunt and yanked the door open, slipping into the passenger seat. “Put your seatbelt on,” he says, picking up speed.

You begrudgingly obey but wished that his car would get rear-ended so hard that his fat head would go through the windshield. “You look like you want me dead, babe,” he commented with a nervous laugh.

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, adjusting the belt over your soaking dress. “Where are we going?”

“Back to Alchemax,” he points at the GPS screen. “The freeway flooded, and it will be a while until it clears up. I have a spare set of clothes I keep in the office for overnighters. You can change while we wait for the storm to blow over.”

“I don’t want your charity,” you grumble, crossing my hand over my chest.

“I know,” he says. “I just want to take care of you.”

You disliked how your stomach felt at his words. “I left my bag behind at the restaurant.”

“I picked it up, it’s in the back seat.”

“I didn’t pay my tab.”

“It’s taken care of. Your friends know you’re fine, too. Just relax.”

Miguel leans over to turn your seat warmer on and warmth spreads across your chest and down your limbs. He drives in silence with only the soft white noise of radio static playing in the background. Occasionally you tear your gaze away from the furiously working windshield wipers and steal glances at his face. The headlights from other cars make the slopes of his cheek and the plumpness of his lips visible even on a stormy night. His warm complexion has turned pale, and you ponder if it was because of your interaction earlier.

You both pull up into the Alchemax parking lot and get out of the car. The security team must be watching through the cameras, wondering why one of their lead engineers was coming into work late at night with his drenched secretary. You quickly follow him into the elevator and up to the floor with his office. He opens the office door, and you slide inside into the dark space.

“Lyla,” he calls out and the room illuminates on command. “Lights.”

Miguel walks up to a storage cupboard and retrieves a towel in one hand and fresh clothes in the other. He passes them to you, and you quietly enter the adjacent washroom to change. You peel your damp dress off your skin and shiver as the chilly air hits you all over. Rubbing the towel quickly over your cold skin, you slip into an oversized t-shirt and shorts. It takes two knots of the drawstring, but you manage to keep the waistband tied around your naval.

You find Miguel waiting for you outside. He had changed into a shirt that hugged his slender waist and pants that hung dangerously low under his taut stomach. He pulls the towel out of your hand and drapes it over your head. His hands gently rub the threads against your wet hair in soft, circular motions. You lean into his touch involuntarily. “I can do it myself,” you complain but made no move to reach for the fabric.

“I know,” he replies. “I want to do it for you.”

“Please don’t.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re doing that thing again,” you said, “and it’s messing with my head.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you start acting kind after being mean,” you explain in a small voice. “I don’t like it. It’s confusing”

He tugs the towel back so you can look into each other’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” he speaks, gently. “I just lost my shit when I saw you with him.”

“You cut off all contact when all I wanted was to know if you were okay,” your voice shakes as you stare at your feet. “You left me all alone, what was I supposed to do? Wait for you to change your mind?”

“I know I messed up, baby. I was wrong” he sighs, inching down his forehead to meet yours. “I should have communicated with you, but sometimes on missions, things get complicated. I don’t always like the things I have to do, and recently I’m having a difficult time making peace with it. It’s like the harder I try to do the right thing, the more damage I do. So sometimes, it’s just better to be alone rather than pretend I’m okay around other people.”

His words hurt your heart. You knew that his missions take a toll on him. In the past whenever you tried to inquire about its contents he wouldn’t answer. You wouldn’t push, afraid that he’d pull away, but it seems that he was pulling away regardless.

“When you’re gone,” you clear your throat, trying to speak through your narrowing trachea, “I worry that you might be laying dead in some universe, and I’d be none the wiser. I know that being Spider-Man is a sacrifice, but I don’t care about the world. I only care about you. So, when you treat me this way, it’s like I can’t breathe.”

He cups your face and places a soft kiss right on your cheekbone “Forgive me.”

“You say that a lot,” you remind him with a frown.

“I know,” he nods, “and I still mean it. I’m just an idiot who doesn’t know how to find the balance in life. I love that you care about me, and I want you to continue caring about me.”

“I don’t know, Mr. O’Hara,” you said. “I can’t ignore the way you speak to me at times. It feels as if you think we’re not equals. I am not some idiot. I am not beneath you just because I work under you.”

He groaned at the sound of his last name. Every time you called him that, it made the space between feel bigger. “I have seen a million universes, nena, (babe) and you are not beneath me in any of them,” he curls a damp strand behind your ear, “Unless we are in bed, then you’re definitely under me.”

“Miguel!” you chide, punching him in the stomach. “No es broma! (It’s not a joke) I’m being serious!”

He lets out an oof and backs away. His fangs poke out from underneath his curled lips and in that moment, he looks as carefree. He wraps his large hands around your arms and holds your attention. “I know broken trust isn’t easily mendable, but I’m going to try my hardest. I won’t leave you out in the dark or make you feel small. I’ll think twice before I open my stupid mouth. I’ll even ask Lyla to give you full access to my missions. Wh-when you see what I have to do- what I must do, please don’t hate me.”

“Miggy,” you pout, reaching for his face. “I was really, really angry when I said those things to you. I can never hate you. My heart won’t let me.”

His toothy grin appears again, and Miguel draws you into him. His smooth lips find yours and he cranes your head back to find the angle that leaves you breathless. You run the pads of your thumb gently across the slopes of his cheeks. It never ceased to surprise you that his skin was so soft under his stubble. Without breaking your kiss, your shuffle back and walk him to his desk chair. You smile into his lips as he shakes his head when you move him back and down to sit. His hands wrap around your wrists. “D-don’t leave,” he cries out.

You shake your head and take a seat on his lap with your legs dangling off the side. Miguel’s hands find your jaw and he turns your mouth to his. You wrap your fingers in his hair and tug him closer. You let out a content hum as his fangs softly dig into your lips, breaking the skin. The taste of metal fills your mouth, and you pull away to look at him. He sits in your embrace, with red-stained lips and is just as breathless. “Sorry,” he sheepishly says. “I usually have them under control. It’s just you’re in my office and in my clothes. It’s making my head spin a little.”

You laugh at his words and gently pull his hair back. Pressing a wet kiss to his exposed throat you ask, “Miggy, how come we haven’t had sex yet?”

“Honestly?” he lets out a choked moan.

“Honestly,” you hum, licking his jaw.

His hands suddenly grab you by the elbows and spin you around on his lap, so his chest is facing your back. His warm breath hits the nape of your neck. A shiver runs down your spine. “I haven’t fucked you yet because once I’m inside you,” he whispers into your ear, “I’ll never want to be anywhere else. I wouldn’t want to eat, sleep, work, or be Spider-Man. I think I’ll just want to stay buried in you all the time.”

“Miguel,” you moan, clutching your thighs together.

“Tsk-tsk,” he clicks his tongue. “Don’t hide from me.”

His large hand slips between your thighs and pushes your legs apart. He turns the chair around until you’re both facing his work desk. “Up,” he commands, slapping the side of your thighs.

You gingerly obey and place your bare feet on the edge of his desk. His hands slip under your shirt, and he fumbles with the knot. Impatient with the knots, he uses a sharp claw to cut through the drawstring. Your breath hitches as he pushes the loose shorts down your legs and off your feet. He wraps his fingers behind your knees and draws your legs apart. He puts his chin over your shoulder and bunches your shirt up to get a good look at your pink underwear. “Baby,” he coos. “You gotta’ let me have this once we are done. A little souvenir for when I’m away.”

Your stomach tightens at his suggestion. You glance at him and then the office door,. “Someone will see us,” you nervously gulp.

“You let me worry about that,” he says and presses a kiss to the side of your forehead, “and just relax. I’m not gonna’ let anyone else see my girl spread out like this.”

He runs his knuckles down your bare stomach and across the clothed cunt. Electricity shoots up your body and you almost curl up in his arms. Miguel’s fingertips find a quickly dampening spot on the fabric. “Huh,” he huffs. “Is this me or rainwater?”

You cry, arching into his touch.

“I guess it’s just me,” he grins against your shoulder.

He slides your underwear off your legs and tosses it on the table. It lands on a pile of paperwork you had put aside from him earlier in the week. Miguel stops breathing at the sight of your glistening, swollen pussy. A loud moan escapes your throat as his fingers part your folds and glide back and forth. You were sure that the security guards patrolling this floor would have heard you down the hallway. You almost miss his question over the sensations of pleasure spreading through your body.

“Do you want my finger inside you?”

You nod against his cheek and reach behind to clutch a fistful of his hair to brace for impact. He lowers his down until his thick, middle digit is nudging your opening. You must have been soaking his thighs with how easily his digit sinks inside. You bit your lip harshly to contain the sounds threatening to escape your mouth. It’s your turn to hold your breath when Miguel’s other hand begins to stroke your clit. Once, twice, thrice.

When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “You clench around my finger every time I flick your clit.”

Not that you needed proof, but Miguel does it again and you shake with pleasure. “See?” he gasps, and captures your lips in a sloppy kiss.

He he pulls back to hold your eyes and you breathe his shaky breaths in. You close your eyes and imagine how it would look to hold his hard cock in your hands while he played with your pussy. He tears you away from your fantasy by hooking his fingers inside on an angle. You almost arch completely off his lap. He moves his free hand away from your clit and presses you back into him. His hard bulge pressed into your ass.

“Here?” Miguel moans and licks your lips. “Tell me where? Right here? Ah, here.”

His fingers find that spot again and he massages his fingers against it. You nod furiously and my hands move to claw forearms. He softly bites your shoulder in retaliation and his free hand resumes working against your clit, picking up rhythm. “Can I put another finger inside?” he asks, breathing hard. “I promise it will feel good.”

“Oh-kay,” you gasp, rocking your hips on his hand.

His index finger slithers into your pussy, and you forget how to speak. You begin to twist and turn in his lap. He pulls away from your clit to press down hard against your stomach so he can keep you in place. You slide your ass over his crotch with every movement of his fingers.

“Mig-Mig-Mig,” you pant, moving your hips to his set rhythm.

“Good? I bet that feels so good.”

“Gah—”

He presses soft kisses onto your cheek as you sink into his arms. You begin to tighten further around him. You realize that this is exactly how you always want to be—full of Miguel’s fingers, touch, and love. His tongue slips into your mouth as his fingers begin curling into you faster. Your moans and groans echo through the office. His left hand leaves your stomach and reaches for your clit again. It takes seven swipes, one for each day he left you alone, for you to seize around his finger. His mouth never leaves yours as he drinks all of your pleasurable cries.

Slowly, the current leaves your body and you’re able to take in your surround. Your cheeks burn with realization. Miguel had just fingered you open on his desk at your workplace. The very same desk you set up for him every morning. Your fingers slide up to his hair and you hide your face in the crook of his neck. “Don’t be shy now,” he chuckles, “One day I’ll fuck you all over this office, nena.”

You shriek and lightly slap his arm. Miguel gently slides his fingers out of your cunt, eliciting a soft groan, and brings his to his mouth.

He hums with eyes closed at the taste. “You taste so good,” he mumbles around his fingers.

“Ugh,” Lyla gags at a distance. “Be glad I activated noise cancellation.”

A/N: Thoughts?

781 notes · View notes

slasher-key · 11 months

Text

We’ll Be The Stars (Jack Thurlowe)

Pairing: Jack Thurlowe x GN!!Reader

Warnings: None just profanity & lovey dovey shit

Jack has been couped up in his house for a while, so you decide to pick him up, and take him on a little adventure. He doesn’t want to go at first, but can he really say no to you? The answer is no.

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“Open up fucker, you need to get out of this fucking house, Jack!!!” I scream banging on my best friend’s front door. “No!!! I hate nature and you know that, I’m not going.” He replies. We’ve been going at this for almost 20 minutes now. I’m just trying to be a good fucking friend, and make him feel better, but no, he wants to be a bitch about it. “Jack!! you dumb bitch, I know you don’t like nature, but maybe getting out of this house for a while will fucking help you.” He’s so fucking stubborn. “ fine, I’ll pay for food, whatever you want.” I add, trying to get him to give in.

When I don’t get a reply after, I know he is contemplating opening the door. After a few seconds, I see the door knob slowly turn and he slightly opens the door. “Anything I want?” he says poking his head out of the door. “Yes, stupid anything you want.” I reply, laughing at his child like behavior.

He finally lets me in the house and I wait in the living room for him to finish getting ready. “I’m ready,” he yells, running down the stairs. We leave the house and make our way to the burger place that Jack chose. We went to this place a lot as kids, so Jack likes to eat here every time he comes back from LA. Since it’s a local place he can’t get it there. I eat it a lot but I don’t really mind going more for him.

We got our booth and I told him the plans about our little nature walk. “Hello I’m Alex and I’ll be your server today.” We both look up and smile at him. He must be new. “Can I start you off with some drinks?” He asks looking directly at me. We stare at each other for a few seconds, until Jack speaks up “Yeah, I’ll have a coke” He says, obnoxiously loud. “I’ll have the same,” I add, glaring at Jack in the process. “Nice, I’ll let you look at the menu for a bit, and I’ll be back to take your order.” He says, starting to walk away. “Well we already know what we want.” Jack replies, being a little rude, might I add. “Oh, okay” he says, looking at me with the “Your friend is crazy smile”. I just give him an apologetic smile and let jack order our usual.

The rest of the time we are at the restaurant Jack glares and makes snarky comments at and about Alex, and I can tell he wanted to do even worse. “Well, he should be fucking fired.” Jack says, as we walk out of the restaurant. “What!! why he was sweet, he got every thing right, and he was new.” I reply “Maybe he shouldn’t flirt with the customers so much, I couldn’t even enjoy my food because he was eye fucking you so hard from the other table and even when he was behind the counter.” He rambles. “Awww is my Jackie jealous?” I ask, in a baby voice to annoy him even more. “Yes!! Jackie is jealous, because he wanted to spend time in his favorite place, with his favorite person but, NO!! the waiter had to fuck it up and flirt with them the whole time, even when he wasn’t waiting on our table.” He says, face turning red. “Come on Jack, it’s not my fault, I’m just irresistible,” I joke. “Whatever let’s just go” He says.

Jack frowned the whole ride to the park, and the whole walk to the flower pasture that I wanted to show him. It was mostly just me talking, and him giving me one word answers, up to three if I was lucky. So as we sit in complete silence on the blanket I brought, I can’t help but feel bad for earlier. “I’m sorry about what happened today Jack,” I say, breaking the silence. “It’s fine, you were right anyway,” he replies. “Right about what?” I ask. He tries his best to hide the smile forming on his face. “You are irresistible,” He says, not being able to hold in his laughter in. Not long after I join him, and we just sit and laugh for hours.

The sun finally sets on us and the night sky shines brightly. The moon is full, the stars fill up the sky, and it is all just perfect. Jack and I both lay on our backs to look up at the sky. “Do you think when people die they become stars, you know, to look over us?” Jack asks, breaking to comfortable silence between us. “Maybe, do you wanna be a star when you go?” I ask. “Hell yeah I do, a big ball of fiery hot gas, yep, that’s me.” He replies. We both look at each other and burst into fits of laughter. “No but seriously, I feel like it’s a nice way to let people know I’m still here in spirit.” He says, laughter dying down. “Maybe one day we can be happy in the stars together.” I reply, looking over at him. We stare at each other for a little until. “I LOVE YOU!!” Jack yells. We both go silent, and stare at each other for a while. “Ummmm I’m sorry that was weird... I” he starts. I cut him off gently grabbing his facing and closing the gap between us. We pull away after a few seconds, which felt like minutes “I don’t think you realize how long I have waited for you to say that,” I say. “really?” He replies, confusion written on his face. “I have always loved you Jack and I always will.” I say pulling him in once again.

Hope you enjoyed!! Thank You so much for reading <3 <3 <3

#rory culkin #rory culkin fanfic #rory culkin imagine #rory culkin oneshot #rory culkin x reader #jack goes home #Jack Thurlowe x reader #Jack thurlowe imagine

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jcbbby · 1 year

Note

okay i’ll force you to write 🤭

i just want best friend jamie… maybe best friend to lovers or just best friend idc i just wanna hang out with him and hug him and cuddle him is that too much to ask

WHAT IS THIS? I'M WRITING???? I knew I could count on you....even if it's like two weeks later because I am nothing if not a procrastinator. so here's a lil drabble for you babe <3 it's not my best but it is what is....

warnings: none really! just alcohol mention. this is just a short lil thing about two best friends enjoying a night out. :)

"Your shot." You smirked, looking to Jamie from across the pool table.

You were kicking his ass. He couldn't believe just a few weeks ago you had never even picked up a pool cue, and now he regretted ever suggesting the two of you check out the local bowling alley for something new.

For the past few weekends, you had been coming the the large bowling alley as your Saturday night hang out spot, since there was so much to do there. Bowling obviously, an arcade, laser tag, bar games. That first visit, he spotted the pool table excitedly. You hadn't played before and he patiently took the time to teach you how to hold the pool cue, how to angle your arm, the rules, all of it. What he didn't anticipate is you picking up on it so quickly.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you." He playfully glared, leaning against his cue. He sighed as he looked out to the many scattered striped balls on the felt, compared to your very few solid colored ones.

"Hate the game, not the player. Maybe you're just not as good as you thought you were." You shrugged, walking around to grab your drink perched on the edge of the table.

"I'm just off tonight okay, I'm good at pool!" He playfully shouted as he bent down, eyeing his best angle.

You smiled and shook your head, swigging back a sip of your...third? rum and coke. He set his cue up, leaning over the edge of the table. A few test thrusts before he whacked the white ball into his targeted striped ball. The clack of the hollow spheres ricocheting in the air as they moved around the table. You both watched as an orange striped ball sunk down into the corner pocket. Jamie threw out a victorious fist.

"Finally!" You smirked. "I was getting tired of taking my shots over and over."

He pointed the cue at you. "This is my redemption. Your ass is grass now."

You leaned back, pretending to clutch your nonexistent pearls. Sipping more of your drink, you watched him take one more successful shot before then sinking the white cue ball into a pocket. An involuntary howl of laughter escaped your throat as he tucked his head and sunk down to his knees dramatically.

"How...how did...you even manage...to fuck that up?" You said between giggles. "Like where were you even aiming?!"

"Yeah yeah..." Jamie sighed, standing back up to his feet, setting the cue against the table. "Why don't we go play air hockey or something, I know I can crush you with that." He smirked.

And he did crush you at air hockey. It must have something to do with his long arms or something, you weren't sure. Or maybe your lack of coordination from the now four rum and cokes. You sure were thirsty tonight, whoops... But he did indeed kick your ass this time.

"Ah, payback darling." He smiled, patting you on the shoulder.

You playfully shoved him, causing yourself to falter slightly in your balance, laughing as you caught yourself on the air hocky table.

"Jamie I think I'm drunk."

He laughed. "Well, you drunk or not, I still won." He booped your nose. "But hmm, best head home then, huh?"

You nodded, a stupid grin stuck to your face, feeling quite relaxed and happy from your buzz. Jamie hooked his arm with yours, exiting the bowling alley and helped you into his Land Rover. Arriving back to Jamie's apartment, you both got out of the car in his parking garage. You both walked around to the back of the vehicle, and you rustled around in your bag for your car keys. Jamie's hand quickly came down over yours.

"Nope! You're staying here for as long as I think you need to. No way you're driving yourself home." He locked his car, with the beep echoing throughout the garage. "Are you hungry? Wanna get some Thai food or something?"

"Yes!" You blurted excitedly. "I'm starving."

Entering Jamie's apartment, you bounced yourself down on to the sofa, sprawling out momentarily before sitting back up. Jamie tossed his keys on to the table by the door and plopped down next to you. You hovered over his shoulder as he pulled out his phone and opened UberEats for you both to select what your stomachs desired.

"I can venmo you for-"

"Shhh, nope." He held his finger up to silence you. "No need."

"Oh, okay Mr. Stranger Things money..." You grinned.

"Yeah, this food's courtesy of Vecna." He winked, leaning over to grab the TV remote. "What do you want to watch?"

"Oooh, let's watch The VVitch!" You gently patted his shoulder.

"Hell yeah!" He agreed.

He queued up the movie and you both curled up under a blanket next to each other awaiting your food. When it arrived, he went to grab it from the delivery person. You both resumed your positions on the couch, both devouring your meals with a haphazard animalistic fury that you wouldn't dare showcase to anyone besides each other.

With bellies full, you settled back into each other under the blanket to finish the movie. Though, you wouldn't see the ending of it. Between the buzz of the alcohol wearing off, now quickly careening into heavy drowsiness, as well as the food coma rising up through your body, your eyes were putting up a hell of a fight to close. It was a battle you lost, as Jamie soon felt your head limp on his shoulder, and the quiet, slow breathing of someone in deep slumber. He smiled softly to himself, pulling the blanket up further around you. Clicking the TV off, he ever so gently reached over to flick off the table lamp. Leaning his head against yours on his shoulder, he soon joined you in sleep.

In the morning, you awoke first. Jamie was slumped over, his head on the armrest, an arm around you. You were slumped over him, against his chest. You sat up, rubbing your eyes. Jamie felt you stirring and slowly awoke as well. He stretched his arm upward, letting out a soft groan.

"G'morning." You yawned. "I fell asleep first, didn't I?"

Jamie sat up, rubbing his neck. "Mhm, sure did." He winced, turning his neck from side to side.

"Why didn't you go up to your bed, dingus?" You chuckled through another yawn.

"You fell asleep on my shoulder, I didn't want to wake you." He shrugged.

You gave him a soft pout. "Aww...you're so sweet sometimes." You smiled.

"Yeah...but don't let that get around." He winked.

There was a brief moment of silence that hung in the air as you both let the sleepiness fade away. A few more stretches and yawns between the two of you. Then, you both turned to each other.

"Brunch?" You said in sync, before bursting into laughter.

"Get your keys. You drive, I'm buying this time." You shoved him playfully.

#jamie campbell bower x reader #jamie bower x reader #jamie campbell bower rpf #jamie bower rpf #jamie campbell bower fanfiction #jamie campbell bower imagine #jamie bower fanfiction #jamie campbell bower #jamie bower

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wheredoipunch · 9 days

Text

kuroo x kenma

(the italics are song lyrics or emphasis, don't worry you'll be able to differentiate)

Kenma had been playing video games all day long.

Kenma loved video games.

Kenma also loved Kuroo.

But Kuroo didn't need to know that.

They had been best friends forever, and he didn't want to ruin things with him. He cared about Kuroo too much to lose his friendship. Kenma loved Kuroo so much. He loved the way Kuroo looked at him, his dark eyes full of adoration, slight amusement, and something else he couldn't quite recognise.

It sort of looked like love.

But Kenma was probably delusional.

From the background, his playlist blasted out of his phone.

'I wanna ruin our friendship'

Suddenly, his door burst open, and out of it came Kuroo, in all his dark, tall glory. Kenma almost had a heart attack. He also hadn't noticed he was screaming.

'We should be lovers instead'

"Kenma! You've been inside the whole day. You're coming with me, whether you like it or not. I'm dragging your ass out if I have to." Kuroo said, loud and obnoxious as ever. Meanwhile Kenma was still hyperventilating on the floor. "House…keys…Kuroo…" he wheezed in panic. "You gave me spare keys, remember?" Kuroo said, smirking.

"And I regret it immensely."

"As you should."

'I don't know how to say this'

"Okay, you're coming with me."

"Where though?"

"Bokuto, Akaashi, Oikawa, and Iwa are meeting us at that new karaoke place in," Kuroo paused to look at his watch. "Ten minutes ago. Okay, get up, we're late."

"I hate you."

'Cause you're really my dearest friend'

"And turn that damn music off."

To this, Kenma obliged. He didn't want Kuroo to hear the simpy playlist he had made dedicated to him. He ran upstairs, threw on his best (and tightest) pair of jeans, and a random t-shirt with a cat on it. He hurriedly came back down, where Kuroo was waiting.

Maybe he was just imagining Kuroo's expression change for a second.

Maybe his mouth didn't hang open and his eyebrows didn't raise in surprise.

Kenma was imagining things.

They reached the karaoke place in around fifteen minutes, where they were greeted by their friends. Oikawa ran up to them. "Kuroooooo you promised it wouldn't take you too long to drag Kenma out todayyyy." he complained, pouting. They hadn't noticed Bokuto creep up behind them until he slapped Kenma's ass and said "Damn, Kenma, those jeans are tight as hell. You tryna seduce Kuroo?"

Kuroo went red. Kenma rolled his eyes.

"If you must know, there's another girl I've got my eyes set on."

"Ooo~ Kenma's gonna get a girlfriend tonight~" Oikawa smirked.

Akaashi dragged Kuroo, who looked severely confused (and slightly constipated) away to get food and sign in so they could play.

"Who's the girl?" Oikawa nudged Kenma. "Tell us everything."

"You really wanna know?" Kenma asked.

"Tell us or we make you sing first." Bokuto said.

"She's…your mom." Kenma said, and sprinted away as fast as his legs would carry him. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, he ran right into Akaashi, who managed to spill all six of the open Coca Cola bottles on him.

Kenma, now drenched in Coke, opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish.

"How did you manage to drop all six onto me?" he sputtered.

Oikawa and Bokuto were cackling in the background, Bokuto holding onto Oikawa's arm for dear life as he wheezed so hard he cried. Iwaizumi shook his head, but laughed along with them.

Kuroo was giggling wildly as Akaashi apologised profusely, also grinning like a mad man.

A few seconds later, Kenma joined in, shaking with laughter.

After they had all finished teasing Kenma, Kuroo pulled him aside, and silently tugged him to the bathroom. He pulled off his hoodie and handed it to Kenma, his hand awkwardly touching the back of his neck. "Your shirt's drenched." he said, smiling softly.

"Oh yes, I wasn't aware of that." Kenma muttered.

Kuroo's face lit up in a grin. "Who would've guessed."

"Yup."

Kenma took his shirt off quickly, rinsed his hair in the sink (he doesn't know how he managed either), and put on Kuroo's hoodie.

It was ridiculously huge on him.

"You…you look cute." Kuroo said, eyes slightly widened.

"Thanks." Kenma's blush extended to his shoulders.

They left and had a concerning amount of beer with their friends. They all thought it tasted like trash, but they did it for, in Oikawa's words, "the plot". The plot of what, god knows.

"I love you, Kenma." Kuroo slurred, putting his arm around Kenma's shoulders.

"What?" Kenma asked, ready to spontaneously combust.

"I love you. I've loved you for a long time now." Kuroo muttered.

"You're drunk. I'm drunk. You don't mean that."

"I'm a coward, Kenma. Alcohol gives me the courage to say things I can't say when I'm sober. Do you love me too?"

"I love you so much, Kuroo Tetsuro."

"Good."

And then Kuroo kissed him.

Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Bokuto, and Akaashi cheered in the background, but they barely noticed them.

This was their moment.

"Wanna get out of here?" Kuroo asked against Kenma's lips.

"Desperately."

They booked a cab and went back to Kenma's house, where they made out a bit more and Kenma beat Kuroo at Mario Kart more than Kuroo would ever admit.

He didn't mind losing to Kenma, though.

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retrodreamgirl · 2 years

Text

social etiquette for a beautiful stranger | steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: the wonderfully complicated ordeal of your ordinary becoming his special OR the time steve wouldn't go with you to a zombie festival but did read The Feminine Mystique and liked it [wc: 8.6k]

warnings fem!reader, steves pov, pining steve, fluff, slight hurt/comfort college au, friends to lovers, reader is poetic as shit (very me coded so sorry bout it), ft. dustin and robin being the best friends, cruel college girls, slow burn, not really proofed, lmk if i missed anything!

i'm actually incredibly obsessed with this and am begging you all to talk to me abt it (asks, reblogs, replies, ANYTHING) bc i love them and also if you hate it you must hate me bc this reader is so me coded its crazy (that last part is a joke...no it's not)

⤜♡→

In the interest of nostalgia everything remains as it were, traced with the faint dusting of fingertips too fearful of a future unsure. You never knew what it would be like in a room that’s not altogether yours, one that’s nearly taped down the center with an invisible line as if to claim “Don’t touch my stuff and I won’t touch yours.” Your bedding and the pictures plastered to the adjacent white cinderblock not seeming half as interesting as the pale blue Cindy Lauper on the other side of the room.

It’s difficult to catch the moment you surmised your strain of voice and reclusive behavior made you just like everyone else, that is to say, no one at all.

You aren’t the girls two rooms down who nearly exclusively leave their door open, the lip caught on a piece of wood shaped like cheese to stop the hinges so anyone could come in. You’re far too unagreeable to get on with the ones who knock on each other's doors for sport, picking at the knick knacks on their neighbor’s dressers and playfully pocketing the ones they seem most fond of. There never seems to be any conversations in the lounge that catch your attention long enough to have you considering an off the cuff response, sidling up to casually insert yourself between tweed skirts and turtleneck sweaters.

It appears to you as if you’ve been cast out with the ease of cruelty only girls seem to possess at this stage in their life. The one they attribute to the horribly difficult situation of being here, a place characterized by the nebulous flutter of a manicured hand.

But if you were to crawl out of your own skin and materialize as someone of new name and face, if you were to ask “What’s with the girl in room 302?” they would all guide you with a vague cast over their shoulders as if said girl is lurking in the far corner, the one with the uncomfortably wobbly armchair, advising that she’s simply too interesting to bother with.

But as it were you’ve yet to configure the idea of this momentary abandonment of self and you’ve failed to find your way across the room where Robin Buckley leans forward along the fuzzy brown loveseat and whispers this very question to a junior who’s taken pity on her wide eyed uncertainty about the whole thing.

“Too interesting? That doesn’t seem right because I mean wouldn’t you wanna know more about her? I know when I was into…—well anyways I’m just saying has anyone actually tried to talk to her?” The disinterest in the subject is nearly driving Robin to madness.

The urge to pelt Steve with the change from her can of coke is the reason she’s perched on the edge of the sofa, because she’s positive he’d agree with her if he paid a lick of attention where he sits to one side flipping through an outdated Vogue. Especially taking into consideration his secret infatuation that led them to the sleepy lighting in her dorm's lounge area.

“Look.” Robin can tell the girl—she’s only slightly guilty she never bothered to ask her name because certainly if she wanted them to know she would’ve said—wants this conversation to be over but still leans forward intent on her next words. “It’s nothing against her, but haven’t you noticed the way she’s so…obscure?”

“...obscure.” Steve’s paying attention now, bored with the magazine and ready for the pizza Robin promised. He glances around the room then, always on edge when he visits her, like he’s stepped into a world he’s not altogether prepared for. When he finds you in the corner he realizes the topic of conversation is more to his interest than he thought.

“Not in like a bad way but I mean, have you seen her? Even her room is just so involved.”

“You’ve been in her room?” Steve is minutely throttled by a tinge of jealousy, always curious of what lies behind the twin door. Wondering if it’s the same as his own, bed pushed beneath the window and everything else thrown up haphazardly, or if you’re more precise in your decoration.

“No, no I was in Clara’s room but Y/n is her roommate—that’s hardly the point. What I’m saying is she’s very smart and romantic but in that difficult way no one understands.”

The way Steve tilts his head stupidly, ignoring the split ends dangling in his peripheral, is imploring enough for further explanation. He’s not sure whether he should be sheepish or maintain insistence that nothing he’s heard in the past few minutes makes sense.

“You know, like…Sylvia Plath.” The citation is meant to mitigate the addled crease in his forehead, but as far as Steve’s concerned this girl has never seriously read Plath in her life. Not that he has either, but that’s far from the point. “It all sounds pretty and melodramatic but what is she really saying?”

“What is who saying?” A new girl materializes before Steve can think of something smart to say. Her hair is pinned up and she’s wearing a dress the color of a wilted banana.

“We’re talking about Y/n.” Steve wants to say that they aren’t talking about you, rather he had a curiosity that was now nearly as confused as when they’d sat down. Though that would require the intense dissection of an innocent question. One guided by intentions that he couldn’t begin to explain as the effect of an identity hindered by the misguided moral high ground of newly adult teens in the nineteen-eighties.

It would also require their willingness to let him participate in their mind boggling repartee. Neither of which pose themselves as viable options as it stands.

“Oh she’s so smart.” The new girl drops her bag, pushing into Steve’s side when she plops on the couch. “Kathy, isn’t she just so smart?”

“So smart. I’m just too embarrassed I’ll make a fool of myself if I even try.” Kathy giggles, like it’s absurd that anyone could have that effect on her. “Heather talked to her once at the beginning of the year. Tell them, Heather.”

Steve has failed to deduce whether their periodic inflections of voice are a result of unnecessary emphasis or some secret amusement he’s yet to catch onto, but Heather appears overjoyed to have been asked about her run-in with the obscurity taking up residence on the third floor.

“Well it was just a second, but it was at the start of term party one of the frats was throwing. Now that I think about it, I can't even believe she was there.” Not that he would agree, but Steve couldn’t believe it either. The only reason he was there is because he all but dragged Robin so he could scope the place out. “Anyways, I asked her if—”

“She asked her if she’s a virgin!”

“Kathy.”

“Well you did, Heather.”

“Yeah, but it’s just a thing you ask frosh! You make it sound like I was being harsh.”

“No one’s asked me that…” Robin hushes to herself, but both girls crowd her all curious eyes and sly smiles. She burns beneath their perfectly winged liner, attention drawn to the condensation of her can resting on the table.

“Well are you?”

It seems a ritualistic task to stand scrutinized by these upperclassmen. To allow them to dress her down until it becomes impossible to deny them the truth. Steve begins to wonder if it were her fate all along to wander unawares to the uncomfortable sofa, whether this is the moment she either proves herself to be worthy of the attention they’ve so generously showered her with or not.

He knows she doesn’t need them, she has her own friends and her own interests, but he understands her desire to be accepted in this new place. To be regarded as more than a band geek slinging ice cream at Scoops Ahoy or rewinding tapes at Family Video.

“I’m…I only did it once.” She relents, perhaps too easily they both decide afterwards. She’s flustered and unprepared for any string of questioning that might follow, the abundance of words she has constantly balanced at the tip of her tongue either gearing up to be her greatest ally or her worst enemy and Steve only hopes it's the former.

“Sure, that’s all it takes really.” It sounds patronizing but Kathy sobers quickly when she and Heather burst into another fit. “Was he your boyfriend or just convenient? My first time was with my boyfriend but sometimes you just take what you can get.”

“Oh uh…” Steve’s prepared to cut in when Robin seems to shrink into the cushions.

“Kathy, don’t be so crass.” Heather shrieks, rolling her eyes at the question that is somehow more invasive than its precursor according to her. “You’re a good sport. Y/n wouldn’t even answer, outright refused really.”

He can tell Robin feels stupid. Of course you wouldn’t answer, maybe she shouldn’t have either. It’s clear Kathy and Heather are getting more out of her than she’s getting out of them. Steve regrets her bothering in the first place, but stows the impending nausea over time wasted and truths easily spilling over in favor of letting her talk herself out of this.

“You know, I have to go actually. We’re gonna grab pizza and I wanna call my friend before it gets too late. He doesn’t live on campus, too young really. Sometimes he doesn’t answer the phone the first time so I have to make sure I have time to call more than once because I don’t wanna miss him again—”

“Chill! We totally get it, go call your friend. Be sure to tell him about your new friends Heather and Kathy.”

“Smooth.” Steve jests when she tugs him from the sofa. Her shoulders relax and she growls in the direction of his boyish grin releasing him at the threshold.

“Shut it, dingus. I swear you better make me your best man after this shit.”

“What!? You didn’t even get anything out of them!”

“Whatever, pizza’s on you.”

~*~

The next time Steve sees you, you’re lounging by the lake in the center of campus. He takes careful care to consider your position, a healthy distance from the water with the back of your hand resting across your forehead to shade yourself from the afternoon sun. It’s not too pretty out, the trees taking on the shape of almost dead rather than the delightfully golden hue that kicks in mid-September.

This far back he can still see the purple of your knitted turtleneck, tucked into the dark corduroy skirt rising above your mid-thigh to create a tantalizing expanse of bareskin leading to your shiny black oxfords.

He takes a turn, dipping to glance at his blue jeans and the Hawkins High hoodie he probably should’ve left to rot in his closet back home. It seems pointless to change completely, so he shoves the hoodie over his head and wraps it around his waist.

It’s uncharacteristic. The way he strolls over, hands snug in his pockets like he’s just interested in the murky view of the pond and straggling geese enjoying the frigid stillness atop the surface. He doesn’t know if he’ll say anything, completely unprepared to wow you with the impressiveness that only seems to appear in times in need of immediate action.

He’s feet away now, glancing at you every few steps. You’re still unmoving and he wonders if you’re sleeping. If you’ve found the lake to be the only place fit for such things. There’s a book resting in your other hand, thumb nudged between the pages to hold your place.

“The Feminine Mystique.” You sigh, startling Steve into nearly tripping over his own feet. Your voice is so pastel and ethereal that it caresses his ears on its way to settle into his brain, slowly permeating like spilled paint. “Woe to misogyny and all that.”

“Oh, yeah...fuck misogyny.” A cringe follows, his mind conjuring the idea that Robin’s found a new method to tally his defeats already. He stills watching you center yourself on the palm that previously shaded you and lifting the book to regard the teal and creme cover.

“Have you read it?” Steve is startled by your subtle disregard for the invasion of privacy. It’s an emotion furthered by the frayed paperback extended toward him . “Here.”

“But you’re only halfway—”

“S’not as good the second time. I was so put off I got distracted by a bird flying just there, it was watching me too I think.” You shrug, dropping it in the grass when Steve doesn’t immediately take it. Your finger lifts to guide him to a cardinal perched in the nearest tree. You don’t say more, guiding your attention to the lake, neither a dismissal or an invitation so Steve takes the initiative to lower himself, grabbing the book.

“Thanks.” A gust of wind shoves against the pair of you, Steve perfectly clear on why you’re the only person out enjoying the weather. “It’s pretty chilly out here.”

“Well you did take your sweatshirt off before you came over.” You hum, grazing Steve’s hand when you lift yours to tug at the hem of your skirt and he swears he can smell vanilla and chamomile. You don’t allow him time to be embarrassed about it, already onto the next topic. “Wanna go see a movie?”

“A movie?” He reddens, placing the novel aside in favor of rubbing his sweaty palms against his thighs.

“They’re having a festival at the theater, ‘Zombies Through the Ages’.” You say ‘Zombies’ like you think it’s a ridiculous concept, but there’s a delighted rise in octave toward the end of the phrase that says otherwise. It’s difficult for Steve to sift through your intentions and settle on anything more than your desire not to sit alone in a darkened theater watching corpses tear into flesh.

“I…well you don’t even know me.” It comes out more accusatory than he intended, and Steve is kicking himself with his ratty sneakers when he sees the way your muscles flatten at the words. You sober rather quickly, standing from the grass and swaying on your feet. Steve untangles himself from the criss-cross that held him so perfectly in place like he had no intention of rearranging the words to shape them into his true meaning.

“Right.”

There’s a moment of silence then and Steve supposes that perhaps both of you are trying to think of something to say. It seems silly to be sitting in the grass, making a fool of himself in front of the only girl he’s really wanted to talk to since Nancy but somehow there’s no other choice.

He’s accidentally framed you in the obscurity with which they’ve all painted you as, because now it seems to have leaked into his brain and taken hold of his speech without his knowledge or consent. It feels bitter and lofty in the back of his throat, especially when he remembers how it felt to be that person to some extent.

He hadn’t noticed it before but you reach to secure an olive green messenger over your shoulder, the straps of faux leather already beginning to peel near the buckle. He watches you reach halfway toward the discarded copy of The Feminine Mystique but retract almost immediately. He wouldn’t blame you if you took it back. There’s a dreamy look in your eyes when you finally manage to find him with them and it’s hard for him not to think about how you’re so pretty.

You’re so pretty and he’s mortified when your lips kissed beneath the cold and injured by his harmful speech attempt the baseless ruse of a thoughtful smile.

“I have to go now, Steve.”

~*~

“I’m an idiot.”

“Well yeah, but it’s not your fault. Are we still on for next weekend? I’m not driving all the way there if you’re just gonna ditch me like last time.”

“First of all don’t say it like you’re the one driving. Second, for the last time, I didn’t ditch you! I’m positive the words ‘Dustin don’t come’ left my mouth about ten times before you showed up anyways.” Steve currently stands with his back against the wall, leg propped up with the payphone tucked against his ear scoffing.

Robin’s still in class for another twenty minutes he waited forty for a phone to clear up after you traipsed off and Dustin isn’t being the least bit sympathetic after he relayed his glaring miscalculation.

Steve wouldn’t know that you pulled yourself from the reality of that moment by imagining it hadn’t happened at all. By pretending that perhaps Steve Harrington was nothing more than a figment of your imagination sent to prepare you for the harrowing realization that you aren’t meant to separate from the unhappiness that clings to you so desperately for a while yet.

“Whatever. Are you seriously panicking? You were nervous, I’m sure she didn’t take it personally. Just apologize.”

“Are you missing the part where she got up and left? I’m pretty sure she took it personally!” He draws the attention of a group of upper class girls known for scrutinizing every little thing. He offers a weak apology, too caught in his own detriment to really feel any remorse.

He wonders when it got like this. The whole thing really.

Constantly curious about everyone around him, yet ignoring it all the same. The choice to keep walking when sniffles echo beneath the doors, questioning his own importance when giggled whispers pass in the halls. The confounded hopefulness when girls who seemed too out of reach offer just a sliver of kindness, some untamed humility to guys like himself. Unsure which ones to trust and which ones to fear.

An unkindness, all of it.

“Steve?”

“What?”

“Were you listening to anything I said, dumbass?”

“Not likely. Forget it, she’s too real for me anyways. Gave me a copy of The Feminine Mystique.” The copy is currently laying atop his desk, right next to the battered copy of Lord of the Rings Dustin gifted him for graduation. He stared helplessly at it for thirty minutes before peeling himself from his desk in search of a phone.

The book smells of faint traces of your perfume and looks almost as if it’s never been read at all. Almost. The laminate coating on the permanent jacket is only slightly creased near the binding and there’s a sticky scuff where it looks like you poorly pulled the price tag from the back. He hadn’t dared open it, too worried to face whatever overwhelming sense of you rests beyond the front cover but the pages are the color of old parchment and he thinks it makes sense it belongs to you.

“I don’t know what that means, but you’re crazy if you think you don’t deserve her. You’re the realest person I know…” He trails, as if considering the strength of the words in relation to every person he’s ever known. He imagines it's fairly simple for Dustin to deduce when considering his social circle for most of his recent adolescent years. “Well you might be tied with Max but that’s not the point really. Do you like her?”

“Dust—”

“Do you like her?” It’s a simple question, and something he hasn’t been able to admit to anyone since the feeling slithered into his chest and coiled around his blood-pumping organ so that it oozed something deeper than the unoxidized thickness. Robin wasn’t an idiot, but even she had to dig to surmise the reason for his frequent insistence they hang in her dorm rather than anywhere else on campus.

“Of course I do.”

“Well that’s really the only thing that matters. So you can either keep whining to me or you can try again and this time don’t say something stupid when she asks you to hang out with her.”

It was easier said than done, the extra mile to see your face again without fruition most days. It seemed as if you’d forgotten the instance altogether and with it any interest in Steve at all. It wasn’t that you lacked the quiet courtesy to offer the tilt of your head or a soft acknowledgement when you crossed paths in the hall, but rather you seemed set not to relinquish to him any attention beyond it.

He’s even stooped to the low of an uncommon interest that’s perhaps more common than he thought, cozying into one of the moth eaten loveseats in your dorm’s lounge and propping the novel you’d given him between his palms. Though he thinks he should be embarrassed it’s the first time he doesn’t feel like he’s performing but rather burrowing further into you and the curiosity of your person. His intention was to wait for you to walk through the lounge, hoping you would notice him in the corner nearest your usual spot, that wobbling armchair. He had no reason to believe he would find investment in the novel and forget about you entirely.

“The Feminine Mystique.” Steve is startled by proximity of your body on the adjacent cushion, glancing toward the corner you most frequent, assuming someone must’ve taken it. It’s completely free. “I seem to have misplaced my copy.”

“Oh…you loaned it to me, remember?” Steve slowly slips a shred of paper through the pages, settling the volume in the space between you, measuring the distance between your thighs.

“Oh, I suppose I did. I must’ve forgotten.”

“Do you want it back?”

“You keep it, it’s not as good the second time I don’t think.” You repeat, digging into your bag to free a leather bound journal and a black ink pen. You open to a blank page and jot something down, lowering the book to your lap and slightly raising it again before speaking. “What do you think of it, this place? Does it give you a burning alive feeling or have you learned to step in the cold places like puddles of water? I think I’ll be burning for a long time yet, but I don’t mind. I think I’ll find an ocean eventually, I’m just too troubled by the waves and the unknown.”

The words are poetic in a way that sounds like you’re serenading him, the blush rising to his cheeks an homage to the rapid cycling where his chest pulses relentlessly beneath his polo. It’s clear you don’t think much of them, pen already scratching at the page again like you’d said nothing at all.

Where Kathy found obscurity Steve finds awe in your speech. A constant string of words he dreams of understanding to their fullest extent because he dreams of understanding you.

“I think in some ways it’s the same as Hawkins but also totally different, so I’m not really sure what to think yet. I miss my friend Dustin, but I’d never tell him that.”

“Hawkins. That’s where you’re from?”

“Yeah, it’s not very big but you’d be surprised how it feels like the biggest place in the world sometimes.”

“That’s good. That you don’t know how you feel about it yet. I only just realized recently how to feel anything at all about such things.” You declare thoughtfully, Steve’s eyes following the way your pen traces the opening of your lips as you speak. “It’s how I found out those cool places exist, before I would just burn completely. Now I’ve taken to taming it periodically.”

“Hey, I’m really sorry about the other day. I was being kind of a jerk but it’s only because I’m not used to people actually wanting to hang out with me. I mean, I met my best friend Robin working at an ice cream shop so she basically had to be around me all the time and the rest of my friends are a bunch of teenagers so—”

“The other day?”

“When you asked me to go to the movies.”

“Ah. Don’t worry, I understand it completely now.” Steve’s not sure what you understand, but it doesn’t stop the guilt from assuaging its hold around his midsection. “You should tell Dustin you miss him, I decided it just now. It might seem like a small thing but to him it could be the whole world and you would never know it.”

“He’s coming to campus next weekend, maybe you could meet him.”

“Maybe. I would like that a lot.”

~*~

The week passes faster than Steve would’ve liked, his newest routine leaving his nights free to spend with you on the comfortably uncomfortable sofa or lounging beside the lake, with blankets and a sweater each at his insistence. He finished The Feminine Mystique (“You were so right, misogyny sucks ass!”) and you dared him to try it a second time, he only made it to the twelfth page.

On the fifth day, it was raining and most of the girls from your building were crowded in the lounge watching Sixteen Candles when the two of you stumbled to the entrance dripping in your raincoats and galoshes.

“Wanna go to my room?” You suggest when neither of you seem interested in the camaraderie of it. “Clara’s gone home for the weekend so she won’t be around if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Steve’s sure you’ve misinterpreted the funny dangle of his lip half open to one side when you explain yourself but he’s also not certain why you thought you had to or if you just said it. He’s still not good at reading you and he's not sure he ever will be.

“Yeah, that’s cool.” He follows your dreamy gait to the stairs and ignores the way your hand finds gentle security around his wrist, just your pointer and thumb guiding him the rest of the way until you’re both standing before the elusive 302. Your key is dangling beneath the waxy pink of your raincoat, secured by a sturdy chain.

“I’ve always found it easy to forget these little things, especially when I’m never sure I actually want to come back.” You lean forward enough that your waist brushes against Steve’s front, he’s standing at an angle like he’s making sure the key actually goes in. He watches you struggle to trick the lock, endeared by the way your teeth puncture the flesh of your lower lip and your brows furrow. “And certainly I often find myself thinking it’s the room that doesn’t want me.”

“Can I try?” He nudges your arm to the side, chained key dangling from the lock.

“You think you’re stronger than me.” You huff, minutely put out by the suggestion. “Fine. But I do think it’s terribly off putting to say so when I’ve tried my hardest.”

“No, I think you’re very strong.” He shifts so he’s standing in front of the door, your breath fanning against the shell of his ear where you peer over his shoulder. He thinks the lock must be rusted because it’s not as easy as he anticipated, the mechanism taking three sharp jerks of his hand to turn completely. Moving to the side, he allows you to enter the space ahead of him passing you the key with a lopsided grin. “But sometimes your strength isn’t always where you need it to be and it’s okay to ask for help.”

He follows you closely, unprepared for the arrangement of polaroids framing your bed lengthwise. You’ve ordered them by color so they span a rainbow along your wall and when Steve is close enough to make out the actual images he sees that they’re stills from films spanning decades.

Your desk is an arrangement of more books than he’s ever owned sorted neatly within the cubbies. Journals of every color to put to use the impressive collection of stationary arranged neatly on its wooden surface. Your bed is a haven of knitted blankets and patterned throw pillows complete with a well-loved blue puppy and a brown rabbit with accents of pink dotting its nose and ears.

It feels an intimate sort of thing, you allowing him into the place you’ve fashioned as a home away from home. A hideaway from the haunting realization of everything beyond the unreliable door adorned with a chalkboard currently scribbled with hearts around the border.

Steve finds you’ve migrated to the far side of the room, slowly removing your galoshes and placing them against a bare stretch of wall near the closet and he follows suit.

“Did you take all those?” He asks of the photos, flicking a piece of hair from his eyes and passing your extended hand his sopping raincoat.

“Oh yeah,” You have a way of speaking that makes everything seem like it’s the most uninteresting thing in the world. It’s the breathy tone and the way you don’t actually look at him when you say it, always waiting until the last possible moment to find his eyes. “I dated a guy who worked at the theater. I think the nicest thing he ever did for me was let me use one of them after closing to capture stills. It took forever and he broke up with me after.”

“He sounds like a jerk.”

“I don’t know, I don’t remember him much really.” You consider it for a moment, walking to the shelf nestled in the corner. “Sometimes he was there but even when he was he wasn’t…or maybe I wasn’t and I just never knew and he never said. You’ll tell me when I’m not here, right?”

“Of course.” He whispers, satisfied with the way you smile over your shoulder at him, like it was a shy admission, your ability to drift away.

“We should listen to something if you want. You can pick, unless there’s nothing you like, then we can just be quiet.” You motion to the lining of cassettes and Steve hopes your taste is more refined than your roommates if her bubblegum posters are any indication.

You float away, gliding towards your bed and pulling your legs to your chest while he roots through your collection, peeking over his shoulder periodically. It’s innocent the way you rest your head against your kneecaps in your jeans cuffed at the ankle and your pink t-shirt tucked in at the waist.

You’re staring at the downpour beating against your window and Steve finds himself wondering how you manage in a place like this, without even a hint of the antagonistic streak coating the tongues of most of the girls he’s come across.

“Find anything?” You catch him staring and the heat of it builds beneath his collar when he turns back toward the shelf.

“Do you and your roommate get along?” The difference splitting the room is what guides him to the topic, a reminder of the moment Kathy mentioned Clara in passing but never any regard for your relationship either way.

“She’s fine. She doesn’t disregard me like most people anyway.” Steve isn’t quite sure what to say, the thought of you noticing the disparaging way that people consider you is enough to shatter him completely. “I really think she must be glad to get away though.”

“Why?”

“Wouldn’t you be glad to go far away from here?” You fall against your mattress, your arm flailing over the edge displaying a variety of charms and string wrapped around your wrist, your other hand lifting to shield your eyes. It's an exasperation Steve’s not heard from you. “I dream of going away!”

“You can, you know.” Steve pulls a mixed tape from the pile and moves to your radio. “Where do you wanna go?”

“I don’t know where quite yet, I still don’t know how I feel about my own dreams but I fear someday they’ll come true. Where do you wanna go, Stevie, perhaps I’ll just hitch a ride.” The nickname is saccharine on your lips and he almost forgets the question, especially when he tucks the tape into your player and the first song is True by Spandau Ballet. You free yourself from your cage of darkness, rising on your elbows with a sardonic smile between helpless laughter. “Oh, this is a love tape! Are you in love with me, Stevie?”

He finds it horribly unpleasant that you expect him to deny it the way he’d deny forgetting to rewind returned tapes when he worked at Family Video. He stalks over to the bed and you hold your hand out to him. He takes it and allows you to pill him to the mattress to sit with his back shoved against the wall. It’s not unwelcome when you take up your previous position, this time your head nestled in his lap with your eyes swallowing him entirely.

“Would that be so bad?”

“Where do you wanna go, Stevie?” He’s grown used to your ability to shift, certain that you’ll cycle back eventually. It’s an admiration to him, your ability to hold off the inevitable until you feel ready to face it. Even the simplest of questions deemed a significant task of dissection.

It doesn’t set him any less teetering on the edge in this instance, but there’s a comfort that finds the anxious pit rolling over in his stomach.

“I don’t know. For the longest time I just wanted to get away from Hawkins, but now that I have I realize I’m not ready to leave all of it behind.”

“The kids?” He can tell you're always fond even if you haven’t met them. He’s usually embarrassed when he slips up, used to his ego being deflated by the ones who built it in the first place. High school “friends” or flings more interested in his money than him. But your hands always settle over his when he starts to trail off and you ask so many questions that he thinks you must know them as well as he does by now.

“Yeah, I’d miss ‘em too much if I just left, ya know?”

“What about your parents? You don’t talk about them.”

“They’re one of the reasons I wanna get away, my dad mostly. He was always a hard ass but it got worse when I didn’t get into college. And when I did get into college he wasn’t proud or anything, just happy I’d be gone.” It wasn’t something he expected to have such a hold over him, the way his parents seemed more delighted he was leaving than happy that he made it. “He’s probably wondering how I even got in.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever told you Steve, so don’t laugh when I say it or you’ll hurt my feelings, but I think you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little mean to say something like that and expect me not to laugh? It’s okay, I know I’m not a genius or anything.” He can see that you mean it and he hopes that you go on if only to trick him into believing it as strongly as you.

“Don’t you know all those things you did were more important than anything you’ve ever thought you should’ve done? It would’ve been so easy for you to go to college and forget Hawkins, forget all of it when you graduated but it wouldn’t have made a difference and you would’ve never known it.”

“You think so?”

“I know it. I know that if you did things the way people think, you wouldn’t have found family and experienced life in a way that some people don’t believe exists.” You’re pleading with him, eyes glistening with something he can’t quite reach. A climactic bridge soaked in devotion now the soundtrack to your sudden speech where it floats from static speakers.

“Maybe that just makes me lucky enough to have been chosen by them.”

“You told me that strength isn’t always in the place we need it most, well intelligence is not always where we think it should be. Your intelligence is the way you manage to shape yourself into such an affection that people don’t realize they’ve been touched by it until they’ve fallen horribly transfixed in a way that doesn’t make much sense but it feels whole. You put so much thought into the way you cherish those kids and I don’t think you even know it really, how important it is that you stayed.”

“Well my dad—”

“Your dad doesn’t know it either, Steve. I think, and it’s a tragic thought but, I think maybe he forgot you a long time ago and now you just can’t trust him because he doesn’t know anything at all.

”It is a tragic thought, but I think you’re right.” Steve is glad there’s music because the silence would’ve been deafening. To have someone find the words to explain the emptiness that filled the length of his childhood in a way not riddled with a false hope for change.

Steve isn’t in charge of his own body when his hand flutters against the skin of your cheek, tracing the softness down to the curve of your chin. It’s pretty to think about calling you his and the ability to feel you in all of your gentle caresses of touch and speech. The song is Groovy Kind of Love Phil Collins when you look up at him with a new determination, almost knocking heads when you sit up and turn towards him.

“We should kiss.” You’ve leaned far enough forward that the subtlest of movements pushes the tips of your noses together.

“I–what?”

“Just to see. You never said if you were in love with me and I think I just might be in love with you so we should kiss…just to make sure.”

Steve is positive he’s always loved you, even when you weren’t more to him than another person existing somewhere without his knowledge, but his hand rests against the warmth of your cheek and he leans in a little further, breathing you in now.

“Are you sure?” He whispers, wondering if you’d been chewing bubblegum before and he hadn’t noticed.

“Sure.” Steve could scream, an agonistic sort of sound when someone knocks on the door just as your lips brush. You’re drawn to the sound and Steve is drawn to the way your eyes widen a half step. “Oh, it must be someone for Clara.”

You stand, pulling at the places where your shirt especially clings and go to open the door. Sure enough, Heather steps through the threshold as soon as it’s wide enough and scans the room like you’re not the reason she’s here. She finds Steve and Phil Collins and suddenly it's all wrong.

“Clara isn’t here, gone home for the weekend.” You inform her, the door still agape in your anticipation of her immediate departure. Steve would love nothing more.

“Oh I know, but she said I could stop by for this new red nail polish she has because absolutely nothing else would do.” The pair of you watch her navigate the other half of the room, sifting through Clara’s things and spending too long in some spots. Steve swallows hard when she looks at him, a glint in her dark eyes. “You’re that freshman’s buddy aren’t you?”

“Robin, yeah.”

“Robin, of course. I wondered why she was asking all those questions about Y/n. You should’ve said you were interested, ‘What’s with the girl on the third floor’ sounds so accusatory.” He doesn’t dare look at you, horrified by the sudden intrusion and no less by the revelation of his transgression. “I’m glad you decided to find out for yourself! Phil Collins is so sweet for these kinds of things and I guess I have my answer now, right?”

“The nail polish is in the drawer in her nightstand. You better just take it or I’ll have to tell her you were going through her things.” It’s strained when you speak, Heather looks at you over her shoulder and struts to the nightstand pulling the translucent bottle free.

“Oh course, I wasn’t snooping, Clara is always rearranging her things. Thanks so much, hun. Have fun!” She slips a wink in Steve’s direction, and he doesn’t miss the extra skip in her step before she disappears leaving everything all wrong.

“You know, I’ve only met her once and I think seeing her again was far too soon for my liking.” He tries to make light of things, but the way you still stand with your body bleeding into your door makes him nervous in a normal way, no comfort to be had in the way you’re thinking. “She doesn’t know when to shut up.”

He speaks mildly, but remorse seeps in by the end.

“I think I’d like to be alone for a while.” You wrinkle your nose like it’s never occurred to you that you might be unsure. It gives Steve a modicum of hope.

“Listen—”

“No, it’s okay, I’m not mad. I just…I like to tame the burning, remember?” He nods and he leaves, not because he wants to but because he thinks it's better than anything he could think of saying. Especially when you couldn’t find it in you to say that you’re upset.

It doesn’t feel fair.

He doesn’t see you at all over the course of the next week and he thinks it’s the worst time of his life. Is positive he understands the burning now.

~*~

“Don’t take it personally, he hasn’t paid any attention to me all week.” Robin assures Dustin, fresh in from his mother’s Volvo. The trio is the same as they always were in their small town, stuffed into a booth talking about everything and nothing. “I think he’s sick.”

“Yeah, lovesick.” Dustin flings a fry across the table, striking Steve in his left eye.

“Hey, you little shit, cut it out!” He flings it right back, missing entirely much to Dustin’s amusement. “Do it again and your ass is grass. It’s a restaurant, not a playground.”

“Come on, dingus, he’s just messing around. You could at least pretend you wanna hang out with us.” Robin shoves a fry into the glob of ketchup on her plate and shoves it in Steve’s face. “You’re being a bummer.”

He is being a bummer, but he can’t help it. Not when you’re supposed to be taking up the empty space beside him, excited and nervous. You’d talked incessantly about finally meeting Dustin, delighted to be introduced to one of his kids. He can imagine the way you two would be going back and forth, Dustin with his scientifically analytical mind and you with your poetic way of thinking. He always thought you’d find common ground in the fantasy of it all, told you you’d love D&D and Dustin would love nothing more than to teach you all about it.

But you’re not here and he wishes it were as easy as blaming Heather for the whole thing, but he knows that on some level it’s his ability to constantly be his biggest liability.

“Sorry, I’m just not in a great mood at the moment.” He relents, shoving the remainder of his burger into his mouth. It’s Friday night and Steve promised to take Dustin to a theater in town, they’re having some festival according to Robin. He doesn’t mind it but would rather a night in like they used to do at home. He flicks the leather band of his watch slurping at his soda. “What time do we need to get to this thing? I’m not getting stuck with a lousy seat just because you think you need to clean out the concessions.”

“What time is it?” Dustin grabs at his arm, ignoring Steve’s hard stare when he clocks the greasy stain smeared along the glass. He considers a moment, a tactful glance to Robin “We can go now, right?”

“Oh yeah, now is perfect I think.” Robin chucks a thin band of cash to the table and nudges Dustin out of the booth.

Steve is too caught by the seamlessness of the whole thing and remains in his seat with his hand already shoved into his pocket. “Wait. Why are you paying? You never pay.”

“I’m being a good friend, thought it might cheer you up a little. Now come on before we're in the front row breaking our necks like a bunch of zombies.”

He’s no more an idiot to Robin’s uncharacteristic chivalry when he spots you meandering outside the theater in a skirt that flows around your knees and a collegiate hoodie. You don’t see them coming and Steve is half content to lower his head and keep walking, but when Robin points you out Dustin bounds over without a second thought.

“Hey!” Dustin calls, but you don’t immediately reply. Your eyes have drifted to a particularly rowdy group of students, Steve hopes they aren’t in the same theater and wonders if you’ve thought the same. He can’t imagine you did, probably something more existential that he’d take in with a kind smile but still tell you if they’re anywhere near your seats he’ll throw a fit. “Hey, Y/n!”

“Oh…Robin, I was wondering if I got the time wrong.” You smile, not entirely acknowledging them yet. You're unsure and that simply won’t do in a group like this, one that thrives on the ability to read each other so perfectly.

“What are you doing out in the cold?” Steve manages, taken aback when you find him so exposed beneath the lights of the theater. It’s only been a week but the loss of you was more potent than he realized, like a missing sense, something that’s horrible to live without.

“Just thinking.”

“What are you thinking about?” Dustin offers when Steve seems suddenly short of speech.

“I’m wondering what it would be like if I were the only person in the world. I think I would be perfect, you know. I would be perfect and then I would die, perhaps earlier than I should, and should I die there will be no one left and that’s just fine.”

“That’s deep.” You crack a smile and Steve can tell Dustin is proud of himself.

“You must be Dustin. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“You too! I’m glad you’re here, Steve has been moping around all night.” Steve knocks Dustin’s signature cap from his mop of curls, the kid goes spirling after it before it becomes a casualty of the masses scaling the sidewalk.

“Don’t be a jerk, Steven, he’s not wrong.” Robin so dutifully sprinkles the last bit, holding her hand outward expectantly. “Give me your wallet, I’ll buy the tickets.”

“What happened to being a good friend?” He challenges, still freeing his wallet from his tight denim jeans.

“Oh, I’m being a very good friend.” Robin snags Dustin by the collar of his shirt and drives him through the entrance with careful consideration for the bodies piled outside the doors. Steve sees you reaching for your wallet and slots his hand over yours.

“I got it.”

“Oh that’s…” You must calculate the way his lips cave because you stop yourself and glance toward the other half of your party. “Have you really been moping? You were so excited for him to come, don’t be dull.”

“I’m not trying to be.” He sulks, pulling you toward one of the towering alcoves where no one is close enough to hear or interrupt. “I need you to be upset with me.”

The concept seems foreign to you, like there’s no reason for such an idea to even transpire in the darkest part of your thoughts. Your fingers bunch in the fabric of your skirt, it’s solid white and Steve is wondering how many you went through before you realized no other color would go.

“Why would I be upset?”

“Because of what Heather said, about me asking around about you.”

“Heather doesn’t know when to shut up.” You mumble, reaching for the hand hanging limply at Steve’s side. “I was never mad about it, I just—I know the things people say about me and what Heather said about knowing the answer…I wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted, to use me and then tell everyone.”

“That’s not what I want, please don’t think that. I wanted to know you before I heard all that stupid shit they say.”

“I don’t, I promise.” You extend your pinky, Steve hooks it through his own and brings the connection to rest against his lips. “I wasn’t sure if I should leave you alone after what happened. You never came by or anything.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should leave you alone and I didn’t wanna push.”

“You shouldn’t. Don’t leave me alone.” You manage, rocking on the balls of your feet with your lip between your teeth. Steve is just about to suggest a pact, the kind established with his lips pressed against yours beneath the cover of fluorescence but he’s interrupted by Dustin rounding the corner with his arms thrown wide.

“What the hell!? The movie is about to start and Robin and I made sure to get the best seats so hurry up!” Steve is about to tell him to get lost but you give him a terribly expressive sort of look: don’t be dull.

“We’re coming,” He doesn’t give you space to get too far, taking you by the hand and leading the way through the throngs of people, trying to keep track of Dustin bouncing amongst them.

The seats they found were perfect, right in the center of everything, and when you stole the seat between Steve and Dustin the lights were already lowering. Robin passes along Steve’s wallet and a bucket of popcorn to share, Night of the Living Dead, the first film of your evening slate.

It hits Steve then, with your bodies separated by the thin armrest and the pointless dialog between siblings projected on screen. A moment comes full circle, his earlier rejection taking mercy on his lapse in judgment.

“Didn’t you already see this?” He leans close enough not to disturb anyone enjoying the film. “A few weeks ago you asked me to come.”

“You said ‘no’.” It’s simple really, the way Steve feels in this moment like you were wrong.

Like he’s the dumbest person in the world.

He recalls the photos plastered along your wall, and the way it struck you as odd when he likened you to strangers. You spent hours taking those photos, pondering over the coordination of colors to paint the perfect picture of you. Steve had done nothing more than invade your privacy but in that moment you deemed him worthy of knowing some of the deepest parts of you and he only seems to understand it now.

It’s so much more than a desire not to sit alone in a darkened theater watching corpses tear into flesh. It’s the burning. The feeling of so slowly burning alive and hoping the other person will notice just how much effort goes into that feeling of turning yourself to ashes until you find an ocean to tame it completely. A bonfire waiting for the waves to lick the sand.

“I’m an ocean.”

“What?” Your attention had gone back to the film, the first of many zombies hiking across the screen in search of an unwilling victim.

“We should kiss.”

“Steve, we’re in the middle of a theater and I’m not sure it’s that kind of film.” You think he’s joking until you turn, his eyes focused on you entirely. You lean in, close enough to touch, both of you hoping Heather is as far away from you as possible. You pause, the whole thing feeling fundamental at this stage, but so horribly important all the same. “...just to see?”

“Just to see.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington college au #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things college au

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gerec · 1 year

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Maybe you’ve been asked this before but which enemies to friends to lovers fics do you recommend

I remember one where Erik and Charles had a connection but Charles didn’t response and Erik made out in front of him at a party to rile him up but now I can’t find it anymore

I'm don't recall the fic you're talking about (or that scene specifically sorry) but I'm happy to share some of my favorite 'Enemies to Friends to Lovers' and 'Enemies to Lovers' fics!

Accidentally Welcome to the Rest of Your Lives by kianspo

Non-powered college AU. Erik and Charles have nothing in common until they end up having sex at someone's party. They don't have much in common after that, either, but find each other a hard habit to quit.

Doors Unlocked and Open by Clocks

Charles is certain that the new auditor Erik has come to ruthlessly slash at his department’s ailing budget. Sure enough, all they do is argue, bicker and fight.

Charles has never wanted to kiss anyone more in his life.

Special Topics in Mutant Studies by populuxe

The trouble with Charles Xavier isn’t just that he teaches genetics and holds terrible views about mutant rights—it’s also becoming increasingly clear that everyone but Erik seems to love him.

Sharp Edges by Nalou

Erik has never been good at staying out of trouble, to the point of thinking he might be a magnet for assholes (funny, since he's also kind of a real magnet, but that's not the point). He hates it, it has effectively ruined his life until now, and he sincerely hopes he'll be able to blend into the crowd of normal people in his new city. But luck still isn't on his side. His head is still full of fear, pain and anger. His new probation worker is a hairy, cigar-smoking cunt. His new high school is filled with mutantphobes, and he's barely arrived when he comes across the worst of them: Charles Posh Twat Xavier. Okay. This is war, then.

We're Not Really Falling Apart, We're Just Incomplete by Harleydoll

“To my knowledge,” Erik said softly, as he examined his hostage, “The only time people aren't scared of me is if they've come across worse. “And honestly, I didn't think there was much worse than me in this city. Curious, don't you think?”

Xavier's eyes flickered, jaw clenched. “Are you going to kill me?”

“The look on your face suggests you're asking me to.”

The Skin Outside Is Taking You For A Ride by blarfkey

The fights between Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr are legendary, and after four years Principal McTaggart is sick of it. After their most recent screaming match in debate club, Principal McTaggart gives Erik and Charles an ultimatum: they must help Raven work on the Senior play and the next fight that breaks out between them will result in expulsion.

Forced to be civil for the first time in their lives, Erik and Charles must reconcile their tumultuous rivalry with the new versions of each other they slowly discover.

the way it travels in and keeps emitting light by populuxe

Charles and Erik aren’t friends: their mutual dislike was both instant and enduring, from that very first day Raven introduced them. But when Charles gets into a life-altering accident, the connections between all three of them start to fundamentally shift, too.

Rum and Coke by JackyJango

Erik watches raptly as Charles sips on his scotch and coke; watches the high spots of colour on the apple of his cheeks, watches the line of his pale throat exposed above the blue t-shirt, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows the drink, and his gentle hold on the flimsy plastic cup. A loose chestnut curl flails with the action.

Though the party is in full swing around them, Charles is only on his second drink. Not that Erik is keeping a tally-- of course-- he’s just bored.

invisible string by soetry (WIP)

“We’re just raising a child together,” Erik snapped. “Relax about it.”

in which charles xavier and erik lehnsherr were political opponents until they had to become allies until they horrifically became best friends and then accepted being awesome co-dads and everyone needs to calm down about it. especially them themselves.

no such thing as bad publicity by Ireliss

Several months ago, Charles Xavier and his twenty mutant students were kicked out into the streets after the Xavier mansion was seized by Sebastian Shaw to settle an old debt. At the same time, Erik Lehnsherr, founder and CEO of Lehnsherr Steel was embroiled in a publicity scandal that resulted in a backlash against his business. In an attempt to repair his reputation, Erik charitably opened his penthouse duplex to Xavier and his children. The kids are loud and hyperactive, and Xavier too damn kind and earnest and hopeful, but eventually they settled into an uneasy peace.

Now, months later, the publication of a provocative magazine article threatens to throw everything into chaos once more...

Enemies With Benefits by bettysofia

Casual sex with your sworn enemy gets tricky once feelings get involved.

'Tis the Season by ikeracity

Ten years ago, Charles and Erik were bitter enemies in college. Now Erik runs a mutant community center, and Charles is a successful physician. When the community center launches a volunteer-run free clinic focused on mutant health, their paths cross once again. Old wounds are reopened, and old grudges spring back to life. But will old feelings reignite as well?

only the sweetest words remain (accidentally welcome to the rest of your lives remix) by ikeracity

When the Prince of Wales comes to study for a semester in New York, Erik resolves to hate him immediately on principle. The last thing he expects is for a round of drunken sex at a frat party to turn into a habit, and for that habit to turn into something far riskier for them both — and far truer than anything they've ever known.

Playing House by ClarkeStetler, Goosenik

Erik Lehnsherr has been 'fighting for mutant rights' for the last couple years. Some might call it terrorism, but those people were narrow-minded. Unfortunately, this means that when Magda Maximoff died, no one was able to locate him to let him know that his children were without a guardian. Charles Xavier was selected as their foster parent instead, and had been doing an excellent job for the past year. Erik is back now and has no intention of being separated from his children, but working together for the kids is easier said than done.

Enemies With Benefits by FuryRed

Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr are the leaders of two opposing mutant factions; their rivalry played out over televised debates and in the articles of tabloid newspapers.

The tension between them is so palpable that, naturally, everyone assumes they're fucking- which they are, not that Erik is particularly happy about it... But he is content to console himself with the idea that it's just sex and nothing else, and that he is in no way interested in the spoilt little rich boy he can't seem to stay away from.

But then an attempt is made on both their lives and they are relocated to a safe house- a secluded cabin in the middle of the woods. At first Erik hates being forced into such close quarters with Charles, but gradually he begins to realise that 'hate' might not be the emotion driving him after all...

all your love is sunlight by ikeracity

Over twenty years ago, the world ended in an inferno. From the ashes of what was once a modern world, survivors gathered what remained and slowly knit civilization back together. The Keep is one of the largest new cities in the north, ruled by the iron fist of a mutant named Apocalypse. He keeps an inner circle of favored mutants around him, a mixture of some of the most powerful mutants to walk the earth. But when his most prized treasure, Charles Xavier, escapes from the Keep, he sends wanderer and hunter Erik Lehnsherr after him.

An easy task, Erik figures. But soon enough, he discovers that Charles is much more of a handful than he'd bargained for. Their tumultuous meeting sets into motion a chain of events that will lead them deep into unfamiliar territory--in both the world and in matters of the heart.

It's Office Not Orifice by Fullmetalcarer

Erik Lehnsherr hates Charles Xavier. He's arrogant, patronising, condescending and entitled. He doesn't look like a head of department, he looks like some twink who should be standing on a street corner in too tight jeans and a cut-off tee.

But the sex is great. The angry, hate fuelled, venom filled sex is fantastic. Until it's not.

#cherik #gerec rambles #fic rec #gerec's fic rec #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends to lovers

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zappedbyzabka · 10 months

Note

So I just read a fic about this but I have a different idea

Sid cuts Johnny off after Laura’s death and Johnny, not wanting to be a ‘freeloader’ and asking his friends for help, turns to the streets and doesn’t tell anyone about it

Sid lies to all his friends and tells them he ran away to New York and it’s not till a couple of months later that Dutch finds Johnny on the streets and take him home

Johnny really doesn’t want to prove Sid right and keeps running away so Dutch decides to basically pay him thousand of dollars to stay and fucks him every chance he gets, after all, Johnny can’t up and leave if he’s in the middle of having his back blown out by his sugar daddy

👀👀👀👀 yesss

(My instant thought was that Dutch started working for Silver’s, who was another client of Johnny’s, and that’s why he has money to give. Timeline is a little ambiguous.)

Johnny tried to hide, making sure no one who knew him ever saw him, comforting himself with the thought that he’d be too unrecognizable, covered in dirt and malnourished, selling his body to every man that offered him a buck or ten, his throat raw and hole aching by the end of every day. He kind of…enjoys that part though; he likes that all these men, sometimes married, go out and find him, want him, tell him they’d leave their wives for them, put a ring on him, and give him everything he needed—of course Johnny never took them up on the offer, but it was fun to play along sometimes. He hated thinking about the women at home waiting for their husbands, but he needed money.

Turns out that his past training comes in handy for a job like that. He was still flexible, unable to get as easily into a split as he could before, but still very flexible, able to get his pressed to either side of him on a dingy motel mattress no problem. He also had a habit of sneaking some extra cash out of their wallets; who cares? Most of them are a waste of oxygen and don't deserve the money anyway.

Then Mr. Silver came along. Johnny must admit, he was a little frightened of the man at first; he clearly had power and money. He came in a limo, smoke seeping from the window as it was lowered. Rich men were the roughest and most sadistic. Or the opposite, and liked to be degraded by someone "lesser" than them.

He walked up to the door, putting a hand on the car and leaning down, glad he smoked enough in high school to not be coughing up a long; that’d lose him a client…usually. He waited for Silver to speak first. One thing he learned is that these men like it when you let them lead, it makes them feel like you weren’t always gonna try and charge them 30 bucks for a 1 minute make-out session and another 50 for sweet talk.

But he seemed nice, and he was handsome. Johnny has always been a sucker for danger. He greeted Johnny easily, offering him $100 up front to get in the car and ordering his driver to step out and open the door for Johnny. It felt nice, it had been a long time since he was treated with any semblance of respect.

Johnny felt eager to get in the vehicle, scooting close to Silver and putting a hand on his thigh, looking up at him through golden lashes. He’s been told his eyes make him look weak, innocent; guys like that.

Silver didn’t fuck him in the limo, but Johnny left his mansion with a limp and the corner of his lips red.

Silver told him he’d take him out, gave him modest clothes, and took him to McDonald’s. He bought him whatever he wanted, like it was a reward or comfort added to the filthy money. But Johnny didn’t care; he was hungry and lonely, and Silver thankfullly didn’t say anything when he started crying over his food. The last time he'd went to McDonald’s was with Tommy. He remembered every detail: Tommy ordered a cheeseburger and a large coke, and he was wearing one of those striped shirts he liked so much—pastel white, pink, and blue. He remembers the way the fluorescent light shined on Tommy’s thinning hair. He remembered thinking Tommy’s smile was his favorite. Tommy's voice made him feel twelve years old with his very first friends again. He was so tired that day, and Johnny couldn’t figure out why, but he still joked. Now he’s in a hospital, probably thinking Johnny abandoned him. The tables were different; everything was.

Silver offered Johnny a bed for the night and breakfast in the morning, and Johnny said no. He slept at Motel 6, holding the extra pillow in his arms the entire night.

In his dreams, he and the cobras get that apartment they promised to rent together, and they’re happy. The shouting is of joy, and the sounds of footsteps aren’t so scary anymore. All his friends are shielding him again.

Dutch had loved Johnny since high school and never stopped. He had a lot of competitors back then—italian slips of paper hoping to shove their stupid big dicks into Johnny and making Dutch want to punch their lights out—but the main ones were the other cobras. He’s still sure to this day that they felt the same way about their leader as he did. There was a reason they were so loyal: Tommy looked at him like the sun shone out his ass, and Bobby was so lenient with him even when he chided others. but all of them got it, all of them understood.

He’s told Johnny everything because he always pictured him in his future— gold gray hair and summer days. Sitting at their dining table, it would be small, so Johnny wasn’t reminded of the dining table he was always lectured and degraded at. The cloth Dutch’s grandma made on top. He can picture how the fabric would look under his and Johnny's held hands, he can picture the bands on their fingers.

He was in jail when Johnny "moved to New York". And It was hell not knowing what happened. Before that, Johnny had been visiting him, not super often but when he was able, but he’d frequently send him letters, long letters in Johnny’s surprisingly neat handwriting, all about what he’d been doing that week, whether he had gone to a concert or had a fight with Sid, he’d always tell Dutch. Sometimes they even smelled like the soap Johnny used, which made Dutch hope Johnny slept with them under his pillow before sending them. The other inmates teased him relentlessly about his "girlfriend", some even having the audacity to snatch one of the letters out of Dutch’s hands and read it; that dude got a concussion. That doesn’t even compare to when Johnny first visited him in jail. Johnny wasn't really dressed up, just had a hoodie and some jeans on, but that didn’t stop them from staring at him; their wants sickeningly clear. Then Johnny would press the tip of his shoes against his under the table and tell him he couldn’t wait to have him back, and suddenly Dutch wasn’t thinking about anyone else.

Dutch didn’t want to be away anymore. He didn't want to keep landing in jail and disappointing the cobras—the only ones he gave a shit about. And he didn’t want to keep leaving Johnny alone. Why did he always come back beaten and skinnier than before? Where were the others?

He’d been panicking when Johnny stopped showing up. He thought he’d for sure messed things up or that something terrible had happened because he wasn’t there to stop it, and he couldn’t stop picturing Johnny getting jumped somewhere and calling out for him. Would he call out for him? Does he know Dutch would help him?

After a few weeks, he called Jimmy to ask if Johnny was alright, he didn’t expect him to say Johnny ran off to New York. He didn’t believe it either

He stayed on his very best behavior, even letting himself get beat up, just so he could get out as quickly as possible and figure out what was really going on. It took too long, but he made it out, got a job from this nice fella with a ponytail, and started looking.

Apparentally, the other cobras had been suspicious too but were so busy with everything they hadn’t been able to look. Bobby had even convinced himself that maybe Johnny did run away; Dutch told him he was just being selfish and lying to himself so he didn’t have to face his own worries. Bobby didn’t deny it.

Sid was no help at all, insisting with a smile that Johnny left and sticking to it. Dutch got thrown out when he didn't give in to the bullshit.

When Dutch found Johnny again, it had been after a long day of trying to find clues, and he felt like one of those brooding detectives in those crime shows Johnny and Bobby loved so much. It’s so tiring to search and come up with nothing; it’s so hope-draining. He needed a drink, and on the way to the bar, he spotted that familiar face. Johnny looked different—somehow even skinnier than the last time Dutch saw him. Dutch couldn’t get over there fast enough. He parked his car and ran over there.

"johnny!"

Johnny had turned to him, eyes wide. "Oh my god. What are you doing here? I—You got out?"

Is he disappointed? Are those other makeup-covered faces his new friends?

"I told you I’d get out this time. I even got a good job! I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Johnny. Why is your stepdad telling everyone you moved? What happened?"

Johnny looked down, shoulders slouched. "We got into another fight after…" he swallowed, "after mom died, and he kicked me out."

Dutch felt his stomach tighten. He wishes he could have been there. "Where are you staying?"

Johnny sniffled, rubbing his eyelid and smearing up his mascara. "Different places."

Dutch knows what that means: "I’m homeless."

He knows from personal experience.

"Will you come to my place then? I’ve got weed and Monoply waiting for us."

Johnny picked at his nails. "You aren’t mad at me?"

Dutch tilted his head, brows creased. "Why the hell would I be mad at you?"

"Because I disappeared. I didn’t call. I mean, I don’t get paid a lot of quarters, just cash."

Dutch pauses for a moment, looking at their surroundings and the other people near them, who are also underdressed like Johnny and tired looking. He looks at the marks on Johnny's thighs and the rest of him. It clicks. He won’t say anything, not yet.

"When was the last time I got pissed at you, John? Sure. I get irritated a lot, but rarely with you."

Johnny nods; he can’t deny that. He doesn’t want to. Dutch grabs his hand carefully. "Will you come over like old times?"

"Yeah, okay."

It was the best night either of them had had in months. They didn’t talk about the time missed or the difference in them that it brought yet; they gave themselves over and lived in the past for the night.

Dutch didn’t want him to live. Never wanted him to go back to "work" again. Johnny didn’t either, he was honest about that, but he kept repeating that he refused to be a freeloader and refused to use Dutch like that. Dutch can’t believe Johnny can’t see how he’s helped him change for the better and how this love that’s been raging in him for years is the biggest reason he has money now.

He practically begged him to stay; there’s space for him on the couch, there’s space for him on Dutch’s bed—a spot for him everywhere Dutch goes.

He told Johnny to at least stay while he looked for a better job, that he really didn’t have to pay. Johnny told him he’d have to think about it and went to take a shower.

In that time, Dutch mulled over the idea he had in his head the second Johnny brought up being a freeloader: he could pay Dutch by dating him.

He felt creepy, he’d rather Johnny not pay him anything—feel right at home. But he’s been doing it with all those countless other guys, and Dutch would just…make the payments few and far between—no matter how badly he wants it more.

Dutch focused on the dripping ends of Johnny’s hair as he brought up his idea.

"I didn’t know you liked me like that." I love you. "But I think it’s a good deal."

He cupped Dutch’s face in his hands, looking over his features. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

Dutch pulled him in instead of answering, kissing him until he couldn’t anymore. "Stay."

Johnny stayed. Now he’s bouncing in Dutch’s lap, mewling shamelessly as Dutch’s cock hits his sweet spot over and over again, arching when Dutch grabs a handful of his ample ass, his other hand groping at Johnny’s pec.

"Fuck. Always loved your cute little tits, babe. Used to get so hard when you’d walk around without a shirt." Johnny whines, hole clenching like a vice around Dutch. "God, swear I had blue balls every day back then—fuck. I used to imagine how tight your ass would be too, and it’s so fucking tight—can’t get enough. You got me addicted, sweetheart. Even before I had it."

Johnny stares down at him. "So—ah!—so why didn’t you do something about it, huh? Coulda' wrestled me to the ground and pounded me, I would have loved it."

He’s suddenly thrown on his back, his wrists pinned firmly to the mattress. His hole spasms when Dutch brutally plunges right back in, giving Johnny no time to adjust as he starts up his hard, fast pace once more. No mercy. Johnny’s eyes roll back.

"Quite bein’ a bitch."

He tests Dutch’s grip; no budge.

He really can’t stop the pleased noise that comes from him.

Dutch grins, sweat glistening on his face. "Yeah. That’s right. You can’t get away from me, Lawrence."

You’re all mine now, he wants to say, but there’s a 50/50 chance that Johnny will like it or punch him right in the mouth. Dutch has always wanted him.

Johnny crosses his ankles behind Dutch’s back, relaxing against the bed with a glazed look in his eyes that he only got when Dutch did something about that attitude. "You’ve always been so strong."

"And you’ve always been so fucking hot, John. Like a damn dream."

"You dream about me?"

I have for years. I dream of being allowed to love you. "Yeah, I do. Dream about your sweet ass."

Dutch lets go of his wrists, wrapping his strong arms around Johnny’s waist and holding him as he ruts faster.

"I‘ve dreamed of you too. Heard you fucked good and couldn’t stop thinking about it." He throws an arm around Dutch’s shoulders and runs his fingers through that thick hair, kissing his cheek. Dutch has always had chubby cheeks. Reminds Johnny of a squirrel—adorable.

He can’t know about Silver; Johnny can’t lose Dutch again, not like all the others.

Moodboard

#Table table table #dutch x johnny #side silverlaw #The cobras may or may not #like Johnny like Dutch thinks they do. I say they do but I left it open #tw cheating #tw sex work #tw weighloss #tw bruises #dutch the karate kid #johnny lawrence #terry silver

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itbe-jess · 6 days

Text

Captain Laserhawk rant under the cut.

You know, I have good reasons for hating CLH Rayman. Aside from Captain Laserhawk itself being problematic, and the toxic fanbase, my reasons being that 1. I don’t like his character design (whether it’s just Rayman, or Ramon), 2. I find him to be very one-dimensional and shallow, and 3. he’s another ableist archetype. (The crew has implied that Rayman has dissociative identity disorder, especially with the bathroom scene)

My reasons for hating CLH Rayman isn’t “tHeY rUiNeD rAyMaN,” “iT’s ToO eDgY,” or worse, “iT’s NoT a NeW gAmE!” I think the general concept is great, and I love the creative outlook! It’s the way they executed it that I don't like. In fact, if I did hate CLH Rayman for the three latters, I wouldn’t make my own rewrite.

And just because I hate CLH Rayman, doesn’t mean I believe you should too! You’re allowed to like him! (Though it’s also important to be critical of the ableist character arc) Keep drawing fanart! Keep simping! However, you should respect that I’m not gonna like him. Do not give me a thread of paragraphs, attempting to change my mind. That’s not helpful, that’s really annoying. Be critical of what you enjoy, not enforce every problematic aspect. Don’t be surprised if I hate CLH Rayman, especially if I give you good reasons.

Another thing I must add is that you really should separate the art from the artist. Abi is NOT a good creator. Stop giving him all your praise just because he gave you a super edgy, sexifed Rayman. Example; I love Rayman games so much, but also accept that Ubisoft is a piece of shit company.

Remember Castlevania? Another video game inspired Netflix series he worked on, which featured on-screen sexual assult, incest, and a rapist character that was nearly redeemed. If you believe he has changed his ways now, don’t count on it. Captain Laserhawk turned two lovable game characters into predatory creeps, romanticized Dolph and Alex’s relationship even though Alex is supposed to be a groomer, fridged their main female characters, made Dolph a coke addict when he was merely a fucking child, and now Abi has given Rayman a serious mental disorder paired with a violent outlash.

You can enjoy CLH Rayman without thanking that asshole.

#Rayman #Captain Laserhawk: A Blood Dragon Remix #rant #Ableism m #Rape m #Incest m #I wanted to get this off my chest.#This is not directed towards my friends who are CLH Rayman fans.#Just the fandom brats.

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theotherackerman · 4 months

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NOTES: This chapter was supposed to cover up until New Years but it didn't feel right to just sort of gloss over some of these plot points. So here this chapter is. Enjoy!

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentioned sexual harassment and body shaming (not on the page)

CHAPTER THREE: FRIENDS?

Mikasa had not expected Eren’s apartment to be so clean. Then again, Carla never let him get away with a messy room.

The layout seemed very similar to Mikasa’s, which made sense since the entire top floor was just cut into the two penthouse apartments.

On one wall, there was a poster of the starting line up. Jean, Falco, Connie, Armin, Eren, and Colt all trying to look badass as they pointed their hockey sticks towards the camera.

On the opposite wall, there was the wings of freedom, the symbols of the Scouts.

The front wall had a huge flatscreen tv with three different gaming consoles on it. There was also a pinball machine. Several couches and comfortable chairs took the space in the room.

“Why doesn’t Colt hang out with you?” Mikasa asked as Eren disappeared around the corner.

“He has a girlfriend who hates us. She hates hockey and thinks we’re all playboy assholes,” Eren said as he emerged with a cherry coke, Mikasa’s favorite. He held it out to her.

“Thanks,” she smiled as she took the drink from him and popped the top. Eren disappeared again. “Is she anyone I know?”

“Nah. She’s from Liberio,” Eren answered as he came back into the room with a regular coke. “You can sit. I promise the couches are clean.”

Mikasa raised an eyebrow at him before she sat down. “So…”

“This is weird, right?” Eren laughed after a moment.

It was.

For more than one reason.

Back when they were kids, it would have been easy. Too much time had passed.

“Feel like sharing why you really quit dance?” Eren asked.

Mikasa groaned.

“Okay, fine. We’ll come back to that. What was the deal with Karl?”

“He has noodle arms,” Mikasa muttered before taking a drink of her coke.

“Noodle arms?” Eren raised an eyebrow as he sat down on the couch opposite her.

“He couldn’t lift me. Said I weighed more than a regular ballerina and should lose some weight. I suggested he should start lifting. It didn’t go over well,” Mikasa sighed as she put her cherry coke down on the little table closest to her seat on the couch.

“You don’t need to lose weight.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes. “You’ve seen me mostly naked. You know I’m all muscle. That isn’t…it’s not very appealing.”

“Who told you that? No, I want names. Because it is.”

“There’s no one here, Eren. You don’t have to pretend to be attracted to me. I know how I look.”

“I’m not pretending. You’re hot. I know at least three people who would kill to have their head between your legs to be smashed like a watermelon, including me. I also know for a fact I could lift you. So you’re right. Karl has noodle arms and should start weight lifting. And fuck anyone who has never made you feel bad about how you look.”

Oh.

This was not how Mikasa saw this going.

He was attracted to her?

That may have been the nicest thing he ever said to her.

“Are you going to be nice to me now?” Mikasa asked.

“No,” he scoffed. “That would make things boring. Besides, I’m still bad for you.”

Mikasa shook her head. “So you’re an ass because you care?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Mikasa narrowed her eyes at him, much like how Levi did. Eren must have thought the same because he did a double take.

“You don’t scare me,” Mikasa shrugged. “So since I shared something, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m an open book, what do you want to know?”

Mikasa thought for a moment. What she really wanted to know is if he remembered his childhood best friend, if he remembered anything about her. But she also didn’t want to know that those years weren’t important to him. It was silly. They were just kids but still it had meant something to her. He had been her first real friend, her first kiss, her first heartbreak.

So after a moment of consideration of what to ask him, Mikasa finally said: “what did you turn the giant empty space in the back of your apartment into?”

“That’s your question?” Eren frowned, like he’d been expecting something else.

“I’m curious,” she shrugged before she picked her drink up again and took a sip.

“A weight room. I asked Historia and paid extra for there to be a sauna and ice bath back there. What’s yours?”

“A library.”

“A library?”

“Yes, what’s wrong with a library? I also use it to do arts and crafts in.”

“Huh.”

“What did you expect me to have?” Mikasa asked as she sat her drink back down.

“I don’t know. A weight room too. What did you think mine was going to be?” Eren took a drink.

“A sex dungeon,” Mikasa said monotone.

Eren choked on his drink.

Mikasa started laughing.

“A sex dungeon?” He repeated.

“It’s a thing.”

“I’m aware it’s a thing. I’m more interested in why you think I have one and why you even know about them.”

“I read romance novels,” she shrugged. “And you have women over here all the time. I’m trying to understand the appeal.”

“I call you hot. You try to understand my appeal,” Eren shook his head. “No, it’s not a sex dungeon.”

“You’re right, you’re probably rather vanilla,” Mikasa laughed.

Eren shook his head at her before he started laughing.

Normally, Mikasa wasn’t like this. She could be blunt but the teasing, the flirting. She wasn’t always the best at it. Most people didn’t understand she was interested in them. She’d never been good at it. With Eren, everything felt natural. Maybe that’s why his shitty behavior got to her. She knew they could be good friends, best friends in fact. If only he would let her in, maybe then, he would see it too.

Unfortunately, that also involved Mikasa letting him into her life. That wasn’t something she was good at.

“How good are you at video games?” Eren asked, changing the subject.

“I’m alright,” Mikasa shrugged.

“Want to play something?”

“Sure,” she grinned.

Eren stood up and walked over to the entertainment center and began to list off games.

——————-

If someone had told Eren that he would be knocking on Mikasa’s door days after losing to her every single round of Mortal Kombat, he would have called you a liar.

“ACKERMAN! Let’s go!” He called as he knocked again.

Since she was already going to the game, there was no reason for them to drive separately. Besides, if he admitted it, he liked spending time with her. He only hoped she felt the same.

A few moments later, Mikasa came out of the apartment, ready for the game. He noted her Scout hoodie that had ACKERMAN written on the back along with the number nine. It must have been from when Levi had played.

They walked in comfortable silence to his car. Then he cued up his playlist before driving to the arena. As they both went their separate ways, Mikasa gave Eren a small wave with a smile.

It tugged on his heart a little bit.

He was dying to know if she remembered him. But he didn’t look like an idiot. So he settled for this weird little….whatever this was. There was a part of him that knew she was far too good for him. Once this PR relationship ended, they would go their separate ways. It was just the nature of these things. Besides, sooner or later, she’d get a new job, they wouldn’t see each other. She’d marry some other man and forget all about him. It was just a fact. He needed to remember that none of this was real. She didn’t actually want him.

————-

“THAT’S A BULLSHIT CALL!” Hange yelled in the box seats. Tonight, Levi’s box had a lively bunch in it.

Hange, Sasha, Mikasa, and Zeke were all in there. Zeke was in disguise as he had a home game tomorrow and wasn’t supposed to be out.

“Any game my brother has where I’m not playing, I’m going to. I always have. Thankfully, now I can just duck in here and not have to worry about running into our dad,” Zeke had told her when he had walked in. He wore a mask, sunglasses, and his hood up. Levi had made sure they wouldn’t be looking into the box. Mikasa was beginning to think that Zeke and Levi might not be the rivals they tried to claim they were.

Hange was always passionate but watching hockey, they were downright scary.

“He’s not going to be able to skate. Daz is not going to be able to continue to play,” Sasha noted.

“He’s going to have to sub Eren in. Why is Michigan so violent tonight?” Zeke asked.

“I think they want to try and spark Jean into a fight. Will Eren be able to keep his cool?” Sasha turned to Mikasa.

“Why are you asking me?” Mikasa replied.

“Because you’re his girlfriend,” Sasha grinned.

Everyone in this box knew the truth.

Mikasa rolled her eyes. “He should. If he wants to play, he could keep his cool. As well as he can.”

“SUBBING IN: NUMBER THIRTEEN, EREN JAEGER!” Shadis announced. The crowd went wild.

Eren skated onto the ice.

“Don’t fuck this up,” Mikasa muttered under her breath.

The game immediately changed.

It became the team that was completely in sync.

Armin was doing well in the goal. Michigan was doing what most did to the goalie. They underestimated Armin due to his size but Armin was smart. He could anticipate moves, it was his brain that made him such a good goalie. Tonight was no exception. Armin blocked every shot.

Before, it had been a game of defense.

Now with Eren on ice, it was an attack.

“Come on! Break it out of there!” Hange yelled.

Defense of the other team was paying far too much attention to Falco. They were too busy watching the rookie to notice that Eren was right there.

They passed the puck from one teammate to another.

Then Eren snuck in there.

He was fast.

Almost as fast as Levi.

Eren had the puck.

“GO! GO!” Hange screamed.

“DON’T FUCK THIS UP!” Zeke screamed.

Sasha and Mikasa clutched their hands together as they watched Eren head down the ice.

Eren fake left. The goalie followed.

Eren shot to the right back corner.

“GOAL!”

Mikasa and Sasha screamed as they jumped up and down.

“FUCK YEAH!” Zeke screamed.

The Scouts all skated to Eren as he skated around the rink. When Eren got right in front of the box, he stopped for a moment. Mikasa locked eyes with him. Eren winked before he skated off.

Mikasa felt her cheeks warm.

It was all an act.

All an act.

—-------------

NOW TRENDING:

#SCOUTSBACKONTOP

#JAEGERDYNASTY

#ACKERMANJAEGERSUPREMACY

#BESTCOACHACKERMAN

#LEVIACKERMANLEGACY

#GOALJAEGER

—---------------

Niccolo had a bar that was known for good food.

Nights like tonight called for the entire team to celebrate together. Zeke wasn’t supposed to be here so he had slipped out from the game as soon as it ended. His house was not an option for everyone to fit into. So they went to Niccolo’s.

Mikasa had been there several times with Sasha so she was pretty comfortable in the place even though she didn’t know most of the team. It was also not a place anyone dressed fancy for, which she had been thankful for when she had heard they were all going out.

Falco had found her, still in his jersey. “I’m the rookie so Eren said to give you these,” he had said, handing her Eren’s car keys. “We’re going out to dinner.” Mikasa had figured they’d end up going somewhere after the game.

So she had waited for him in the car when she got a text from Sasha saying they were going to Niccolo’s and that Sasha would meet them there.

Eren showed up later than everyone else.

“Interviews,” Eren sighed as he climbed into the car and drove them to Niccolo’s.

Niccolo’s was full.

“Come on,” Eren said, intertwining her hand with his.

Oh right.

They were in public.

Only the starting line up knew that they were a PR relationship, everyone else thought it was real.

“We saved you a seat!” Armin called from the large booth in the back.

Armin, Annie, Sasha, Jean, Connie, and Falco were waiting for them. Eren kept a hold of her hand as they walked through the tables.

“Gabi is on her way,” Falco said just as Mikasa and Eren reached the table.

Mikasa slid in next to Annie.

“Annie, Mikasa. Mikasa, Annie,” Eren introduced them. “I know you technically met at Zeke’s.”

“Right, the kickboxer,” Mikasa nodded.

“Coach. I don’t compete anymore,” Annie added before she took a sip of her drink.

Eren let go of her hand and threw his arm around her shoulder.

Mikasa looked down at his hand for a moment before turning her attention back to Annie.

“I should have you teach me then,” Mikasa mentioned.

“I don’t think you need my help. I saw what you did to that guy on the ice. Good on you making him kiss the ice,” Annie gave her a small smile.

Mikasa’s cheeks reddened.

“What did you do?” Eren asked.

“Wait, are we talking about that asshole in high school?” Sasha asked across the table.

Mikasa nodded.

“That was epic,” Connie answered.

“What happened?” Armin asked.

“Fucking Floch had to run his mouth. We had a no contact boys vs girls game every year. Senior year, he was harassing Anka. She kept telling him to leave her alone. He wouldn’t. He kept trying to body check her. Mikasa had enough, flipped on over so he landed on his stomach. Then she held his head down on the ice until coaches got involved,” Jean explained.

“It’s on youtube,” Annie added.

“Wait, Floch as in Warrior’s Floch?” Eren asked.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Mikasa confirmed.

“I hate that guy,” Falco muttered.

“I went to college with him. He’s…something,” Eren replied. “You want a drink?” he asked Mikasa.

“Sure,” Mikasa answered.

“Be right back,” Eren slid out of the seat and headed to the bar.

“So that’s interesting,” Annie nodded to Eren.

“It’s….new,” Mikasa looked down.

“For never having a real relationship, he’s doing well right now,” Jean noted.

“Speaking of relationships…where’s your girlfriend?” Sasha asked him.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jean muttered.

“As long as you don’t start ditching us like Colt, we’ll all be fine,” Connie teased.

“Yeah, is your brother ditching us?” Armin asked Falco.

“As always,” Falco rolled his eyes.

Strangely, Mikasa felt at ease with everyone at this table. Maybe it was because they knew the truth or because she had known Sasha, Jean, and Connie for such a long time. But she didn’t feel uncomfortable as Eren got their drinks.

A wet haired Gabi showed up at the table before Eren did. She slid into the booth next to Falco.

“Win?” Falco asked her.

Gabi shook her head. “No contact only seems to apply to the Warriors and not the opposing team. Fuck New York.”

“What is New York doing this season?” Falco asked.

“I don’t know. But Reiner, Zeke, Bertolt, and Udo are going to have a time tomorrow,” Gabi sighed.

“Oh. That’s right. You’re Reiner’s cousin,” Mikasa thought out loud.

Gabi stared at her for a moment. “Yeah. Hi. I don’t think we’ve actually talked.”

“Because she’s terrified to speak to you,” Falco blurted out.

“Me? Why?” Mikasa asked.

“Oh. Well. I kind of spent my entire high school years trying to beat your record and didn’t. You were a standard for me. So talking to you…pretty intimidating,” Gabi shrugged.

As much as she wished it was the first time Mikasa had heard that, it wasn’t.

“Well, we’ll be coaching together. So hopefully you’re not intimidated now. I haven’t played since high school so I guarantee you’re better at hockey than me. I’m nervous to return, even for this camp,” Mikasa confessed.

“Really?”

Mikasa nodded. “I asked if you have any spare time if you wanted to reteach me the basic but–”

“I live in Shiganshina. I commute to Liberio. I do have days off so if you do want to skate, we can,” Gabi’s face lit up.

“Really? I don’t want to bother you.”

“Trying to beat your record is what got me scouted right out of high school. I can spend time helping you remember. I doubt you’re that rusty.”

The conversation moved on as Mikasa saw a woman walk up to Eren. She was pretty, had beautiful long, black hair. He smiled at her. They talked happily.

They must have known one another but she was no one who Mikasa knew. Then again, Mikasa didn’t know everyone involved with the Scouts.

The woman ordered something from the bartender before leaning in closer to Eren. He laughed at something she said. Then the woman was running her hand down Eren’s arm.

Eren leaned over, whispered something into the woman’s ear before running his finger down the side of the woman’s face.

So that was Eren’s type.

The woman leaned closer to him, her lips ghosting over his ear.

Something in Mikasa’s stomach made her feel sick. She had no claim on Eren, not really. She knew what he was like when she got into it. Hell, she couldn’t even blame the woman as Mikasa and Eren’s relationship had yet to be more than a few pictures.

And he was smiling with her.

He was happy with her.

Mikasa looked down. She felt a pair of eyes on her. She looked across the table to see Gabi looking at her, studying her. Mikasa looked away. The feeling was still there so Mikasa turned to her side to see Annie and Sasha watching her.

It was as if they all had some sort of sixth sense that she was in trouble.

Eren came over to the booth and sat a drink in front of Mikasa. “I got you an amaretto and Coke since you like Cherry Coke.”

Mikasa smiled at him but it didn’t fully reach his eyes.

“And I got a coke for myself because I’m driving,” he told Jean who was glaring at him.

Jean grabbed Eren’s drink and took a sip from it. He nodded in agreement before he sat it back down.

Eren rolled his eyes.

“Oh fuck,” Connie muttered as he ducked down.

“What?” Sasha asked.

“Mina is here,” Connie groaned.

“Who’s Mina?” Gabi asked.

“She’s obsessed with our team.”

“So she’s a puck bunny?”

“Basically.” Connie slid down further in the chair.

Mina was staring at Eren from across the bar. She waved at him before seductively sucking on her straw.

Mikasa looked away.

“Is that why you were gone for so long?” Jean accused.

“No! What the fuck, Jean?” Eren asked.

“I just know your reputation.”

“Is that what’s this about?”

“It’s about I’ve known Mikasa a lot longer than you have! I’m not going to have you make a fool of her!”

“So this is all about protecting Mikasa?”

“Of course it is!”

Mikasa stood up. “I don’t need protecting”

Jean and Eren both looked at her.

“I’m going home,” she stated.

“I’ll drive you,” Eren offered as he stepped aside to let her out.

“No need,” Mikasa said.

“But you didn’t drive,” Eren pointed out.

“I’ll take her,” Gabi said as she stood. “Come on, Falco.”

“Thank you,” Mikasa muttered as she followed Gabi and Falco out.

—----------------

Getting smacked by a magazine was not how Eren expected to wake up the following morning.

There was a very angry Historia standing over him.

“Ow!” Eren said as he rubbed his head.

“What did you do?” she asked as she stood over him.

“Nothing! I didn’t take anyone home! I didn’t drink! I was perfect!” He replied as he threw his hands up. “Why are you in my apartment?”

“Because you hurt her!”

“How? I haven’t done anything!” Eren defended himself.

“Then why is she backing out of the game next?” Historia crossed her arms across her chest. “Because I seriously doubt it's to help Kuchel get groceries for Thanksgiving.”

“I don’t know! How am I supposed to know? She got all weird at the bar yesterday. I haven’t seen or talked to her since!”

Historia stared at him for a moment, studying him. “You did something. I know you did and when I find out, it won’t be me as PR coming for you. It’ll be me as Mikasa’s best friend.”

“I thought Sasha was her best friend.”

“You can have more than one best friend!” Historia huffed at him. She looked around his room, for what? Eren didn’t know but he had a feeling it was going to lead to violence so he pulled the blankets closer.

“Holy shit,” Historia remarked as she studied one of the pictures on his bedroom wall. “Is that…?” She stepped towards it.

Keeping the blanket wrapped around his waist, Eren stood. “Out,” he ordered.

“That’s Mikasa,” Historia remarked. “Mikasa is on your bedroom wall. Holy shit. Is this why you never have sex with women in here? Always the guest room? Because Mikasa is on your wall?”

“Get out,” Eren ordered again as he pointed to the door.

“I’ll go. On one condition, how old are you in that picture?”

Eren looked over at it. He tried not to look at it. They were nine. It was before he moved. Mikasa had braided him a flower crown and he wore it. Even though he knew his other friends would tease him about it. He didn’t care. His mom had taken a photo of the two of them. Once Eren moved, he cried about leaving Mikasa. So his mom printed the photo out and put it in frame above his bed. That was it always stayed. His mom had helped decorate his apartment once he moved in. She had put the photo in her with all of the others from his childhood. There were pictures of him with Armin, Reiner, Bertolt, Annie, and Zeke from when he had moved to Liberio. It wasn’t like the photo of him and Mikasa was alone or over his bed anymore. It was just here on the wall of his childhood memories.

He hadn’t purposely kept the women he hooked up with out of this room. It was just easier to make sure nothing of value got stolen or embracing pictures ending up on the internet.

“I see,” Historia said after a moment, pulling Eren from his thoughts.

“Don’t tell her,” Eren pleaded, his eyes refusing to meet hers.

“What did you do last night? Is it something I need to worry about?”

Eren sat back down on his bed, keeping the blanket intacted. “I don’t know. I think it’s because Mina was talking to me. She didn’t even give me time to explain.”

“Do you blame her?”

“No. I don’t.”

Eren didn’t blame her at all.

“I didn’t just want her to do this fake relationship just for you, you know,” Historia confessed. “Mikasa has been in a bad place but she loves helping people. She can’t help but help people. I thought maybe it would get her out, socialize. You two would be great friends, I thought. You looked like you were back then.”

“She doesn’t remember,” Eren muttered as he looked down at his hands. “It was so long ago. It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does. To you. I think it matters to you.”

“I’ll make sure there are no misunderstandings in the future, okay?” Eren finally looked up at Historia, meeting her eyes.

Historia studied him. “I won’t tell her.” Then she nodded before leaving Eren considering where his thoughts and feelings truly were.

———————

Thanksgiving was not what Mikasa was expecting.

Mostly because Kenny announced he and Kuchel were going on a cruise in two days. All expenses were apparently paid by Uri. Kuchel had managed to get some time off, they were leaving and wouldn’t be back until Christmas.

“I feel sorry for whoever gets stuck on that cruise with you three,” Levi had scoffed.

The rest had been pretty standard.

Mikasa did feel a little strange about the whole situation with Eren, embarrassed even. It wasn’t like he had done anything wrong. It was just listening to him and Jean fight. She just didn’t want to be involved, didn’t want someone saying what she should do. Mostly because Mikasa didn’t know what she should do.

The good thing was that Mikasa and Gabi had exchanged numbers. Gabi had some spare time on Friday, the Scouts had practice in the afternoon but once it was over, they planned to get some time on the ice.

Gabi stood in the goal while Mikasa took shots at it.

“See! I told you! You haven’t forgotten a thing!” Gabi cheered as Mikasa got another puck past her.

“That's because you’re a really bad goalie,” Mikasa laughed.

“Okay, fair point. But you are very fast. What is it with Ackermans and being good at hockey?”

Mikasa laughed. “It’s only Levi and me.”

“So your dad or mom didn’t play?”

Mikasa shook her head. “My dad was an architect. He actually designed the arena.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. My mom wanted me to dance in the New York Ballet. Still trying to understand that dream of hers. She hated me playing hockey. She would always tell me how she dreamed of bringing her daughter flowers on every opening night. I wanted to play hockey like Levi. So we compromised. I played hockey and I'd dance. She made me try finger skating, but it didn't stick.”

“But you quit hockey for dance?”

Mikasa sighed. “Yeah. I..uhh…every time I’d step onto the ice, I’d think about how my mom and dad had been coming to see me play. That's how they were killed. If I hadn’t been playing hockey, they wouldn’t have died. I was a good enough dancer to get into a few private universities so that’s what I did. I thought I could at least live her dream for me.”

“I’m guessing that didn’t work out then.”

Mikasa scoffed, “no. It didn’t. I ended up hating it. There was too much hate, body shaming, and sexual harassment. Sorry. I don’t mean to just dump this on you….”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s actually…my life is sort of similar. I ran away from my parents. My aunt Karina took me in. I’m sure you’ll hear the story if you stick around the Scouts. But long story short, my parents only had me because they wanted a child who would make a lot of money and they could live off of that said. I ran away when I was nine. Went to Reiner’s house, didn’t go back home,” Gabi shrugged. “So you’re not the only one who had family baggage. It’s sort of nice that you do. Not like that…it’s just…I don’t know. I always sort of saw you as this record I wanted to beat. It’s nice that you’re actually a person.”

“Do…do you want to go get coffee with me?” Mikasa asked.

“Yeah. We should. Besides, I want to know more about this Eren situation.”

Mikasa groaned as she skated towards the exit to the Guest Team’s locker room.

—----------------------

Thanksgiving for Eren had been extremely awkward.

First, there was his grandparents.

They never liked Carla or Eren. They didn’t think that Grisha should have divorced Dina. In fact, they spent most of the time completely ignoring both Carla and Eren.

“This turkey is dry. Your mother’s turkey was never this dry,” Grisha’s mother told Zeke.

Carla set her jaw, biting her tongue. There was no point fighting with them.

Eren grabbed the wine bottle and filled his mom’s glass.

Carla met his eyes in thanks.

Thankfully, Grisha didn’t make comments about Eren’s games or dating.

After a grueling practice the following Friday, Eren passed Mikasa in the parking lot. He was surprised to see her chatting with Gabi, walking in together.

He felt horrible.

He hadn’t even bothered texting her since she left the bar. She clearly wanted, needed space from him. With Historia knowing that he remembered, he kept Mikasa’s photo and all the confusing feelings there, Eren didn’t want to talk to her either.

So somehow, he found himself at his parent’s house after practice. Grisha was gone. He was doing guest commentary on some college hockey game so it was just Carla there.

As soon as he pulled into the gated community and up to the monster house his parents owned, his mom was waiting at the front door.

“I saw you on the cameras,” she smiled weakly at him. “Come in and tell me what’s wrong.”

Eren nodded, following his mom inside.

While Carla had been hard on Eren, it was in a more loving way. She kept in line, without her, he would have spiraled even more out of control.

“Why do Dad’s parents hate us so much?” Eren asked as he sat down at the kitchen table.

Carla sighed as she put the tea kettle on.

Eren didn’t know anyone else who still used an old tea kettle on the stove but his mom did.

“Dina Fritz was a perfect bride for your dad. She was known in the upper circles of the Liberio High Society. They were a good match. They fell in love, they married, and had a child. It was meant to be perfect. Then…they fell out of love. It was what was best for Zeke. A child seeing his parents fighting all the time, it was not good for him. So they divorce which was bad enough. Then he met me, a lowly waitress and bartender from Shiganshina.”

“Why did that matter?”

“Because your grandparents care about image. Dina was a cousin to Uri and Rod Reiss who are both obscenely wealthy. I was no one but that didn’t matter to your father, it doesn’t matter to me. All that mattered is we loved each other.”

The tea kettle began whistling. Carla filled two cups up with tea.

“So they hate you over something that happened nearly thirty years ago?” Eren raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. Did you know before I started dating your dad seriously I met Zeke and Dina to see if we got along?” Carla put sugar into both cups, then carried them over to the kitchen table.

Eren shook his head.

“We went out to dinner, the four of us. Then we went to a playground with Zeke. I spent the entire time running with Zeke. He’d drag me down the slide, through the monkey bars. I don’t think I ever ran that much in my life. Dina grabbed your dad and told him, “Grisha, if you don’t marry her, I will.” We became best friends after that. There’s not a day that goes by that I don't miss her,” Carla sighed as she lifted the glass up to her mouth. “But that’s not why you came here, is it?”

“I fucked up, Mom,” Eren confessed as he looked down into his cup of tea.

“What did you do to Mikasa?”

Eren looked up. “How did–”

“I know how to use the internet, Eren. You can tell me that relationship is fake but from those pictures, I don’t think it is. At least your feelings for her are not. I may be old but I’m not stupid.”

Eren rolled his eyes, “you’re not even that old, Mom. This woman at the bar was flirting with me. I..I didn’t stop her. Then I ended up arguing in front of Mikasa with Jean about it. I could tell she was hurt when I got back to the table but…I don’t know. It feels nice to be wanted. Not chained to someone who couldn’t care less about me.”

“You know Mikasa cares about you. She always has.”

“She doesn’t even remember me. She doesn’t like me. She doesn’t want me,” Eren laid his head onto the table.

“Oh my sweet boy,” Carla sighed. “For someone so smart, you can be rather dumb. You should really look at those photos of you and her going around the internet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eren sat as he raised his head.

“It means you were already wanted. You were just too busy to see it. Now drink your tea,” Carla commanded.

—--------------------------------

The next game for the Scouts, Mikasa went. Historia had told Mikasa she could quit if she wanted to but Mikasa was true to her word. She would see this out for the rest of the season. Then she would move on. Besides, she didn’t have to do much.

Tonight, there would be a good amount of photographers in the parking lot. Once the game was over and post game interviews, Eren and Mikasa would walk out together.

Simple.

Easy.

It was just Mikasa in the box tonight. Sasha had an influencer event and Hange had some sort of lecture they had to attend. Of course Zeke had a game at the same time.

The box felt rather empty as Mikasa lingered there.

Though she didn’t need to dress up, Mikasa had. She wore a black leather skirt with tights, a new Scouts jacket, a cute black tank top, and black leather knee high boots. She felt cute. Historia had sent a squealing gif when Mikasa had sent her a picture of her outfit.

She spent most of the game mindlessly scrolling through her phone. The Scouts had already scored twice, one from Falco and one from Jean.

Before she knew it, the game was over. Final score: 2-0.

She made her way down to the hallway that led to the locker rooms.

“Hey Mikasa!” Falco called to her.

“Hi,” Mikasa waved.

“How’s training with Gabi going?” he grinned.

“Really well,” Mikasa smiled.

“Good. She needs more friends besides her teammates. Let me know if you want to come over. I know you don’t like to drive and we’re only a few blocks over. And if you wanted to go with me to any of her games, I know she’d really appreciate it,” Falco smiled again. “I’m gonna go home and see if I can catch her away game. Have a good night!”

“You too. And great goal!” Mikasa called as he walked away.

She hadn’t expected to find a kindred soul in Gabi but she did. Though neither went into detail about their parents, they both understood each other. Mikasa hadn’t told Gabi about punching Gross yet. It just wasn’t something she was comfortable talking about. Though they did discuss Eren. She didn’t tell Gabi she had known him before. Just that she had felt like an idiot while he was flirting with another girl in front of the entire bar.

“He is an idiot, not you,” Gabi had told her.

While that was true, it didn’t make Mikasa feel any better.

“You coming out tonight?” Jean asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“Oh. I don’t know. I guess it’ll depend on Eren,” Mikasa sighed.

Jean frowned, “you can always just come out with Pieck, Connie, and me, you know. Sasha is going to try and meet up later.”

“I know. I just…I’m dating Eren, I go where he goes.”

Jean set his jaw. “I know. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you last time. I hope that doesn’t stop you from hanging out with us. I’ve missed hanging out with you, you know. I mean you didn’t stop hanging out with me in high school when I confessed my feelings. Even though you did run away minutes after I told you.”

Mikasa laughed, “I forgot about that. We were what? Fifteen?”

“Something like that. I don’t think I’ve ever had a girl run away from me,” Jean laughed.

“I didn’t know what else to do! We were friends and I didn’t want our little group to break up because I didn’t return your feelings,” Mikasa confessed.

“Probably for the best. Sometimes I wonder if I didn’t have feelings for you due to who would come along later. Like something in me recognized the person who would come later. Same long dark black hair.”

“She’s the one, isn’t she?”

Jean nodded, “just don’t say anything around the rest of the team. You know. So do Connie and Sasha. I just don’t want to scare Pieck off. It’s new but when you know, you know.”

Mikasa smiled at him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Eren cleared his throat as he walked up.

Mikasa removed her hand.

The nerve of this man.

“And if you were?” Mikasa answered.

Eren shrugged.

Mikasa rolled her eyes. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, let’s,” Eren said as he grabbed her hand, pulling her along.

Mikasa looked back over her shoulder to see Jean shaking his head.

“If we’re together, maybe you shouldn’t flirt with my teammates,” Eren hissed.

“And you shouldn’t flirt with puck bunnies at the bar,” Mikasa reminded him, squeezing his hand hard. She wanted to ball her hand up into a fist but it was hard to do while holding his hand. She didn’t dare drop it.

But where did Eren get off being mad at her for talking with Jean, her old friend, when he could flirt with someone in front of the entire bar?

She shoved those thoughts away as they came upon the door to the outside.

“You ready for this?” Eren asked her as he paused at the door.

“I guess we’ll both see,” Mikasa retorted.

Eren pushed the door open.

Immediately the flashbulbs went off.

Who the hell did Historia call? Every damn photographer she knew in the state? Because that’s what it seemed like. They all crowded around, yelling questions.

“MIKASA, HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN DATING?”

“EREN, HOW HAS THIS AFFECTED YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH YOUR COACH?”

“IS THIS RELATIONSHIP SERIOUS?”

“WHAT ARE YOUR PLANS FOR THE HOLIDAYS?”

Mikasa kept her head down, not looking at anyone. Eren kept her hand in a vice grip, leading her through the crowd.

This was absolutely out of control.

Who did these people think they were?

Eren wasn’t that famous and Mikasa sure as hell wasn’t. This was all Historia.

This was overkill.

But then again, Eren’s reputation desperately needed something positive.

Finally, they made it through the reporters and photographers, arriving at the parking lot. Eren walked alongside her until they got to his car. He opened her passenger side door. Mikasa climbed in.

“I’ll text Jean and see where they’re all going,” Mikasa told him.

Eren set his jaw.

She hadn’t planned on going on but now that she found a weakness in Eren.

Game on.

—------------

What was worse than not drinking was not drinking while Mikasa danced with every other player on the team but Eren.

She was doing it on purpose.

He knew it.

He could see it.

He also knew it wasn’t just purely payback for that night at the bar.

No, this was payback for everything he’d done.

But he also knew that there was some part of her that at least liked him as a friend. Eren had listened to his mom, and looked at the photos. There were a couple shot as they had been walking into the bar. She was smiling at him, laughing. She was really laughing.

This was why Eren didn’t want her to get close.

He had known from day one he would mess it up.

He always messed it up.

He tried so hard for a reason.

Years and years of being bullied by both his grandparents and classmates had pushed him to this. The need to be wanted, to be liked, to be the best.

As he watched Mikasa dance with everyone but him, he wondered what it would be like to be wanted and liked by her.

“Are you going to do the creepy stare at her thing all night? You’re reminding me of that shitty vampire movie,” Annie scoffed as she sat next to him in the vip lounge, just sipping on whatever fancy ass drink she had.

“Why are you never supportive of me anymore?” Eren asked her.

“Because you’re a dumbass,” Annie shrugged.

“Where is Armin?”

“Dancing with your girlfriend,” Annie pointed back to the dance floor.

Indeed, Mikasa and Armin were dancing. If you could call jumping up and down while holding hands and screaming the lyrics to a song dancing. Either way, Mikasa was smiling.

“That could be you, if you weren’t an asshole,” Annie reminded him.

“Thank you so much for that,” Eren rolled his eyes.

“That’s my job as your friend.”

Eren rolled his eyes.

Armin was the first friend Eren had made in Liberio. Annie was the second. They didn’t meet Annie until junior high. She was a year older than them but had been held out of school due to her shitty birth parents. Now, she only recognized the man who had raised as her father. Though Annie spent most of her time hanging out with Bertolt and Reiner, she got tired of watching Eren get his ass beat. So Annie taught him how to fight in exchange for an introduction to Armin.

Annie was never afraid to call Eren out on his shit. Tonight was not a rare occurrence.

Eren sighed.

“Have you even apologized?” Annie asked him.

No, he hadn’t apologized. He’d barely talked to her. She didn’t seem like she wanted to talk to him either.

Eren just sighed again and leaned back on the couch in the vip area. He continued to watch Mikasa dance for the rest of the night. She was having fun. Eren wished he could have been having fun with her. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to move.

What was it about her?

She didn’t give a shit that he was Eren Jaeger. She never had. Beautiful and perfect and everything Eren wasn’t. Everything that Eren would ruin. He always ruined everything. It was just his nature. That day she had been in his apartment, that day in the bar, he knew he was starting to like her. He knew as he watched her every move that he was undeniably attracted to her but it was more than simply wanting her under him.

Eren wanted Mikasa.

He wanted her more than just for one night, more than just her body. He wanted her to continue to challenge him, and put him in his place.

Eren’s stomach dropped.

Shit.

Mikasa was important to him.

She had wormed her way in, right back where she had been all those years ago. Was it possible that those feelings he had had as a child were coming back, stronger than ever?

—--

After a night full of dancing, Mikasa was exhausted.

When everyone else started to leave, Mikasa followed suit, getting into Eren’s car. She leaned against the glass of the window.

It was silent for a moment before Eren finally spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked.

“Huh?” Mikasa turned to face him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for flirting with Mina and I’m sorry for making you feel bad. I wasn’t taking this relationship seriously like I should have. It wasn’t….I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to feel wanted.”

As much as Mikasa wanted to, she could not fault him for that. It was something she desired as well.

“And I promise I’ll take things more seriously from now on. You’re the one who is doing me the favor and I promise not to forget that again. If you want to date Jean, I’ll cover for you,” Eren promised.

Mikasa laughed. “I don’t want to date Jean. He asked me out once in high school and I told him I wasn’t interested. Then I ran away because it was too awkward.”

Eren stopped at the light and looked over at her. Then he laughed. “So we’re good?”

Mikasa bit her lip, considering. Then she nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.”

Once they arrived at their apartment complex and were in the elevator, Eren turned to Mikasa, holding out his hand.

“Friends?” he asked.

For a moment she looked at his hand, seeing there was ink right under his sleeve. How had she not noticed his tattoos before? She took his hand and looked him in the eyes.

“Friends,” she agreed.

Eren smiled at her as they shook hands. He let go and faced forward again.

“We’re both going to regret that, aren’t we?” he teased.

“Probably,” she shrugged. “But it’s probably better if we are. Besides, I could use all the friends I can get right now.” Mikasa bit her lip again.

“Yeah, I could too,” Eren confessed. “By the way, you look good tonight. Not that you don’t look good every night. I just…you’re dressed differently but a good different.”

Mikasa looked over at him. “What are you trying to say? Because it sounds like you’re trying to flirt with me….very badly,” she laughed.

Eren looked over at her before he started laughing himself. “Okay, fine. You look hot, Ackerman. If you were anyone else, I’d say, you should come back to my place. But you’re not and we just became friends. So I’m not going to fuck our tentative friendship up.”

Mikasa’s blushed. “What do you mean if I’m not anyone else? Because I’m your PR relationship?”

“No and not because you’re Levi’s little sister either.”

Mikasa gulped.

Eren took a step closer to her, brushed one of her bangs out of her eyes.

Was the air in this elevator getting hot?

She swallowed again as she studied him, trying to figure out how things had gotten this way.

Well, this night had taken a turn.

The elevator dinged. They had reached their floor. Both of them walked out, to their respective doors.

“Goodnight, Mikasa,” Eren said before disappearing into his apartment.

Mikasa went into her apartment and took a cold shower.

#totallypucked #mine #my writing

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georgiainportugal · 8 months

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Well another week has come and gone. I can’t believe it is September and I have almost been here for 2 months. Well this week I have actually received some compliments that my Portuguese is getting better and people are starting to understand what I’m saying at times. Maybe they’re being nice or they want me to buy them a beer? Or perhaps it’s actually true!

I still make the same mistake of saying ‘tu fala ingles’ which means ‘you speak English’ instead of ‘eu falo ingles’ which means ‘I speak English’. But I think people know what I mean. I use this if people start saying something that I don’t understand or, if a random person tries to sell me something and I want to pretend that I don’t understand.

Sometimes it’s obvious that I don't understand though because apparently I pull a strange face of shock/panic, according to a nice lady in the shop. I went to buy a dress during the week and she asked nicely ‘can I help you?’, in Portuguese, but then started speaking in English to translate about 2 seconds after. I laughed and asked how she could tell I spoke English and she replied, “because you pulled the biggest face of panic!”

So, I clearly need to work on my facial expressions because I would hate for a charming Portuguese man to come and speak to me, and then for me to pull a face like I've just sucked an extremely sour lemon. I don’t think they would want to continue the conversation if that happened, in fact, I think they would be extremely concerned and may even call an ambulance.

Saying that, I think my Portuguese is slowly getting better because I led a game of bingo on Friday with some children in the youth centre and managed to read out the numbers in Portuguese, with some help with pronunciation.

I have 2 Portuguese lessons per week and this week, we didn’t go on too many tangents as per usual. We usually start talking about one thing and end up going completely off topic. For example, we were talking about kings and queens one time and then had a 30 minute conversation about roman numerals instead of learning Portuguese. That’s why I really like my Portuguese teacher. She is from Mozambique and always teaches me something new about history or politics each week. I only recently found out that Portuguese is commonly spoken in parts of Africa. It is another reason why I want to continue learning because it would be amazing to travel and speak with people around the world.

One thing which has been helping me to learn Portuguese is by listening to Portuguese music. Some of the songs are proper good tunes which I bop to, as I’m walking alone with my headphones in. Anyone walking past must think I'm quite crazy as I sing to myself and walk looking like my legs are twitching strangely. Oh well, it makes the walk to Lidl easier, especially when you’re carrying bottles of diet coke or Superbock beer home. Jesus, they can be heavy! Or perhaps I'm just not very strong… I'm choosing the first reason.

I love running along a beautiful river nearby and listening to any upbeat Portuguese song makes it much easier to continue, despite a waterfall of sweat flowing down my back. The only problem with listening to music while running is that you lose track of sounds and people behind you. The other day, I went to turn down a path to the right of me without realising there was a bike overtaking me. I knocked into an old man in his 60s, thank goodness he didn’t fall off! However, he didn’t look particularly impressed. It was lucky that I was running, and I subtly smiled apologetically and sped up my running to get away as soon as possible.

Why do I always have to do something embarrassing? I guess it will make these blog posts a little more interesting perhaps… if anyone is actually reading.

Well congratulations, you got to the end of my first blog post. See you next time :)

#international #português #portugal #travel #language #portuguese #volunteering #internationalvolunteering #living abroad #adventure #funny stuff #sorry lol #idk lol #send help

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munchflix · 2 years

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MUNCHFLIX - THE DIRT 1.25

IMDB BLURB: Based on the bestselling autobiography from Mötley Crüe, the film is an unflinching tale of success and excess as four misfits rise from the streets of Hollywood to the heights of international fame.

WARNINGS: Sex, so much sex. Boobs. Graphic depictions of drug use. Horrible 80s hair. Pete Davidson. We’re fucking dumb.

RATING: You don’t know fuckin’ shit about Motley Crue.

OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER: All reviews are done solely for humor and should not be taken seriously ever. If you cannot handle cursing, crude humor and probably some offensive things, pls do not read this.

Munch: The absolute shit I do for you. This movie had better slap ass because I really don't like Motley Crue and I don't think they're hot and there had better be some shit to make fun of. Like Motley Crue. I really hope I get to make fun of Motley Crue. I'm gonna start right now by making fun of the way they spelled Motley Crue like a bunch of fucking edgelords.

Biscuits "How many calories are in tequila" Horrorslash: where the hell is my shotglass??!? WHOO YEAH BABEY THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR! This movie gave Motley Crue a huge resurgence in popularity. Everyone saw it and was like - my poor little meow meows uwu. Like - if by that you mean four feral cats let loose in your house screeching and pissing everywhere then yeah.

M: So we open with a little intro to the 80's and people are fucking and ...squirting...publicly....and I'm about to make Biscuits write this entire thing himself.

B: What did you really expect? Nikki is narrating and he has a sad backstory so everyone gets to slobber over him.

M: I'm not picking sides. I don't think any of them are cute. Why does Nikki's dad look like Charles Manson? He's very mouthy for like....a 10 year old? Nikki cuts his arm with a knife to blame his shit ass mom for it.

B: It is based on a book so it's them retelling their own rock star backstories, so take this with as many inches of dick as we're gonna assign to them. So Tommy gets like 8 and a half and Nikki gets like 3.

M: I'm not gonna ask how you know how big everyone's dick is.

B: These men have shown many parts of themselves. Tommy was naked like 90 percent of the time. Also that was a joke, I’m not even saying it’s accurate.

M: I still don't wanna know. So Frank Jr is now Nikki Sixx because he grew up and shit.

Frank Jr.? But he’s just a little girl!

M: Now Tommy is narrating? He comes from like...super suburban normal life. His family is like super normal and healthy. Except Tommy.

B: Tommy Lee was really attractive when he was young. He's the youngest! Tommy and Nikki meet in a diner and they're like - we should totally be in a band and fuck girls in the vicinity of each other! Or just touch tips. Nikki is like - my new band is gonna be so cool! I'm gonna get like 4 rabid raccoons together and just turn em loose on a stage! They find a guitarist but he's shitty and they hate him.

M: Who's this dude? (Mick Mars, he's gonna be the guitarist.) He doesn't like Tommy's old band, they suck. Mick Mars is a dick, jesus. He's like - I am the best guitarist EVAR.

B: Mick Mars is a better guitarist than most people. I have some respect for him, unlike the other members of the band. He's got ankylosing spondylitis and he can walk in heels and play guitar better than I probably ever will. So the band has picked up an old man with bone disease.

M: That's pretty fucking hardcore tho, no wonder he's such a dick. Chronic pain does shit to a person. They are looking for some random skinny dude with attitude to sing in the band. The requirements are so low here.

B: Tommy is giving off major Bill and Ted vibes.

M: They find what I assume Vince Neil singing at a pool party and they're like - HE IS SURROUNDED BY BABES we must take him. This guy looks nothing like Vince Neil.

People ask me - “What don’t you like about Motley Crue music?” I say, “The sound.”

B: Tommy speaks at 300 words per second. Vince is doing coke with his girlfriend because it was the 80's and everyone did cocaine except Jon Bon Jovi.

M: He's not even a rock star yet. This is the most haphazard getting a band together I've ever heard of. They're just like HEY WE ARE A BAND NOW AND WE'RE GONNA GET SO LAID!

B: Vince's girlfriend is just gonna stand there.

M: She's already trying to manage the band but they're gonna shut her down with the power of BUTTROCK!

B: Tommy Lee has the energy of a crackhead even when he's not high. He's lighting cockroaches on fire with hairspray. Nikki has a whole notebook full of doodles of pentagrams and shitty band names. That's just me. I have that same notebook.

M: Why is Mick the only sane member of this band?

B: He doesn't have the energy to do like all the fucked up shit, he's too tired. Vince looks like 80's coked up hooker barbie.

The bass player is the loser of the band, yes he is - if you don’t believe me, take a look at the one you’re with!

M: I guess they're playing a gig now? Or not. Vince and co are already kicking people's asses before a note has been sung.

B: They're throwing hands. And everyone is like - FUCK YEAH THIS BAND RULES! THEY JUST BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF PEOPLE! I'd like to state for the record that my stenographer is refusing to type out some of the things I am saying. She's becoming more of a lesbian every second.

M: Number 1 - I am not your stenographer. 2 - you can edit in whatever you want but I am typing RIGHT NOW, 3 - I really am. Wtf is going on in the movie?

B: A montage of them doing gigs. That's Pete Davidson! They haven't been signed yet tho so I guess that's where Pete comes in. There's probably gonna be even more sex scenes in this movie.

M: There's already been like four!

B: THICK ASS. I almost put my hands on the table and howled like a wolf.

M: You'll be glad later that I left so many things out. So now Pete is talking to them and there's some chick under the table giving random blow jobs but he doesn't want one.

B: And now more violence!

M: Mick Mars just straight up Deadpools us by talking directly to the camera and he is now my favorite member of Motley Crue, at least in this movie.

He’s hip, he’s cool, he’s 45

B: Nikki doesn’t like Kiss. I like Kiss. Munch doesn't even like Kiss! What DO you like?? What do you listen to that's so great!?? Kate Bush? Bruno Mars or some shit?

M: You need more alcohol. I just don't fuckin' like BUTTROCK.

B: GLAM METAL. Buttrock is deragatory.

M: It's meant to be. Vince is somehow fucking yet another girl. How does he have time in his day for this. Pete talks to the camera and tells us not to leave our girlfriend alone with Motley Crue because they'll fuck her.

B: Probably good advice. Just a bunch of dudes in leather and studs and makeup. Just dudes being guys.

M: It was a very straight thing to do in the 80's.

B: I don't think that's the original track. That's not Vince singing...ugh. (disclaimer: read to the end for the SHOCKING TRUTH!)

M: How you even noticed that...and now for some good old fashioned SATANIC PANIC! And the band comparing how many women they've fucked. Once again Mick proves to be the only human being in the group. Who I think is supposed to be Ozzy in a dress comes around with money sticking out of his ass. Ozzy snorts...ants.

B: And pisses on the concrete. Both seem entirely like something Ozzy would do. Then licks it up. Oh Tommy sounds like he liked that

M: WHY AM I BEING MADE TO WATCH THIS. Ozzy is licking up Nikki's piss now. An aside from Doc says what we're all thinking.

B: Is this the indecent exposure incident??

M: Which one????

B: The one where Tommy was running through a hotel naked and some people got mad about it. And they arrested Mick instead.

M: Doc says they did stupid shit because they were Motley Crue. And now the mud wrestling sequence.

B: They're acting like Vince was the most horny dude. Maybe he was but like - these other guys are also horny. Vince is like - Sharice you're my girl, move in with me, I won't fuck as many women. I was about to ask how these dudes had the energy to fuck this much but then oh yeah! Cocaine!

They’re soooo together!

M: Tommy is introducing people to his family and new fiancee? He has a few of them. Tommy's mom is SAVAGE. Tommy is coming across like a 12 year old with too much freedom.

B: That is basically accurate. 3 middle school boys and their dad who drinks a lot.

M: Tommy and his new fiancee are having some...difficulties.

B: This is not the last time Tommy will hit a woman. He had a bit of a temper.

M: I feel like you don't really need to watch this. You already are like...a Motley Crue historian.

B: Oh we're just gonna drive drunk and leave Vince's pregnant wife here, I sure hope nothing bad happens!

M: Oh yeah I forgot Tommy and Heather Locklear were a thing.

B: "I love you." Tommy Lee to every woman he meets. It's the drummer from Hanoi Rocks in the car with Vince I think. And now death. This really did happen and yes he was drunk and yes that man died.

M: But it's fine because they're in Motley Crue.

B: Whoops! Uh oh. Oopsie Daisy. That man is dead. And it's your fault, Vince.

All the girls want to know - who’s the cutest boy on death row?

M: VINCE GETS 30 DAYS FOR MURDERING A DUDE. Wtf. Nikki is very sad that Vince is in jail but it's okay because he's on heroin now and Biscuits is never ever gonna have a heroin addiction because he can't stand needles.

B: I can't even inject my own testosterone! And that doesn't even have to go into my veins! Vince has returned from uh...killing a guy.

M: Is he sober now?

B: Supposedly. No nevermind he's immediately snorting cocaine. And vomiting.

M: Oh he's snorting smack, no wonder he's sick. Nikki keeps blaming Vince for fucking up the band when he's busy injecting heroin every other scene. And missing repeated calls from his sad mother. Tommy Lee is in love every five minutes in this movie. Vince now has a kid I guess but she doesn't seem to like him much?

B: Well.....Theatre of Pain, are they gonna show Theatre of Pain Tommy Lee because I might have to take a break.

M: That's between you and jesus. Tommy Lee gives a life on the road montage where he shows everyone getting wasted and performing and then getting wasted again. Drink, snort and fuck everything in sight. It's a wonder they lived this long tbh.

B: All four of them are still alive actually!

M: It's honestly a miracle. This is hard to like...narrate because it's so chaotic. It's just like - watching a band go bonkers and slowly self destruct. (disclaimer: read til the end for the SHOCKING TRUTH about why it was so hard to narrate!)

B: That's the beauty of it all! It's 4th of July, we're recording this, well not recording it, but you know. There’s fireworks outside and fireworks on the screen. Nikki has mommy issues! Oh poor little meow meow. Come sit on my lap poor little meow meow!

M: People are gonna take you seriously.

B: I was joking there. Like 70 percent. 80 percent. Oh my god, not in your neck Nikki, ew.

M: I guess Tommy is getting married. Nikki is wasted as fuck.

B: You've got more opportunities Tommy! You'll have several more happiest days of your life! Nikki can't even put his suit jacket on. This your man? This your boy? Somebody come get him. Nikki Sixx did a LOT of heroin.

M: 1000 dollars a day is a lot of heroin.

B: Is this the part where he died?

M: You're the Motley Crue historian.

B: I'm not sure if this is that time when he overdosed or if he's just normal shooting up heroin. Wtf did you give him, I gave him heroin!

M: I'm guessing that's an overdose.

Hey guys...Kyle’s dead!

B: Nikki went to the great beyond! But he came back!

M: This was apparently before naxolo...naxostuff.

B: I think that's just adrenaline. I was happy, but I kept doing heroin! That's how drugs work, kids. Oh my god, they didn't need to show the vein thing more than once.

M: Well it's a good message to kids watching this. Drugs are gross. They will turn you into a bleeding arm gross man-thing. Now they're sober and shit and they hate each other.

B: They can't stand to be around each other when they're not high. They all had massive prima donna egos.

M: Hardly a shock. But they're all good clean boys now. Trying to have family lives and shit. And hating each other. A lot more. Vince is going to be a huge dick about this. He wants to have FUN. I really enjoy's Mick's little asides. He's just kind of in the background with his fucking vodka like - these dudes are all idiots.

B: Vince's wife left him. And he left the band.

M: If Pearl Jam is here their career is almost over anyway.

B: And then the 90's happened! It was a bad time for Motley Crue. Big manly rocker boy egos clash! I don't like you guys anymore! We're gonna get a new singer! John uh....Corabi. But they don't have a blonde guy anymore so it's never gonna work.

M: You can't have a buttrock band without a blonde guy!

B: Oh yeah Vince's daughter died of cancer, I forgot about that.

M: WHAT. That's super fucked up. Nobody likes new Motley Crue without Vince. He was kinda one of those unique voices. JohnBoy out here like WHOO I'M IN A ROCK BAND! He's about to be so disappointed.

Someone's gonna get a punch in the head. Who d'ya thinks gonna get a punch in the head?

B: There's a whole crowd of people out here booing you!

M: Everything is going to Motley Hell. Vince's kid is dying, Mick isn't looking so hot, Tommy's Heather is leaving him, Nikki is just sulking.

B: Yeah we had a good ride, except for all the drugs and you know...death, and crime...and punishment...Vince's kid, yeah she died. Nikki visits his dad's grave.

M: And meets a half brother he didn't know he had?? What the fuck is this shit

B: Oh he means a FAMILY! He needs a family!

M: His own MOTLEY CREW. NIkki and Tommy make up and touch tips and go out to find Mick who is looking more and more like death warmed over every day. But to be fair, he's got a condition.

B: We're getting the band back together, even though they just broke up. Vince, we love you man. You're our blonde man, man. There may be a million other slutty blonde men out there but you're OUR slutty blonde guy. Sometimes a family is four dudes who do drugs.

M: They're gonna go perform again I guess? Long slow dramatic walk to the stage.

B: Maybe the real treasure...the REAL MOTLEY CRUE is the friends we made along the way! And some tasteful ass shots!

“ One day you’ll look back on this as the best time in your life.” “ I sure hope not!”

M: Priorities. I guess they played together for another 20 years for some fucking reason.

B: Until 2015 but...They're doing a stadium tour like...as we speak.

M: Why. I don't really have anything to add. Biscuits just hurt himself headbanging. Oh my god. I just realized I forgot to turn the speed down and we just watched that entire movie at 1.25 speed. No wonder Tommy Lee was talking so fast.

B: *chokes to death on laughter* I can't believe we did that.

M: That's so fucking funny.

B: It's so on brand. I THOUGHT the songs sounded weird!! Holy fuck, oh my god. I don't even have any closing thoughts now because that's so fucking funny. Closing thoughts: we are two of the dumbest people who've ever lived.

#Motley crue #review #munchflix #the dirt #tommy lee #nikki sixx #vince neil #mick mars #humor #rock and roll #mötley crüe

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