#jesus it really is all about choices isn’t it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mypoisonedvine · 8 months

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𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 4.2k (including intro)

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (18+ only), enemies to lovers, dom!neil, hatefucking/rough sex, oral sex m receiving/face fucking, choking, semi-public sex, praise and degradation (including extra mean degradation 👀), come swallowing

do NOT read this until you have read the FIRST PART or it won't make any damn sense!!

“How do I get it through your thick fucking skull that it’s not about money to me?” he growled.

“Then what’s it about?” you asked, reaching up to run your finger over his chest through the shirt, biting your lip.

“Dignity,” he answered with a sigh.

“Oh,” you smiled, starting to slide forward off the desk already, “dignity, huh?”

He watched in confused awe as you knelt on the floor in front of him, looking up at him sweetly.

“I can give you dignity,” you breathed, “all of mine. Then will you sell me the store, Neil?”

“F-fuck,” he choked out quietly as you licked your lips.

“You can finally put me in my place,” you offered, “isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Fuck,” he said again, roughly opening his belt and jeans for you; you smirked proudly, though your mouth fell into a gasp when he freed his hardening cock right in front of your face. And that gasp? He used it as an opportunity to shove his cock into your mouth quickly, barely giving you a second to comprehend it as he sighed deeply. “Suck it,” he ordered with a soft voice, groaning as you hollowed your cheeks and let him thrust forward into your mouth.

He wasn't too rough about it, not yet, but he eventually put his hands on your head to keep it steady as he moved his hips faster. You blinked a few times before looking up at him, making him moan just with a glance.

"Fuck, baby, you like that?" he grunted, going a little deeper this time to make you gag. "Yeah, fuck, you're right— this is what I wanted. You're such a fucking whore."

You tried to bob your head and take some control back, even reach up to use your hand, but he smacked it away and kept guiding you with a grip on your head.

“No hands— like a proper slut,” he explained, watching you as he slid back and forth between your lips. “Jesus, you’re getting lipstick on my cock.”

An attempt to glance at it just got you a light slap to the cheek.

“No, don’t look at it— look at me,” he ordered, sighing when you met his gaze again. “Look at me, baby,” he whispered still, even though you were doing it already, breathing in sharply through his teeth. “Fuck. That’s hot. You look good with a cock in your mouth.”

You couldn’t really respond, but you hummed softly around him.

“And it’s a nice way to shut you up, too,” he added.

He thrusted a little faster, sometimes tilting his head back and sometimes staring back into your eyes. And, of course, sometimes watching his cock fill your mouth with every movement.

You weren’t sure what to expect when he pulled back and slipped out of your mouth, looking up at him silently and expectantly. Whatever you thought he would do then, it definitely wasn’t forcing your head forward between his legs. “How about you lick my balls, too?” he offered— not that you had much choice with him shoving them in your face. You sighed through an open mouth and laved at them with your tongue, smiling slightly as he groaned louder. “God, you whore,” he breathed, but his fingers tightened in your hair— he could act in control all he wanted, but you sort of felt like you were the one with the power considering you had his most vulnerable body parts at the disposal of one of your most powerful ones.

Well, that power sort of dissipated a bit when he pulled you back and started fucking your mouth again, harder than ever— but you were still having a good time. And he still looked completely wrecked as he stared down at you, some impossible emotion on his face: something a little angry, quite a bit of disbelief, and a sick satisfaction all mixed together.

He gave you a few more thrusts, choking you each time until you worried you'd have to put your hands on his thighs to stop him, before suddenly losing his patience and stepping back to pull you up by your hair. You whimpered and obeyed quickly, only to gasp when he roughly bent you over the desk.

He pushed your skirt up over your ass with a growl, thick hands kneading and fingers toying with the edge of your lace panties. "You ever think about me bending you over this desk before?" he asked.

"Neil, honey— I don't really think about you at all," you lied.

He pulled the panties down to your thighs and ran two fingers through your folds. “Oh my god,” he breathed, “you’re so fucking wet… how’d that happen, baby? Thought you hated me.”

“I do,” you promised.

“Well, she’s a big fan,” he smirked, pushing two fingers into you until your legs quivered a bit.

“Come on, just fuck me,” you pleaded through your teeth, but you moaned loudly when he gave you a hard spank with his other hand as punishment for the backtalk.

“Shut up,” he warned, “we’re doing this my way, remember?”

He twisted his fingers inside you, making you whine and rock your hips up— you could say you were only acting so needy because you wanted to get this over with, but that wouldn't really explain why your heart was racing as you clung to that desk.

As he curled them inside you, your back arched slightly, and he purred in delight. What was he so good at this for? You always pegged him as the “sticks it in you for a few minutes and asks if it was good for you afterwards” sorta guy… maybe he usually was, you really didn’t know. But this really seemed out of character, in the best way.

He fucked you with his fingers, not very fast or rough— just enough to make you whimper and try to push back against him for more. “All this over just a couple fingers,” he noticed with a disappointed clicking of his tongue, “what am I gonna do with you, huh? So fucking desperate already.”

“You’re gonna do whatever you want with me,” you answered, breathing heavily, “isn’t that the point?”

He didn’t answer right away, just laughing a little instead, and your face burned a little warmer against the cool fake wood of the desk. “You said this was what I wanted,” he remembered, “but this is what you want, isn’t it?”

You nodded, even though you didn’t really expect that to be enough.

“Say it,” he encouraged.

“I want it,” you breathed. “I want you— I want you to fuck me, Neil.”

You sighed a little when you felt his thick head press to your opening, replacing the fingers; and he sighed as he pressed inside, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. The moan wasn't silent anymore when he pressed his hips flush against your ass and he was so deep that your eyes rolled back— actually, it was more like a sob than a moan.

"Fuck, it's tight," he sighed, "is that why you're such a bitch? 'Cause you don't get laid enough?"

You didn't answer of course: you were too busy holding onto the cheap desk like your life depended on it, considering he started fucking you harder and faster than you'd had in… actually, you weren't sure anybody had ever fucked you quite like this.

"I can fix that," he promised with a rough voice. "I can stretch this pussy out. That's what you need, right, whore?"

"Yes!" you choked out, the friction inside you all hot and electrical and making your stomach turn in just the right way. "Yes, god yes…"

You cried out when he smacked your ass, toes curling inside your heels.

“Oh, fuck, yes!” you yelped, quivering when he spanked you again. “Harder, Neil!”

He gave you the roughest one yet, and your legs shook— thank god the desk was holding you up.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you whined, arching your back harder, but he suddenly put a hand over your mouth and laid down over you to speak sharply into your ear.

“They’re gonna hear you,” he warned. “Do you want them to know what a goddamn whore you are, huh? Do you want everyone to know?”

The hand moved down to your neck, wrapping around it tightly, and you nodded in approval before he properly squeezed and cut off the flow of air as your mouth gaped helplessly for breath. Your silence made it easier to hear his low little moans, the slapping of skin on skin; you shuddered again, feeling a new wave of wetness coat him as he thrusted into you.

“Oh, fuck,” he purred, letting go of your neck as you gasped loudly. “Fuck, you’re such a filthy slut.”

You moaned louder as you tried to catch your breath, noticing suddenly how much more sensitive you'd become inside from the choking. It felt as if each stroke rubbed right against where you needed it to, and your legs were shaking each time he knocked you forward into that desk.

There was a relatively predictable rhythm to it, aside from the bouts of choking that kept you on your toes. The best part, though, was the way he breathed and moaned into your ear, going back and forth between praising and demeaning you— sometimes even doing both at the same time. "Takin' it so fuckin' good— slutty little pussy takes me so good… fuck, squeeze me again— yeah, just like that, good girl. Good little slut."

He laughed at you a little when you shuddered, teasing you with a tightened grip on your neck that wasn't quite tight enough. "Neil," you whined impatiently.

"Beg for it," he ordered, seeming to keep his thrusts a little deeper to really hammer that squishy spot inside you.

"Please," you whispered, "choke me."

He grinned, you could feel it against your ear, as he gave you what you wanted. "Good girl," he praised again, watching your face go slack, "now say 'thank you'."

But he didn't let go of your neck, and you were starting to go numb all over in the best way.

"I can't hear you, baby," he taunted. "Don't you know it's polite to thank someone for giving you what you want?"

You gasped louder than ever, your whole body shaking, when he finally let you breathe again. "Thank you— fuck, thank you," you sputtered desperately.

"I knew this was what you needed," he hissed, "I knew from the first fucking second I saw you. I knew you needed somebody to remind you that you're just a cheap, desperate whore."

"Not that cheap," you managed to groan in reply. "You're selling your store for me. I think that makes me the most expensive whore in the city."

"Well shit, baby, you're worth every penny," he said— probably the last thing you expected him to say. Maybe it was the shock of it, the oddly kind comment, that affected you so much…

"Neil, f-fuck, I'm gonna come," you gasped.

"Jesus, you're easy," he laughed a little. "Come on my dick then, slut. Come all over my fucking dick."

"Ohh, fuck," you whimpered, voice getting higher-pitched as it seemed to match the intensity of the feeling inside you.

"Let them all hear who's making you come, baby," he cooed sweetly at you. "Make sure everyone knows…"

"Neil, fuck!" you cried out, a heavy weight seeming to drop you limply down on the desk as it hit you— a deep, swelling feeling that turned you into jelly. "Yes, Neil, yes… f-fuck, m'coming…"

"I know," he grunted, leaning up enough to look down at you as his hands pinned you down at the shoulders. "I know, fuck, I can feel it— you're drenching me, oh my god…"

He had no trouble using you as hard and fast as he wanted, hips clapping as he tilted his head back, sticky-wet sounds filling the room and your ringing ears as your orgasm nearly dropped down your legs. It has come and gone relatively quickly, but it had certainly left its mark.

For someone who had just mocked you for how quickly you came, he didn't last all that much longer himself.

“When I pull out,” he whispered to you, “you have about five seconds to get on your knees again and swallow all my fucking come. Got it?”

“Y-yes,” you panted, obeying hastily when he stepped back a second later. It was a bit harder to do what he’d said than you expected, on account of your unanticipated dizziness, but you turned around and got on your knees in front of him as he stroked his cock quickly. You wrapped your mouth around the tip just in time to feel the first pump of come hit your tongue, and his hand moved from his cock to the back of your head to push you further down on his length.

He moaned loudly as he came— honestly, you thought it was insanely hot, and you hummed back as he filled your mouth. You figured he was done when his cock twitched and one more drop of come rolled down from the slit; you slowly pulled back, suckling gently at the tip on your way off, and let him go with a wet pop from your lips. You opened your mouth for him to see it first— all the thick, salty come he’d given you— and he sighed as he watched you shut your lips and swallow it quickly.

There was a quiet moment, not a very long one, as you looked at each other. You wondered if he was realizing what he’d just done— and whether selling the store or fucking you was more of an issue to him— and found yourself shockingly at ease about it all. No sudden regret, no spark of clarity… just a grin that you couldn’t fight off.

“Well,” you began with a smile as you stood up to face him, suddenly feeling much more composed than he looked, “pleasure doing business with you.”

“Y-you too,” he agreed. "We should… do this again sometime…"

You raised an eyebrow already turning to leave. "If you have any other stores to sell me, sure," you shrugged.

"Hey," he said sternly, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you into him. "Don't act like that," he warned as you looked up at him, his hand still on yours and the other reaching up to tenderly hold your face. "You can't act like that with me anymore."

"I can do whatever I want, Neil," you informed him softly.

"Yeah," he agreed, "so call me."

"I will," you offered, and that was enough to get him to let go of you. Only then did you add your stipulation as you adjusted your skirt again and walked out of his office: "if I want to."

You walked through the store carefully, so as not to show the slight limp you'd acquired from Neil's brutal treatment. The other men's eyes were all over you, and you wiped the corners of your mouth with your fingers to really get the point across.

As you passed Lucien, you pulled a pamphlet out of your blazer's inner pocket and shoved it into his chest: Media Giant Employee Guidebook.

As you passed them and approached the front door, you turned around; Lucien looked stunned, Jonathan looked amused, and Neil… Neil was leaning against the wall nearest to his office, staring at you with half-lidded eyes, still a little sweaty and panting.

"You should be getting a packet in the mail about your new health insurance," you informed them, before finally finding the energy to give that classic corporate smile as you leaned back against the door to slip out and say: "Welcome to the Media Giant family, boys."

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moonstruckme · 2 months

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obsessed with the idea of driving lessons with Steve or Eddie<3 in Stevie’s car orrr in Eddie’s van! reader being a terrible driver and steve or eddie being to nice to call it out :’)

Thanks for requesting!

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You think you’d feel a bit better if Eddie didn’t keep squeezing his eyes shut. He’d been the one to make the call that you were ready for the highway, promising you a million times that it’d be fine despite your apprehension, but as soon as you’d gotten on the entrance ramp his confidence had seemed to flee him—which isn’t ideal, because he was the only one of you that had any to begin with.

“Eddie.” Your voice pitches, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “The car behind me is getting really close.”

“He’ll go around us,” your boyfriend says without opening his eyes. He takes a breath, cracks an eyelid. “You’ve got it, you’re good. We’re all good. Everything is fine and dandy.”

You wonder how much of this is for you.

You stay there for a while, eyes volleying between your mirrors and the speedometer, until you come upon a car in front of you that can’t be going more than forty. You take your foot off the gas, coasting down to its speed.

“Go around him,” Eddie instructs.

You glance into the next lane, just as a car whooshes past your window. “I can’t,” you say, voice going high.

“You can do it,” he says, though his hand curls around the handlebar above his window. “Just look for an opening, speed up, and change lanes.”

You take a few quick breaths before pushing down on the gas, head whipping around to check your blind spot before you signal and move over. Another car tries to switch lanes at the same time, blaring their horn at you, and you shriek and swerve back into your lane, slamming on the brakes to avoid rear-ending the slow car in front of you.

“Jesus Hendrix Christ,” Eddie hisses. Then, with more pep, “Doing great, baby!”

“I can’t do this!”

“You don’t really have a choice at this point!”

“What?”

“I mean, yeah you can!” Your boyfriend’s nearly wheezing, head on a swivel as he keeps track of the cars around you. “You’re doing awesome.”

“I almost hit someone!” you remind him, voice starting to waver as panicked tears clog your throat.

“Not your fault.” His hand wraps around your thigh, squeezing so the cool metal of his rings bites into your skin. “He didn’t see you either, he was just being a dick about it. You acted fast, which—which is the best thing you could’ve done.”

Your lip wobbles. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure as shit, baby. Take a breath, okay? Panicking makes you a bad driver.”

“Pretty sure I already am a bad driver,” you say, but do your best to fill your lungs anyway.

“Nah, you’re the best I know.” Eddie’s hand rubs your thigh soothingly, at odds with the tension in his voice. “Not including myself, obviously. But it’s fine, you’re learning.”

You want desperately to take his hand but can’t risk taking one off the wheel. You glance in your rear view mirror, watching cars go around you and the clunker barely trudging along in front of you.

You chew your lip. “Can we be done? I want to get off.”

You think you hear a relieved sigh. “Sure, if that’s what you want,” he says. “Take this next exit.”

Eddie talks you through decelerating back onto the frontage road, helping you change lanes until you start to slow down in the shoulder.

“Don’t pull over here,” he tells you. “There’s a parking lot just after this light.”

You shake your head. “Nope, I’m done. I’m pulling over.”

“But you can’t just—wait, you’ve gotta—” Eddie grimaces as the car tilts, one wheel going up onto the curb. “Okay. Okay, good job.”

“Fuck.” You heave a sigh and move the gearshift while your boyfriend bends to kiss the dashboard, murmuring apologies to his van. “I think I need to start driving in something else, Eds. This van is too hard to learn in.”

“Hey, don’t talk about her like that.” He caresses the dashboard lovingly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, you were…you had a learning experience. Plus, once you can drive her, you can drive anything.”

“I don’t know.” You lift your foot from the brake, moving to hug your knee to your chest. “I think maybe—”

“Shit,” Eddie says as the van starts to roll backward. “Shit, shit, baby, the gearshift!”

You gasp, setting your foot back on the brake so Eddie can shift the van into park.

“Oh my god.” You drop your head into your hands, breathing heavily. “I can’t even park!”

“It’s—” Eddie’s voice is high, but he clears his throat. “It’s okay, that could happen to anyone. Reverse is, like, right next to park, so…it’s an easy mistake, I guess.”

“I don’t want to drive anymore,” you groan.

“Hey,” he says. “Hey, come here.”

He reaches over and starts to grab for you, but you stop him, lifting your foot from the brake hesitantly. Eddie does you the courtesy of not making fun of you, and when the van doesn’t move you clamber into his lap, setting your chin on his shoulder while his big palms rove your back.

“You’re not so bad,” he says, hair tickling your face as he tilts his head to accommodate you. “It just takes practice. Same for everybody. You want to be able to drive yourself around someday, right?”

You make a noncommittal sound. “Maybe you can just take me wherever I need to go.”

Eddie laughs, hand sliding down your back to pinch your waist. “I’m not available for a cab service at the moment, sweet thing.”

“Mean.”

“You like it when I’m mean to you,” he reminds you.

You wonder if he can feel your cheek heating against his neck. “Only sometimes.”

He huffs amusedly. Wraps a hand around either side of your rib cage, easing you back until he can see you. “You’ll get there,” he says. “We’ve just gotta keep practicing.”

You gnaw on your lip, exhaling through your nose. “Yeah, okay. But can we stay on the ground for now? I don’t think I’m ready for the highway.”

The humor saps from Eddie’s expression. “Yeah,” he agrees, “no more highways for a while.”

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folkloresthings · 9 months

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Hello 👋 kudos to your 1k! I was browsing through the Fernando Alonso tag and I love the way you write him! Can we have Fernando Alonso (REJECTED as unworthy by parents because of the age gap etc.) blurb?

thank you thank you! always a sucker for fernando age gap

ACCEPT IT. ❨ fernando alonso x reader ❩

for a whole year, you didn’t tell your family about fernando. thankfully, none of them had social media, so there was no spoiling your relationship. fernando asked, time and time again, to meet your parents and every time you conjured some kind of stupid excuse.

but you knew they’d never understand. fernando was sixteen years older than you, but you’d known from the first date that he was the one for you. the age difference didn’t matter, to either of you. all that mattered was you had each other. but to your parents, it wasn’t quite so simple.

in a way, you were fine with keeping your boyfriend a secret from them. you knew it couldn’t go on forever, but you wanted the peace just a little longer. that was, until your parents decided to show up at your door, completely unannounced.

“surprise!” they exclaimed, stood on the other side of your apartment door. you freeze, knuckles turning white around their grip on the handle. fernando’s only a few feet away in the kitchen, perking up when he hears the guests. “we were passing through town and thought we would pop in — since we haven’t seen you in so long.”

before you could say a word, or try to shut the door in your mother’s face, fernando was right behind you, a hand on your waist.

“hello,” he greets, looking between them and you. you want the ground to swallow you up. “mr and mrs y/l/n, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

extending his hand past you, your father hesitantly takes it, sharing quizzical looks with your mother as they stepped into the apartment. the room was tense, waiting in anticipation for them to put two and two together.

“and who’s this…?” your mother eventually asks, your fathers eyes glued to fernando’s hand near your hip.

“this is fernando. my… boyfriend.”

jesus, if there was every a moment that you wanted to erase from your brain, it was the look that crossed both your parents’ faces in that moment. your heart broke for fernando, knowing how he wanted to make a good impression on your parents.

“y/n—”

“seriously, him?”

your eyes rolled, squeezing fernando’s arm as you step in front of him, a human barrier between him and the wrath of your parents. “don’t be like this, please. i love him—”

“he’s practically my age!” your father exclaimed, rage boiling in him. you felt yourself growing defensive, sick with how they were talking about fernando like he wasn’t even there. “no, y/n. i forbid it.”

“dad—” your eyes widen, feeling fernando slink back from you. this isn’t his fight, and he knows it. he doesn’t know who you’ll pick, despite all of his hope that he’ll be your first choice.

“he’s old enough to be your father, y/n!” your mother interjects, her tone slightly less vicious than your dad’s. “do you really think this can work?”

“yes!” you suddenly exclaim, voice stern and sure. all three look at you, surprised at your stance on the situation. “he’s treated me better than either of you ever have. i’m happy with him — and it’s been working for over a year. i didn’t tell you because i knew you’d freak out like this. i’ve told you that i love him, and if you can’t accept that, you need to leave.”

your parents stare, wide—eyed, and fernando looks just as surprised (though with a little more of a smile). in fact, you’re a little shocked at yourself.

“what on earth are you talking about?”

“get out. this is as much fernando’s apartment as it is mine. it’s simple — you’re either okay with that, or you leave.”

a few minutes and one stare—down later, the door is closed behind your parents and you’re falling into fernando’s arms, relief overtaking you.

“you didn’t have to do that,” he mumbles into your hair, speaking for the first time in fifteen minutes.

“yes, i did,” you sigh, gazing up at him with heavy lids. “i meant it. i love you, and i’m not giving that up just because they don’t approve. screw them, okay? we don’t need them.”

fernando smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. you had each other, and that was enough.

#🍾 ﹐ becca hits 1k!#🌙 ﹐ drabbles.#formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #fernando alonso drabble #fernando alonso imagine #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso #fernando alonso instagram au

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what-even-is-thiss · 8 months

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could you share your thoughts on Christianity and the lgbt community? Not in a like "'oh yeah well how are you this and that if you're REALLY Christian"' kind of way, I'm asking from the perspective of someone who's been struggling with their spirituality because I don't know how I can believe and god and also be gay. Feel free not to answer this though, you shouldn't have to explain yourself to random people every time you mention your religion

There’s not a lot of mentions of what we would consider to be homosexuality in the Bible. Paul mentions it most explicitly but there’s some important things to remember about Paul. First, he’s just some guy. He did important work spreading the religion but that doesn’t mean that he’s right about everything. Second, his only exposure to homosexuality likely came from the Roman elite. And the way they did it usually involved raping slave boys and hiring young prostitutes. They didn’t usually have same sex relations in the way we think of them now. Men didn’t generally have romantic relationships with each other into adulthood and a full adult citizen being passive during sex was considered to be scandalous. Any actual romantic relationships between adults of the same sex were likely kept secret or at least weren’t talked about loudly. So Paul is living in this environment. And people aren’t completely separate from the environments they live in.

For the most part stuff in the Bible that’s translated as condemning homosexuality is referring to certain cultural practices common in the Mediterranean at the time that we also wouldn’t like today. Such as pederasty, also known as a romanticized form of pedophilia that even people at the time in cultures that practiced it heavily criticized. Consenting adults often did have romantic or sexual relations together but they weren’t commonly open about it.

Overall, the Bible just doesn’t have much to say about liking someone of the same gender if you look at instances outside of things alluding to some of the worse stuff the Greeks and Romans did. So if the Bible doesn’t say much about it, that leaves it up to us to logically deduce our personal feelings about it.

Okay. So what are the two main commandments Jesus gives us? Love your neighbor as yourself, and love god with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. Basically: love God, love others, love yourself. These are said to be the rules that all other commandments stem from and supersede all other commandments in terms of importance.

So. Does being queer stop you from loving God? Loving others? Loving yourself?

Science is real. It helps us learn more and more about the universe God created all the time and science has proven time and time again that being queer isn’t a choice and that people are happier when they live more authentically.

God made you the way you are. You cannot control whether you’re queer or not. So it’s not a mistake in you that can be “fixed”. If humans were made in the image of God, you too are an image of God. So some tiny part of God, however small, looks like you. All of you. Including the queer parts.

So then. Are you loving God? Including the parts of God that are like you? Are you loving your fellow humans? Including your fellow lgbt humans? Are you doing your best to love yourself? Every part of yourself?

I don’t take the Bible fully literally. You can’t. It contradicts itself constantly. But even if you did, the world it was written for and the society that made the oral traditions it was based on no longer exist. At least not in the exact same way they once did. What the Bible does have in it is stories that can give us examples and have informed the formation of our culture as Christians. Christianity has changed a lot over the last 2,000 years. Many forms of it have come and gone. Ultimately it’s up to us as modern Christians what kind of world we want to be apart of and contribute to and what culture we want to make among ourselves. I can’t pretend to know the true nature of God but I do know that God inspires me to reduce suffering and speak up for injustice where I can.

Ultimately your interpretation is up to you. But I personally don’t see needless self flagellation over something you can’t control as an act of justice or love. Just a form of self torture that’s ultimately not adding much to the world. Adding some of your own happiness to the world in my opinion isn’t a problem.

If you want to know how being queer has affected my faith, I’ve never doubted for a second that being lgbt+ is fine. To be honest I’ve been more afraid of secular society not accepting me than God. God and I have wrestled before, but almost never over that. I am how I am and if God didn’t want me to be this way he probably wouldn’t have flipped the gay switch in my brain.

#roman said a thing #religion mention

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lainiespicewrites · 7 months

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A lesson in flirting

Hi friends! This one had been sitting in my unfinished stories for a while. I love a good Henry fic It's another OFC because I can't seem to get off the "Self-insert" thing rn! LOL but you guys seem to love these stories and writing myself as a main character just gives me this air of confidence...Idk lmao... anyway enjoy! Also maybe doing this is part of kinktober?? Idk I’m not really following a prompt list buuut this kind goes with size kink??? Idk? I just wanna post more!

Plot: In which Alayna and her friends are at a bar, she's trying to explain to her friends that flirting is easy. until she sees Henry and her friends tell her to put her money where her mouth is.

Warnings: Smut Like just so much smut. Dirty talk, Oral (male and female receiving), P in V smut, creampie

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No, I mean it! It’s so easy! Men aren’t THAT complicated.” I exclaimed. Hayley shook her head at me. I laughed and downed the rest of my drink.

“You are so boy crazy,” She laughed, “If it’s so easy prove it!” she smirked. Shit, I’d been drinking and lord knows I’m not one to back down from a challenge. I looked over at Skyler who had the same look on her face.

“Come on Alayna, you look so good tonight! Don’t waste it! You’ve been eyeing that guy by the bar for the last 5 minutes. Go for it!” She urged. I really stuck my foot in my mouth here. I’d been telling them about a time I went out a few months ago and decided I wanted to kiss this guy and just … made it happen. I may have been a little overconfident. I looked over again at the guy they were talking about. He was absolutely gorgeous. He was at least 6’1 with beautiful dark curls and one of the sweetest smiles I’d ever seen.

“I-I don’t know, I’m all talk,” I said immediately going back on my previous statement. “This guy is way out of my league.”I sighed.

“No he isn’t!,” Skyler said quickly, “You’re literally so hot! He’d be stupid not to be into you.” Hayley nodded.

“She’s right dude! Prove yourself right! Go talk to him.” I took one look back at him. Well hopefully if this doesn’t work out I don’t make myself look like an idiot.

“Alright,” I paused looking at the girls. “Commencing phase one.” I joked.

“Jesus,” Hayley shook her head and Skyler just laughed.

“Yes! Go get your man!” She cheered me on. Okay, Phase one. Luckily this would be easy. The bartender Nick was already down at his end of the bar so it was the perfect excuse to “Bump into him” and squeeze my way up to the bar to order another drink. It helps that it’s a little crowded too. I pushed past a group of country boys standing around holding their Busch lights. The kind that rolls into the bar in tattered jeans they’ve been working in all day and dirty old work boots. Definitely not my first choice. I shake the thought out of my head starting to get nervous as I approach him. His back is toward me now. I walked up next to him at the counter, my shoulder brushing against him.

“I’m so sorry!” I blushed. He turned to look at me and smiled.

“That’s perfectly okay! It's a bit crowded here tonight huh?” he asked, chuckling softly. Sweet baby Jesus, he’s British! I nodded. Nick was still with another customer so I took the opportunity to make light conversation.

“Whatcha drinking?” I asked. He fully turned to face me. Beer bottle in hand.

“Guinness has always been my favorite.” He said, taking a sip. “Are you a beer drinker?” he asked. I shook my head.

“Not unless I'm already drunk, or it's in an Irish car bomb.” I joked. He laughed and raised an eyebrow.

“An Irish car bomb? Wouldn’t have assumed that’d be your drink of choice.” He smirked.

“Oh, it’s not! but my brother took me out for my 21st with his friends, they’re like my brothers. Anyway, I did a full “bombs away” Not sure if you’ve heard of that?” I raised an eyebrow. He chuckled, nodding.

“I do, That had to be a rough time!”

“It was certainly rough the next day!” The bartender was finally ready so I made eye contact with him to signal I wanted to order.

“What's up?” he asked.

“Hey, can I get another Rum and Coke please?” He nodded and walked away to get it started. Nick was a man of little words. I appreciated that about him.

“Not a bad choice,” I heard the guy say. I laughed

“It’s been my drink of choice since my friend and I started stealing “captain” out of her parent's liquor cabinet senior year.” He chuckled softly. Just then Nick came back with my drink. I smiled and thanked him again. He just nodded. I turned back to the mystery guy and smiled. “Well, it was nice talking to you!” I said.

“You too! Sorry, I don’t think I got your name.” He said.

“Alayna!” I said quickly.

“Alayna,” He repeated and smiled. “I’m Henry,”

“Nice to meet you, Henry!” I said and started to walk away.

“Nice to meet you, Alayna!” He called after me. I walked back to the girls' new drink in hand and a spring in my step. I smirked sitting back down in between them.

“Oh my god how’d it go?!” Skyler asked immediately.

“So he’s fucking British!” I stated.

“You’re kidding!” Hayley added. I shook my head.

“Dead ass! His name is Henry, and that’s about all I know! Except he’s even more beautiful up close!” I tried so hard not to squeal. Having a crush was thrilling and fun even if it went nowhere.

“Okay not to get your hopes up but he’s definitely looking this way!” Skyler said. I brought my drink to my lips took a long sip and let my eyes fall in his direction. He was and he was smiling. Before I could catch his eye his attention was brought back to his friend as they continued their conversation.

“I told you.” I shrugged. Hayley shook her head.

“That doesn’t prove anything buddy, maybe he just thought you were nice,” she stated. Skyler laughed

“He was absolutely staring at her ass as she walked away but okay yeah he just thought she was nice.” She said, I was blushing and trying so desperately to act cool but I knew it wasn’t coming out that way. I took a long pull of my drink and sighed.

“This is gonna be a high school crush situation all over again if I can’t hold it together. God, he’s so beautiful up close though. I really don’t know how I managed that conversation, let alone blatant flirting.” I shook my head and changed the subject. Asking the girls about work. I had neither of them fooled but they let me change the subject.

“It’s going okay but I certainly could use a vacation,” Hayley said. I laughed

“Says the girl who was in Hawaii 3 months ago!” I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, and you left us here!” Skyler argued. Hayley retorted with something sarcastic but I didn’t hear her. Henry was walking in our direction and I immediately caught his eye. He smiled when he saw me slowing down as he was walking past.

“Hey! Are you having a good night?” He asked. I nodded and gave him a big smile.

“I’m having a great night! Just out with the girls. And you?” He quickly glanced over at them and smiled softly.

“That’s awesome,” He turned his attention back to me and it was a bit dark but I’m almost positive he gave me a once over. “And I’m good! Great now, just a little buzzed and headed to the toilet,” He chuckled.

“Well don’t let me keep you!” I laughed. I watched as he smirked slightly, looking me over again. He gave me a quick wink.

“I’ll see you later, love,” He spoke and then walked away toward the restrooms. As he walked away I heard Skyler trying to hold back a squeal.

“He was absolutely flirting with you!” She smiled. Even Hayley agreed.

“Dude it’s like we weren’t even here,” She said. I smiled.

“Yeah, I noticed that. But he does seem really sweet! I’m gonna let him make the next move though.” All of a sudden feeling a rush of energy I downed the rest of my drink. “Fuck it let's go dance!” I said standing up and pulling both of them up with me. I heard Hayley start to complain that she can’t dance so I took her hand and spun her. “Just move! Everyone’s drunk anyway. No one cares! Let loose!” I said. Skyler grabbed my hand and spun me and then jokingly twerked on me. We were laughing and genuinely having a good time.

This is what we came out for tonight. Just to have fun and be carefree. The song switched to some early 2000s girl group. The kind that makes you feel invincible. The girls and I were still dancing. I spun around and almost ran directly into Henry.

“I’m so sorry!” I giggled. Clearly more a little more buzzed now. Henry smirked.

“No need to apologize darling. You’re having fun!” He chuckled.

“I am!” I exclaimed. “You should dance with me!” He smiled but raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not much of a dancer, Love,” He said. I pouted.

“Please? It’ll be fun!” I begged. He chuckled.

“Of course, I will, for you!” He smiled. I let out an excited squeak causing him to laugh. I grabbed his hand and pulled him to a slightly less crowded area of the makeshift dance floor. I turned around and pressed my back to his chest. Immediately his hands found my hips. I slowly started to move my hips against him and looked back giving him a cheeky smile.

“Told you I’d make it fun!” I said. He smirked and licked his lips slowly.

“I never doubted that,” He spoke. He slowly started moving his hands up my sides. I bit my lip. I loved the feeling of his hands on my body. I felt my shirt rise a little as his fingers moved over the hem of the crop top. Then I felt his fingertips against my neck as he brushed my hair back off my shoulder. I pressed against him, grinding on him to the music. His breath was hot against my neck. “Enjoying yourself, love?” He spoke his voice low and gravely. I knew he wanted to make a move. I could feel him against me. But He was trying to be respectful. Or as respectful as he could with my ass pressed to him.

“Mmhmm, but I’d be having more fun if you’d kiss me.” I started trying so hard to play cool. My heart was racing and the anticipation felt like electricity coursing through me. He moved his hands back down squeezing my hips before he turned me around to face him. He was smiling. God, he was such a beautiful man. He brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “You have the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen by the way.” I blushed, losing my nerve now that I was looking him in the eye.

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” He said back. I blushed.

“That can’t be true, you’re like, insanely hot!” I blurted out. He chuckled, tightening his grip on my hip and pulling me flush against him. My hands were on his chest. Fuck he was solid. We were so close. I was even more nervous now that I had the chance to really look at him. He was wearing a plaid button-up with the top 3 buttons undone and revealing a patch of chest hair. His shoulders were broad and strong. I felt small in his arms. The way he was looking at me I felt like I’d have fallen over if he hadn’t been holding me up.

“Yeah, and you’re absolutely gorgeous,” He stated. He caressed my cheek softly before leaning in and kissing me. I immediately kissed him back. I moved so my arms were wrapped around his shoulders and tangled my fingers in his hair. He groaned softly, walking me backward until my back was pressed against the wall. He kissed me roughly and as he pulled away he caught my bottom lip between his teeth biting down softly before pressing one last gentle kiss to my lips. He looked down at me hungrily. “I wanna take you home with me.” He growled in my ear before he started kissing my neck.

“I’m sure the girls won’t miss me,” I smirked. He stopped peppering kisses along my jaw and looked me in the eyes.

“Is that a yes, love?” He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming on his face.

“If I don’t go with you, you’re coming home with me! I don’t wanna miss out on you!” I said. And maybe it was a little eager but I meant it. There was no way I was walking away from him now. “Give me like two seconds to let my friends know so they aren’t panicking though!” I said. He gave me a soft smile and kissed my cheek.

“Of course darling,” I walked over to where the girls were still dancing not far from me. No doubt they’d seen our spur-of-the-moment makeout session. I didn’t care.

“Hey so um…” I started.

“You Whore,” Hayley stated before I could say anything. I just laughed.

“You know it!” I joked back.

“Just make sure you use protection! I mean it!” Skyler said. “And I want details!!” She added. I laughed.

“Okay well, I’m gonna go then … you guys get home safe!”

After a quick goodbye, I turned around and found Henry at the bar closing his tab. He smiled when he saw me and pulled me to his side.

“Are you ready to get out of here?” He asked. I nodded. He kept his arm around me as we walked out. He led us to his car, opening the door for me. He got in started the car and paused. “My place or yours?” He asked nonchalantly.

“Yours, one of the girls lives right down the hall and I don’t need her keeping an eye on me.” I chuckled.

“It’s sweet that she checks in though. Do you live alone?” He asked.

“Well hold on, how do I know if I tell you that you aren’t gonna stalk me and murder me?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Because you’re already in my car and if I wanted to kill you I could just do it now.” He paused for a second and chuckled. “I’m not a murderer, I promise. Besides if I killed you I couldn’t take you on a proper date after all this. That wouldn’t be very chivalrous, and to be honest I just know I wanna see you again.” I was blushing.

“Okay, you make a good argument,” I said. “I wanna see you again too. And we haven’t fucked yet.” I immediately squeezed my eyes shut. I can’t believe I said that. And I was too nervous to see the look on his face. I felt him put his hand on my thigh. I slowly looked over at him. He was smirking.

“Oh, but we will.” He stated. He looked over at me letting his eyes roam over my body quickly before he focused back on the road.

Fuck. He’s so hot, this man is about to ruin all other men for me. I heard him chuckle. “Doing okay over there love?” He squeezed my thigh and let his hand wander further up. I bit my lip and nodded.

“Y-yeah, having the best time right now!” fucking idiot.

“It’ll be even better in a few minutes. You’re so sexy. Do you have any idea what you were doing to me back there?” It was my turn to smirk.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea. Pretty sure I could feel it!” I teased. He playfully smacked my thigh. God this was gonna be a good night.

“Not sure how you could miss it with your ass pressed against me like that.” I just laughed.

“I didn’t hear you complaining!” I said and laced my fingers with his hand that was resting on my thigh.

“I wasn’t,” he smiled, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing my knuckles. He let go of my hand as he turned into his driveway and put the car in park. He waited for me in front of the car and took my hand again leading me up to his house. He quickly unlocked the door and I followed him inside.

He flipped on a light in the entryway so we could see where we were going. Then he turned back to me grabbed me by the waist and pulled me into him. I initiated the kiss wrapping my arms around his shoulder and tangling my fingers in his curls pulling him down to me. It was a very needy kiss. Pressing my lips to his and letting him suck my bottom lip between his. He backed me into the wall and started to kiss my neck. “Fuck your such a naughty girl, what am I gonna do with you?” He asked and then scraped his teeth across my neck. I moaned and tugged at his curls. He growled against my neck, soothing it with soft kisses. His touch was sending shockwaves through my body. I needed more of him. I ran my hands down his shoulders and over his chest. I brushed my hand over his cock, he was already getting hard. I teasingly squeezed him over his jeans. “Mmm” he moaned softly pulling away from his assault on my neck to watch me tease him.

I continued to explore his body, slipping my hands under his shirt and letting my fingers brush across his abs. I bit my lip when I felt him tense under my fingertips. He chuckled and stepped back pulling off his shirt, a proud smirk on his face. He was incredibly muscular. His chest was solid and broad. He was hairy which I had to admit was a serious turn-on. I hadn’t realized it until now. His stomach was hard and defined. It’s like he was carved out of stone. His happy trail matching his chest hair. He had to be incredibly strong. The muscles in his arms were large. He towered over me making me feel small. But his face was so soft and kind and gentle. His eyes were crystal blue and so inviting. He had such a warm smile. God I was mesmerized by this man. His voice broke me out of my trance.

“Come here Darling,” he said, pulling me to him again. He pulled at the bottom of my top and leaned in pressing a sweet slow kiss to my lips. “Take this off for me?” He asked. I bit my lip

“mmhmm” I mumbled, taking a step back to take off my top. I dropped it to the floor and looked up at him. His eyes were focused on my chest.

“Fuck” he whispered and licked his lips. His eyes flicked back up to mine. “I could tell you had big tits but, wow” he whistled jokingly and I rolled my eyes and laughed.

“Omg shut up! Says the guy literally built like a Greek God!” Now he was laughing. I stood on my toes kissing him again. I reached my hand between us rubbing over his jeans. He growled against my lips.

“Mm slow down baby, we’ve got all night.” He led me to his couch and pulled me onto his lap so I was straddling him. Trust me Im gonna fuck you tonight darling, I’m definitely gonna fuck you.” He started kissing my neck down to my chest and he kissed the top of my breasts. Then he pulled my bra down and took my nipple in his mouth. I moaned, arching into him and he wrapped his arm around my back holding me to him.

“But you’re going to make me beg first,” I teased, biting my lip. He hummed around my breast smirking before biting down and dragging my nipple between his teeth. I gasped and ran my fingers through his hair.

“I love hearing the sounds you make for me,” He moaned as he gave the other breast the same attention. He was driving me crazy. I whimpered softly grinding my hips feeling into his. Trying to get some friction against his now fully hard cock in his jeans.

“Please Henry,” I moaned. as he finally unhooked my bra and tossed it aside. He dug his fingers into my hips keeping me still. I couldn’t help the whine that escaped me.

He kissed back up my chest leaving a chaste little kiss on my lips. Fuck he was such a tease.

“God you’re desperate for it, aren’t you love,” He smirked. “Why don’t you show me how bad you want it,” He nodded toward the floor and I knew exactly what he meant. I slid off his lap and onto my knees in front of him. He stood from the couch and pulled himself from his jeans. Fuck he was big, and already so hard. There was a bead of precum glistening from the tip. If he wanted to tease two could play that game.

I leaned forward and licked the head of his cock smiling up at him sweetly.

“Mm don’t stop now love, we're just getting started.” He moaned cock twitching in his hand as the other hand brushed the hair out of my face and rested on the back of my head.

“You’re just so big, not sure I can handle all of you,” I teased. He chuckled softly running his thumb over my bottom lip.

“You’ve been talking big talk all night baby, I’m sure you can make it fit,” He winked. I blushed but let him guide me forward taking him in my mouth. I hollowed my cheeks bobbing my head slowly. At first only took him halfway and slowly let him hit the back of my throat. He was already moaning for me. Tightening his fingers in my hair guiding me along his cock. “That's it, love, just like that, fuck,” He growled. He pushed my head further down forcing his cock further down my throat. I choked and my eyes started to water but I let him hold me there. I knew it had to feel incredible for him. He pulled me back and I came up gasping for air. He chuckled. “Fuck that’s so sexy. I need more of you.” He held out his hand to help me up and immediately crashed his lips to mine. He bit my bottom lip dragging his teeth across it slowly before finally releasing me.

“Are you gonna fuck me now baby?” I asked shyly gently running my fingers down his chest.

“You’ve more than earned it now darling.” He said kissing me again more gently this time. “But I still wanna please you first.” He smirked bending to pick me up over his shoulder.

“Henry!” I squealed laughing softly. He chuckled and smacked my ass as he carried me to his bedroom. He dropped me gently onto his bed finally ridding himself completely of his jeans and boxers. He gave me one last look asking for permission before stripping me completely as well. He didn’t speak just smiled to himself and started to kiss and grab and feel all over. Kissing my chest and my stomach. Squeezing my breasts. He settled between my legs spreading my thighs kissing and biting at the inside. He slowly made his way up to my core.

“Fucking dripping for me. I could feel it when you were in my lap. So needy.” He ran his fingers through my folds spreading my slick smirking to himself. I whimpered softly unable to take it anymore.

“Fuck please don’t tease me, I need you to touch me. Please, Henry.” I begged. He just smirked. He spread my lips swiping his tongue through my folds. He pulled me closer by my hips and started circling my clit with his tongue. He pulled it between his lips sucking softly and continued to lick. I moaned tossing my head back and my fingers found his curls again. “Oh fuck!” He slipped two fingers into me curving them into me as he continued his assault on my clit.

It wasn’t long before I felt the coil build up in my stomach. “Henry, I’m gonna cum!” I whimpered. He didn’t let up just continued through my orgasm licking up my juices and pulled back with a growl. Kissing his way back up my body.

“God you taste incredible,” He moaned in my ear before flipping me onto my knees on the bed and spreading my thighs. “I need to be inside you.” He groaned, lining himself up with my core running his head through my folds gathering the wetness there. He started to push in slowly. “Such a tight little pussy.” He groaned. “Relax for me, baby.” He leaned down kissing my shoulder as he pushed all the way in. “Such a good girl for me, always so ready for my cock.” he growled. I whimpered. I’d never felt so full. It felt incredible. He finally pulled out slowly and started a rhythm holding onto my hips as he took me from behind. Our moans the sounds of our bodies meeting filling my ears.

“Mm it feels so good,” I moaned pulling at the comforter I could feel my orgasm building again. I started to squeeze around him. Henry pulled out and I whined softly. I heard him chuckle. He flipped me onto my back wrapping my legs around his waist as he shoved himself back into me.

“I need to see your beautiful face when you cum on my cock baby.” He moaned picking up the pace. He was starting to get close too. He kissed my neck and I dug my nails into his back surely to leave scratches there tomorrow as I came undone around him. He growled in my ear as he thrusted a few more times letting go inside me.

“You’re so fucking perfect.” He moaned. He kissed all over my face and smiled. “Are you alright darling?” He asked catching his breath

“I’m amazing,” I laughed.

“Fuck yeah you are,” He chuckled. He laid down next to me for a moment pulling me into him. “Just give me a minute,” he breathed.

I knew we were just getting started.

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reminiscingtonight · 1 year

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Just A Sucker

Leah Williamson x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: 100% started off as a crackfic but then it turned into something fluffy. Loosely based on F**kboy by Fletcher.

[WOSO Masterlist]

The slap really jolts you into the present.

Rubbing at your cheek, you don’t even have a chance to protest before there’s a finger digging at your sternum.

“You ruined my life.” The words are gritted out from a blonde you’re all too familiar with.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Kris, you’re literally in love with Sam.”

Kristie rolls her eyes, brushing away your comment. “That’s beyond the point.”

“You’re the one who ended things!” you huff, not really sure why the blonde is so annoyed. It had been all fun and games between the two of you, but next thing you knew, she was sucking face with the Australian all over instagram. Granted the two of you never put a label on things, but you still felt the sting of rejection.

Before she has the chance to say anything, there’s a hand on your shoulder, spinning you around.

You come face to face with Sonnett.

The groan is automatic. “Oh come on. Not you too.”

Sonnett merely glares at you. “What, you thought Lindsey wouldn’t tell me?”

Your mouth drops. You pretty clearly remember the muttered ‘Sonny can not know about this’ the blonde gritted out minutes before she left your apartment all those years ago. “We were drunk! And mind you, you had just left Portland.”

“And you didn’t even wait two seconds before fucking my best friend!”

“Oh shut it. It’s not like our bed was even cold before she jumped into yours.”

You have to brace yourself at the familiar voice. You plaster on your best fake smile before turning around. “Abby. Hey.”

“Don’t you ‘Abby, hey,’ me,” the defender berates, fixing you with an unamused look.

“Jesus, what is this? I feel like all of my exes are here,” you complain, nervously pulling at your collar. Maybe Kelley was right when she warned you not to mix pleasure with business. You really should have listened to your sister more.

“Exes is such a loose term, don’t you think?” Abby rolls her eyes. You have to fight your urge to snort. She’s not exactly wrong. You don’t think you could really count any of these… prolonged sexual encounters you’ve had with any of them as a proper relationship. At least not the wine-and-dine type of relationship Kelley’s always been raging about.

Someone clearing their throat has your eyes shooting to the side. You’re instantly shaking your head. “Nope,” you put your hands up. “We have never slept together. That much I know.”

Rose glares at you. “Shut it. I know what goes on in that mind of yours.”

Sonny cuts in again, yanking you back towards her. “Is there anyone you haven’t fucked?”

“Rose! I’ve literally never had sex with her!”

Your words fall upon deaf ears.

“You’re the worst person ever.”

“You suck.”

“You’re horrible.”

“You messed me up bad.”

“You literally only ever called me when it was late. Or you were drunk. Or both.”

Bombarded with all of the noise, there isn’t really anything else you can say except for a short, bewildered, “Damn.”

You scratch at the back of your head when everyone’s glares increase tenfold.

“Really? That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“I… what more do you want me to say?”

Last you checked, you were on good terms with everyone. You had apologized to everyone you hurt, and it took a little bit of time, but they all eventually forgave you for all of the dumb choices you made in your early twenties.

Looks like you were wrong.

“Look. We can talk this out.”

It’s the look you receive that tells you ‘talking your way out of this’ will definitely not fly.

You gulp.

---

You’re sweating when you wake up.

It takes you a second to remember where you are. The ceiling you’ve spent the last three years familiarizing yourself with stares right back at you. There’s a warm body right next to you, and you don’t even have to turn to know who it is.

You do it anyways.

Leah’s already looking your way when you roll over.

“Hi.” You try to ignore the way your voice sounds hoarse.

She accepts your kiss with a sigh. When her eyes flutter open again seconds later, you don’t miss the little twinkle that wasn’t there before. “You were saying a lot of names in your sleep. I totally wasn’t jealous or anything.”

“Right. Not jealous,” you echo, chuckling at the way Leah wrinkles up her nose at your tease. “Had a nightmare.”

Leah pauses. “About your national teammates?”

“Uh… my exes, actually.”

You can see her practically counting all of the names you had muttered in your sleep. Shuddering, you really hope you hadn’t said everyone’s names. The amount of teasing that’s sure to come your way…

“You were a little fuckboy, weren’t you?”

If the two of you had this conversation a couple years ago, those words would have been spit out in a fit of anger. The conversation wouldn’t be very productive, with you vehemently defending yourself and Leah asking for more commitment. Now though? Well now you’re blushing in embarrassment and Leah’s trying her hardest not to laugh right into your face.

You grimace. “That’s a bit crude, don’t you think?”

Leah raises an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

Your first few years after bursting onto the soccer scene was marred with countless reckless decisions, that much you will admit. Struggling to break out of your sister’s shadows, you did more than a couple things you weren’t proud of. One of them being sleeping with more than half of your friends and teammates.

It really wasn’t until you accepted the contract overseas that you decided to fix up your image. You were great at soccer, you really were, but it was hard for people to take you seriously when all you were known for was jumping from bed to bed.

“I’m a kept woman,” you murmur, tightening your hand against the edge of Leah’s shirt. “You really wrangled me down.”

“I really did, didn’t I?” she hums, rolling over so you could fit into her arms much more easily. It’s hard to miss the self-satisfied smile on her face.

You were smitten from the start. You knew within the first five minutes of meeting Leah that she was someone you wanted.

Despite your best efforts to charm her, your reputation still hung around like a lost dog. Leah mistook your flirting for something less than it actually was, quick to play it off as a joke. When you eventually found yourselves in bed together, you woke the next morning determined to ask Leah out on a date.

Only for the blonde to stop you before you could even get started.

“Thanks for helping me scratch an itch.”

Hiding the sting of rejection with a smirk, you tried to laugh it off.

Leah was the one who suggested it first. Friends with benefits. No strings attached.

You halfheartedly agreed, resolved to take whatever you could get. And she gave you a lot.

At least she did until she started running.

Phone calls started getting ignored. Texts left on read. Every time you approached Leah she would brush you off.

Not used to chasing someone, you were understandably taken off guard.

Kelley was unsurprisingly not helpful when you explained your problem to her.

“No, Kel. You can not break her kneecaps.”

You were quick to match her unamused look with one of your own.

It took Leah nearly breaking your ribs in an international friendly for the two of you to finally get your shit together.

“I thought you didn’t do relationships.” She explained softly, eyes nervously dropping to the ground.

“I don’t,” you quietly admitted. “But I want to. With you.”

Three years later, you haven’t so much as looked at another woman the same way you’re often caught staring at Leah. The matching rings are a fairly new thing, but it’s hard for you to find a reason to try and remember a life before you even got them. And why would you? With Leah by your side, it’s easy to let go of your past.

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes

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solarmorrigan · 1 year

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Between one thing and another, Steve doesn’t end up seeing much of the kids for the rest of the summer, after Starcourt burns down. Their parents worry about them, want to spend time with them, and Steve is trying to recover from a hell of a lot of damage and also find a new job – it’s understandable that they mostly check in with each other via walkie talkie, rather than in person.

He does, however, promise to give Dustin, Lucas, and Mike a ride to school on their first day at Hawkins High (apparently, he is a marginally cooler choice than their parents, and less work than a bicycle). Max declines no matter how much they all wheedle, but that’s an issue for another day

An issue for today is the fact that Steve hasn’t really spent any extended amount of time with any member of the party other than Dustin in nearly two months.

He’s forgotten that teenagers grow.

“No,” is the first word out of Steve’s mouth when he gets out of the car to greet Mike and Lucas, who are both waiting in the Wheeler’s driveway. “Absolutely not.”

“What?” Mike asks, though the smirk on his face says he knows exactly what Steve is talking about. Dustin (already in the car, the first one Steve picked up) and Lucas start snickering.

Steve walks up to Mike, just to be sure he’s seeing things correctly. Back in July, he’d still had to look down to talk to him. Now, they’re nearly eye to eye.

“No,” Steve says again. “You have to cut this freaky teenage growth spurt shit out right now.”

Mike snorts. “Why am I the only one you’re yelling at? Lucas is almost as tall!”

“Because Lucas isn’t gonna be a dick about it,” Steve says. “And we all know Henderson’s got a ways to go before he catches up.”

“Hey!” Dustin tries to interject, but he is soundly ignored.

“What about Will?” Mike challenges.

“What? Why? How tall is Will?” Steve asks, then shakes his head. “Never mind, doesn’t matter, he can be as tall as he wants, he’s earned it. But you--” He points a finger at Mike that seems to be amusing him more than intimidating him. “You are sneaky. And you’re not allowed to be taller than me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so. Now everybody shut up and get in the car, we’re gonna be late.”

Steve claps his hands together in the universal dad-slash-coach signal for “let’s go” and Dustin ducks back into the passenger seat while Mike and Lucas settle into the back with minimal teasing or complaining. Once Steve’s backed out of the driveway and started down the road, however, Lucas leans over to Mike and stage whispers, “Wait until he sees how much taller Erica is.”

“Erica isn’t allowed to get taller, either!” Steve snaps. “Everyone just needs to– to– stop growing.”

“Dude, you sound like my mom,” says Mike.

“You sound like all of our moms,” Dustin adds.

“Combined,” Lucas chimes in.

“Shut up. This has nothing to do being anyone’s mom, jesus,” Steve huffs. “You’re all just easier to push around when you’re small. And it was easier to fit more of you into the car, since you keep demanding free rides.”

“Mhm,” Dustin hums, sounding like he absolutely does not believe Steve. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

“You’re laughing now, but let’s see if you think it’s funny when the three of you have to cram into the back once we pick up Robin,” Steve says.

The resulting explosion of complaints puts a little smile on Steve’s face. Maybe the kids have grown, but they haven’t really grown up. Not just yet.

#steve & the party #steve harrington #the party #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #stranger things #this post brought to you by the fact that according to imdb FW and JK are about the same height #that's. that's it I have no other excuse #long post #solar wrote

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wanderingblindly · 3 months

Note

shut up affectionately

((lima laughed at me when I asked how much kissing needs to be in a kiss prompt but hey))

"Shut Up (Affectionately)" With Landoscar :)

Lando’s just settled his head on Oscar’s lap when he gets the notification: the socials team just dropped all their try-hard livery announcement posts. After swiping quickly through a few, just to make sure nothing looks glaringly wrong, he notices it – Oscar’s stupid statement about the new look. Interesting. He bites his lip to hold back a smile.

Reaching out blindly, he finds the remote wedged between the sofa and his back and pauses the TV, earning a confused look from above.

“We’re done watching then?” Oscar asks, raising a brow when Lando shifts – sitting up properly next to him.

Lando doesn’t answer, taking Oscar’s moment of confusion to catch him further off guard. He slips a leg over Oscar’s thighs with practiced grace, straddling him for a moment before slowly sinking onto his lap – hips pressed together. “Y’know what’s really cool?” He asks, voice dropping into his best valley-girl accent at the end.

He narrowly holds back a laugh as Oscar’s eyes blow wide, the paused TV long forgotten as Lando drapes his arms over his shoulders – pinning him. Got him.

“Erm, what?” Oscar swallows, his response comically wrong-footed.

“The new livery. Isn’t it, like, really cool?” He reiterates. Another giggle almost makes him break character, whatever the character is – someone somehow even more annoying.

It happens at the same time, the flash of understanding in Oscar’s eyes and Lando’s choice to grind his hips down just ever so slightly, he can’t tell which earns the resulting groan. Oscar’s head hits the back of the couch, eyes scrunched tightly and a faint flush on the bridge of his nose.

“You know my publicist said that, right?”

It’s a challenge – Lando knows he can do better than a faint flush and a coherent sentence.

“But, like, babe,” He continues, yet to drop the accent. Yet to stop slowly moving his hips against Oscar’s. “I think it’s like, really cool that you think it’s really cool.” The blush on his face is deepening, eyes still firmly closed – like he’s trying to pretend this isn’t happening to him, isn’t working on him. The redness reaches his ears. “You’re like, so smart, oh my god.”

He’s struggling to keep the laughter at bay, his accent slowly slipping as he draws out his vowels. But Oscar still isn’t saying anything – though Lando can definitely feel that he’s getting under his skin.

“Baby,” Lando jokingly croons, shifting his weight forward – bearing down more firmly on Oscar’s slowly hardening cock, bringing their faces closer together.

The pet name – secretly his favorite, Lando knows – is Oscar’s final straw. His head snaps back upright, eyes meeting Lando’s. “Jesus Christ, shut up,” There’s a smile in his tone, something exasperated and soft, but none of it in his eyes – pupils blown, warm and intense.

God, Lando’s always wanted an excuse to say this: “Make m–”

Oscar’s hands fly to his hips as he rushes forward, forcing Lando to meet him as he closes the gap – finding his mouth in an instant. Lando smiles into it, the lingering taste of coffee on Oscar’s lip like a trophy. Checkmate.

#in my heart this is a side story to Is It Gay #it's not really #but don't you feel it?#I WILL GET BETTER AT THIS PROMPTS ARE HARD THIS IS PRACTICE #landoscar #f1 drabble #f1 rpf

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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

Text

‘hey, how’d it go?’

‘uh. not great.’

‘shit. tell me.’

‘ well, it started kinda fine. she kept, like, looking at my neck, but she didn’t say anything. but we got along pretty well.’

‘ did you hook up?’

‘ well. we were going to. but it was… i don’t know. weird.’

‘weird awkward?’

‘yeah. like it just… jesus, i don’t know. it felt wrong? but not, like, wrong wrong, just. weird.’

‘sure.’

‘it was like we didn’t know what to do.’

‘how far’d you get?’

‘we made out. but when i went to take my shirt off, she said— i’m not exaggerating— oh my go-od.’

‘jesus, steve.’

‘yeah. honestly i don’t even know why i fucking bother.’

‘what do you mean?’

‘ i dunno. guess i knew i’m fucking ugly now, i guess i just kinda… i don’t know. hoped it wasn’t that bad. but i’m an idiot, so.’

‘jesus, steve, shut the fuck up.’

‘huh?’

‘you’re not— fuck, there was so much wrong with all of that, oh my god.’

‘eddie.’

‘no— okay, alright. steve. you’re not ugly.’

‘she recoiled, eddie.’

‘okay, well, cindy alden is a bitch. i remember her from school, she’s always been awful. don’t laugh, i’m serious, she’s terrible.’

‘okay, eddie.’

‘you’re not ugly.’

‘i’m…’

‘steve. you’re not ugly. your scars are cool.’

‘think you’re the only one that thinks that.’

‘well my opinion is the most important, so.’

‘okay, eddie.’

‘look. your scars are metal as fuck. even if you don’t think so.’

‘…’

‘when you see my scars, do you think they’re ugly?’

‘wha— no, of course not.’

‘so why do you think yours are ugly?’

‘…i dont know.’

‘have you actually looked at your scars? taken a really good look?’

‘i don’t really want to.’

‘look at them. now.’

‘eddie.’

‘come on, stevie, humour me.’

‘…okay. i’m looking.’

‘have you noticed how they, like, kinda swirl a little bit?’

‘…noticing that now.’

‘don’t they kinda look like storm clouds?’

‘…’

‘steve?’

‘yeah. a little bit. guess that’s… kinda cool.’

‘and the colours? aren’t they pretty?’

‘you’re trying to make me feel better about myself.’

‘yeah. i am. aren’t they pretty?’

‘…yeah. i guess.’

‘and our scars match. that’s pretty cool. they’re like friendship bracelets.’

‘some fucked up friendship bracelets. but yeah. it’s kinda nice that i’m not the only one.’

‘you’re not ugly, steve. even with your sick-ass scars, you’re ho— you’re so cool.’

‘yeah? you think i’m pretty, eddie?’

‘…anyway. don’t worry about what cindy alden has to say. you’re good. and you’re not an idiot.’

‘okay, eddie.’

‘don’t okay, eddie me, i’m serious. you’re pretty smart, steve.’

‘okay, maybe i’m not an idiot, but i wouldn’t go so far as to say i’m smart.’

‘well, it’s a good thing i’m not asking you, isn’t it? don’t sigh at me. you’re smart.”

‘eddie, i don’t mind being the dumb one of the group, it’s fine.’

‘no, it’s not, steve. you’re not the dumb one. just because you’re not a science nerd or something doesn’t mean you’re not smart.’

‘in what way am i smart?’

‘you’re observant as fuck, steve. i’m serious, you are. dustin and robin told me about how they only realised the russian code was coming from hawkins because you were the only one that recognized the music in it.’

‘…’

‘we only figured out we could communicate from the upside down because you heard dustin. no one else heard him.’

‘you guys thought i was crazy.’

‘yeah, until we heard him too, and then i thought holy shit, this guy’s got ears like a fuckin’ bat.’

‘…’

‘you knew how to drive that rv right away.’

‘didn’t have much of a choice.’

‘what i meant was that you’d never driven an rv before.’

‘…‘s true.’

‘you’re really smart, steve. you’re… resourceful. and intuitive, and observant, and it doesn’t matter if you don’t know science-y shit.’

‘…okay.’

‘and even if you weren’t smart, it wouldn’t matter. you’re more than your body and brains, stevie.’

‘what else am i, eddie?’

‘jesus, where should i start? …okay. you’re really sweet.’

‘sweet?’

‘so fucking sweet, steve, you’re one of the nicest people i know. even in high school, you were nicer than the other douche bags. and now you’re… you’re kind, steve. even if you’re being bitchy. you’re kind, and considerate, and patient when you need to be.’

‘…okay.’

‘and you’re… you’re funny. i know all the kids make fun of your jokes, but i laugh at all of them.’

‘thanks.’

‘you’re a good friend.’

‘am i?’

‘remember what i said about you being observant?’

‘yeah?’

‘i swear you can walk into a room and just… know. like, if anything is wrong, you pick up on it immediately, it’s insane. and you always know exactly what people need. you’re… safe.’

‘…safe?’

‘yeah. safe. everyone’s totally comfortable around you. the kids fucking adore you.’

‘really?’

‘yeah. the other day we were hanging out while you and robin were at work, and erica sighed very loudly and complained that she missed you.’

‘erica said that?’

‘erica fucking sinclair said, and i quote, i miss steve.’

‘…that’s really nice.’

‘you’re a good guy, steve, seriously. you’re selfless and brave and kind, and i love how you look after everyone, and how your eyes light up when talk about your sports, and how you get all mushy about the kids when they’re not around, and—’

‘…’

‘look. you’re, like, the best. and it— it breaks my fucking heart to hear you talk about yourself like you’re some piece of shit.’

‘…’

‘steve?’

‘…’

‘fuck, are you crying?’

‘…no?’

‘fuck, steve, i’m—’

‘eddie?’

‘yeah?’

‘i… i have to tell you something.’

‘what is it? are you okay?’

‘…i’m falling in love with you.’

‘…what?’

‘i’m sorry, eddie.’

‘no, don’t hang up, stevie— you’re— are you sure?’

‘yeah. i’m sure.’

‘but you… what about the girls?’

‘i was… i was trying not to— to fall for you, but you… fucking christ, eddie, you’re so…’

‘so?’

‘so good. you’re so perfect.’

‘fuck.’

‘im sorry, eddie.’

‘don’t apologise, stevie, i’m— i’m in love with you too.’

‘…say it again.’

‘i’m in love with you, too.’

‘holy shit.’

‘are you okay?’

‘i’m okay. i’m… can you come over?’

‘…to yours?’

‘or— or i can go to yours, i just— i wanna see you.’

‘you do?’

‘i wanna… i wanna kiss you.’

‘fuck. fuck, fuck, ow, okay, i’m—‘

‘what just happened?’

‘i fell off my bed, i’m fine, i can be there in a few minutes.’

‘are you sure?’

‘holy shit, steve, yes, i’ll be right over.’

‘okay.’

‘wait, eddie—’

‘yeah?’

‘…i love you.’

‘fuck. i love you too. i’ll be right there, stevie.’

‘okay.’

#kinda wanna do a part two but it would just be them making out #if anyone has a plot idea feel free to steal this #steddie #steddie brainrot #steddie blurb #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things blurb

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

Text

North To The Future [Chapter 15: Drive] [Series Finale]

The year is now 2000. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, violence, character deaths.

Word count: 7.3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07 @joliettes @trifoliumviridi @bornbetter @flowerpotmage @thewitch-lives @tempt-ress @padfooteyes @teenagecriminalmastermind @chelsey01 @anditsmywholeheart @heliosscribbles @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @tillyt04 @cicaspair418 @fan-goddess

A/N: This is the fic I almost never wrote because I didn’t think anyone would be interested in some random, angsty, 1990s, Alaskan, crime-thriller AU. Thank you for proving me wrong. I hope you enjoy the ending. 💜

Almost everything about your existence is pure chance; it’s the most freeing and horrifying truth imaginable. There’s the genetic lottery and corporate downsizing, revolutions and hurricanes, plagues, asteroids, famines, faulty airplanes and malignant blooms of cells and drunk drivers. There are 100 billion planets in this galaxy and your atoms ended up on the one called Earth. After all that, do you really think what you want matters? So make all the choices you like, all the nail-biting deliberations and promises and vows, weigh costs and benefits, do research, roll dice, ask astrologers and palm readers, start over every New Year because that’s something we tell ourselves is possible. The fact that you exist at all is one big cosmic coin flip. If you think you’re the one driving, you’re dead fucking wrong. You’re the speck of dust on a windshield, the spin of a roulette wheel. You’re a flash of silver in the universe’s pinball machine.

I spend a lot of my time thinking about chance, okay? My family is one of the wealthiest in the Western Hemisphere, and I didn’t do anything to earn that. I was born first, and I definitely didn’t do anything to earn that, Jesus Christ, what a chromosomal fuckup. I inherited an affliction that others get to live without. I can’t imagine what it feels like to wake up and not be horrified by myself, my shortcomings, my failures: too small, too stupid, too wild, too weak. And the first time someone says something like that to you, you want to apologize, you want to drop to your knees and cling to them and beg for absolution, maybe even the first hundred times, the first thousand. And then it just starts to piss you off. Yeah, I know, I’ve heard it all before, why would you expect anything different? Isn’t this getting old, Mom? Maybe you’re the stupid one, Dad, if you think you could cut me and anything but disappointments would fall out. I’m not horrified by the fact that I’m an addict. The horror came first. The horror is what led to all the rest of it.

One day when I was in 10th Grade—I was slumped way down in my chair and drinking vodka out of an Evian water bottle—my American History teacher, purely by chance, assigned me to make a poster about Juneau, Alaska. Some other kid got Los Angeles (Hollywood! The Whisky a Go Go!) and another got Chicago (the Mob!) and another got Nashville (Johnny Cash!) and some jock moron I hated got Baltimore (um, crabs? the War of 1812…?), but I got fucking Juneau, Alaska. I thought this was so unjust that I never forgot it, the fact that I had to get up in front of the class with my pathetic Crayolas-and-magazine-cutouts poster and pretend that Juneau was a place that mattered, that microscopic cloud-covered relic of a late-1800s gold mining settlement on the shores of the Gastineau Channel. Juneau was never on my list of cities to run to. It just wasn’t. It didn’t have anything I wanted. But when I started thinking about places where I could really disappear, where no one would ever bother looking, where days are short and dark and incurious and irrelevant…well, that sounds like Juneau, right?

Let me tell you something about the night I left. I’ve been more messed up, yeah, and I’ve hurt people worse, and I’ve been closer to death, I’ve been one more powder-white gram on the scale away from oblivion; but I’ve never felt that fucking low. I can’t decide if I wish I’d never gone to Juneau at all. I can’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse.

My flight is a red-eye with a layover in Ketchikan, American Airlines, bound for Seattle. Sunfyre has the window seat. He’s wearing the bright red Service Dog vest that I once stole for him specifically for such occasions. My dog fly with the cargo? My dog?! Bill Clinton will be elected pope first. Sunfyre is chewing contently on Milk-Bones and watching the sun rise over the Pacific Ocean. He knows the drill. We’ll touchdown and deplane, and then…and then…

And then we’ll start over again somewhere new. I’ll find a flight board and pick a destination; Seattle is a hub, with spokes leading everywhere. I could go south, to Galveston, Lafayette, Biloxi, someplace where it gets hot, someplace where I can sweat her out of me, purge every cell that still remembers what she felt like. I could go west, fading into mountains or cornfields, vapid infinitesimal towns in Montana, Iowa, Idaho, Nebraska. I could go to New England or the Great Lakes or freaking Hawaii, sleep in hammocks, swim with sea turtles, drink my rum and Cokes out of coconut shells. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that nowhere really sounds good to me. My legs are suddenly tired of running. There’s an ache that rattles down to the bone.

I don’t have to tell you that I love her, right? It’s not so easy for me to say. But it’s true, and it’s beautiful, and it’s torture, and it’s a dream. It’s pain that flays you alive and then builds you back again, layers of fresh muscle and tendons and veins growing over ribs and vertebrae like a trellis thick with ivy. It’s not a high. It’s just the best life can get down here on earth. It’s the ocean, it’s the Northern Lights.

I’m swimming in a black hoodie that is three sizes too big; I haven’t slept and I’m pale and raccoon-eyed, looking like death, feeling worse. When the stewardess rolls by with her clattering cart just slim enough to fit through the aisle, I order a cup of water for Sunfyre and a double rum and Coke for myself. It arrives with two blood-red cherries bobbing in a caramel-dark carbonated sea. The guy in the next seat over gives me a judgmental little eyebrow raise.

“That doesn’t look like breakfast,” he says.

I bite off both cherries—juice dribbling down my chin, wiped away with a sleeve—and throw the stems over my shoulder. The lady sitting behind me yelps in disgust. “Because it’s dessert.”

The man smiles and shakes his head, one of those I shouldn’t find it funny but I do sort of looks. I inspire a lot of those. He’s maybe mid-thirties, long hair and ripped jeans, very punk rock, cool as hell. There is a constellation of pins on his denim jacket. One of them has a roman numeral 10 on it, a stark X nestled inside a triangle. Unity, Service, Recovery, the gold letters say. To Thine Own Self Be True. It’s an Alcoholics Anonymous pin. What are the chances?

He catches me staring, and I ask: “Does it really make you a better man?”

“It doesn’t make you better. It just makes you real.” He smiles again, patient and kind. “It makes your emotions and experiences real, your relationships real. And so you become whatever version of yourself you were always supposed to be. But you have to want it. Not your wife, not your parents or your kids, not your pastor, not your friends, not your parole officer. You.”

I speak without knowing what I’m going to say. “I want it.”

“Yes, I think you do.”

He sees a lot, I think, as the plane descends into the grey fogbank of Seattle. 20/20.

When we land, the man squeezes into a cab with me and Sunfyre—he sniffles into a Kleenex for a while before reluctantly admitting that he’s allergic to dogs—and pays the fare. The cab’s worn brakes squeal to a stop outside a residential treatment center on the banks of the Puget Sound. When we step out onto the sidewalk, I ask the man if he’s going to take me to get one last drink first. He laughs in my face. Fucking jerk.

He pulls out a black Sharpie and rummages through his pockets, his wallet. He can’t find a scrap of paper. He writes his phone number on the underside of my arm instead. “You call me, okay?” he says. “Call me when you get out. Call me before you get out, if you need to. I don’t care if it’s in five minutes, I don’t care if it’s at 2 a.m. You just make sure you call.”

“Why would you do this? I mean, you don’t even know me. You have no idea who I am.”

“Because once, years ago, someone did the same thing for me, and someone did it for her too. Maybe one day you’ll be able to pay it forward. I don’t care who you are or where you’ve been. It doesn’t matter to me. I’d like to think that we’re all more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

And then he waits for me to go inside. He doesn’t leave until he watches me check in at reception on the other side of the rain-flecked glass. Outside, a brand new day is beginning. A misty sun rises as pieces of the sky fall.

Sunfyre trots into the lobby alongside me, panting cheerfully, shaking the perpetual Seattle drizzle from his fur. There’s a girl at the front desk, just a girl, and that’s the other thing that’s different now. She’s not a maybe-future-one-of-my-girls. She’s just like anyone else. I already have a girl. I mean, I don’t anymore, not really. But I still do.

I throw my things onto the counter: my single suitcase, my tattered wallet, my bundle of cash held together with rubber bands, my scraped-up electric guitar.

“Checking in?” the girl asks.

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes, I guess.”

She opens my wallet, reads my license, blinks in bewilderment. “Aegon…?”

I sigh dramatically. “It’s Greek.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You dream of him; and when you do, he’s always smiling. He’s reading your palm in an empty Taco Bell, he’s kissing you under the Northern Lights, he’s regaling your parents with stories—of lobster fishing in Portland, of cattle ranching in Denver—all through Thanksgiving dinner, he’s undressing you in his moonlit apartment, he’s climbing into your bed. He’s not angry, he’s not ruined, he’s not running away. He’s exactly as you remember him in his best moments. He’s all chaotic white-blond hair and weightless light, sharp laughter and bright eyes. And each morning there’s a splinter-thin moment before you remember that he’s gone. That’s the worst part, really. You always knew it would be. You can’t even begin to forget him.

Your friends want to help you, but they don’t know how. Neither do your parents. Your dad gets an atlas from the study, throws it down on the dining room table, and opens it to a map of the world. “Pick anyplace and we’ll go there,” he says. “We’ll close the vet clinic for two weeks and we’ll all go.” But you can’t give him a single name: not Athens, or Paris, or Buenos Ares, or Cairo, or New York City, or Rome, or Tokyo, or anywhere else for that matter. It’s the strangest thing. All your life you’ve been waiting to get out of Juneau, but now nowhere sounds good to you. And maybe that’s a lesson you wish you’d never learned: sometimes freedom is less about places than it is about people.

The blood on the equipment recovered from Trent’s apartment matches DNA from the first three victims. He is charged with eight counts of first-degree murder and held awaiting trial in the Lemon Creek Correctional Center. His family visits him faithfully each week. His lawyer is exasperated that he won’t plead guilty and spare his parents the humiliation and expense of a protracted court battle. But Trent’s story never changes: he’s innocent, he’s never killed anybody, he doesn’t understand how the blood could have been found on his belongings. He wants to know exactly what items the police tested; he and his lawyer are still waiting for the prosecutor to turn over all the details during discovery. In the midst of the scandal, the upheaval, you fade into the backdrop like the stars behind fog. People talk around you and through you. They offer gaps that you don’t care enough to fill in. Drinks clink, whispers fly, conspiracies are exchanged between pool shots. You watch the days grow longer and wait for the future to arrive. You don’t know what it will look like, you can’t even begin to fathom it. But surely there must be a future. Life goes on. It did for your mom after Jesse. It will for you too.

A week after Aegon leaves, there is a knock at your parents’ front door. You open it to find Aemond standing there in the muted amber-pink afternoon light. His hair is long and loose, his Armani suit immaculately tailored, his BlackBerry nestled in his right hand. He glances up from it at you and his jaw falls open. And only then do you realize how awful you must look.

You tell Aemond, your voice hushed and heavy, ankles in quick-drying cement: “I don’t know where he is.”

“No, I can see that,” Aemond replies, dull horror in his blue eye. Then he turns around and strides halfway down the driveway towards the street, where a cab idles as it waits for him, engine exhaust pouring into the air like smoke from a firepit.

“How’s your dad?” you call after him when you get your bearings.

He pauses under the dwindling light. “Alive. For now.” And then Aemond considers you for a while. “I suppose if I ever want to find you again, I know where to look.”

You nod. “I’ll be here.”

I’ll always be here.

A month crawls by like a wounded animal, dead leaves snared in the fur of its belly. The flesh on your thigh knits back together. The things that Aegon ordered show up in Juneau, packages left on the front porch and stuffed into the moose-shaped mailbox like Christmas gifts in a stocking. You pack these remnants of him—Zoobooks and cooking accessories, knives and Chia Pets—into a cardboard box and tuck it away in a dusty, cobwebbed corner of the attic, and you’re aware the entire time that this has happened before, almost exactly twenty years ago. When your dad puts a Third Eye Blind or Red Hot Chili Peppers or Oasis album on his record player, you find some excuse to leave the room. When you tack magazine cutouts of beaches and cityscapes to your bedroom walls, all you can think about is where Aegon might be now. You wonder where he works during the day, a surf shop or a construction site or a farm or a fishing boat; you wonder who he spends his nights with.

I’ll always be here. Even if I leave, I’ll always be here.

~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty years ago to the day, almost to the hour, a man fell into the Gastineau Channel and drowned. They found water in his lungs, though the autopsy was only a formality, an afterthought; Jesse had a reputation in Juneau, and no one was particularly surprised to see how his story ended. There were abrasions on his back and shoulders, contusions on his wrists, but so what? He probably tripped half a dozen times before he tumbled over some guardrail and into the frigid black water. There was a bloody mess of an impact wound on the side of his face, but who cares? The blood alcohol concentration doesn’t lie. The man was wasted, and more than that he was a waste. If his premature demise hadn’t been then, it would have been later, in a week or a month or a year. And when someone like that goes, there’s a sigh of relief that accompanies the misery, isn’t there? There’s the sense of a weight being lifted from a scale.

You’re sitting in Ursa Minor at the usual booth, but the bar is practically empty. It’s Valentine’s Day. Joyce is with Rob, Kimmie is with Brad; Heather’s parents have spirited her away on a short vacation to Sitka to try to take their minds off Trent’s imminent lifelong incarceration. Your mom and dad’s February 14th tradition is cooking a homemade Italian dinner together—pasta, bread with herbs and olive oil, caprese salad, tiramisu—and then settling in for a romantic Blockbuster rental. This year, it’s Runaway Bride. Your mom loves Julia Roberts. They didn’t ask for privacy, but you gave it to them anyway. Kimmie offered to drop you off at Ursa Minor and then drive you home after her date with Brad so you could drink away your sorrows without having to worry about calling a ride. So now Kimmie is getting wined, dined, and plied with boxed chocolates at the Red Dog Saloon while you drain appletinis and flip through one of Jesse’s journals, not knowing what you’re looking for.

Dale is washing pint glasses in the sink behind the bar and humming cheerfully along to a Cake CD. It’s just you and him tonight; evidently, Dale doesn’t have a hot date either. It was nice of him to eschew the usual Shania Twain or Sheryl Crow soundtrack. He’s trying to spare you from any crooning love songs. He must have forgotten that Cake has its own little slice of relevance in your memories of Aegon, those memories that refuse to fade, ink in your skin as dark as night.

Your fingerprints trace Jesse’s scrawling, handwritten letters. It’s his very last journal, the last words he ever wrote. His final entry is unremarkable, a lucid recollection of his latest woodcarving project: it’s a family of tiny bears, three of them. He says he wants the cub to have the same slope of your cheeks, the shape of your eyes. And it’s just like your mom said. It really did seem like he was getting better.

You flip to the next page, blank. The heading reads: Thursday, February 14th, 1980.

You go back a few days. And your gaze catches on words that you’ve read before, months ago, back when the journals were a new discovery like striking oil. The entry is from Saturday the 9th. It ends with an unceremonious bullet point of a reminder: dinner w/ Dale on Thursday.

You leaf forward to Thursday, to the blank page that tells you nothing. Back to the 9th, forward to the 14th, again, again. Valentine’s Day 1980, before Dale had married his wife, after your mom had stopped trying to make plans with Jesse, maybe even rebelled against them; just two unromantic, discarded men with a vacant slot in their calendars and troubles to drink into submission. Except that Jesse never came home.

Dinner with Dale, you think dizzily. Dinner with Dale on the night he died.

The opening notes of The Distance shout from the stereo. Everything suddenly feels very loud.

Reluctantly crouched at the starting line,

Engines pumping and thumping in time…

What had Aegon said about that song before you sang it together, stomping and staggering across the hardwood floor? It’s not about NASCAR, it’s about a journey!

Outside, it’s a rare clear night in Juneau. The Northern Lights are a kaleidoscopic ribbon against indigo night, the sky a mausoleum of stars. And you remember when Aegon sang Everlong, when he grabbed your hand, led you upstairs to the roof, kissed you for the first time under the ethereal, shimmering curtain of green and purple and blue…before Heather had interrupted to tell you that Dale was closing the bar. He was irritable, he was tired; he wanted to go home.

The arena is empty except for one man,

Still driving and striving as fast as he can…

And then they found a body, didn’t they? Yes, you can remember being in Aegon’s apartment and hearing the police cars zoom by. You remember the red-and-blue flashes on his face. You remember thinking they looked like sapphires and rubies, the ocean and blood.

The sun has gone down and the moon has come up

And long ago somebody left with the cup,

But he’s driving and striving and hugging the turns

And thinking of someone for whom he still burns…

Icy claws glide down the length of your spine. Memories play back with a focused clarity that you didn’t have before: Dale groggy and yawning just before they found the fifth victim at Christmas, and again before they found the eighth the same night Trent dragged you—shrieking, bleeding, virtually naked—out of your Jeep. You remember Dale at your parents’ New Year’s Eve party talking about how maybe the killer was an athlete with brain damage from CTE. You remember him offering to give Trent a box of his old equipment from when he was a park ranger. You remember him watching as Trent towered over you here in Ursa Minor with a cue stick clenched in his fist, demanding to know where you had been the night before, Dale’s eyes gleaming with disapproval and fascination and…and…oh god, opportunity.

He’s going the distance,

He’s going for speed,

She’s all alone (all alone)

All alone in her time of need…

And now Aegon’s long gone, but you’re still here. And so is the Ice Fisher.

You’re staring at Dale, eyes huge and glossy with terror. He glances up, gives you a brief casual smile, looks down at the pint glasses again. And then his eyes come back to you. He sees you and you see him, really see him, and it’s the first time in your life that you can recall him being a centerpiece instead of an ornament for gazes to skate over like ice, wallpaper or taxidermy deer heads or a mirror. And you watch as the thing that lives inside Dale stirs awake. It is a shadow with fangs, talons, barbs down its spine, a weblike scribble of a brain loud with the echoes of screams; and it unfurls and fills him completely, all the way to his fingerprints. It possesses him, it eclipses him.

It’s Dale, you realize like a bullet slicing through an aorta, spilling an ocean of hot blood. It was him twenty years ago and it’s him now.

You gasp and fumble for the cannister of bear mace still clipped to your purse. Dale crosses the room with staggering swiftness, like a wolf, like a storm, one pint glass still gripped in his hand. He reaches you just as your thumb presses down on the cannister’s release tab. The rust-colored mist spews not directly into his face but into the room; Dale is hacking and rasping, you both are, but he isn’t in too much pain to haul you out of the booth and onto the floor. You’re screaming, you’re clawing at him, your eyes feel like they’re on fire, tiny pinpoint infernos that drill down to the bone. You can feel the ice-cold juice and schnapps and vodka of your appletini, knocked off the table when you fell, soaking through the back of your sweater. You can feel pebbles of glass as they burrow into your flesh. You are dimly aware of a barstool tumbling over as you struggle with Dale.

“No!” you cry into the monstrous hand that he clamps over your mouth. “No—!”

Dale brings the bottom of the pint glass down on your head. The Distance lyrics—she’s hoping in time that her memories will fade—swirl around inside your fractured skull.

Silence descends like a curtain, shadows in, lights out.

~~~~~~~~~~

I knock, and he opens the door. The house smells like fresh bread and alfredo sauce, rosemary and crushed garlic. My rental—a Toyota 4Runner, I remember what she said about the Nova being a bad idea in Alaska—is parked in the driveway behind her Jeep. Sunfyre is standing beside me, eyes sparkling, smiling with that unburdened-by-intellect innocence that dogs have. There’s a bouquet of blue-dyed roses in my left hand, cool melancholy blooms of life like seawater, like bruises.

“Hi,” I say to her dad as he stands in the doorway. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too, Aegon.” He’s not just staring at me in the artificial front porch light; he’s gawking, he’s damn near speechless. “Wow. Wow. It’s really good to see you.”

Yeah, I know I look different. The dark rings around my eyes have vanished, my face is less puffy, my hair is trimmed and healthy and mostly out of my face, I stand taller. I’m wearing a white turtleneck sweater and a leather jacket, black skinny jeans, my combat boots. I have a red chip in my pocket that I can’t fucking wait to show her: 1 month sober. On the first day, you think you’re going to die, and on the second day you wish you would. But you don’t. You live, and that starts out as a grisly inconvenience, and then you get a taste for it. “You can probably guess who I’m looking for.”

“Yeah, I reckon I can,” her dad says. “But she’s not here right now. She went to Ursa Minor.”

I grin, a crooked little curl of the lips. “I think I remember how to get there.”

I hop back into the 4Runner with Sunfyre and pull out into the street, snow and ice chomping under the tires. I had missed driving, I realize now. I got so used to almost never being able to do it that I forgot how good it feels to turn the wheel yourself, to watch the speedometer ramp up when you decide you want to fly. Ten minutes later, I swerve into Ursa Minor’s deserted parking lot and screech to a stop across three separate spaces.

“Oh, what the fuck!” I choke out as I step into the bar, coughing into my sleeve. The blue roses tumble out of my hand. Ursa Minor is empty, but there’s something in the air, something invisible that drives scorching, stinging needles into my eyes and my sinuses. Tears stream down my face; my exposed skin prickles and burns. Sunfyre sneezes over and over again and lingers in the doorway, gulping in fresh night wind from outside. There’s shattered glass and green liquid on the hardwood floor. There’s an upturned barstool. The stereo is playing Cake’s cover of Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps.

What the hell happened here—?

And then I see it: the cannister of bear mace that had rolled under the booth, the same one she and her friends always sat in.

She used the bear mace. She finally used it. But why?

There’s blood on the floor. There’s blood on the table too. There’s a tattered, olive-green journal opened to a blank page. The pieces slide closer and closer and then link together, an explosion in my mind like fireworks.

I bolt outside and study the snow-covered parking lot. There are fresh tire tracks there under the murky luminescence of the streetlights; they lead out to the main road and then north towards the lakes.

“No,” I whisper to no one but the fierce wind, the sky threaded with the opalescent Northern Lights. “No, no, no…”

I sprint back inside Ursa Minor, get the phone Dale keeps behind the bar, and call the cops. “Stay where you are,” the 911 dispatcher instructs me sternly. “Wait for the police, do not attempt to investigate yourself, do not attempt to intervene—”

“Yeah, fuck that,” I say, and slam the receiver into the cradle. Then I swipe the black 8 ball off the pool table.

I load Sunfyre into the 4Runner and spin out of the parking lot, following the parallel lines of tire tracks like the etching of veins beneath skin.

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a sound, rough and grating; and then you realize that it’s you being dragged across the ice. When your eyes flutter open, you see the uninterrupted sky: indigo night, distant stars, the Northern Lights. Your clothes are wet with snow; it’s so cold that the fabric is freezing, stiff and crackling when you try to move. Dale is lugging you over the frozen lake by the collar of your sweater. It’s choking you, but of course that doesn’t matter much. He’s about to kill you anyway.

“It’s not right,” Dale mutters, and you’re aware through the disorientation and the fog-like cloud of pain that he’s not really talking to you. “Your mom’s a nice lady. It’s not right that she had to lose two people this way, she doesn’t deserve that. Oh well. It can’t be helped now, can it?”

You whimper something, disjointed helpless words. Please, hurts, don’t, please.

“It’s not me,” Dale says, as if it’s perfectly logical. “I mean, not really. It’s this part of me that I can’t cut out. I can only feed it so it goes away for a while. It quiets down sometimes, it hibernates like a bear in the winter…but it always comes back. And my god, is it hungry.”

You smack clumsily, futilely at his hands as he hauls you over the ice. Dale doesn’t seem to notice.

“You have to make it look like an accident. That’s the ticket, if you don’t want anybody to know. You shove a hiker from a ledge, a drunk into the ocean. I did that for a long time, never raised suspicion. Never pinged on anyone’s radar. Jesse was the hardest, though. Good lord, did he fight. Had to pour a bottle of Everclear down his throat. Had to make it look like he was drinking that night. He wasn’t, which was unusual. Kept saying he wanted to turn things around. I think you had something to do with that. Now this? You were never supposed to be here, ladybug. What a shame. What a goddamn shame.”

Consciousness is a river that you dip in and out of; blackness crumbles around the edges of your vision, collapses in, recedes, swells again like a wave. You moan, you beg, you struggle as much as you can. It’s not much. It might as well be nothing.

“Things were easier after I got married,” Dale continues. He has a large hiking backpack slung over his broad shoulders, you see now. It jostles from side to side as he drags you. You know what’s in there: a chisel to break the ice, fishing line to strangle you. “Having someone else there all the time, it was a distraction. And it kept that thing inside me…not tame, no, I wouldn’t say that. But chained up down in the basement, maybe. Now I’m alone again. And when the chains start rattling, there’s nothing to stop me from hearing them.”

You get your feet under you, twist around, and slam your fists into Dale’s chest as hard as you can. He laughs in a baritone rumble and shoves you back down onto the ice; your head hits the ground, and you can feel yourself fading again, the last wisps of sunlight at dusk.

“Sometimes you want to hide,” Dale says. “And sometimes you don’t. I was ready to stop hiding. I can’t tell you what a high it was every time they found a body. The news, the ceaseless chattering around town, the name they gave me…incredible. Exhilarating. I couldn’t sleep for days after each kill. I’d toss and turn all night imagining what the headlines would be. Let me tell you, ladybug. I’ve never tried heroin, and I never need to. It can’t possibly be better than this.”

What will happen to my parents? you think, heartbreak gutting you, dull knifes rearranging your organs. What will happen to Heather and Kimmie and Joyce? What will happen when Aegon finds out he left too soon?

“I knew I needed someone to pin it on,” Dale informs you calmly. “Didn’t take anyone who went to the bar, didn’t take anyone who could be traced back to me. And still, I knew they’d figure it out eventually if I didn’t give them another suspect. At first, I was thinking I might use Aegon. He was a little small, sure, but he showed up around the right time and he was an outsider. Then I saw the way Trent was with you…aggressive, menacing…and I knew it had to be him. It was almost too easy. I planted the seeds, and good lord did they grow.”

“They’ll know,” you croak. “If you kill me, the police will find my body and they’ll know Trent’s not the Ice Fisher.”

Hideously, horribly, Dale smiles down at you. “Oh, ladybug, I don’t think they’ll ever find you. They found the others because I wanted them to. And no one is looking for victims anymore. Once you sink, I’ll cover up the hole with ice and snow. No blood, no signs. People will assume you’re a runaway. It was just too much, wasn’t it? Trent getting arrested, Aegon leaving town. Maybe you ran off after him. Maybe you threw yourself in the channel. Who could say? No, your bones will become silt, your name will slowly disappear from Juneau. And in ten or twenty years, your parents will have you declared dead in absentia. That’s my best guess. That’s how it will go.”

“No,” you sob, battling against the hands knotted into the collar of your sweater. “No—!”

His knuckles bash the side of your head, and a black silence rolls in like high tide, engulfs you, drowns you. When you swim back up into consciousness again, Dale is a few yards from you and drilling a hole in the ice with his chisel. You try to crawl away and promptly collapse, frail and boneless. He glances over at you, chuckles pleasantly, and then begins using a hatchet to widen the opening.

No, you think, hooking your fingers into the snow and dragging yourself towards the forest. No, no, no…

Dale’s ready for you. He walks over, grabs both of your ankles, tugs you with terrifying ease to the hole in the ice. Then he has a length of fishing line in his hands, and he’s looping it around your throat again and again, and he’s tightening it until the needle-thin nylon wire bites into your flesh, spilling tendrils of blood. You know you don’t have a chance, but you try; you owe it to your parents to try. You claw at the fishing line and you struggle and you cry out in hoarse, useless screams—

And then you hear something that doesn’t make any sense. Through the darkness, through the wind, there are the barks of a dog. Sunfyre rockets into your dimming field of vision and jumps on Dale, snarling and growling and snapping at his hands, his face. Dale flings the dog away, and as he’s distracted, Aegon arrives. He’s holding—ludicrously—a black 8 ball from a pool table, and he smashes it into Dale’s head. A sick, wet, crushing sound ricochets, cracked bone cushioned by flesh, and Dale howls as he rolls onto his side and covers his head with his hands.

He peers up at Aegon, furious and pained and stunned. “You?!”

“Me.” Aegon’s voice is dark and low like thunder, like the iron gale of storms over the ocean. “And I’m a killer.”

He lunges at Dale, still wielding the 8 ball. Dale’s massive hand juts out and closes around Aegon’s wrist, and then he yanks him to the ground. They’re grappling on the snow and ice, they’re striking out with knuckles and elbows, they’re ripping at each other with their bare hands. You’re trying to unravel the fishing line still coiled around your throat, panting in deep, frantic breaths so you can see and think clearly, so you can scramble to your feet, so you can help Aegon. And then Dale gets away from him just long enough to grab you again, to wrap the ends of the fishing line around his fingers. He delivers one last macerating blow to your skull, pulls you by your throat to the gaping hole in the ice, and shoves you through.

The water is so cold it’s paralyzing. There is a thought that seizes you—so overwhelming, so strangely rational—that says all you have to do is stay where you are, to wait a little longer, and then you’ll never hurt again, you’ll never be disappointed or caged, you’ll never be anything. And you think of all the lives you could have lived, all the places you could have gone: cities and beaches and deserts and valleys, gardens and rivers, ruins and glass. You were always so afraid of really going after them. What the hell were you so afraid of? Everything worth fearing is right here in Juneau.

I can still do those things. I can still live. And I can still help Aegon.

You jolt out of your inertia and clamber madly for the surface. But you don’t hit frigid open air; you hit ice, ice too thick to break through, ice too thick for more than a murmur of light to penetrate. Your palms press against the semitransparent wall; bubbles of carbon dioxide spurt from your nose and mouth. You feel for the opening that Dale made, but you don’t know where it is. You are lost beneath the ice, running out of air, fading rapidly. Then you hear Jesse—and you aren’t sure how you know what his voice sounds like, but you do—speaking softly and kindly to you, comforting you, telling you which way to go.

I’m sorry that no one knows the truth, you say without speaking. I’m sorry we thought you destroyed yourself. I’m sorry you never got the chance to truly live.

You were all better off without me anyway, he answers, without any bitterness at all. And that’s true, isn’t it?

There is a great disruption that rocks through the water. New currents stir into existence, fresh waves spring out of the darkness. And then someone takes your hand and draws you towards a noise, muffled through the ice and water: a dog barking, you realize. Then your palms find the opening and you inhale brutally cold air into your aching lungs, the best you’ve ever tasted. Aegon helps pull you through the hole and out of the lake, out of the jaws of oblivion.

You lie together on the ice, breathing in gasps that turn to mist in the night wind. Dale’s body is sprawled several yards away. The hatchet he’d used to break up the ice is buried in his neck, spine severed, eyes slick and vacant. You can see reflections of the Northern Lights flickering in them.

“You came back,” you whisper to Aegon as whirling police sirens approach, the lights dancing on his face: blue like the ocean, red like fire and blood.

“Of course I came back, Appletini,” he says, laughing with frenzied relief, kissing your cheeks and forehead over and over again, lake water dripping from his hair. Sunfyre jumps around you both, yapping ecstatically, his tail wagging. “I couldn’t leave without my Juneau girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s wind, but it isn’t sharp like a blade. There’s a sky, but it isn’t cloaked in cloud cover or fog. The boats that bob in the surf are sailboats and cruisers, not fishing vessels. Dolphins crest out of the sun-speckled waves like someone coming up from a dream.

It’s June 9th, and you’re soaring down the Pacific Coast Highway in the red Ford Mustang convertible you rented after the plane touched down in Seattle. Aegon is in the driver’s seat, black sunglasses and white T-shirt, his hair whipping in the breeze. He has one hand on the wheel and the other behind your headrest. Sunfyre is in the backseat, grinning like only dogs can. You turn up the song on the radio: Drive by Incubus.

You and Aegon had stayed in Juneau long enough for your skull to heal, and for your parents to find someone else to take over the vet clinic. They settled on a 32-year-old from Detroit: Justin McNair, a former Marine like your dad, and he either has no family or a bad one because he never wants to talk about them. Perhaps it doesn’t really matter which it is; perhaps sometimes they’re just about the same thing. Your parents have already basically adopted him. He eats dinner with them three times a week and calls your dad when he needs help with house maintenance or scaring a moose away from his truck. And just before you went south, Aegon showed him how to make the world’s best hot chocolate.

You send postcards back to Juneau from each town you stop in. Heather’s bon voyage gift to you had been an indecently revealing swimsuit. Joyce appeared with—what else?—a stack of books fit for leisurely beach reading. And Kimmie gave you, however bizarrely, a compass. So you don’t get lost, she had said with an innocuous little smile. You honestly couldn’t tell if she was joking.

During his one month in jail, Trent learned how to meditate and do yoga. He’s still kind of a dumbass, but he’s also a supposedly devout vegan Buddhist, and he had the decency to leave you alone aside from an apology letter that he slid into the moose-shaped mailbox: handwritten, six pages, lots of spelling and grammatical errors. Oh, and he finally got that job with the Forest Service, probably mostly due to his high-profile wrongful detainment. Now hikers get to swoon over his muscles and hair flips.

You’ll go back to Juneau, of course. Maybe just for visits, maybe for more than that someday. But it will never feel like a cage again.

Aegon calls Aemond every two or three days, a habit he started when he was in rehab. At first it was by necessity—he needed someone to pay the $30,000 bill—but now you think he secretly looks forward to it. He updates Aemond about how the road trip is going and reassures him that the plan hasn’t changed: south to San Diego, and then cutting east across the country to Miami. You don’t know what exactly life will look like there, and neither does Aegon. That’s not the important thing about going. Part of AA is making amends, and Aegon has a lot of work to do in that respect. He wants to go back to Miami, he says. He’s ready to go back.

San Diego is exactly like Aegon once told you it would be. You weave through the rust-colored peaks of the Laguna Mountains and there’s the Pacific Ocean, glittering and sapphire-blue, peppered with surfers and sea lions. It’s hot and it’s beautiful beyond words and everything grows there: ivy, cactuses, palm trees, calla lilies, roses. And for the first time that you can remember, the world feels breathtakingly, impossibly big. You get carryout from an unassuming restaurant called The Taco Stand, and then Aegon parks the convertible in La Jolla. You walk down the steps carved into the cliffside, paper bags in your hands full of tacos and churros, Aegon carrying Sunfyre so the dog won’t slip.

You sit together on the golden sand and watch the 8:00 p.m. sun sink into the waves, Aegon’s arm around your waist, your fingers tucking his lock of silvery hair behind his ear. And then he takes your hand, kneads it until it’s sinuous and relaxed, and reads the lines of your palm in the amber dusk like firelight.

“It says you’re happy,” he tells you. “And that you’re free.”

“I am,” you reply, smiling as the ocean stretches out like the arm of a galaxy: the ancient past, the infinite future.

#aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen ii #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #nttf #north to the future

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kkskdeaddove · 6 months

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Officially announcing the 2024 KakaSaku Dead Dove Event, also known as "You Need Jesus January"! This event will take place from Monday, January 22nd to Sunday, January 28th and exists to explore / embrace the darker side of the ship.

Quotes

“I do envy your innocence”

“Are you my bad boy?”

“You’ll have to marry me”

“It’s for your own good”

“Don’t touch what isn’t yours”

“I told you, you’re mine”

“Take me instead”

Prompts

Lobotomy

Clone abuse / clone gangbang

Breeding kink

Captured by enemies

Somnophilia

Arranged marriage

Vindictive possessiveness

Rules

The KakaSaku Dead Dove 2024 Event will run from Monday, January 22nd to Sunday, January 28th. Creators have the choice of choosing any quote and / or prompt from the list below.

Submissions must not involve AI or other machine learning software, and must be creative content created originally by you, including but not limited to fanart, fanfiction, graphics, mood boards, edited/stylized manga caps, etc.

Submissions must feature Kakashi and Sakura as the main pairing, although other characters / ships are welcome.

All content across the dead dove spectrum is encouraged. Please tag / warn appropriately.

Use the tag kkskdd2024 for your submissions on Tumblr, AO3, and other content sharing sites. This blog will reblog any tagged submissions so long as they do not violate any rules. We will have a collection on AO3 for written submissions as well.

If you have any questions or concerns, please DM or submit an Ask.

FAQs

Do I have to do something every day? Nope! You can create however much / little you’d like.

Does a submission have to include a prompt and a quote? Nope! Feel free to mix and match as you’d like, or you are welcome to stick to one thing.

Is there a limit to the deadness of the dove? The limit does not exist. Please just tag accordingly as per typical AO3 rules.

Is there a minimum deadness of the dove? Not really. This week is about celebrating the darker potentials of the pairing, but it’s a sliding scale, so feel free to create whatever floats your boat :)

#kksk #dead dove #naruto events #kkskdd2024 #kakasaku

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laundrybiscuits · 1 year

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(young man what do you wanna be tag)

“I’m pretty sure Steve is trying to kill me,” says Eddie.

“I’m pretty sure he’s not,” says Jonathan.

“He’s always, like…lurking.” Eddie gestures, fingers fluttering to indicate the shadowy depths of villainy to which Steve Harrington has now sunk.

Jonathan shrugs. “I think he might just be trying to date you, man.”

“Ehh.” Eddie gives this an appropriate amount of consideration, which is to say none whatsoever. “I’m just saying, last time we had a movie night, he followed me into the kitchen. Just to hang out. You can’t tell me that’s not suspicious.”

“I mean…do you want him to stop? Because I think he’d stop if you said something.”

Obviously Eddie does not want Steve to stop. Obviously Eddie would very much like Steve to continue being close enough to touch forever, please and thank you. It’s just—Steve keeps saying stuff, completely random shit, like you look really, uh, metal today and tell me about that song you’re working on. It always leaves Eddie off-balance, which he loves and hates with every ounce of his shriveled soul.

“I can talk to Steve,” Jonathan offers. “Get him to back off.”

“That’s, um. You don’t have to do that,” says Eddie weakly.

“No, man, come on. I told you we’re in your corner, right? For everything, not just the big stuff.”

Eddie groans. “Okay, Byers, I get it. Jesus, I’m gonna get hives from all this sincerity. Thanks, I love you too or whatever, shut up. And please don’t—um. Please don’t talk to Steve.”

“What, like, ever?” says Argyle, which makes Eddie jump a little; he’d been pretty sure Argyle had been dozing quietly with his head on Jonathan’s lap for the last twenty minutes.

“Actually, yes,” says Eddie, prodding at Jonathan’s foot. “Please never talk to Steve again for the rest of your natural life. Do this for me, to demonstrate your sincere commitment to supporting the gays.”

“Sorry.” Jonathan kicks back at Eddie, somehow managing not to dislodge Argyle. “If those are my options, I guess I’m homophobic now. You have to be the one to tell Will, though.”

———

“Hey, can I talk to you?”

“Jonathan’s not actually homophobic,” Eddie blurts out.

Will blinks. “Okay. I mean…good? Wait, did he not know about you?”

“What, no, he knew before any of you little shits did.”

“That definitely isn’t true,” says Will dryly. He sounds a lot like Jonathan right now. “But this isn’t—I just had a question about gay stuff. Sort of.”

“Ask away,” says Eddie graciously, trying to sound wise and benevolent like an ancient gay wizard with all the gay secrets of the gay universe at his disposal.

“It’s just…” Will sighs, looking down. “You’re really, uh, loud. About everything, I mean. And I don’t get why you’re not trying to be…quieter. It just seems like asking for trouble.”

“Here’s the thing about trouble and safety, my young friend,” says Eddie. “There’s nothing we can do to make ourselves easier to swallow. They’ll lie about it and say they’ll put up with us if we just cut off the parts they hate the most, but they hate all of us, so you’re just gonna keep cutting until there’s nothing left. There’s no magical border between the friendly forest full of fluffy bunnies and the deep dark woods full of monsters, because it’s all the same thing.”

Eddie pauses. As gently as he can, he says, “You already know this, Zombie Boy.” He doesn’t miss the way Will flinches.

“But,” says Will. “Isn’t it, like, a little bit safer?”

“Maybe. Sometimes.” Eddie mulls over his next words, feeling the weight and sharp edges of them in a way he might not have, a year or two ago. Finally, he says, “I think—you gotta decide for yourself what that’s worth. And you also have to know there’s no such thing as completely one hundred percent safe. You can end up making a bunch of little choices that feel like you’re not giving up that much, and end up trapped in a life you hate, just waiting to die. There’s not gonna be one right way to do this, there’s just gonna be ways you can live with yourself and ways you can’t.”

The part he’s not saying to Will is that he’s also loud so other people don’t have to be.

When he was a freshman, so many years ago now, there’d been this girl—a real bull dyke, you know? Buzzed hair and men’s shirts and work boots. Her locker had had filth shoved in it and written on it pretty much every day, and one time—well, one time, some bad stuff had happened. Almost happened. A teacher had come along just in time, from what Eddie had heard. She’d walked into school the very next day wearing a leather jacket draped over her stocky frame, gorgeously defiant.

To Eddie, she’d been a beacon of survival. A walking, talking proof that if you’re willing to pay the price, you can be yourself without compromise.

She’d seemed so mature and worldly to him back in 1980, but now Will’s almost as old as she’d been at the time. Eddie would burn the fucking world down before he let anyone try that shit with Will, and he knows Jonathan and Argyle would too, but they can’t follow him around like guard dogs for the rest of his life.

So instead, he can just be the thing he’s shaped himself to be, and draw fire. Better to be a lightning rod, standing tall, than to let some other poor sucker get dragged into the spotlight before they’re ready. Nobody’s gonna fuck with Eddie too bad, probably. He’s already got a reputation. He’s Eddie fucking Munson, he’s a cockroach, he survived the worst the underworld could muster and he’s got the scars to prove it. He can take whatever shit they want to throw at him. Wants it, even, because it means something to be the guy they hate. There’s power in that: in walking back into the lion’s den wearing a leather jacket, head held high.

He doesn’t think Will’s going to learn to relish it the way Eddie does. They’re too different, at their cores. But they’re similar enough that Will’s nodding slowly like it makes sense to him; like he gets what Eddie’s trying so clumsily to say.

“You don’t have to be the way I am,” Eddie says. “But whatever you decide to be, do it on purpose, and do the hell out of it. Don’t fucking settle for some halfway kind of life. Think you can manage that, Byers?”

“Probably not,” says Will. “But—I’ll try. Thanks, I guess.”

This mentor shit is easy, Eddie thinks victoriously. No big thing at all.

#fic: young man what do you wanna be #hey hi it's been a minute! I've been busy & I know I'm super behind on asks/messages/tags and whatnot!#I swear I'm trying to catch up #...in all honesty I might not though. soz.

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hardboiledleggs · 1 year

Text

Not Sterile, a quick Steddie ficlet

(Tw for blood and mentions of bad injuries, nothing too icky though)

The Harrington’s house looms above a head of dark, curly hair. Eddie jumps, cursing as a bolt of lightning streaks across the sky. He isn’t sure why he feels so jumpy, but something about the house and Buckley’s harried phone call had put him on edge. It isn’t like he’s never been to the house before; every party needs a good dealer. He had just never been without a crowd of drunk teens canoodling the lawn.

He raps his knuckles smartly against the door and steps back, rubbing his foot against the back of his calf and nibbling on the inside of his cheek. The door swings open, and Robin Buckley is silhouetted in the frame, her appearance punctuated by a clap of thunder.

“Hurry, hurry,” she hisses, grasping his wrist and tugging him across the threshold. Her hands are wet, and Eddie gasps as she releases him, revealing the bright red handprint she had left on his arm.

“Jesus, Buckley, is that blood? What the hell are you–“

He’s cut off by a horrible groan. Robin turns away from him and hurries into the house, waving him after her without looking at him. Eddie follows her, trying to ignore the sudden lurching in his stomach. He steps into the spotless kitchen, squinting his eyes against all the white of the counters and the cabinets, and comes to an abrupt halt at the coppery tang that clouds the air. Another piteous moan splits the silence, and Eddie revolves slowly, desperate not to look but unable to keep his eyes away.

The scene before him is gruesome. Buckley kneels on the floor next to a mostly white couch. Mostly white, because there is a steady pool of blood flowing from the body lying atop it. The man on the couch lets out a grunt of pain as Robin laces their fingers together, whispering into his ear and smoothing bronze tufts of blood-soaked hair from his face. Eddie can feel his heart beating in his throat, and he breathes deeply through his mouth as the room begins to spin. He knows that hair.

“What did you bring, Munson? I need something that isn’t a blood thinner, and I need a lot of it.” Buckley doesn’t look at him as he speaks. Eddie shakes his head, trying to kickstart his brain again.

“W-why aren’t you at a hospital, Buckley? We need to call an ambulance, right now!” He’s swaying on his feet. “I don’t have d-drugs for THIS! He needs doctors!”

She looks at Steve Harrington’s bloody form, gnawing at her bottom lip. There is a fire in her eyes that Eddie has never seen. They’ve never been friends, per se, but he has dealt to all the band kids at one point or another, and he’s never seen her look anything but cheerful. The expression on her face right now promises hellfire and destruction.

“We can’t go to a doctor for this. I need help, and you’re it. Just tell me what you brought before I kick your teeth in and take it from you!”

Eddie fumbles in his pockets, yanking out a plastic baggy with shaking fingers. He sinks to his knees, still fighting the dizziness, and tosses the bag to Buckley. His eyes are locked onto the pool of blood that is still creeping along the floor.

“What the hell happened to him?” he whispers. He pulls himself unwillingly across the floor to kneel beside Buckley as she rifles through the bag of pills.

“Do you really want to know?” she murmurs, still not looking at him. “Once I tell you, you’re in this just as much as we are. You can take what I owe you from my bag over there and leave if you want to stay in the dark. Your choice.”

Eddie swallows down the terror that her words evoke. There is something in the air here, like an otherworldly film has settled over his senses. Every breath settles low in his chest like he is filling his lungs with stone. Despite the fear prickling at the base of his spine, his curiosity wins out.

“Tell me.”

Buckley meets his eye, ice blue and chocolate brown meeting in a deadly dance. She nods.

“Fine, I’ll talk while we work. I’ll grab some water, and I need you to figure out how much of this shit we can give him without it being dangerous.”

By the time she kneels down beside him again with a pristine glass of water, Eddie has measured out several hundred milligrams of hydrocodone and lined them up on the arm of the couch. Harrington’s eyelids flutter against the bruises on his cheekbones.

“Hi, Stevie. You ready to take some medicine for me? Can you sit up a little so you can swallow?” Robin’s voice is gentle as she settles herself behind Harrington’s head.

Eddie’s hands flutter uselessly against his knees and she carefully shifts to rest the other man’s head against her thigh. He grabs the glass and shuffles forward until he’s pressed against the couch.

“I measured out enough to send him to Cloud 9 for several hours, but you’ll have to watch him really carefully. I really doubt he’s a habitual pill popper and I’m not sure how he’ll react,” Eddie murmurs. Buckley places a few of the pills on Harrington’s tongue, and Eddie lifts the glass to his blood-spattered lips. When they’ve finished, the man collapses back against the couch with a groan.

“You’m get it out, Robs. Hurrss,” Harrington slurs. His eyes are closed, and his fingers twitch feebly where they’re resting against his chest.

“I will, honey. Just give the medicine some time to work,” Buckley chokes out as she blots at the tears on her cheeks.

Eddie ducks his head, feeling like an intruder into such a pure moment of love and devotion. Harrington sighs, curling in on himself.

Still smoothing the hair from his forehead, Robin turns to Eddie.

“Alright, Munson. You know how weird shit goes down in Hawkins, like, constantly? Well, turns out it’s because the government has been doing super unethical experiments at the Hawkins Lab, and they sorta opened a portal into a demon dimension a few years ago.” She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “With me so far?”

“Government sucks and opens an interdimensional portal. Chaos ensues,” Eddie intones, fighting back a rising surge of panic.

“Right. Steve here has been helping to fight the bad shit every time it pops up in Hawkins again. This time, it was a giant mind-control monster made out of liquified humans.” She wrinkled her nose. “When we were fighting it, Steve got clawed or bit or some shit, and now we have to get the monster bits inside of him out. We can’t go to the hospital, because it’s going to be really hard to explain why he needs surgery on a wiggly bit of monster flesh in his stomach.”

Eddie cringes away from Harrington’s abdomen. “There’s something alive in there?!”

“It’s probably not alive anymore, but I still need to get it out. Will you help me?”

He shudders. His stomach is roiling, turning over and over and threatening to spill his guts all over the already ruined carpet.

“Help you how? I can’t, I mean, I don’t like blood and flesh and–“ Eddie stops before he pukes. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I just need you to help me hold him down. Even with the pills, this is going to hurt like hell and I can’t have him thrashing around while I’m trying to dig it out. Will you help me, Eddie?” Buckley’s eyes are hard chips of flint in her face.

“I can try, but I…” he trails off. “Are you sure he can’t go to a hospital?”

“I’m sure. Come on, switch places with me. You’re going to have to keep his torso as still as possible, okay?” she says. Eddie nods numbly as he sinks into the couch cushion she had vacated. He’s never touched Steve Harrington before, and his hands tremble as he presses his fingers against the other man’s shoulders. Harrington lets out a small sound of complaint, but some of the pain seems to have been leached from his system.

“He tried to do this himself at first, you know? That’s why it looks so bad. He didn’t want to tell anyone anything was wrong, wanted to take care of it himself. Idiot.” Buckley looks fond and exasperated in equal measure. “Are you ready?”

She’s holding a small knife in one hand and a pair of tweezers in the other. A chill worms its way up his spine, but he tightens his hands over Harrington’s shoulders.

“Make it quick, Buckley. I don’t want to blow chunks over the sterile surgical area.”

She chokes on an unwilling laugh. “Alright, Steve. Are you ready?”

Harrington nods his head dazedly. His fingers fumble against Eddie’s wrist, locking his fingers against Eddie’s. His heart skips a beat, and he tightens his grip around Steve’s frozen fingers.

Robin grits her teeth. She shoves Steve’s shirt up past his ribs, exposing an ugly, festering gash that oozes and pulses with red. Eddie closes his eyes as she lowers the knife. Steve screams.

~~~

Eddie slumps against the ugly plaid wall of Steve Harrington’s bedroom, swearing.

“We didn’t pop a stitch, did we?” he wheezes.

Buckley’s hands flutter over the stark-white cotton bandages they had hastily wrapped around the clumsily-stitched wound.

“No, I think it held. I told you I like embroidery.”

“So not the same, but whatever,” Eddie pants.

“I need to shower and change. Do you mind sitting with him, just for a bit? Then you can leave and I won’t stop you, I swear.”

Eddie waves her toward the door. “I’m in too deep now, Birdie. I’ll watch him, go on.” The exhaustion creasing her features is clear.

He drags the rickety wooden chair from the desk over to the side of the bed and pulls up Harrington’s shirt, checking that the bandages are still in place. The man lets out a small protest as Eddie’s slender fingers dance over the stretch of bandaged flesh that Robin had sliced open.

“Hey, you with me, Harrington?” Eddie murmurs softly.

Steve’s eyes flutter open, dazed. His brow wrinkles as his gaze lands on Eddie.

“What’re you doin’ here, Munson? Robbie is…” he trails off with a wince.

“Buckley’s showering off the monster goop. You know, you seem much cooler now that I know you hunt eldritch horrors beyond my comprehension in your spare time,” Eddie grins weakly, searching for his famous Munson bravado. “I will admit, though, it kinda goes against my personal Munson Doctrine to admit you might actually be a pretty good dude. Fabulous hair and a selfless superhero? Some people really get all the luck.”

The aforementioned superhero frowns again. “She told you? Tha’s dangerous. Government might be… mad.”

“I won’t tell anybody. Do you really think Hawkins’ resident dealer is buddies with “Just Say No” Reagan?” Eddie snorts.

“Still dangerous.” Another sigh. “Why’re you here?”

“I supplied the illicit drugs for your super sterile living room surgery and was too much of a chickenshit to leave without knowing if I accidentally killed you with an overdose,” he shrugs. “Now I’m in your secret monster club, according to Birdie.”

Harrington’s eyes were already slipping shut again. His hand fumbles clumsily across the sheets until it finds Eddie’s wrist.

“Stay? Don’t want… alone.”

He hesitates for only a moment as something stirs in his chest. “Sure thing, princess. I’ll stay.”

Steve’s lips split into a dreamy smile before he slips back into unconsciousness.

~~~

Ah I do love to write these two :) Might continue this if I get any more brain wiggles about it. As always, I have a permanent tag list for all things Steddie I write that you can be added to if you would like, just let me know. Also, if you're sick of my tags, also let me know no hard feelings :) Smooches my friends

Tag list: @brassreign @inmoonywetrust @kyoxyukiforever @spectrum-spectre @vampireinthesun @luna-munson83 @awkwardgravity1 @obsessivlyme @piningapple @steddieassheg0es @gay-stranger-things @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @sunflowers-and-knives @original-cypher

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