#back i have to awkwardly use my foot to reach around and pull the door open

[munch-mumbles]

ive been a little upset about it all night so i need to write out all the things that happened at work today and are bugging me so i can TRY to get it out of my head and actually RELAX bc i just keep pacing in circles around it instead of just accepting it and moving on

[blueicequeen19]

Hint

Warnings: unprotected car creampie, oral, face fucking, hate fucking with JJ, Kook mean girl

I roll my eyes as I cross the parking lot to my Mercedes. This Pogue could not take a fucking hint. His constant flirting was on my last nerve. Sure he was cute but he was a Pogue. I had guys lining up to fuck me. I could have any guy I wanted so why waste time on this loser?

“Stop following me.” I snap, hitting the unlock button on my key fob. Why did I park at the back of the damn parking lot?

“You’ve been drinking. At least let me drive you home. Or my home.” The smile in his voice is clear and I shake my head just as I stumble in my heels over another fucking piece of gravel.

“Fuck.” I stop, reaching down to kick off these monstrosities when he’s suddenly crouching in front of me, crowding my space as he lifts my foot and starts to unfasten the straps.

“Are you always this annoying?” I grumble, using one hand on his shoulder to balance myself. The hand on my ankle is hot against my skin as he finally works the strap free and gently sits my foot down.

“Usually.” He peeks up at my under his messy blonde hair, flashing a panty dropping smile as he switches to the other foot.

“At least you’re honest.”

“Not used to that?”

“You don’t know me at all so don’t assume anything.” God he gets under my skin so badly but he doesn’t seem phased as he chuckles before raising to his full height, towering over me and dangerously close.

“I know enough.” His voice is lower, seductive even as his playful blue eyes rake down my body and back up.

“You know what’s on the outside. You don’t know what’s on the inside.” I blurt in frustration, shoving his chest but he doesn’t even budge. His lips curl into a taunting smirk.

“I want to be inside you. Does that count?” My jaw drops in surprise. This Pogue was so bold. I scoff, attempting to shove past him but pain shoots up through my feet from the gravel. It’s so sudden that I barely comprehend him scooping me in his arms until we’re moving towards my car again.

“I didn’t need your help.” I grumble, my heels dangling from one hand as I wrap the other around his neck.

“A simple thank you would suffice.”

“Oh so you’re not going to use this as a way to gain a sexual favor?” I narrowed my eyes at him as a bright smile formed across his face, his boots crunching along the gravel.

“I won’t say no to a blow job.”

“I can’t stand you.”

“You can sit on my face if you don’t feel like standing.” A laugh burst from me and I quickly looked away, his smile practically blinding as we came up on my car.

“You can put me down now.” I muttered awkwardly as he pulled the drivers door open.

“Eager to get home?” He lowered me so that my toes rested on his boots, keeping me from hurting my feet. The move felt intimate with how tightly our bodies were pressed together and I struggled to maintain eye contact.

“Why do you care? This is never going to happen.” I snap, his eyes widening for a moment before he schools his features. Anger I could deal with. Anything soft was off the table.

“I’m not going to sleep with you. Not just because you’re a filthy Pogue but because you’re probably some vanilla pretty boy and that’s not my thing. You probably like sweet words and taking your time but I like to be fucked. So take the hint.” My heart races with my outburst, my cheeks red with anger but I can’t help the sudden panic from the look in his eyes. He looked pissed but also wanted to eat me alive. Like he wanted to give me exactly what I said I wanted.

“Take the hint, huh?” His voice is low in warning, raising the hair on my neck like I’m being stalked by a predator. Suddenly he jerks open my passenger door and shoves me in the back seat by the back of my neck.

“What the—.” The door shuts and he’s manhandling me onto my knees, yanking my dress up to bare myself to him.

“You want to be fucked? I’ll show you how we Pogues like to fuck.” I nearly moan at his words, my body already on board with whatever he has planned. His fingers cup my sex, teasing my folds over my thong before yanking it down my thighs.

“Don’t you dare.” I gasp, still hanging on to the need for this to be all his idea. He slaps my pussy, making me squeal in pain and surprise.

“Open up for me, princess.” He slaps my thighs wider apart, the flesh of his cock suddenly between my thighs and making my eyes bug out. He was fucking huge.

“So goddamn wet for a Kook Princess.” JJ taunts, rubbing his cock through my slit. Every pass over my clit made me shudder, begging to be filled. I open my mouth to do just that when he shoves his way inside, making me moan loudly as my head drops down on the leather seats.

“Shit. You better be quiet or one of your friends will find you getting fucked by a filthy Pogue.” JJ’s words are strained as his fingers bite into my hips and he starts to move. I can’t control the whimpers and mewls that leave me. He delivers on his promise, fucking me hard and fast. I don’t even have to demand more because he keeps up with everything my body wants without instruction.

“So hot and tight.” JJ groans, yanking me back into every hard thrust of his hips as the car rocks. His cock was so hard and deep. I could barely think or breathe until I hear a giggle in the distance. I try to jerk away but he shoves me back down, holding me in place. His pace lessens so the car doesn’t rock but he doesn’t stop fucking me as he looks around.

“Grab the door.”

“Who— is it? We have to stop.” My words come out on a whimper, my body wound so tight as I do as he says.

“Guess you’re not the only one getting fucked by a Pogue tonight.” JJ chuckles darkly, shoving me flat onto the seat and coming down on top of me. My hair is twisted in his fist as his lips find my neck. I try to listen to determine if I know the identity of the other couple but I can’t hear over the sound of JJ panting in my ear and his pelvis slamming against my ass.

“Here?” A girl hisses too close to my car for liking and I instantly recognize the voice as my two-faced Pogue hating best friend.

“Fuck, I love having you under me. Not so mouthy now, are ya?”

I hear a thump and JJ chuckles in my ear, rolling his hips so he hits that sweet spot deep inside me. I bite back a mewl, turning my head and slamming my mouth to his without even thinking. If I thought fucking him was insane then kissing was even worse. His tongue demands entrance into my mouth and I can’t stop the orgasm that barrels forward. His hand is over my mouth in the next moment, silencing me as he fucks me into the seat until I’m trembling for relief.

“What’s the matter? I thought you wanted to be fucked?” I fight the urge to roll my eyes at him as I reach back to dig my nails into his thigh, with shorts still around his legs.

“Who is she fucking?” I demand in a whisper, shaking his hand off my mouth.

“Doesn’t matter.”

A cry of pleasure echos outside the car and JJ’s pace picks up. I can tell by his breathing that he’s close. He’s already lasted a lot longer than I expected.

“J—.” His nickname is a plea on my lips, the sensitivity being too much. The leather against my nipples. His weight on top of mine. His husky breathing in my ear.

“I like the thought of you driving home with me inside you. Then every time you drive this car you’ll be reminded of this. How your mouth begged for relief but your body demanded more. I can feel how close you are.” His vulgar words had my inner walls clenching, my eyes squeezing shut as pleasure pulsed through me. My hips lift on their own, aching for him to reach deeper.

“I didn’t say you could cum inside me.” I growl, fighting off the orgasm that threatens to rip through me and give us away. JJ’s hand dips between my thighs to press on my clit and a choked sound leaves me as my body detonates.

“I didn’t ask.” He whispers as I cum hard, my body jerking beneath his as I bite my own arm to keep from screaming my release. A deep, sexy moan echos in my ear as he finishes inside me, fucking me slow and deep until we’re both spent and fighting to catch our breath. The windows have fogged and I can feel his sweat on my back. Minutes pass and I don’t hear the couple outside anymore so I motion for him to let me up.

“This isn’t ever happening again.” I declare, looking along the floorboard for my panties. I don’t find them and I level him with a glare as he relaxes back against the seat, his legs spread and cock still hard. I fight hard not to stare at the cum stains along his shaft.

“If you say so.” His eyes are dark as he watches me, a sexy smirk on his lips. Like someone who was awfully proud of their accomplishments. The after effects of bliss make it hard to cling to my anger, especially with him looking at me the way he is.

“Clean up your mess and I’ll go.”

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t stutter.”

“I heard you. I was just giving you a chance to rethink what you just said.”

A beat of tense silence stretches between us, our eyes never wavering from each others even as his cum drips out of me and onto the leather seats.

“Here, I’ll show you.” JJ lunges, wrapping his hand in my hair and yanking me over his lap. His free hand holds his hard cock firmly as he presses my head down until the smooth tip meets my lips. I grit my teeth, refusing to open but the hand in my hair tightens painfully, nearly ripping the strands out so I reluctantly open, letting him hit the back of my throat. I gag loudly, attempting to pull back but he holds me firmly, a hand sliding between my legs to stroke my slick slit. I want to shake my head or tell him I can’t take anymore but he refuses to let me up as he fucks my throat.

“More tongue, less teeth. Relax your throat.” I’m tempted to bite down, wishing I could tell him I know how to give a damn blow job. It wouldn’t be so bad if he’d stop treating me like I don’t need to breathe. But goddamn the pulsing between my legs is almost agonizing. I feel on fire.

I move my tongue so it’s dragging up and down his shaft and I feel his body tighten as he hisses through his teeth.

“That’s it.” JJ groans, his fingers relaxing slightly in my hair as I start to move with him. The hand between my legs starts to move quicker against my clit, my legs shaking as I try to finish him before he finishes me. I hum around his shaft, tears blurring my eyes as every nerve ending starts to feel on fire.

“I’m cumming.” His head hits the seat as he holds my head down, shooting down my throat as my own body is thrown into oblivion. I can barely swallow as stars line my vision and my body shakes uncontrollably. The lack of oxygen didn’t help.

Finally, he releases the hold on my hair and I slide into the floorboard on my knees, makeup burning my eyes as I look up at him. My throat was raw and my pussy was on fire but I’d never felt more sated. JJ looked as satisfied as I felt as he slowly zipped his shorts back up and wiped sweat from his brow.

“I hate you.” My voice is hoarse and I desperately needed water. I also needed to know who my best friend was fucking right outside my car.

“But you love how I felt inside you.”

“You didn’t wear a condom.”

“Hopefully you’re on something.”

“Hopefully you don’t have something.”

JJ smirks as he leans forward on his knees, eyeing me like we didn’t just have amazing orgasms together.

“I guess next time I need to fuck you harder. Take care of all that attitude.” I narrow my eyes at him until his hand is suddenly around my throat and he’s pulling me into a sizzling kiss. I moan into his mouth, twisting my fingers in his hair as our tongues collide. I’d never been a fan of kissing but his mouth was otherworldly. I kiss him harder, feeling the slight stubble along his upper lip. I nearly whimper when he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting our lips.

“Next time I’m eating that tight fucking pussy until you cum all over my face. Then I’m going to tie you up and play with you until you make an absolute mess. After that I’m gonna lay back and watch as you use me to get yourself off. You’ll use me however you want me while I don’t lift a finger.” JJ kisses me again as my insides turned molten, a cocky smirk pulling at his lips.

“I’ll see you later, princess.”

Then the car door opens and is slammed in my face as I try to figure out what the fuck just happened.

[slutmegeto]

seraphic.

you should really learn; you're his.

tw. teacher/student relationship, age gap, non-con, dub-con, bondage, unbalanced power dynamics, thigh high kink, sex toys, ring gag, edging, punishment, gagging mdni!

pairing: getou suguru x f!reader

his grip is tight. bruising. fingers pinching into the soft skin of your arm, dragging you faster than your legs can move, making you trip over your own two feet.

his name leaves your lips in a desperate, pathetic whine and has been since he pulled you out of class but he's relentless.

he continues to drag you through the halls, taking multiple turns, and up a flight or two of stairs until you reach a familiar door.

with one last glance at you, geto yanks open the door and all but shoves you inside. you stumble, nearly losing your footing as you slam against the desk lined to the right of the door. just as you catch yourself, you hear the door slam shut, echoing off the side boards and causing you to jump as you slowly chance a glance over your shoulder.

geto is practically steaming. he's silent, scarily so, just like he's been since he pulled you out of class. he doesn't look at you, even as your eyes carefully watch him, eyes following him as he makes his way to the windows in the office, lowering the blinds and making sure it blocks any sight inside the room out.

leaving you completely alone with him.

nobara, to her credit, had seemed less than okay with how geto had pulled you out of class, megumi and yuji looked on just confused. but all it had taken was gojo telling them it was fine and there was nothing to worry about and really, why should nobara doubt her teacher?

swallowing thickly, geto finishes with the final window and finally, finally he turns to face you.

"g-geto-sensei—"

whatever you'd been about to say promptly falls silent, mouth snapping shut as geto narrows his eyes in that way that you know means nothing good. you'd been scared before, but this is the angriest you've ever seen your teacher and you're not really sure what you even did.

he crosses the distance over to you, still eerily silent, until he's right in front of you, chest pressed against your own and leaving not an inch of space between the both of you. you meet his eyes and his flicker across your figure briefly before, with a blink, his hand is raising, gripping a handful of your hair and tugging so that your head tilts backwards.

its agressive, harsh and pulls a cry of surprise from your lips as your neck strains, hands raising to press against his chest.

"sensei—!"

"shut it." he finally speaks and it has your heart dropping, falling to the pit of your stomach as you let out a whimper. "i don't want to hear your excuses."

excuses for what? but you know better than to ask.

geto's free hand falls on the hem of your blouse; your uniform jacket having been shed after training earlier that day. instead, all you have on is your white button up blouse and flared skirt with your thigh highs on underneath. he's pulling it out of the top of your skirt, until it's hanging loosely around you, and you feel, slowly, his hand slip underneath until the cold of his skin touches your bare tummy, eliciting a gasp from your lips.

"i saw the most interesting thing this morning."

swallowing thickly, head still kept back, you glance at geto through your lashes.

"i was heading to my office, when i caught sight of you and itadori having breakfast together."

you freeze. geto's eyes darken.

"now, normally, something like that wouldn't upset me. not this much," he continues, voice low. "but imagine my surprise when i saw the little brat brush a strand of your hair and you blush, only to giggle at what i can only assume was some sweet little nothing from his lips."

he tugs, one sharp tug that has your back bending awkwardly over his desk as he splays his palm flat against your stomach.

"do you have anything to say about that?"

your mind races to find something—any excuse you could use.

"geto...geto-sensei, it's not... it's not what you think!" your voice pitches at the end just as geto presses you tighter against the edge of his desk. "yuji—itadori just, well, he was just being friendly!"

"it looked more than just friendly, slut."

swallow thickly, you let out a whimper. "it didn't mean anything! i'm sorry!" you cry, desperate. "i won't do it anymore! i'll make sure to decline him next time and-and—!"

geto suddenly lets go of you, hands leaving you completely as he steps back and you let out a breath of relief, shoulders sagging with confused relief as you try to find your footing. straightening yourself out, you glance over at him, baffled.

"it's okay," he says, a complete switch from his tone before. he lets out a gentle smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he nods. "i forgive you."

but you knew better—that smile was anything but sweet.

frazzled, you nod, hesitant, body shaking violently as he turns, watching him lock the door to his office, and you know that can't mean anything good.

"now, y/n," he speaks up, back still turned to you but turning to glance at you over his shoulder. "i want you to get undressed, leaving on only your thigh highs, okay?"

you feel sick.

"geto-sensei, please—"

"y/n," he's turned to face you now, voice sharp. "now."

forcing back the bile that rises in the back of your throat, you lower your gaze, hands shakily raising to your blouse. you know you have no choice, having learned long ago what happened when you didn't listen to geto, memories of his frightening curses flashing in your mind that makes you move faster, fingers hastily unbottoning your shirt.

you slip your shirt off your shoulders, wiggling out of your skirt, all whilst geto watches closely. his eyes never stray from you, stood by the door, and he doesn't move, not an inch, even as you unclasp your bra and free your breasts from their restraints. then, finally, your fingers slip into the hem of your panties and you yank them down, before stepping out of them.

per his request, you're left completely bare except for your black thigh highs.

your arms twitch to cover yourself, until; "you know the rules, pretty. arms down."

forcing your arms to your side, you avoid geto's heavy gaze, feeling embarrassed and exposed in a way you've never liked.

geto stands there for a moment longer before he makes his way over to you before stopping just in front of you.

“you look so pretty like this.” geto whispers, and you turn your head away as his eyes trail across your form, drinking in the sight of you. he’s the one who’d picked out your school uniform as soon as you enrolled. you still remember the day and how your life turned to hell from that point on.

he’s never given you a choice in anything. starting from your uniform and on.

then, just as you prepare yourself for him to touch you, he simply walks past you, not bothering you another glance as your eyes follow him. you feel your eyes water when you see him bend down to reach into the bottom drawer of his desk.

no. no. you knew what that meant.

"p-please, sensei!" you're turning desperate, all sense leaving you as dread fills your entire being, shuffling back on your feet and trying to inch towards the door. "i said i was sorry! i won't do it again! i promise! just, please, don't—"

"come back here."

his voice cuts in and you let out a cry, frozen in the spot.

"now."

you meet his eyes and now it'll only be worse if you don't listen now, so, forcing your legs to move, you make your way back over to him. you try to ignore the many things he's laid out on the desk, or the way you're crying, stopping just as you reach the edge of the desk.

"lay back on the desk, tummy up."

you do so numbly. grabbing the edge of the desk, you lift your knee, and ignore how cold the desk is against your skin or how bare you are, shifting until your back is flat against the desk and you're staring up directly at geto.

he's smiling, pleased, eyes drifting across your bare form.

"good girl," he praises, "that wasn't so hard was it?"

you just let out a shaky breath.

he moves then, disappearing from your view, but a second later you feel his hand wrap around your left wrist, the familiar coarse feeling of rope wrapping around your wrist before it pulls, tugging your arm down the side of the desk in an uncomfortable angle. he fastens the other end of the rope to the leg of the desk, and then does the same with your other arm and both of your legs.

leaving you bound to the desk.

once he's done with your left leg, he stands, letting his hand drift across your thigh, up and across your stomach, around the side of your breast before he's hovering over you once more.

"open your mouth."

slowly, you listen, parting your lips, eyes stuck on geto's as he reaches forward, pressing his pointer and middle finger flat against your tongue. he presses down and you gag slightly at the motion, before he's pushing his fingers back, to the back of your throat, causing you to shift in your binds.

"close," he orders, and you listen, letting your lips wrap around his two fingers. "suck."

ignoring the humiliation of having to suck off your teacher's fingers, you listen, letting your tongue wrap around his fingers like he'd taught you, sucking and gagging yourself on his two fingers.

"that's it," he croons. "good girl. such a good little girl when you listen."

he leans forward and you watch him through blurred vision.

a second later he pulls his fingers from your lips, wiping your own spit across your face, laughing when you try and move your face away.

"keep your mouth open, pretty girl."

pulling his hands away, you listen, eyes watching his figure as he moves, making his way around the desk before suddenly, there's something dark being wrapped around your eyes.

"sensei—!"

you're cut off by a sharp slap across your left breast, one that has you jumping as you hiss out in pain. it stings, and although you can't see, you're positive there's a bright red hand mark left in place of his hand, skin prickling at the sensation.

"what did i say," geto hisses, moving to pinch your nipple and tugs. "keep that mouth open and don't speak."

fearing another hit, you listen, keeping your mouth as wide open as possible, fear striking you deep when he wraps the blindfold completely around your eyes, completely blocking any vision from your sight. he nots it tightly against the back of your head, leaving it impossible to try and wiggle off.

your lack of sight has you even more scared then before, shaking in your bondage as geto shifts. you can hear him fiddling around with something but he doesn't say anything and you can't see him.

a minute later something hard and metal is being forced in between your teeth.

a ring gag.

geto is quick to fasten it around your face and you let out a gargled cry as he does, pulling against your binds to no avail. you're stuck in place, unable to do anything as he forces your mouth open and merely laughs at your struggles.

"look at my pretty girl," he coos, letting his hand fall once again against your stomach, rubbing your tummy with soft circles. his fingers feel like knifes against your skin, but you can't buck away from his touch; trapped in place. "all gagged up with a blindfold. you can't see anything, can you? completely defenceless."

you let out a strangled cry and then suddenly, geto's fingers are back in your mouth, gagging you as spit dribbles across your cheeks, unable to pull away or close your mouth. he shoves them far back, to the edge of your throat, the sounds of your spit gargling all you can hear as you shake your head, trying to get away.

"you'll remember this next time you try and flirt with someone else."

his words are dark and you're full on subbing, gagging and choking on his fingers before he pulls away.

as you try to catch your breath, chest rising and falling rapidly, geto falls silent once again. you can hear him shuffling, your anxiety building, but it's impossible to see what he's doing even as you desperately try. minutes pass before you finally feel him again and this time he's at the other end of the desk, one hand gripping your thigh, slotted in between your legs, while the other reaches for your pussy.

you jump at the touch, the sensation stronger with your sight impaired, unable to focus on anything but his touch.

you can feel his gaze on you, even if you can't see, and you let out a whimper as his fingers softly stroke your clit in languid movements, swirling around. the fingers he'd gagged you on seconds ago brush faintly across your clit, as if hovering, your muscles tense as you're forced to feel pleasure from a man you can't stand.

then, he's pulling back and you feel yourself relax, just faintly, before something cold presses against your clit. it's cold and plastic and you try to pull away, but can't, because in the next second you hear the familiar sound of tape being ripped as it's taped directly to your clit.

you know exactly what it is.

a remote controlled vibrator that geto loved.

it wasn't the first time geto's used on you, but you certainly wished the last time had been the last.

"you know what this is, right?" geto strokes your thighs, digging his nails through the fabric of your thigh highs. he pulls at the fabric, letting it snap back in place against your plush thighs. "it's your favourite."

you try to deny, but any words just come out garbled.

he pulls back, leaving your skin hot and your body tense, waiting.

then, the vibrator comes to life and your whole body jumps in the small space it's allowed, a cry pulling from your lips as the sensation shoots straight to your core. you fight against your bonds, turning your skin raw as your wrists rub against the rope, but nothing allows you to break free and all you can focus on is the vibration directly against your clit.

he turns it off a second later and you involuntarily let out a whine, heart racing.

"gojo's given you the rest of the day off," geto moves to explain, and he sounds further away. "call it, hmm, detention. you're going to stay here until i deem otherwise."

you shake your head, trying to call out in denial.

"don't worry. you won't be impacting my work."

you growl, pulling violently against the rope. as if that was what you were concerned with.

"i have a meeting with the principle. but you stay here and take your punishment like a good girl, okay?"

you hear the sound of the door unlocking and dread fills you when you realize he really is going to leave you.

your cries grow louder.

"do try and be quiet, though," he calls out, as if an after thought, "we don't want anyone finding you like this, do we? that would certainly be embarrassing... imagine what your precious friend itadori-kun would think?"

falling silent, your chest heaves, tears soaking your blindfold.

"i'll be back later, okay? be a good girl and wait for me."

the door slams shut behind him and you're left there, unable to move, say anything or see, violently shaking. your struggles against your binds halt five minutes in, knowing it's useless; it does nothing but leave your skin burning.

you're trapped.

it's ten minutes later that the vibrations start again against your clit, your hips bucking upwards as you mewl out in response, muscles tensing. this time, geto, wherever he is, leaves it on longer than a minute, the vibrations strong and straight to your core as your pleasure builds and builds, unable to focus on anything but how good it feels.

then, just as you feel your climax building, the vibrator turns off.

you let out a cry, forgetting yourself, as your pleasure is cruelling ripped from you.

you slump against the desk, skin hot and pussy tingling, your breath catching as you slow from your ruined high. your mouth hurts around the metal of the gag, trying to shift in any sort of position that's more comfortable, but it's useless.

sobbing, you accept your fate.

a few minutes later, the vibrator starts up again. and just as before, it stops just as your orgasm starts to build.

over and over and over again.

[nom-nommmm1]

Hi Oli,

I love your Lords Of Chaos stories so much, so could you write one for me? :)

I was thinking about Pelle x Fem reader, where she's Euronymous sister, and they have to keep their relationship a secret.

Xoxo and also I just saw that you write for some niche fandoms I really love, I can't wait for more stories to come

DIRTY LITTLE SECRET - PELLE/DEAD

Masterlist + taglist

AHHH HI ANON!! I’m so happy you like my stories! You’ll never know how much it means to me 🫶 also I’ve had ‘dirty little secret’ by The All-American Rejects stuck in my head FOR A WEEK truly amazing timing anon. But anyways, I look forward to see you request other fandoms soon. Also I didn’t know if you wanted to make this a smut or fluff so I’m gonna do fluff bc I’ve been in such a fluffy mood lol, request another if you’d like smut and I’ll gladly do it ❤️

Content warning !!: sweet!pelle x fem!reader, fluff?? There’s a suggestive part butt they don’t actually do it, kissing, hair pulling

The doorbell rings as the tussling of keys can be heard from Euronymous’ hands. “I got it!” I shout, opening the door to see Pelle standing there awkwardly. “Hey Pelle! You’re just in time, we’re all about to head to the movies” I say looking at the blonde haired boy, his cheeks turning a slight pink tone. “Oh yea uhm..Euro texted me” he says avoiding my gaze. He shuffles away from the doorway, letting Euronymous and I out. We all proceed to get into Euros car. “So are Faust and the guys meeting us there?” Pelle asks after a few minutes of nothing but the sound of the radio.

“Yeah, they’re just gonna be a minute since traffic’s pretty bad on their side” Euronymous says, putting his foot to the gas as the light turns green. Pelle nods, staring out the window, looking around at all the passing cars. I look at Pelle, he looks..tired? “You alright?” I ask. The blonde looks at me, seeming somewhat surprised by me breaking the silence. “Yea I’m fine y/n” he says looking back out the window to avoid the conversation.

The car pulls into the movie theater parking lot, we all get out walking up to the register. “Hello, what movie are we seeing today folks?” The cashier asks politely. “Three tickets for the conjuring” Euronymous says, placing the money on the counter. “Of course, the concessions are inside” the cashier says handing us our tickets. Euronymous nods in acknowledgment, holding the door open for Pelle and I.

Walking up to the concessions counter Euro turns to us. “What do you guys want?” He asks pulling out a 20 dollar bill. “Popcorn and a slurpy?” I ask. “Sure sis, what about you Pelle?” He asks turning to the blonde. “Oh- I’m fine with whatever,” he says quickly, almost taken out of a trance. “Alright, you guys can sit down while I pay for this stuff” Euronymous says, pointing to the tables next to the bathrooms.

I nod walking over to the table, Pelle following close behind. We sit down. I look at Pelle, taking in his features as he refuses to look at me. “What’s wrong?” I ask putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Nothing y/n” he says moving out of my touch. Euronymous comes back with a handful of snacks. “Come help me get the rest guys” we all grab our own snacks and drinks. “Sorry you guys are going to have to share popcorn, I was two bucks short to get another” Euro said as we walked down to our designated auditorium. “It’s fine Euro” I say as we take our seats.

The theaters lights dim as music from the projector plays, the movie is finally starting after what feels like an hour of previews. I go to reach for the bag of popcorn accidentally putting my hand on Pelles, immediately pulling away. “Sorry” I say quickly before turning back to the movie. The movie continues on, the main character jumping out into the frame of the projector screen.

The audience chuckles as they say a joke as a criminal swings at them. I take a sip of my slurpy taking a brief glance at Pelle. I look away as I see his eyes look over to me. I lean to Euronymous, whispering in his ear. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, I’ll be back” he nods as I get up from my seat, walking down the dimly lit movie theater stairs.

I walk into the bathroom, splashing water in my face, starting to sob into my hands. After a few minutes I hear slight knocking on the bathroom wall, a figure slowly coming into my line of vision. The figure comes closer to me, rubbing my back. “I’m sorry we have to do this” the figure says. “What..?” I ask looking up, at first confused but soon my confusion is clarified as I see Pelle, still there rubbing my back.

Pelle frowns, wiping my tears away. “I can’t stand to see you cry, but you know why we have to keep this a secret, right?” He asks coming closer to me. I nod looking into Pelles warm brown eyes. “I know, Euro won’t allow it” I reply sniffling. Pelles frown grows and he wraps his arms around me, putting his head in my neck giving me a small kiss.

“Just wait a little longer, we can convince him” Pelle says brushing my hair out of my face. I nod again looking at him glumly. “Hey it’s okay, I promise” he says smiling, waiting for me to smile back but I don’t. Pelle then puts me into a kiss, my eyes widen in shock but I kiss him back passionately. I wrap my arms around Pelles neck. Pelle kisses me harder, putting his hands on my waist, picking me up. “Pelle!” I yelp feeling his hands on my ass, lifting me up.

Pelle places me on the bathroom counter, pushing me against the mirror as his lips attack mine. “I missed this” he mumbles into my lips, coating them with our saliva. I giggle pulling onto Pelles hair. He moans in my mouth, biting my lip and touching up on my body. He’s about to undo his pants before we hear a voice of a staff member. “Get out of there before I call your mamas!!” The staff member screams banging her mop on the floor. Pelle and I bolt out of the bathroom making out to our movie auditorium. “Remember, keep this between us” Pelle says before opening the door for me.

“Of course” I say walking in. “Alright, I’m gonna wait out here for a few minutes so they don’t think anything” he says giving me a quick kiss before shutting the door, smiling.

SORRY FOR THE DELAY BBS IVE BEEN SUPER BUSY N THERES BEEN A BUNCH OF DRAMA W MY FRIENDS BUT IMMA TRY TO UPLOAD

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[kelcemenow]

As The Snow Falls - Chapter 7.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 1661

Warnings Strong language and a whole lot of fluff.

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

With Travis stood behind you and his arms wrapped around your waist, he gently placed a kiss on the side of your neck. You giggled and reached for the door handle. Travis was ready and dressed for skiing but you still needed to go to your room to change your clothes and Travis was only too pleased to accompany you there.

Turning the door handle you placed your finger against your lips. "Shhh!" You warned him as you knew the rest of the group would still be asleep.

Travis grinned and held you tight before you both headed towards your bedroom door. Your feet became tangled with his as you tried to walk in tandem and as you stifled a loud laugh by clamping your hand over your mouth, someone appeared briskly from around the corner.

"Jasmine!" You exclaimed, a little louder than anticipated.

Travis quickly stepped away from you and you noticed Jasmine's eyes narrow profusely. You cleared your throat and awkwardly smoothed out your pyjamas.

"What's this?" Jasmine said with an uncomfortable breathy laugh.

Travis scratched the back of his neck, "Uhhhh...we were just joking around."

"Joking around? Looks like some pretty serious flirting going on?" Jasmine folded her arms, "Is there something going on that I don't know about?"

You glanced to Travis quickly, "Jas-"

"Whatever, I don't care. I need coffee." She fluttered her eyelashes, "Travis, would you make some for me? Your coffee is so good!"

Travis exhaled and shrugged his shoulders, "Sure."

You rolled your eyes, "Yeah, I gotta go...and...get dressed."

Lowering your head, you marched straight to your room, your heart rising in your chest. As soon as you reached the door, you swung it open and rushed inside of the room, leaning your head against the cold wood once it was closed.

"Fuck." You whispered to yourself with a smile.

______________________________________________________________

The crisp snow crunched loudly underneath your boots as you retrieved your skis and poles from the shelter just outside of the cabin. You breathed in the cold breeze, feeling the sting of the bitter air as it filled your nostrils. As you clipped your boots into the skis, you felt a hand on your shoulder, making you jump slightly as you turned your head quickly.

"Shit, sorry!" Jason's face beamed back at you.

You clutched your chest and breathed a sigh of relief, "You scared the hell out of me, man!" You laughed.

"So? You and Travis, huh?"

You lowered your eyebrows, "What about me and Travis?"

Jason laughed, "Oh, come on! You think I'm blind?"

You turned back to reach for your poles, mostly to hide the growing smile on your face that you were failing to hide.

"I can see something a'brewing there, man!" Jason raised his eyebrows at you. "Come on, spill! And be mindful, the guy is still my brother. I don't want all of the disgusting details!"

You shifted yourself closer to him, lowering your voice, "Honestly, Jason...I don't know what's going on, but I can't stop smiling!"

An arm quickly swung around your shoulder as the 6 foot 3 inch Center pulled you in closer, "Me neither! My favourite girl and my little brother...getting it on."

You let out a throaty laugh, "Don't dude...Jasmine seems to think she's got dibs on him and she's already sniffing around us like a bloodhound. And I don't really want to deal with another Jasmine tantrum right now."

"Oh, hell nah!" Jason stepped in front of you, "We only have one day left here and I'll be dammed if I let something ruin the vibe."

You grinned and nodded your head, just as Travis appeared from behind Jason's shoulder.

"Ready to go?" His voice deep and thick with excitement.

Jason's eyebrows jumped up quickly before he turned to face his brother, "Enjoy, man." He said, slapping his palm against the side of Travis' bicep and disappearing back into the cabin.

Travis threw you a wink, your heart leaping at the sight. As he made his way closer to you, your chest tightened, the cool air filling your lungs. You shuffled your feet awkwardly, looking down at the skis that were restricting your movements until Travis was suddenly inches away from you. He raised his arm and reached behind you, his intoxicating scent almost hypnotising you. You took a deep breath, rooted to the spot and watched as the muscles in his neck pulsated as he grabbed his own skis. He glanced down at you and smiled a little.

"What?" You breathed a laugh as you spoke.

Travis' smile widened, "Nothing." He pressed his lips together, as if he had more to say.

"Go on?" You nodded.

He looked away, avoiding your gaze for a second, "You just look...beautiful."

Your cheeks quickly flushed and you looked down to your feet, the snow laying flat from where you had been standing. Your immediate reaction was the brush his compliment off, but you remembered what he had said earlier. He wasn't going to stop so you needed to get used to it. You raised your head to meet his gaze again, his icy stare somehow spreading a warmth across your chest. "Come on, I'll race you to the ski lift."

You darted away, sliding smoothly across the fresh snow, your eyes beginning to water from the cool air whipping past you. You confidently guided yourself towards the lift entrance, pulling your ski goggles down to shield your eyes from the bright morning sunshine. You glanced back quickly, noticing that Travis had barely made it away from the lodge. Bending your knees slightly, you increased your speed before angling the back of your skis quickly to the right, powder spraying onto the lift gates as you stopped dead. Pulling your goggles back onto the top of your head, you watched as Travis slowly but steadily made his way down the small hill towards you, his hands gripping onto the poles.

Your eyes widened as you noticed that he wasn't slowing down. You held an arm up and waved it from side to side in an attempt to get Travis' attention.

"Put your toes together, make a point with the front! Toes together, Travis!" You yelled out, your voice thick with panic.

Travis obeyed, a small mound of snow piling up in front of him, eventually bringing him to a halt next to you. You smiled as he pulled off one of his gloves and wiped his brow, taking a long breath before meeting your gaze.

"What? Okay, so it's been a while since I've skied." He said, shrugging his shoulders and putting his glove back on.

"I didn't say anything." You giggled as you pushed the gates to the ski lift open, "Not a thing."

Travis followed closely behind you, "You didn't have to. Your face said it all."

You exhaled another laugh, your warm breath visible in the cold air, "Come on, stop your pouting and get in." You patted the seat next to you.

"How come you're so good at this anyway?" Travis said as he struggled to manoeuvre himself around the cart.

"I worked a couple of seasons in France."

Travis raised his eyebrows, "Fuck! I didn't know I was with some sort of expert. I thought I was gonna impress you." The cart jerked as he quickly collapsed down next to you.

"Impress me?" You nudged him playfully, pulling the bar down across the pair of you just as the cart lifted slowly into the air.

Travis' eye's darted across his surroundings, "Well, yeah. I didn't think my sub-par skiing skills would be so rusty."

"I could show you some basics? Maybe, refresh your memory?"

"I like the sound of that." His arm slowly draped around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him, "Although, would it be totally unprofessional for me to make out with the teacher?"

You held his deep gaze, the world around you seeming to fade away, "Maybe you should try it and find out."

Travis' pale eyes sparkled and the corners of his mouth moved into a large grin before he lowered his head down towards yours, closing the already short distance between you. His soft lips connected with yours and moved slowly with a gentle pressure. Your skin tingled with a sudden pleasure that spread across your whole body as the kiss progressed. Travis brought his hand up to tenderly cup your cheek before sliding it to the back of your neck, his fingers softly stroking your hair. You carefully shifted closer to him, aware that any small movements would swing the cart, but Travis held onto you tightly. Your tongue danced against his and the warm, wet sensation caused your chest to flutter. As your lips parted further, you gasped for a quick breath before allowing Travis to explore your mouth again. The kiss was slow, romantic even, and as the cart swayed gently in the breeze, you melted completely into his arms.

You opened your eyes only slightly and a small ray of bright sunlight blinded your gaze. You pulled away from the kiss, looking to see that Travis' face was still plastered with a smile.

"I'm crazy about you." He whispered.

"Good." You quietly replied, "Because you've got detention with me later."

Travis' head jerked back, his eyebrows lowered with confusion, "What? Why?"

"That kiss." You smirked, "It was very unprofessional."

Travis grabbed your waist and dug his fingers into your flesh, causing you to let out a loud roar of laughter. The cart swung dramatically from your erratic movements and Travis quickly held onto you again, protecting you as you both screamed out with more amusement.

You took a deep breath and rested your head on Travis' shoulder, looking out onto the morning sunrise. The warm red and purple colours surrounded you both, your breathing slowing down to a contented pace. You sat in comfortable silence for a few seconds before Travis cleared his throat.

"Come to Kansas City tomorrow."

______________________________________________________________

This took some time...and I'm really sorry! I've had a crazy couple of weeks and writing took a bit of a backseat. But I hope you liked this chapter, the comments I have been receiving for this series have been amazing! I'll get to working on the next chapter right away and if you have sent in a request, do not worry, I will be making my way through this requests once this series is finished! If you want to be included in my Taglist, just let me know!

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[filthforfriends]

Chapter 21: Brave Enough

Authors Note

Word count: 7.9k

Read the rest here!

After an emotionally taxing conversation with his psychologist, Damiano decided to also stop smoking weed/otherwise consuming cannabis. It’d been too triggering, a reminder of all the reasons he loved coke and opioids. Admitting he wasn’t ready for parties or group gatherings was even more difficult. He loved his friends, his family, and going to Vic’s DJ gigs. He loved playing pool at bars or dancing to the deafening pulse of techno music in a club. These things allowed him to feel the hurried, bright energy of his youth. It was proving hard to differentiate between craving community, craving mania, and craving situations because he associated them with drug use. 

He also made a habit of exercising in the mornings, before treatment. The earlier he took his lithium and ate some protein, the better he tended to feel throughout the day. Routine made cravings easier to resist when he woke up with them and endorphins lessened the severity of his depressive moods.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” That's what you told Damiano when he debriefed you the next evening, a chip to mark 24 hours sober clutched in his fist. He’d disclosed his relapse in group and sobbed, despite hardy efforts not to shed a tear. You make dinner and stroke his hair when Dami lays his head on your lap. He’s cynical, not receptive to positive affirmation. Unfortunately, this mood has become more common as the years pass. So you focus on gestures: nicely making his bed, meal prepping his breakfast, cleaning the litter box even though it was his turn. 

Surprisingly, Damiano requests you read aloud some favorite passages from the books you’ve finished since the breakup. You’d always thought of that as an activity for your sake. Of course he doesn’t actually use the word “breakup.” Dami won’t touch that terminology with a 10 foot pole. He’s grumpy and lovable, snuggled under the pale pink bed sheet as you speak.

Dami returned the favor by waking you up with coffee, which became a tradition on weekdays. He probably got up 10 minutes earlier than necessary to do so. The first morning you thought it was a glorious dream. Instead of the abrasive and occasionally rage-inducing beep of your alarm, a hand you recognized as Damiano’s was rubbing your back. It slides under your t-shirt and gently strokes your spine. You shiver and hum in delight, then scooch closer. Eyes still closed, the bed dips and you sense Dami taking a seat on the edge. The morning light pours in through the curtains – to which you have your back turned – as the scent of espresso reaches your nose. Such sensory perfection must be fantasy.

“It’s time to wake up,” he murmurs.

“Mm mm.” You object and scoot closer, curling around Damiano. He chuckles and massages your scalp with his fingertips. 

“Big stretch,” he narrates as Cheeto rouses herself by his feet. You can tell it’s not Princess, since she’d be meowing by the bedroom door as soon as she heard Damiano up and about. Finally, your brain starts to register that this might be reality, since you never dreamed of Cheeto and Dami simultaneously. You open one eye and are accosted by the bright light, confirming that this isn’t a dream.

“Hey,” you croak, squinting up at him. “What time is it?”

“A couple minutes before your alarm. I turned it off.” You readjust, head, shoulders, and arms splayed across Dami’s lap. “I don’t think that counts as getting out of bed.”

“I’d like to contest that.”

“Getting out of bed in general or if laying on my lap counts?”

“Yes,” you sigh, eyes falling closed.

“Mm mm, keep ‘em open,” he requests, affectionately. You whine in protest and pout. More than anything, you want to pull Dami into the bed for cuddles, but it’d make you late for work.

“Fine.” Awkwardly, you flip onto your back to stare up at Damiano. He’s smiling, which is good motivation to keep looking.

“You’re cute when it’s too bright. You squint so hard that you get this little line between your eyebrows.” He runs his finger along your nose, then taps your cupid’s bow. You’d very much like him to keep going, gently stroking your features. He delicately moves the hair from your face and your eyelids grow heavy. Damiano tsks, working a hand between your mid-back and the mattress.

“Sit up. C’mon.” With a sigh, you detangle your legs from the sheet. “C’mon,” he coaxes sweetly. “When you’re ready to stop pouting, there's coffee.” Your feet land on the floor as Damiano helps push you upright. After a couple sips of espresso, your pupils adapt and the brain begins working. Dami remains seated, hand on your back, and you love that he’s content to just share space. Love that things don’t always have to be full of words and amusements for one another.

“Thank you, this is so nice!” You hug Dami with messy enthusiasm, leaning some of your weight against him. Damiano embraces back and kisses your head.

“I’m happy to do it, sweetheart.” His hand resumes stroking your spine, the other moving the hair from blocking your face. “Just stay awake.”

“Okay, okay,” you groan, standing up and stretching. Dami doesn’t move, probably hoping to catch a glimpse of something. You want the physical affection to continue so badly that it hurts in your chest a little. So you give into an urge before thinking about it and sit on Damiano’s lap, throwing your arms around his shoulders. 

“Wha – hey there, sweetheart.” Aware of morning breath, you kiss Dami’s neck, hairline, and behind his ears. “Feeling a little touch-starved?” You nod. Slowly, he slides his hands under your shirt. By touch-starved, you hadn’t necessarily meant skin to skin. Damiano sneakily took advantage of an opportunity by reading into it and you certainly weren’t mad about his decision. 

Things start innocent enough, his hands rubbing your back, but then they move away from your spine. When stroking around your waist and hips, his fingertips brushed your stomach, pinky dipping underneath the waistband of your pajama shorts. Then those hands slide up, cupping your ribcage. You stop breathing, frozen with anticipation. Would he touch your breast? Would he slide his hand to the front of your chest and caress it in his warm, rough palm? Would he play with your nipples? Rub them with the callous on his thumb? Would he then slide his hand down your front and into your shorts? If he did, you’d raise your hips to give him room. Then you’d trap his hand against your pussy and grind. Did he want to tease you today or make you moan? Or make you cum? 

When you check his expression, Dami’s eyes are glued to your heaving chest and erect nipples. Knowing that he’s hard, you throw a leg over and straddle him. Then you scoot in as close as possible to rest your weight against his erection, stimulating both of you. Damiano’s eyes flutter and his hands escalate from stroking to grasping. You wait for him to make the nest move, but he doesn’t.

“If you could do anything –”

“If I could do anything you’d be underneath me and too wracked with pleasure to say anything but my name and the word please. If I could do anything the neighbors would be filing a noise complaint and you’d be on probation at work for repeated tardiness. If I could do anything we’d have already gone through a bottle of lube and half a dozen sex toys. Our clothes would be on the doormat, panties included because last night we fucked against the front door as soon as you got home. Then again on the kitchen counter and again in front of the bathroom mirror and a fourth time in the shower, which was all a preamble to what I’d do to you in this bed.” 

You look over his shoulder at the mattress cover and twisted sheet. You’d gotten in the habit of sleeping on Dami’s side. It hadn’t actually smelled like him for months.

“What would you do?” he asks.

“I…I have to get ready for work.” You try to climb off his lap, but Damiano holds onto your waist firmly.

“Did what I said offend you?” he pressed.

“No,” you reply breathlessly. The moment is deliciously intense, especially the way he’s staring.

“Overwhelm you? Turn you off in some way?”

“Uh, no. Well, maybe overwhelm a little bit…”

“In a bad way?” Dami hasn’t forced the issue in terms of sex since coming home.

“In a good way.”

“Then what would you do? If you didn’t have to get ready for work.” You pause and look down. “We don’t have to actually do it, at least not right now,” he whispers.

“I would – I want you….Um, you’d play with my nipples.”

“Mhm.” His hand slides up your chest and rests on your sternum.

“Then you’d put – push your hand down my front.” Dami obeys, his fingertips stopping at the waistband of your shorts. You stare, willing him to go further with every ounce of your being.

“Does my hand go under your shorts?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Does it go into your panties?”

“Yes.” His real hand doesn’t move. “Between my legs so I can…Actually, I kinda wish that I was just wearing a t-shirt so I could pull your pjs down and grind against your cock. And then, maybe…”

“Mhm,” he encourages.

“I’d take off my shirt too and rub my nipples against your chest until they were sore. Your – your sweaty, hairy chest. And you’d hold me like you weren’t worried about scaring me away. Really grabbing me, like you were confident, but also because you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Show me what you mean,” he demands.

“I – I can’t. You just have to.” Dami grabs a hold of your upper thigh with his free hand and flips both bodies. Your back lands on the mattress, arms and legs already wrapped around him. Damiano pushes you further onto the bed, so he has room to climb on top.  It would take less than a minute for you to both wiggle out of your clothes then locate a condom and lube. Probably closer to 30 seconds. It's the same sensation as the makeout two mornings ago. You wanted to say yes, but your self preservation instincts weren’t letting that happen.

Damiano searches your wide-eyed expression for decisiveness and finds nothing of the sort. He can see you thinking about it. Then he sees you over-thinking it and knows that this will not be the moment you feel comfortable enough to trust freely.

“Like this?” He’s panting, as well, and for some reason, that's unbearable sexy. Dami isn’t putting on a facade. This borderline chaste amount of physical contact has got him worked up, too. You almost kiss him, then recall your morning breath and cover your mouth.

“I need to brush my teeth.”

“Y/n, I don’t give a good god damn whether or not you’ve brushed your teeth. I don’t care!” Dami loses his cool, but quickly recovers it. “I – sorry. Sorry, let me…” He walks his hands backwards and climbs off the bed, then helps you stand up.

“Thank you for the coffee,” you repeat, taking a long sip, that way a response won’t be expected. As you slip by Dami to leave the bedroom, he gives your butt a little squeeze. It was once a regular gesture in private, but he hadn’t taken this type of initiative since getting sober. You whip around with an impish smile, the mug nearly held to your lips. Damiano’s expression is watchful, then validated. He was testing the waters and your reaction basically invited him to jump right in.

Rather than refocus on his own routine, Dami watches you assemble a lunch while still in pajamas. He stands on the edge of the kitchen, pondering something, admiring you.

“Whatever your timeline for physical intimacy, I will respect it, 100%.”

“I know that, Damia.” You wash and fill your water bottle. He leans his hip against the counter with crossed arms. 

“But if you're waiting for things to feel not scary with me, that day may never come. Our history isn’t gonna get more palatable.” You hadn’t considered things from that perspective before. “Part of a nurturing relationship is pushing each other, challenging restrictive thought patterns.” Damiano moseys over. First, his right hand cups your hip. Then, the left rubs the side of your glute languidly, before wrapping around your middle. Dami holds you casually, but still body to body, standing behind you at the kitchen sink. Each exhale ruffles your hair, a reminder of how much you’d missed this. Dami’s wandering hands and desire for closeness.

This must have been another thing you blocked out for survival, since an awareness of what once was made losing it lethally painful. You’d forced yourself not to remember and now the remembering felt like the first first bloom of spring after a frosty winter. 

You lean against Dami, let his shoulder take the weight of your head. Then you lay your left arm over his, fingers lacing together.

“And I don’t want to push past your boundaries, but at the same time…” He leaves tender kisses down the column of your exposed neck. “This definitely exceeds a hand holding level of intimacy. It breaks the no couple behavior boundary –”

“Me and my fucking rules,” you groan. Repeated back, you sound certifiable, even from an understanding Damiano.

“This certainly qualifies as sexual touch.” His pinky and ring finger dip under your waistband as he dips into a whisper. “But I didn’t ask first and I don’t have to ask now, either, because just your body language is telling me how much you like this.”

“Forgot until just now.” With an even more dramatic groan, you turn around to meet his eyes. “Ugh! I know I’m shit at this –”

“Not what I was saying, at all,” he interrupts, thumb brushing your cheek. “I was just gonna suggest using a Listen for My No system of consent instead of Wait for My Yes. But that's such a sexually aggressive thing to suggest on someone else’s behalf that I…” He makes a face, nose scrunched up.

“But I agree with you. I’d like that, I really would, but, um…” Dami’s expression goes from relieved back to uneasy. “When I submit, I can’t usually access the decision making part of my brain. Kinda the point, actually.” 

“Baby, we never do anything in subspace if we haven’t agreed to it first.”

“I know, but I’d feel –” You gesture erratically, but the right adjective never surfaces. So you settle on “shitty, I guess.” Avoidant, you stare at the floor in anticipation of Dami’s reaction. Of course, Princess is right there, biding her time for the inevitable moment that all this attention is rightfully turned to her. “Sassy Pants,” you coo. She rests her front paws on your shin and meows, so you pick her up.

“Y/n, I never want you to – awe, look at the fur baby.” Damiano gets distracted by Princess, who uses you like an elevator to his shoulder. She leaps onto him and Dami winces at her claws through his thin t-shirt. “Ow, ow, ow. Thanks for that Sassy Pants, now get off.” He sets Princess back down where she stares at him in betrayal.

“I’m sorry, was having him to yourself all night not enough attention?” You sass her right back with a hand on your hip while Dami laughs. The cat sulks, nimbly returning to the couch and curling up right on his pillow. “Do you see that? She’s the real reason we practice non-monogamy. So I don’t end up with my throat slit in my fucking sleep by her murder mittens!” Hoping to have successfully distracted him, you brush your teeth then slip back into the bedroom to get dressed. In the living room Dami sings to Princess, doing a little dance with her paws. The happy sounds carry through the partially ajar door.

“So, uh…” You’d almost finished pulling on your stockings when he leans against the door frame. “Sorry, am I allowed to look?”

“Yes, you’re allowed to look,” you scoff. He turns the corner just in time to watch your thighs disappear beneath a linen skirt. His lack of objection indicates that your earlier distraction wasn’t effective. He’s not feeling playful.

“What I was saying before is that I never want you to feel bad about putting parameters –”

“Damia, it’s not that.” He’s trying to soften the determination in his expression. “If I allow my rational mind to just slip away then I’m gonna…” again, words evade you “embarrass myself.”

“What do you mean embarrass yourself?” he croons. Damiano walks into the bedroom, cupping your cheek in his right palm. Meanwhile, his left hand slides across your waist and settles on the top of your glute. Another barrage of hidden memories: the early years when Damiano spoke your self-confidence into being fruition on anxiety-ridden mornings.

“I mean grind against your lap or leg or whatever while begging you to fuck me until I sob in a way that’s gonna hurt you to watch. Zero inhibitions as I try to convince you, okay? Just babbling and clinging and tears for your cock. ‘Daddy, my heart hurts because you won’t make love to me.’ I don’t want either of us in a position to navigate that.” Damiano becomes a statue. When it doesn’t immediately pass, you decide to pick a pair of sensible shoes while his brain resets.

“Does your heart hurt for more intimacy?” Now you’re the one frozen in place. “Seems like you may have just accidentally been completely honest with yourself.” Fuck. He was right.

“Could you pretend not to know me as well as you do?”

“No, y/n, I can’t.” You’d tried to lighten the mood, give yourself an out, and he’s rejected that effort wholesale. Damiano stands there, waiting for a real response, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants. Every morning he puts them on, after sleeping in his boxers, to make you comfortable. It suddenly feels so elementary, this game of pretend you’d been playing because you were scared shitless of losing him again. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For being a nervous wreck.”

“Being a nervous wreck about what?” You’re taken aback, having expected some sweet platitude like "don't be sorry, sweetheart.” Or perhaps, “You’re trying your best in a tough situation” punctuated by a kiss to the forehead. But you’d finally exhausted his patience and Damiano wasn’t going to feed you reassurances that you already knew to be true.

“About,” you gesture between your bodies “us!”

“Elaborate for me, please. What about us?” His tone isn’t hostile, just insistent.

“Our relationship.”

“Not my sobriety?”

“No…actually.” You’re even more surprised than Dami at that answer.

“Good. Why is our relationship making you a nervous wreck?”

“Because, because…” You feel cornered even though he hasn’t moved an inch. “I’m not sure.”

“Yes you are. You’re constantly reflecting and self-examining, especially recently. Some days you’re more in your head than you are in the world.”

“But the last couple days, I’ve been better at staying in the present. After our fight, I’ve been trying not to walk on eggshells.” 

“And we’ve been so much more connected, which has been fucking incredible. But you’re still unhappy.”

“I’m not…” Were you happy? You should be happy. You have an objectively good job, a beautiful apartment. You have a loving family, loving friends, loving companions. Your soulmate has returned and he’s stable. But were you happy? With a subjectively horrible job, home full of traumatic memories, emotionally unavailable parents, fading friendships, and companions who’s reassurance couldn’t make you feel adequate so you’d stopped asking for it entirely. 

“How many months do I need to go without relapse, without a crazy mood swing, without –”

“To get your dick wet?” You snap at him in anger. This was the definition of pressuring you.

“For you to trust me, y/n!”

“But sex is the way to show that I trust you? Go get laid, Damianno. Stop avoiding your other companions because you’re afraid they won’t forgive your behavior.”

“You get laid. Stop avoiding your companions because they remind you how profound our intimacy could be.” For what feels like an eon, you glare at each other in silence.

“How about we both admit that having sex with other people wouldn’t do anything to fill this…space?” It feels good to concede. Most of the tension leaves the air.

“Void?”

“Void is probably more accurate, yeah.” It’s just enough breathing room for reality to set in. “Fuck, I’m gonna be late for work.” You look around frantically for a hair tie to wrangle your unbrushed hair into an updo.

“Can you please just give this conversation another five minutes of your time?” There's a hair elastic on the floor, by your nightstand. You make a noise of victory, trying to remember if your travel hairbrush was still in the glovebox. “Three minutes?” he pleads. It’s too much. Mentally, you try to check out as an act of self-preservation. In your peripheral vision, Damiano snatches your phone off the bed. You can’t leave without it.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I’m asking how long until you can trust me?”

“For me to trust you completely?” That gives Dami pause. He seems to realize that it's a pretty big question to spring on you before 9 AM. ”Check the phone you’re holding hostage for the time, please.” So begins the hunt for your purse.

“It’s…” With a strained voice, he looks at the home screen. Then his hand drops to his side. “It doesn’t matter. I am asking you – How about when are you gonna be able to at least trust that I’m not gonna abandon you?” Despite attempts to create space between yourself and this moment, it feels like being stabbed with a dull spear, right through the center of your torso. “Hey!” he finally raises his voice in exhasperation. “Can you at least fucking look at me when I’m bearing my soul to you!?” Both cats are hiding under the kitchen table. Standing in the kitchen, you turn to meet his gaze.

“I’m gonna be late for work.” 

“Then be late! You hate that job anyways!” The shock reads easily on your features.. “I – that was out of line. Sorry. But this is never gonna work right until you trust me.” Your stomach drops. You feel nauseous and something akin to the beginnings of dissociation. This is why you’d been avoiding tough conversations. What if it went wrong? And if it did go wrong, what was going to happen? The ways Damiano had evolved as a person since going to rehab were great, but it also meant that you couldn’t predict his behavior anymore. If he walked out in anger, would he walk back in?

“Baby, that was really bad phrasing on my part.” His tone shifts completely,  soft and doting in the way you’d expected it to be earlier. “Way too extreme.” Dami knew he’d scared you. That took precedence over what he so desperately wanted to achieve with this conversation. You have half a mind to run into his arms. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s gonna make me feel reassured that you won’t abandon me.”

“You don’t know, as in you can’t think of anything?”

“I don’t know!” You curl your hands into tight fists, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of your palms.

“Giving me an answer you regret and take back would be better than this purgatory.” Demand has officially overtaken supply. You’d required so much patience from Dami that it’d burned through all the categorical gratitude he felt for taking him back in any capacity. He was no longer just grateful to be here, he wanted a partner. 

“If your answer is I don’t think I can ever trust you again, so be it.”

“I can trust you! I do trust you, but you’re also…” He’s hanging on to every word and you can’t even craft a basic sentence. “There’s you, but then there’s also an addict you. The first one earned my trust back more easily than I’d care to admit, but the addict you, he – it’s always there.”

“And you can never trust an addict.”

“No! But, but –” The phrase “never gonna work” rattles around in your head. “No, because…because” then we might break-up. You barely think the thought, but it's like a tripwire. Suddenly trapped under all the ways you could lose Damiano. Originally there were two contenders: freak accident and growing apart. Then fame was added to this list, then addiction. Now you had to acknowledge a fifth. Like the fifth side to a cage that can finally hold you captive, invisible to others, making them helpless to do anything but watch the light leave your eyes. He might break-up with you because you couldn’t figure out how to put the pieces back together.

“Hug me.” Damiano crosses the apartment in a few quick steps. The stinging of tears distracts you from returning the embrace, but that doesn't give him pause. The only reason you weren’t blubbering already was how secure he’d made you feel the past few days. Now that was out the window.

“Continuous hugging or do you want room to breathe?”

“Breathe,” you choke, wiping your eyes. Dami’s version of breathing room was taking half a step back and resting both hands on your hips. It was perfect.

“Be brave a little longer,” he coaxes.

“I don’t want us to…God, it’s like saying Voldemort or some shit.”

“The Phrase Which Must Not Be Named that starts with a ‘B’ and ends in the word ‘up?’”

“Yeah, I…No, I don’t even want to talk about it, Damia.”

“That's adorable.” You rest your forehead against his sternum and whine. He cups the base of your head and you loosely cross your arms behind him. “But I do need to know what made you think of The Phrase Which Must Not Be Named.”

“What if,” you resume hugging him instead of finishing the sentence. “What if I can never learn to trust the addict part of you and it happens?”

“I don’t trust the addict part of me, y/n. After everything that’s happened, I sure as shit don’t expect you to.” You pull away in order to look up in confusion. “Awe, sweetheart. I just need you to trust that this part of me has control over that shithead.”

“But relapse happens and – and you’ll always be an addict and an alcoholic. This is permanently a part of you.”

“Can you trust that I’m always gonna do my damndest not to lose control? And if I do I’m gonna find my way back?” 

“It hasn’t even been three weeks.” Dami opens his mouth, closes it, and nods.

“Yeah thats a fucking good point. Damn.” He’s reeling. It’s interesting to see it happen to someone else. “I’m over here fuckin’...demanding to know when you’re gonna trust me again when I haven’t even given you a full month of stability.” You place a hand on Dami’s cheek, trying to redirect his gaze back to yours so he doesn’t get lost in self-loathing. He turns his head, but looks down. “I’m fucking comparing ‘well, I feel this way about her so –’”

“How do you feel about me?” His eyes flit up and you think the romantic in him might win.

“I feel the same way.” Or not. “Because it's easy to fall in love with somebody again and trust them again when they’re the same person. When they don’t have all this new baggage like I do.” Staring at his feet, Damiano mutters, “Nothing to compensate or…”

“You do not need to compensate, what a ridiculous thing to say!” 

“Okay.” You watch him only partially internalize your words, in the same way he raises his eyes, but doesn’t quite look at you.

“Hey, you getting sober created new character traits that I love and am attracted to.”

“Enough to balance out the shit?” You scoff, taken aback.

“Yes! You’re not a fucking equation, Damia. You are a beautiful, compelling man who contains multitudes with this incredible capacity to create multitudes. Don’t separate yourself into these categories of worthwhile or not worthwhile.”

“Y/n.”

“It’s so linear. You’re reduced to a collection of likable traits when –”

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he announces. You allow yourself to be pulled in by the back of the head, eyes falling to his mauve, shapely lips. It’s sweet, slow, polite. It’s a gesture. It’s a this-kiss-conveys-my-love-and-respect-because-it's-not-the-kiss-I-wanted-to-give-you gesture. It’s a gesture that reveals he’s forgotten the comment you made earlier this morning.

“Lets,” one syllable and you feel short of breath. “Let's have the big scary talk tonight – tomorrow night! Let's have it tomorrow night.”

“Alright.” Damiano coaxes you back in by holding your chin and brushing his pointer finger back and forth. It tickles faintly and makes you smile into the equally chaste kiss. “Don’t forget, you have therapy today.”

***

“I’m only here to avoid the missed appointment fee, honestly.” You slouch, as if trying to disappear into the chartreuse loveseat. 

“Oh?” Your therapist puts pen to paper and waits for elaboration. You stare at the floor and feel the pressure of tears behind your eyes. It's been like that since leaving the apartment, as though you were one inconvenience away from crying.

“Your disposition is certainly much different from our recent sessions.” Dr. Borough gives you another chance to speak, which you don’t take. She’s wearing all beige, minus an oversized necklace of reflective black beads. The color palette certainly suits the mood.

“Is it Damiano, work, anxiety that's been weighing on you?”

“All of the above.” After arriving 13 minutes late for work, Izolda called you into her stuffy, windowless office. She chastised you for being tardy twice in two weeks and you didn’t have the balls to point out that she’d personally excused the first instance. There were vague references to your performance review and callous comments about “allowing personal experiences to impede project outcomes.”

“Wow. So it's been a tough week?”

“It’s been emotionally laborious…So, yeah. Tough, I guess.”

“But productive?”

“Not when it comes to my job. That place is so devoid of humanity that I can feel part of my soul dying.”

“Sounds like you might need a change. Have you tried searching for –”

“I can’t handle a career change right now!”

“So what can you handle?” Finally, you burst into tears. “Oh, dear.” Dr. Borough pushes the box of tissues across the coffee table. “So what's going on in the other facets of your life? Are you and Damiano on good terms?”

“Yeah. He woke me up with espresso this morning, it was really sweet.” You wipe your face, which leaves a black smudge of hastily applied mascara on the white tissue.  

“And his sobriety?”

“He relapsed trying to reintegrate too fast. It was just booze and he’s been sober since.”

“Wow.” She scribbles on her notepad. “So that must have been triggering.”

“It…It actually made me realize how sturdy he is. Like, he got right back on the wagon and he started really acting like himself the next morning. He didn’t go back to being an asshole with a passive death wish, he did the opposite.”

“So that sounds like great news!”

“I was such a mess, such a fucking mess.” The note taking intensifies. Somehow Dr. Borough is already halfway down the page. “He was so supportive! And he basically confronted me.”

“You mean comforted?”

“No. Well, yes. He’s noticed that I’m always in my head, trying to figure out the correct or most true course of action. And he said I didn’t need to be, because I wasn’t going to ruin his sobriety. Because he was taking care of his sobriety with a bunch of people at his rehab and stuff, so I didn’t need to prioritize it anymore. I could just prioritize myself and I could depend on him because he’s gotten to a point where he can be my support and also stay sober. But I –” you devolve into sobbing.

“Alright, take a moment. Just take a moment, y/n.” Dr. Borough doesn’t look up from her notepad for several seconds. “So, that's huge! How many days ago was that? You must be emotionally drained.”

“Yeah, from not dealing with it.”

“You’re emotionally drained from purposefully ignoring emotions?”

“Basically.” 

“Alright.” Visibly processing, Dr. Borough adjusts her teal glasses and sits back. “Tell me about that.”

“Damiano just keeps pressing the issue. He wants to deconstruct and cross-examine the whole fucking situation immediately.” 

“Is this usually the case, him pursuing hard conversations and you avoiding? In the past, you’ve mentioned having great communication.” It feels like an accusation that you’ve failed Damiano somehow.

“No, I’m just not ready.”

“Ready for what?” 

“These fucking exhausting, weighty conversations!”

“What about them are you not ready for? In my experience, you can be very articulate, especially when it comes to emotions.”

“I’m not scared of talking about our feelings. We talk about our feelings all the time, anyways. I’m not even scared of conflict. We’ve fought twice this week already!”

“Oh, really?”

“But we work it out because we can admit that we’re wrong. We don’t get off on resenting or controlling each other.”

“What were those fights about?”

“This! Me!”

“You?”

“Ugh!” You throw your head back and groan. “He…thinks that I’m unhappy. I’m making myself miserable trying to do the right thing or by trying to control…something, us.”

“The right thing?” She raises one thinning eyebrow. 

“What's best for me.”

“Doing what's best for you is doing what makes you happy. It’s doing what makes you fulfilled, puts you on the path to achieve your goals.” Dr. Borough pauses, staring at you pointedly. “In terms of Damiano. What are your goals? What will make you fulfilled?”

“Being together for real, harmonious, mind, body, and soul.”

“And are your current choices facilitating that?” You feel claustrophobic, fingernails digging into the heel of your hand again. “Why the anxiety?” 

“Because I can’t control him!”

“True. But that’s always been true, y/n.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter what my goals are if the other person doesn’t feel the same.”

“You think Damiano doesn’t feel the same?”

“Well, no. I know he does.”

“Alright. So let's talk about this desire to control him.” That definitely felt like an accusation. “I just watched you have a strong reaction. Why don’t you explain that to me.” Pen to paper, Dr. Borough waits while you roll your eyes and huff in annoyance.

“Before I ever stepped foot in this office, I knew that the desire to control another person was toxic. I was already taking steps to ignore that desire when I felt it.”

“So you’re not trying to control him? That's not what's making you miserable?”

“I’m not miserable,” you bite.

“No, you’re not,” she agrees. “But you are experiencing bouts of unhappiness, like right now. You also have clinical anxiety which constantly affects your quality of life. Agreed?”

“Yeah…” The section of carpet at your feet is more worn than another other spot in the room.

“Explain to me why that is.” You choose to be insolent instead of introspective. 

“It’s impossible to tack down exactly what collection of innate and external factors contribute to any one person developing –”

“Not the anxiety, y/n.”

“I…” don’t know. But Dr. Borough wasn’t going to let you off the hook. She waits expectantly. You check the clock to find that the session isn’t quite halfway done. Damn it.

“Why are you unhappy?”

“I’m at my therapy appointment when I’d much rather be taking a nap.”

“How has your sleep been since Damiano’s relapse?”

“Worse than usual, better than expected. We…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t judge me, but the night he relapsed we slept in the same bed. Like, I slept with him on the couch.”

“‘Slept with’ as in…?”

“Cuddled.” You blush all the way up to your ears.

“And that was enjoyable.” It’s apparently obvious from your delivery since Dr. Borough makes a statement, not a question.

“Yeah and…I could hear him crying so hard. I didn’t intend to spend the night there either, but I got sleepy really quick.” A stinging sensation alerts that you’d been picking at your cuticles without realizing. “Because it felt so safe.”

“Huh. So it didn’t feel like the kiss on the plane?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then why are you unhappy?” You glower, finally meeting Dr. Borough’s eyes. She is unfazed. “Damiano has the same relationship goals and it sounds as though he may be ready to act on those goals, right?” You don’t protest, because she’s correct, but you also don’t concede. “So this should be great news! It’s exactly what you wanted, which is why this reaction raises questions. I know it’ll be hard to admit, but maybe now that you have Damiano back, you’ve realized that your feelings towards him have changed.”

“What? No! God, I fucking wish I felt more casually about him. I wish that he couldn’t read my mind and that we didn’t have this fucking soul bond and that I could have a halfway satisfying sex life without him. I want to stop watching him sleep, getting choked up when I see his bougie shampoo in the shower, huffing his dirty gym clothes, and feeling like my heart’s been ripped out because I love him so much. I want to be less in love with him!”

“No, you don’t.” Dr. Borough sets the notepad and pen on her lap and settles into her chair with a smile. There’s been some sort of breakthrough or resolution reached. “So what's the real reason you’re self-sabotaging? Do you feel like you don’t deserve him?”

“I…guess.”

“Don’t guess.”

“Deep down inside somewhere, probably.”

“So is that it?”

“You’re the therapist.”

“And you’re far from emotionally repressed.” Dr. Borough purses her lips and squints. “So are you afraid of losing him?” You swallow hard, vision blurring with tears.

“Yes, of course. Now with these fucking high stakes conversations, what if something goes wrong?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything!”

“Based on what you've said so far, it sounds like you guys would work it out.”

“What if we break up?”

“Does it feel like you’re going to break up?”

“No.” You blow your nose and steel yourself. “I need him. I’ve let myself need him again. So I can’t, ca – can’t lose hi – him again. I can’t! It’ll fucking kill me. I don’t care if you think that's dramatic, because it genuinely feels like I’d die of heartbreak. Even thinking a – about it, can’t – I ca – ca –can’t breathe!” Dr. Borough ends up talking you off the edge of a panic attack. You think that’ll earn some slack, but it doesn’t. 

“Okay, so just take small sips of water.” She uses her most soothing voice as you hold the paper cup in a trembling hand. “I’m going to be candid with you, y/n. Breaking up has always been a possibility and you’ve functioned despite it for years. Damiano dying of an overdose, however, is new. I think that’s what’s scaring you, the fact that death is irreparable.” You manage a nod. “Alright. That risk factor is never going away. So you have to decide if he’s worth it.”

“Of course he’s…” It's reminiscent of what Dami said this morning, which forces you to acknowledge that he was probably right. Putting the pieces back together was going to feel terrifying and you had to do it anyway. “I have all these rules to stop things from progressing before I’m ready. But maybe I’m never going to feel ready.”

“Progressing?”

“To stop Dami from getting too close, from things getting too intimate. I compartmentalized so damn much and I…every time I let him a little bit closer, it's like being hit by a semi-truck.”

“Reminders of his substance abuse?”

“No, beautiful memories of how our love manifested, all the ways we connected and felt at home in each other, felt profoundly understood. Memories of being joyous and intimate and becoming better people together.” Dr. Borough is noticeably moved. 

“You choose to close yourself off to that because of the possibility of pain?” 

“Yes!”

“That’s not living.” Finally, someone had just outright said it. You should feel stunned, but you don’t. “We’ve talked about living versus surviving in terms of your anxiety. The same can happen after trauma. Seeing Dami on life support –”

“Haven’t we already talked about that enough?” Reflexively, you make yourself smaller, hunkering down to survive this horrendous topic.

“I don’t know. Based on this reaction –”

“Based on this reaction, seeing my soulmate an inch from death is still traumatic? Shocking!”

“Traumatic, absolutely.” The even tonality of her speech is an embarrassing juxtaposition to your reactivity, but you’re still unable to quell it. “And based on your reaction, that memory still holds tremendous power over you.”

“Of fucking course it does! I still can’t even think about it like a real thing that happened to me!”

“I recall you’ve been dealing with a lot of dissociation, recently. More than usual.” Dr. Borough resumes note taking.

“Yes.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because I can’t handle what's happening around me,” you reply, monotonously.

“You think you can’t handle what's happening around you because a parentified, 15-year-old y/n without an emotional support system couldn’t handle it.” She pauses. In that space, tears blur your vision until the view of the damaged carpet and scuffed shoes becomes indiscernible. “But now you have an emotional support system. You are deserving of an emotional support system, which is something that your parents failed to model in your childhood.” Again, Dr. Borough gives you space to speak, but you curl into a ball, instead. She nudges the tissues further across the table with an empathetic expression. “So you’re protecting her.”

“I am not protecting my mother,” you grumble.

“Not your mother. You’ve been protecting 15-year-old y/n, shielding her. And now you’re protecting the y/n who was confronted by the mortality of her support system’s keystone. Neither of them could handle the present moment, but you can.” Dr. Borough cleans her glasses while waiting for you to say something. Maybe it's an intentional respite from being examined.

“What – How can –” your first reaction is to splutter incredulously. “I’m not, I mean I’m – That's just human development, isn’t it? Burning your hand on the stove teaches you not to touch a hot stove. Burns are bad. They scar, they get infected.”

“Y/n, you are not avoiding a burn. You are eating takeout for every meal to avoid going in the kitchen at all. You are putting on noise canceling headphones everytime someone says the word ‘stove’ and singing to yourself loudly. In this metaphor –”

“I get it, I get it.” Well, shit.

“You’ve heard me say this before: the anxiety, the trauma isn’t your fault. However, coping constructively is still your responsibility. And, yes, that’s unfair. You had to live for your emotionally unequipped parents. In reaction to that hospital visit, I think you may have done a bit of living for Damiano when he was emotionally unequipped for sobriety. Now you’re living for the versions of yourself that are emotionally unequipped to handle the present. But it won’t break you like it might have then.”

“How can you know that!? How…I just want time to recover! I want to be certain!”

“There will never be certainty and there will never be a pause button. I know that's a really hard reality to face with clinical anxiety.” Dr. Borough sets her elbows on her notepad and leans forward. “But y/n, face it you must.”

***

You hold it together on the drive home. Knowing that Dami will be on a Zoom call with his songwriting and production team, you don’t want to walk through the front door a mess and distract him. Unfortunately, Spotify decides to play Folklore-era Taylor Swift as you pull into the parking garage.

I knew you/Hand under my sweatshirt/Baby, kiss it better

By the time the car is parked, you’re already crying. Your first group outing as a couple was a Roma football game with most of his friends and several cousins. The omnipresent barrage of screaming made your ears ring and triggered a panic attack. You tried to suppress your reaction, for which you’d finally receive a diagnosis just weeks later. When that became impossible, you settled on concealing your emotions until it passed. Just don’t freak out. For fucks sake, don’t embaress yourself. 

Having turned your focus inward, the roar of the audience was a surprise and so inescapably loud that it couldn’t even be described by volume. The sound became a tangible force, beating you over the head. So you fled, hands clamped over your ears, tears flowing. It seemed like every person you passed chided you. 

“‘Msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry,” you repeated, voice frail and high-pitched with terror. The adrenaline at least made climbing all those steps easier. Upon reaching the hallway at the top of the staircase, you turned around to scan the field, determining it was a good time to drop your hands. That's when you saw 18-year-old Damiano huffing and puffing, all focus dropped from the game behind him. 

“Hey,” he panted, expression confused. “Hey, you just…Are you okay?” You shook your head, mouth contorted into an ugly shape. “Well, come here, baby.” Dami opened his arms like it was obviously the next logical step to hold you. The gesture revealed that he’d remembered your purse and was wearing it. You could have blurted out “I love you,” right then and there. His sparkling, empathetic eyes framed by smeared eyeliner, outstretched hands decorated by gaudy rings, and wearing his lucky sneakers which were at least a size too small. A couple middle-aged, balding men looked him up and down in disgust. Dami didn’t even notice.

“You need a hug,’ he decided, wrapping you up. 

“Thanks,” you croaked, trembling arms finding steadiness where they held him. 

“What’s wrong with her?” asked a male voice passing by.

“Nothings wrong with her! Who the fuck are you, eh?”

“Sorry, man.”

“No, who the fuck do you think you are saying that?”

“You’re in the middle of the walkway, dude.”

“And you’re in the middle of my fucking business, asshole!”

“Damia,” you murmured.

“Sorry, sorry.” You wondered if he could discern your smile against his pilling jersey. The fabric made your face feel raw after exposure to the ruthlessly cold gusts of wind that swept up the sides of the stadium. Still, you felt compelled to hug him tighter, but ignored the compulsion so as not to encourage Damiano acting like an attack dog. But fuck if it hadn’t made you feel chosen at age 18, coming from a family who’s attitude was god forbid your emotions inconvenience anyone. 

Damiano didn’t think you were too emotional, the girl choking on her own tears over a football audience being predictably loud. He stood in the stadium’s walkway, inconveniencing everyone else to prioritize comforting you. Despite not knowing what was awry, he still managed to be soothing. Dami’s inexplicably warm hands rubbed your back under the Roma sweatshirt you wore – actually his, of course. He hummed music from the radio with a cheek pressed to your head and you subsequently felt the music’s vibrations. It tickled. An unfamiliar sensation burgeoned in the darkest recesses of your heart. Not then, but eventually, you’d come to know it as stillness.

Notes: Don't yell at me I warned you! Also I'll post the next part (the smuttastic part) when this post has 40 notes hehe

-XOXO Eden

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[hearts4golbach]

The Night Shift.

Chapter 5.

Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Reader.

I woke up in the car to Johnnie lightly shaking me.

"y/n/n, wake up, sleepy head!" Jake teased from the back seat.

I hadn't slept off the alcohol. I was in the front seat, for some reason. I looked towards johnnie. "wait, do you even have your license?"

his eyes widened. "uh, no. but, we're here safe." he awkwardly smiled.

I shrugged. "okay."

Jake casually got out of the car. it was clear he didn't drink as much as I did. Johnnie helped me out of the car. I tried to find my footing, but it was a little difficult. He wrapped his arm around my waist. my face got hot. I knew he meant it in a friendly way, but I had never really received affection like this from anyone, and my friends didn't make me feel like this. I watched Jake haphazardly unlock the door, laughing at him.

"what are you laughing at, bitch? I just wanna go to sleep." He glanced back before shoving open the door.

I followed Johnnie to his room after we said goodnight to Jake. "where can I sleep?"

"you can take my bed, I'll sleep on the floor." he offered.

"no, this is your room. I'll sleep on the floor."

"but you're the guest, just take the damn bed." he laughed.

"whatever, hoe." I rolled my eyes.

his hand flew over his heart. "wow, is that really what you think of me?" he asked sarcastically.

"of course not." I pinched his cheek before flopping onto the bed. he pulled off my shoes for me, which caught me off guard. "I'm a big girl, I could've done that myself."

"I wanted to help." he shot me a soft smile before pulling a spare blanket out of his closet and throwing it on the floor. he reached into his drawer and pulled out a misfits shirt. he tossed it onto the bed. "so you don't have to sleep in your dress. you have shorts or something on under it, right."

"of course, I'm not a slut." I rolled my eyes. "thank you."

he nodded before turning away so I could change. I did so and got myself situated under the blankets. "sleep tight." I heard him call from the floor.

"night, you too." I whispered.

I laid staring at the ceiling for what felt like forever. There was no way I could sleep. everytime I closed my eyes, all I saw was his smile. it felt like I could still feel his arm wrapped around my waist. I smiled slightly, thinking about his laugh. fuck it.

"Johnnie?" I whispered.

he cleared his throat. "yeah?"

"will you lay with me?"

he hesitated.

was he angry?

did he think that was weird?

"i- yeah of course." he stuttered in a sleepy voice.

I watched his shadowy figure stand up and climb under the covers next to me. he turned to face me.

"are you okay?"

"this is the first time in my life I haven't felt truly alone." I admitted.

"what?" he asked.

"I've never felt like someone actually cared. I guess you're the first one."

"so, why did you want me to sleep up here?"

"you're stupid." I mumbled.

he didn't answer.

"I don't know how else to explain it."

"that's fine."

"it just felt empty up here." I laughed.

"I get that."

"do you want me to stop talking? you sound annoyed." I asked cautiously. I didn't know I'd act like this around people while I was drunk.

"don't. I like your voice, I feel like I'm always the one talking." I could see in the dimly lit room he had a small smile on his face.

"okay," I paused, remembering our conversation earlier. "Whenever I was in 8th grade, I was searching for anything I could that would change something in my life, it was so.."

"repetitive?"

"yeah. my friend asked me to hold her vape. she was scared of getting searched since she made the smoke sensor in the bathroom go off." I sighed. "against my better judgment, I went in there and hit it for myself. it was like my life had flipped upside down. I still remember my first buzz. from there, it just got worse." he made a sound, letting me know he was listening. "I was constantly feining. but, of course, I got used to it. everything it made me feel went away. I never got high. I snorted opiates, and ended up getting addicted to those my sophomore year.  I was constantly high my whole freshman year. yet, no one ever noticed me. I had no one."

"why did you quit?"

"I overdosed one night. I woke up in a pool of vomit. no one knew about that either. you're the first person I've ever told. I knew I had to stop before I killed myself. I kept reminding myself that life would move on and nothing could change that."

he didn't answer, just wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tight. I nearly cried. I've felt countless hugs from family, but none felt genuine. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. he smelled faintly of cologne and cigarettes, which I assumed was from Jake. I eventually fell asleep, still wrapped in Johnnie's arms.

[joshkiszkachaos]

The Morning After

Paring: Eddie Munson x Plus Size Female Reader

Summary: After a drunken night Y/n wakes up naked next to her high school crush Eddie Munson with no memory of the night before.

Warning: 18+, mentions of sex, bruises, hickies and alcohol use, light smut.

Waking up slowly, you blinked adjusting your eyes to the light. Looking around you realized you were not in your room. Panic filled your mind as your heart started to raise waking you up out of your daze. You felt hands on your lower waist and you flinched when you realized they weren't your own.

These hands belonged to someone who's bed you were currently in. You couldn't see the person beside you since their head was engulfed by the pillows and their hair fell down over their face. Removing the blanket you gently removed their hands from you by their wrists. As you inspected this person's hand you couldn't help but see they had tattoos and these tattoos seemed all too familiar.

No. It couldn't be, could it? Looking to the side to gather your thoughts and to decide if this was a dream or not, your eyes landed on the Corroded Coffin banner and Eddie's guitar hanging up on the wall. Not thinking about it for another second, you quickly placed his hands gently at his side making sure not to wake him, and you slowly slid over him off the bed. You cursed quietly to yourself when the floor creaked as it came in contact with your foot.

Feeling a slight breeze you looked down realizing you were naked. Quickly collecting your clothes from the floor, you put them on trying not to wake him. Thinking you succeeded, you let out a sigh of relief as you zipped up your jeans. Looking over at the bed, your eyes widened as they connected with another pair of deep brown ones. Your face was now turning red, you pulled your eyes from his and awkwardly looked around. Eddie leaned onto his elbow as he stared at you from the bed.

You rubbed your hands on your thighs nervously reconnecting your eyes with his you smiled. "Uhh hey Eddie. Last night was great but I'm sorry, I should be going now." You say trying to run over to the bedroom door just to get stopped by him. "Wait." You shut your eyes tight and prayed the he will just let whatever happened last night go without having to have a conversation about it.

Turning around you looked at him, he was shirtless and had only boxers on. You tried to look him in the eyes but his chest was basically on full display in front of you. He smiled and came closer to you "You're not leaving without having breakfast are you? After care is my specialty." He admits putting his hands on your shoulders leaving you to wonder how many times he's done this.

 “I really think I should leave, my parents will be worried sick." You lie previous telling your parents you were staying over at your friend's house. Which is all your memory could replay at this point, now finding yourself somehow doing the walk of shame from your crushes house.

"No please stay, it's my treat." He's says practically begging you to stay. It was weird hearing this from him, did he really enjoy last night so much he wants me to stay? or does he see this as some sort of pay back for last night? A million questions formed in your head as Eddie took his hands off you and got dressed. Once he finished he walked back over to you and reached forward causing your eyes to widen. Closing them tight you waited for whatever contact he was going to make with you. However, it never came. Instead he reached around you and said "Excuse me." You opened your eyes and moved to the side letting him leave the room.

Eddie came back a second later and gave your clothes that you packed for the sleepover and a towel. "Here. If you wanna take a shower it's the second door on the left." He says smiling as he left again.

What the hell, how did your clothes end up here? Pushing the thought aside for a moment, you walked over to his bathroom and closed the door locking it. You sat the towel and your clothes down on the toilet lid and took off your clothes. The cold air suddenly hit your body as you stood there naked feeling strange in someone else's home. Looking at yourself in the mirror, your hair was a mess and your face was flushed you were embarrassed that you looked like that in front of Eddie.

However, that isn't what struck you the most there was countless bruises all over your body. Your thighs, your waist and chest were all covered in purple finger marks, on your neck and stomach laid fresh hickies. There was no way Eddie had done this last night, why would he want to after he'd seen you naked.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door making you jump "Hey, are pancakes alright with you?" He said through the door. "Yes." You managed to get out trying to cover yourself up as if he was about to burst through the door, even though you knew it was locked.

"Great." He said as you heard shuffling footsteps walk further away. Assuming he left you turned on the water and took your shower. After you showered, you dried off and got dressed. Since you didn't have a brush, you combed your fingers through your hair the best you could and left it at that. Collecting your dirty clothes, you walked down the hallway following the smell of pancakes.

"Hey, the pancakes are ready." He said smiling over at you while setting down two plates onto the kitchen table. You nod noticing your bag on the couch, you walked over to it and put your clothes inside. Turning back around you stood there for a moment stealing glances between Eddie and the front door thinking about how easy it'd be to get out of here. Just make an excuse and running seemed like the best thing to do without having to have an awkward conversation about how this was a one time deal.

As if Eddie read your mind, he turned around and looked at you "Your pancakes are getting cold love." You felt butterflies in your stomach at the nickname and you slowly walked over to the table and sat down. "Thank you." You said looking down at the plate of food in front of you. He nodded and started eating, with you following along.

It was silent until Eddie spoke up "So, how was last night?" I look up at him. "You know, did you enjoy it?" He says curiously as he put another piece of food in his mouth. "See thats the thing about last night, I don't remember anything that happened." You admitted to him as he looked shocked at you.

"You don't remember anything? Not even us, you know umm..." You shook your head no and he looked down thinking. "Well, I can tell you what happened if you want." He suggested casually. "Ok..." You said nervously but desperate to figure out how all this happened.

"Last night you and your friends came over here with some of my friends, then we all got drunk and somehow we ended up having sex." He says as his hand was slowly inching towards yours on the table.

"Oh." You said quietly as pulled your hands onto your lap. "Did you umm," you sigh looking down picking at your fingers. "Was it...okay?" You finished looking over at him. "I should be asking you that question. Judging by the looks of you, it was more than okay for me." He smirked and sat up straight pulling his hands back.

You laughed and nodded remembering the way you looked in the mirror. "Eddie can I ask you something?" You said nervously. "Yeah." He said pulling his chair closer to yours concerned. "Well, did you mind that I was umm...bigger than most girls?" He caught on immediately trying to catch your eyes as he lowered his head.

"No, not at all. Actually, it was kind of nice to have someone who I was not afraid to break and you know me, who am I to go along with what society rules is beautiful or not." He grinned while throwing his hands in the air enthusiastically.

You blushed at his attitude towards your question with shifting eyes, he sucked in a breath and held your hand in your lap. "I'm sorry about last night, I kind of bruised you up." He chuckles lightly as he stared at your neck and then back up to your eyes.

"It's okay." You said smiling slightly as a red tint flushed on your cheeks. You looked over at him and he was looking deep into your eyes almost like he was in his own world. Then he moves closer and stuck his thumb onto your lips and circled them before dragging your bottom lip down. "God you’re so sweet, I bet you taste like syrup." He scooted closer to you and you looked at him in shock as he stared at you like he was ready to devour you.

"Can I kiss you." He asked practically begging you to let him. You nodded not being able to form words.

He reached over and started to kiss you eagerly. You kissed him back softly afraid to make the wrong move. However, he kisses you with no care in the world licking all over your mouth capturing the sweetness of the syrup off the corners of your mouth. He grabbed your chair and pulled it towards himself earning a surprised gasp from you.

He took this chance to stick his tongue in your mouth and explore every crook and cranny there was. You moaned softly and kissed him passionately no longer afraid of the thoughts in your mind as they were now crowded with desire. Now lost in the kiss, he wrapped his hands around your waist and tried to pull you into him. You stood up a bit and leaned forward as you continued kissing him.

He pulled you down towards him as he signaled for you to sit down on him. You pulled away and he catched his breath looking up at you worried "Are you okay?" You looked away and sat back down in the chair "Yeah." He held your hands in your lap and he looked over at you with curiousity written all over his face "Then what's the problem?" Playing with his rings nervously you spoke "I'm too heavy for you." His eyebrows furrowed as he laughed to himself

"Babe that's like the whole point." He laughs nervously leaning in. "The pressure it umm feels good." He admits with shifting eyes. You looked up at him "Oh." staying silent trying to decide your next move. However Inside Eddie's head there was a war going on between his emotions. He wanted you to sit on him again but he tried to push those thoughts away and out of his head unsure of how you were feeling.

Fuck it, you thought as you got up surprising Eddie throwing one leg over his lap and straddling him. "Wha-" he let out a little moan as you fully sat down on top of him. Eddie was at a lost for words as he stared at you in shock and admiration. You stared deep into his chocolate eyes and slowly leaned in. You put your forehead against his and breathed him in as your lips hoved over his.

A minute went by before any of you did anything, Eddie broke it by kissing you softly and placing a hand on your jaw. You slowly kissed him back and then matched his pace when he sped up. Soon enough, you two were making out and as you slowly moved against him. It was almost like something snapped in him as he started kissing you hard and fast. Standing you two up, he pushed you halfway against the kitchen counter and grinded himself against you. Moaning you ran your hands through his hair as he ran his hands all over your body squeezing some parts tigther then others.

You guys continued kissing until the front door opened, both your heads snapped to the trailer door seeing Wayne standing there. Quickly, you both ripped yourselves off each other as you avoided eye contact with him awkwardly standing in the kitchen. He stood there looking at you guys for a moment before he walked into the trailer and took off his jacket and work shoes. He said nothing as he passed you both in the kitchen.

"Pancakes?" You spoke smiling over to him trying to break the heavy tension in the air . He opened the fridge and took out a beer "No thanks doll, I'm pretty tired from work." You nodded as he left the kitchen, stopping in the hallway he addressed Eddie. "Next time, be cautious of the time so I don't run into something like that again." Eddie nodded even though he couldn't see him "Yes sir." Hearing a door shut, you and Eddie both looked over at each other and fell into a fit of laughter.

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumper arrived home from work a little earlier than normal, so they waited for Whumpee to come to the front door to help take her shoes off.

They tapped their nails against the stair's railing, it was taking Whumpee longer than necessary to come.

Whumper kicked her shoes off in frustration and stormed off to find Whumpee.

Finally Whumper walked into the kitchen and found Whumpee sprawled out on the floor.

"Did you fall asleep while doing chores? You useless...", Whumper nudged Whumpee's head with her foot, "wake up you."

Whumpee made a disturbed snore before weakly looking up.

"Mis-mistress, you're home", Whumpee whispered then realized. They hurried to bow and kiss her feet, "I-I'm sorry miss."

Whumper crouched down and slapped Whumpee's cheek, hard enough to sting.

"Why are you sleeping when you're supposed to be working", Whumper stood back up, "and on the kitchen floor of all places."

Whumpee looked down, "I-I'm sorry miss, the floor w-was cold. It fe-felt good", they rubbed their cheek.

"Cold?", Whumper raised an eyebrow, "it's not hot."

Whumpee fidgeted shyly and kept looking at the floor.

Whumper reached down and grabbed Whumpee's chin. She lifted their face to look at them.

"Are you feeling alright?", Whumper sighed as they looked over Whumpee's appearance, "your skin is pale, and you look flushed. Plus, your eyes are glossy, never a good sign with you."

Whumper waited a minute as they felt Whumpee's warm skin.

Whumpee seemed to tiredly sink into Whumper's hand, ignoring her nails digging into their skin.

"Whumpee are you about to fall asleep like this?", Whumper questioned worriedly.

Whumpee quickly wiped away a tear and looked up, "I'm sorry mistress."

Whumper sighed as all frustration melted away, her momma bear was kicking in.

"Okay come on, get up. Out to the couch with you", Whumper waved their hand to shew them away.

Whumpee quickly got up and rushed to the couch.

When Whumper walked into the living room they looked at the couch but didn't see Whumpee on it.

"Whumpee... oh! What are you doing?", Whumper looked down to see Whumpee on the floor in a crawling position.

"I-I'm ready for my punishment. My behavior has been.... very... ba... hmm", Whumpee started to fall forward, "I'm dizzy."

"Okay, come on, I meant I wanted you to lay on the couch", Whumper reached down and pulled Whumpee up, "you're not in trouble. I want to take your temperature, and have you take this medicine."

"Mistress.... couch... ar-are you sure?", Whumpee tried to wriggle out of Whumper's grip but was too weak.

"Yes, now lay down", Whumper commanded as they gave a gentle push to Whumpee.

Whumpee collapsed onto the couch.

"Mmph", Whumpee grunted when Whumper stuck the thermometer into their mouth. Whumpee looked up awkwardly.

"Don't look at me like that", Whumper crossed their arms and waited for the ding.

"I'm sorry, I'm not use to, um, this ma'am", Whumpee looked down.

"Don't get use to it either, I do have a heart though", Whumper sighed at the temperature, "quite a fever, have you felt like this all day? Why wasn't I made aware?"

"I started feeling bad after lunch, and I got really tired", Whumpee whispered, "I'm sorry."

Whumper sighed, "okay scooch over."

Whumper sat down beside Whumpee and wrapped an arm around them.

Whumpee stiffened as Whumper pulled them close.

"Just relax. You're okay", Whumper layed their hand against Whumpee's head.

Whumpee thought for a second before leaning into the hug and touch.

"Hmmm", Whumpee moaned, as Whumper rested her chin on their forehead to take in the fever.

Whumper held Whumpee's head up as they felt their body going limp. She lowered Whumpee's head until they laid down and rested their head on her lap.

Whumper scratched along Whumpee's head and ear until she heard snores.

"How dare you get sick on me", Whumper sighed at their slave, "make me have to care for you. You're hopeless without me. I hope you are aware of that."

After a few more minutes, Whumper rested their hand on Whumpee's head, "I hate how much I love you", Whumper sighed.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

[tsunami-of-tears]

A Court of Shadows and Sunshine — Part Ten

Azriel x Aurora (OC)

Summary: Cassian puts his foot in it again, Aurora opens up to Azriel, and our new mates finally get some action. 

A/N: SMUT. WE HAVE SMUT!! Resisting the urge to write ‘their tongues battled for dominance’ like the fanfics from the good ol’ days.

Wordcount: 1.5K

Warnings: smut (Azriel gets to third base), angst, mention of SA

Part Nine

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧

Azriel

Aurora emerges from the bedroom, ready to attend their first family dinner as mates. She’s not dressed in anything too fancy and yet Azriel’s breath catches, he’s lost for words at her sheer beauty. He runs a shaky hand through his hair as he exhales. 

His eyes fall to Aurora’s exposed collarbones, and the blue pendant once again strung daintily around her neck. Curiosity gets the better of him tonight, and he asks, “That necklace, where is it from?”

Aurora smiles softly and lowers her gaze as she reaches up to touch the sapphire stone. “It was my mother’s. My father gifted it to her when the mating bond first snapped for them. He couldn’t be with her physically at that time, so it was a promise. A promise that he’d come back for her. I wear it to honour their love, and all they sacrificed for it.” Aurora looks back up at Azriel with silver-lined eyes, he has to fight his own tears from spilling over the edge. 

Reaching to touch the pendant, Azriel asks, “But the colour, that blue, why did he pick that?” 

“Ah, only the Cauldron knows that.”

———— 

Following behind Rhys, Azriel and Aurora enter the sitting room of the River House. Nesta immediately pulls Aurora into a tight embrace. 

Cassian stands and gives Azriel a friendly clap on the back. “I’m glad you could take a break from your activities to join us tonight, brother.”

Aurora’s face falls and guilt pours down the bond. She shifts on her feet, awkwardly fidgeting with her hands and avoids everyone’s gaze.

Azriel shakes his head as Cassian looks between him and Aurora with furrowed brows. 

Azriel takes Aurora’s hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We haven’t done that yet,” he says bluntly. 

Choking back tears, Aurora slips from Azriel’s fingers and hastily exits the room. 

“Great, thanks for that,” Azriel mutters, chasing after Aurora.

He closes the door behind him, cutting off the sounds of Rhys and Nesta laying into Cassian. “You’re an idiot.” “Brother, you could have some more tact.”

Azriel finds Aurora curled up on the stairs, crying softly. Her makeup streaked down her cheeks. 

Azriel sits beside her, wrapping his arms around her, “Shhh, it’s okay. 

Aurora looks up at him, her teary eyes make his heart pang. 

“I’m sorry for making you wait,” she sobs. “Any female would jump at the chance to be your mate. I’m probably not at all what you expected, I understand if you need to see to your needs elsewhere…”

“Hey hey, stop,” Azriel interrupts her rambling. “I do not desire anyone else. I’m a very patient male, I’ll wait as long as you need.” He rubs his scared fingers over hers, bringing her hand to his lips. “Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer.” 

Aurora nods. 

“Have you bedded someone before?”

Aurora’s cheeks flush a bright pink underneath the smears of black, but she answers quite bluntly. “Yes, I’ve been with males before. It just didn’t always have much of a choice.”

Azriel freezes at her words, a cold rage simmering under his skin.

“My first time was really special, it was with a human male from the continent. We were both teenagers. The other times, they weren't always so great.” Aurora lets out a shaky breath. “Where I come from, females are considered property. Often sold to the highest bidder. Those of us who were sullied, well we were fair game.”

It takes everything in Azriel to remain calm, to hold himself back from burning the entire continent with his fury. Aurora strokes his arm, pulling his attention back to her

“Hey, it was a long time ago now. I’ve healed, and it's made me stronger.”

Azriel willed himself to be calm. Aurora’s steady touch on his arm grounds him, keeps him in the present. 

“Good evening,” Feyre’s cheery voice calls from the top of the stairs. “I hoped we’d see you both tonight.” 

Azriel and Aurora stand from their perch on the stairs as Feyre makes her way down with Elain in tow. 

“Aurora, have you met my other sister, Elain?” Feyre asks. 

“No, pleasure to meet you,” Aurora beams, any trace of their previous conversation gone. 

Elain looks between Azriel and Aurora with a distant expression. She acknowledges Aurora with with a nod, walking past her and down the hall. 

 “Sorry about her,” Feyre says. “She’s not been herself lately.” 

Aurora takes Azriel’s hand in hers, “That’s okay, I understand how that feels. We were just going to join the others.” 

———— 

Aurora

The rest of the evening went much smoother. Azriel’s steady hand was a constant presence on you - on your knee, the small of your back or holding onto your hand. It helped keep you calm as your mind raced and you felt stressed over messing up social etiquette. 

Though it was lovely to spend time with your friends, it was a huge relief when you walked in your door with Azriel in tow. 

You roll your shoulders and rub the base of your neck, not noticing how tense you’d been all night. Azriel grabs your hand and leads you over to your lounge, motioning for you to sit between his legs.

You let out a soft moan as he starts to rub your sore muscles, “Oh your hands are magic.”

Azriel laughs but you sense a hesitancy in him.

“I mean it,” you say, shifting to face him. You grab both his hands and bring each one to your lips in turn. “I love them.” 

Looking at your mate, his vulnerability, something sparks inside you. You lurch towards Azriel, kissing him like you’ve never kissed anyone before, like it’s the very thing giving you life. Your tongues dance together, kindling the growing fire inside you. 

You pause briefly to move up the couch and pull Azriel on top of you. You wrap your legs around his waist, bringing his body flush against yours as you resume exploring his mouth. 

Fingers tangle in his hair and you buck your hips, wrapping your legs even tighter. Azriel bites your lip in response and a moan slips between your lips. 

Azriel’s body tenses at the sound. “Do you, ah, do you want to stop?”

“Oh gods no.” 

Azriel kisses you again, softly but full of desire, before working along your jaw, and down your throat, sucking and nipping as he goes. “Is this okay?”

“Mmmmmm, yes Azriel” 

He looks at you with raised brows as he fingers the top button of your blouse. 

“Go on,” you smile playfully, biting your lower lip.

Azriel slowly unbuttons your shirt. He kisses along your collar bones before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. He groans at the sight of your exposed breasts.

The look he gives you is pure sin, but his words are a prayer, “Mother above, what did I do to deserve such a beautiful mate?” 

Your cheeks heat, deepening the growing flush to your face and chest.

Azriel smirks and leans down to take your nipple in his mouth. He flicks his tongue over the sensitive skin before moving to the other side. Your hips buck involuntarily, your sensitive parts begging for some attention too.

“Shall I keep going?” Azriel asks you, his smirk growing.

“Yessss,” you moan as your hips buck underneath him again.

Azriel makes quick work of removing your pants, leaving you in only your panties beneath him. Usually, you’d feel uncomfortable to be so bare, but Azriel already saw your soul, and you his. With him, everything felt right.

Azriel hooks his fingers around each side of your underwear, pulling them down and exposing your sex. 

“Perfection,” Azriel murmurs, lowering himself closer until you can feel his hot breath against you. You roll your hips and whine, overcome with need. 

Azriel doesn’t hesitate any longer, licking a stripe up your slit before circling around your aching clit. He groans as he laps you up, tasting you. 

He alternates between firm pressure and lighter strokes. You moan and grind against his face as he finds a rhythm you particularly enjoy. 

He doubles down, unyielding, as you come undone at his touch. 

As you reach your peak, your entire body starts to glow - radiating euphoria. 

You climax, hard. Azriel doesn’t stop as you ride out the high on his tongue. 

Azriel rises, his chin glistening with your essence as he gives you a wolfish grin, “I think we can do better than that.” 

He was right. 

You lost track of how many orgasms he gave you that night. 

With his fingers, with his tongue again, and with combinations of both. About halfway through, he carried you to your bedroom where you did it all again, and again, and again. 

He never once asked for anything in return, not that you would’ve objected. Still, you appreciated him taking his time. 

When he was done with pleasuring you, he slides beside you on the bed and wraps his arms around you. You relax into his broad frame, utterly exhausted but feeling at peace. 

Your eyelids feel heavy and you start to drift off. 

A whispered “I love you” is the last thing you hear before you black out. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧

Tags ♡ @mis-lil-red

Part Eleven

[ghastlyfilters]

TRAIL OF TEARS !

— “THE WORST IS OVER NOW. AND WE CAN BREATHE AGAIN. I WANT TO HOLD YOU HIGH, AND STEAL MY PAIN.. AWAY.”

pairing; randy meeks x gn!reader

summary; when randy turns up at your door appearing to be a tad bit down in the dumps, he tries not to make the reason behind it known. that is, until you can tell the poor love needs a little extra comfort.

author’s note: some randy content seeing as this fandom lacks in it!! also this is more platonic than romantic!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

If I live to see, the seven wonders!

I’ll make a path to the rainbow's end..

You were slowly swaying to the soft beat of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Seven Wonders’ through your headphones. God, you loved Stevie Nicks.

I'll never live to match the beauty, again..

You’d only came down to the kitchen to get a snack, but why not take the voice of Stevie with you at the same time?

The music was only playing faintly in your ears, enough for you to hear a knock at the door. Multiple friends had gave you advice on not having your volume up too loud, ranting about how you wouldn’t be able to hear shit as you grew up.

You weren’t exactly one for caring, but whatever..

Removing the headphones, you quickly turned the song off, wondering why the hell someone was at your house at 11:30pm on a Saturday night.

Plus, you were home alone. So that really didn’t make the eerie feeling any better.

You opened the front door to see Randy shivering under your porch, soaked to the bone. His nose was bright red and his eyes looked rather watery.

“Jesus, Randy! Why aren’t you at home? It’s pissing down outside!” You scolded, ushering him into your house.

“Sorry,” He sniffled, following behind. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

You laughed. “Me? Being asleep by this time? Please. I’m an insomniac for god’s sake.”

“Right..”

You cocked your head to the side, squinting your eyes slightly. Something was off about him. Very off..

“Are you sick?” You asked.

“No.”

Somehow, Randy just wasn’t Randy tonight. He wasn’t as loud as usual. Not even that, you were still surprised he was here stood in front of you. Randy would never turn up to your house unexpected and uninvited. The thought of disrupting other people’s privacy made him awkwardly uncomfortable. Especially at this time of night.

“Cmon up to my room, it’s cosier in there.” You motioned for him to follow you upstairs. Yes, your snack and headphones were both being abandoned back in the kitchen, but curiosity was getting to the best of you on behalf of why Randy had showed up like this.

When the two of you finally reached your room, you took his drenched coat from him, hanging it up nearby.

“So, what’s up?” You said, flopping down onto your back. Randy just quietly sat down on the foot of your bed.

He just sort of shrugged his shoulders, anxiously not really knowing what to say.

Now you definitely knew something was up. It was one thing if he was slightly awkward, but Randy Meeks giving someone the silent treatment? Nah, shit was getting weird.

You watched as he fiddled around with his rings, his hands beginning to shake.

“Randy?”

He finally looked up at you, ready to break at any moment. Tears began to spill out of his crystal blue eyes. Your heart sank when you saw his little lip quiver. It was obvious the poor love was desperately trying to keep everything in, but it was no use.

“Oh, Randy.” You whispered, sitting up and pulling the distraught, younger boy into a deep hug.

His sobs were muffled as he cried into your shoulder, just hearing them made you want to burst into tears yourself. Randy was never one to cry, ever.

He was willing to listen to other people when it came to them being upset, but no one had ever wanted to give him the same sort of action back.

Your friend group always saw him as some geeky idiot, following you guys around during all this years for whatever reason. Though, you would never bring yourself to agree.

Randy was only a regular teen, trying to enjoy himself most times. Whether it be making his best attempt to get people to laugh, or blabbing on about all movie genres he loved, you liked having his presence nearby you.

No matter the joke, he sure as hell always managed to get a giggle out of you. You’d remember that.

Pulling away from you, Randy wiped at his eyes furiously. “God, fuck.. i’m so sorry Y/n. You shouldn’t have to put up with this shit. I better go-”

“Randy Meeks don’t you dare apologise for being a human in front of me, boy!”

He chuckled slightly, still rubbing away at his now tired eyes. You offered him a tissue from the box nearby, motioning for the flustered male to take some.

He took a couple and thanked you, dabbing them around his nose. Now was your chance to get to the bottom of why he was in this current state.

“Okay stinker, spill. What’s wrong with ya?” You blurted out in a goofy tone regularly used by your other friend, Stu, rather than yourself. It didn’t matter. If it was willing to make Randy happy again, you’d do it.

On cue, Randy let a small laugh escape his lips. “If I do tell you, you won’t say anything to them, right?”

By them, you knew he was referring to Billy, Stu and Tatum. Sidney would never judge, but you and Randy both knew better than to trust the others with keeping their mouths shut about drama. Especially when it involved tears.

“Course I won’t.” You smiled softly at him, placing your hand on top of his larger, yet shakier one.

Randy sighed, scratching his chin. “You uh- you know Leslie from Science class?”

You bit your lip as you already knew what was coming. “Yeah, your… um- girlfriend?”

“I guess that term didn’t age well..”

‘Man, this kid would be in a grave before anyone would allow him to settle down and be happy..’ You said to yourself, internally. You’d always pitied him. He never seemed to get a break.

“Eh, her loss. In two years time she’ll be flashing her shit all over town. You deserve better, Randy. Much better.”

He perked up a little at your words. “You mean that?”

You giggled. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re a good kid. Plus, I think Sid might have her eye on you.”

Randy raised both his eyebrows with surprise. Billy and Sidney were over one another and had broken up quite a while ago. The only couple still surviving in the gang was Tatum and Stu. But even at that, it was only really constant playfulness and flirting. Nothing the rest of you were sad that you had to miss out on.

“Hell, i’d never even thought of that.” He smirked.

“See!” You beamed. “There’s plenty of fish in the sea for you horror nerds.”

He rolled his eyes and snorted at your snarky joke, but he’d always feel comfortable knowing that when you added in little comments like that, they would always be nothing but a JOKE. Nothing more, nothing less.

You took a brief look at your watch. “Oft, it just hit midnight.”

“Shit!” He cried. “I gotta get back! I only told my Mom and Martha that i’d be home within an hour.”

“Relax, i’m home alone for the weekend, just crash here. We’ll order food from wherever the hell is open right now. You can call your mom from the house phone and explain. Perhaps we can have a late movie night?” You offered.

“I’d like that.” Randy smiled.

[comfort-sun-and-moon]

🌗 “I like my shirt on you, it looks cute.” DCA Eclipse x Y/N Fluff

“I like my shirt on you, it looks cute.”

The unsure pause your companion gave was followed by the heartbreaking sound of twisted metal as his head forced its way into a tilted position.

The state of the poor robot was abysmal. Truly, he was a health and safety hazard in just about every way imaginable. Loose wires, sharp pieces of broken plastic casing and metal springing out like shrapnel were everywhere. As well as dust and dirt and grime from head to toe. The poor thing stood in unsure contrast to the bright blue shirt with three happy little rainbows on it.

After a stare off, the bot awkwardly turned on his one remaining foot and looked back at the long mirror hung on the back of your bedroom door.

“Y-you think it really looks nice?”

“Yeah!” You tried to force a chipper tone despite the looming feeling of grief in your heart over all this. “Really, Eclipse, I think it looks cute on you.”

“Okay, we'll believe you then.” He stood just the slightest bit taller. “Thank you, Starshine.”

“Of course! Pants'll be easier to pick out, I only really wear two kinds.” You walked over to pull the bottom of your dresser open, revealing neatly folded pants, half of which were blue jeans and the other half that were leggings.

“Oh okay.” Eclipse turned back to the dresser. “The pair you like the least is… probably the only safe bet.”

He made a waving gesture with his arms, trying to make a point of showing his ruined state, but doing so caused stray chips of who knows what to fall onto the carpet. His flat face turned down towards it and remained fixed on it for several seconds. Which prompted you to try and break him out of it.

“Hey its gonna happen. Don’t worry about that either.”

“How are we not supposed to worry?” Eclipse’s voice wobbled worse than the steps he took to get closer to you. “I’m making a mess of your nice apartment! And after you were so kind to us! It’s awful!”

“It’s fine.” You tried to assure him with a soothing tone.

Eclipse collapsed beside you still crouched at the dresser. Several more chips fell to the beige carpet below from the sudden movement. The bot’s head turned a fraction, and then he let out a whine that sounded so close to a sob you thought he might somehow start crying.

“Be honest. Are we even salvageable at this point…?” His voice was a much lower volume now.

“Your still talking, aren’t you?” You said with deadly seriousness. “That means you’re salvageable. You're all still here; still talking. That’s all that matters.”

You watched as his frame began to tremble, punctuated by a rattling sound as his parts clicked together.

“Oh, thank you.” His voice switched from sad to joyful in a second. “Thank you so much, Starshine!”

He suddenly lunged at you and reached around for a desperate hug. You barely repressed a flinch as you felt something on his arms cut into your shoulder, but you weren’t going to shove him away just because of an accidental scratch.

So instead, you carefully reached both of your own arms around him, pulling your poor battered friend into a hug you both so desperately needed right now.

“It’s gonna be alright, Eclipse.” You gently pat him on what remained of his back plating. “I promise.”

=======

Feel free to send in writing prompts/ starters if you like! I’ll happily write some when I have time 🙂

[ab-cee-d]

Drama Club

Pairing: Eddie x Fem!Reader

Contains: fluff, initial grumpy eddie

Summary: Sharing the drama room with the Hellfire Club leads to Eddie and You, the president of the drama club, butting heads.

A/n: my theater kid is showing

March was just around the corner which meant it was time for you to start preparing for Hawkins High’s spring play. As head of the drama club it was your job to start preparing for the show. School had just ended and you were skipping down the hall excitedly making your way to drama room. You reached the door and took a deep breathe preparing for the mess that you knew would be on the other side. This year you had been sharing the drama room with another club called Hellfire. They used to work out of an empty classroom but this year they convinced Principle Higgins to let them hold their club in the drama room so that they could use the props and lighting. Drama club met on Wednesdays and Hellfire was on Fridays so you rarely interacted with any of them but every Monday you came in early to clean up the mess they left behind.

When you opened the door you were surprised to see that all of the over head lights were up and not only that but the room wasn’t empty. A boy was sat at the head of a table sitting in the throne that the school bought when they put on Macbeth. He was slouched over an array of papers and open books with a small figuring in one hand and a paint brush in another.

“Hello?” He says to you, some what rudely.

“Hi.” You said awkwardly.

“Do you need something cause I’m kinda busy.” He said as he stared you down. You couldn’t help but scoff at his brashness.

“This is the drama room. I have to do stuff for drama club.” You exaggerated your words like you were talking to a toddler. He didn’t enjoy that.

“Can’t your stupid play wait like one more day.” He grumbled.

“My stupid play? What, you think theater is stupid cause we wear costumes and play apart for a couple hours? That’s literally the whole point of your stupid game.” You put your hand out motioning to the mess in from of him.

“We don’t wear costumes sweetheart.” He corrected you and scrunched up his nose in a way that made you want to hit him.

“Yeah, whatever.” You mumbled as you let the door close behind you. Making your way to the far corner of the room you began to pull out storage containers filled with props and costumes that you had to sort through. 

About 15 minutes went by of silence while he went back and forth between painting his little figurine to flipping through his books and scribbling something down in his notebook while you sorted through the contents of the container. Now you were struggling to reach a container on a high shelf, standing on your tippy toes and letting out quiet strained noises. The boy let out an exaggerated huff before making his way over to you, grabbing the storage container and setting it down at your feet.

“There, now can you please be quiet. I’m trying to focus.” He grumbled and made his way back to his throne. 

“Who died and made you king?” You snapped back at him. He turned to you and raised his eyebrows somewhat surprised. “We are literally letting you guys use our room. And every week you guys trash it and I have to clean up your mess so sorry but if I’m bothering you then you can go find your own room.”

He just kind of stood there for a second, wide eyed, surprised by you telling him off. 

“I-I uh...” He stuttered for a minute as he kicked his foot at the ground. “I’m sorry I didn’t know you were the one who was doing that-”

“What picking up after you and your friends like toddlers.” You huffed as you dug through the storage bin looking for the plastic milk jars buried at the bottom.

“Uh... yeah.” He said softly as he watched you collect all of the bins and place them back on the shelves. When you grabbed the last one you struggled to lift it over your head and place it back on the tall shelf that you struggled to reach before. He rushed over and helped you push it up onto the shelf. He was close to you now his arm still lingering about his head as he stared down at you. You nervously stared back at him really taking him in for the first time. His hair was long and messy, unkept curls falling down over his shoulder. His eyes were large and a dark brown that only made you more flustered. 

“I’m sorry, about being an asshole.” He said genuinely, sensing your nervousness he took a slight step back. “I’m just stressed out of my mind trying to have this campaign done by tomorrow and I’ve barely started it and I have like fifteen of these stupid minis to paint and I have not idea how to paint.”

His apology seemed so genuine, like he wasn’t just being polite. Like he was actually sorry. You didn’t know exactly what to say so instead you made your way over to the table and sat yourself down on the throne. He followed after you, watching your moves intently as you picked up the figure and the paint brush and started to fix his sloppy work. He couldn’t help but smile a little at how focused you became. He took a seat next to you and started writing more campaign notes in his journal.

“I’m Eddie, by the way.” He said somewhat nervously as he watched you paint.

“Yeah, I know.” You drew your eyes away from the figurine to look at him as well.

“You do?” He questioned with wide-eyed disbelief. 

“Of course I do.” You couldn’t help but scoff light heartedly. “You’re kind hard to miss. You’re loud and kind of obnoxious.”

“Yeah I guess you’re right.” He laughed. A genuine laugh that relieved you seeing as you had sort of insulted him. 

“I know you too.” He added softly, turning back to his notebook to hide the warmth creeping up his neck.

“You do?” You asked matching his previous surprise.

“Yeah, I mean-” He shrugged a little. “I sat behind you in chemistry last year. And you sit at the cafeteria table next to mine and-” 

“Are you stalking me Munson?” You smiled through a laugh.

“What? No! Of course I’m not stalking you. I’m just... observant.” His final word came out as more of a question than a statement. You hummed a little and nodded your head sarcastically as if you didn’t believe him.

“So what stupid play are you doing.” He asked, trying to change the subject.

“Our Town. It’s about two neighbors in the 1900′s who fall in love.” You explained as you went back to your painting.

“Sounds boring.” He hummed. “Who chose that?”

“I did.” He stared back at you, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and wide eyes. You couldn’t help but laugh. A laugh more genuine than any other that you could remember and he laughed along with you. 

“What is your game about?” You asked once you had both caught your breathe.

“Its actually called a campaign.” He corrected which led you to roll your eyes playfully. “The party is fighting a cult who worships a dark spellcaster called Vecna.”

You raised your eyebrows, for whatever reason that was not the answer you had expected. You smiled and chuckled a little.

“Why are you laughing?” Eddie asked.

“That does make Our Town seem pretty boring.” You smiled back at him.

You continued talking about theatre and Dungeons and Dragons for almost two hours before you unfortunately had to go home to avoid a stern talking-t from your parents. You said goodbye to Eddie and couldn’t help but smile your whole way home. From that day on, whenever Eddie was planning a campaign or you were working on stuff for the play you would join the other too keep them company. You and Eddie would throw notes at each other from one cafeteria table to other. And on Mondays, when you came into the drama room, it was spotless.

[wildfloweroutlaw]

The Robbery

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

pairing: arthur morgan x female reader

drabble: mutual pining, friends to lovers type of thing.

summary: you and arty rob a homestead together, where you both try to keep your secrets hidden.

a/n: yes i used the cheesy closet trope. no, i’m not mad about it. thank you all for the love i received on my last arthur fic <3 i had lots of fun writing this, i hope you have lots of fun reading it!

word count: 2,367. a bit of a longer read.

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

“So whatchu think? We try to be quiet about this or go in guns blazin?” Arthur asked as he studied your face. It was well past midnight and you both lurked in the shadows of the tree line, standing shoulder to shoulder.

Your eyes were trained forward on the task at hand, the homestead. It was a simple two story farm house, cute and quaint. However, you already knew they were sitting on a reasonable amount of valuables. “Definitely quiet. There may only be three of them inside but the father is no shrinking violet. Chances are, his guns would be blazin too.”

Arthur just nodded in response. “We’ll play it safe then. You scoped this place out right?” He glanced over at you, almost sounding worried.

“Course I did Arthur. You act like this is my first time robbin’ a house.” You rolled your eyes a bit at your friend. You may not be the strong arm that Arthur was but you certainly were as good of a thief, if not better. “There’s this door here, the back one. Then the main door is around the front there. From what I can tell the bedrooms are upstairs so we should be able to hit the main level without too much fuss.”

“Alrighty then, sounds like a plan. After you darlin’…” Arthur dramatically motioned for you to head towards the house, a big grin on his face.

You scoffed a bit at the pet name your friend occasionally referred to you as, though only to cover up that fact that it made your stomach do a flip. You pulled your bandanna up over your face, just in case, and headed out of the tree line and to the back door of the house. Arthur mirrored your actions and followed close behind you. Your hand reached for the cool metal knob, and turned as gently as you could. “Damnit.” You cursed to yourself, pushing on the door a bit.

“What?” Arthur leaned down so his face was closer to yours, to hear you better.

You pressed the back of your hand against your forehead, eyebrows knitting together. “It’s locked.”

“‘S okay. Check these windows and I’ll go see about the front door.” Arthur rubbed your shoulder gently before he stalked off around the house.

You let out a big sigh and rubbed your shoulder where Arthur’s hand was just a moment ago. You did your best to stomp down the butterflies that fluttered in your ribcage. You shook your head, scolding yourself for not focusing on the job and got to work tugging on all the windows, hoping just one was unlocked or at least loose. To your dismay, every single one was locked. Cursing under your breath, you decided to go meet up with Arthur out front to see how his luck turned out. Just as you rounded the corner you ran right smack into him. The impact startled you a bit and you instinctively put your hands up against his broad chest. You felt Arthur’s big arms wrap around your back and waist, steadying both of you.

“Shit- I’m sorry (y/n).” Arthur whispered, once again tilting down a bit so his face was closer to your own. His arms were still keeping you caged close to him. “Now I’m the one actin’ like I’ve never robbed a house before.” He chuckled quietly before quickly letting you slip from his grasp. He didn’t realize he had still been holding you, but damn if he didn’t already miss the feeling of you against him. If it wouldn’t have been so dark you might have caught the red that crept up his face. He cleared his throat, awkwardly shifting from one foot the other. “Any luck?”

You shook your head no, brain churning trying to get a hold on your roaring heart. You could not deny that you had feelings for Arthur, no matter how hard you tried to lie to yourself. But he was your friend, nothing more. You wondered why you liked to torture yourself like this by thinking his touches were ever anything but friendly. “What about you?”

Arthur shook his head as well.

You scratched your head and looked around desperately for an answer. You’d rather not do this the hard way. Sure you may be able to knock on the door, hope they answer, pretend to need help, and have Arthur hold them at gunpoint whilst you search the house. But from what you’ve heard around town this guy had a few loose screws himself, you didn’t want to risk you or Arthur getting shot over a simple job like this. Suddenly your eyes landed on the upstairs windows, just above the porch, and an idea popped into your head. “They probably don’t lock those up there.” You pointed up at the window, and turned to look at Arthur.

Arthur followed your finger all the way up to the second floor, and sighed. “Okay and how exactly are you plannin’ on getting up there?”

“You. You’re gonna give me a lift and then I’ll come down here and let you in. It’ll be easy.” You shot him a big grin.

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Alright then, come on.” He waved you forward.

You followed Arthur to the very edge of the porch, where he stood with his back to the structure. His gaze remained up, making sure he was close enough to the roof of the porch. He put his hand on the small of your back to pull you a bit closer. He bent down and melded his hands into the shape of a step. His face almost brushed against your thigh and he prayed his hat would hide the bright red that rested on his face. He wanted to slap himself, he’s a grown man on a job with his friend and he’s acting like a 15 year old boy who’s never been around a girl before. Course he had been secretly harboring more than a little crush on you for well over a year, and it only seems to grow each time he’s with you.

You placed your foot in the stirrup of his hands and laid your hands upon his shoulders for support. Arthur stood upright and lifted you with ease. Your hands grasped the edge of the roof and you pulled yourself up. As quietly as you could, you made your way over to the window and gave it a tug. Success! It was unlocked. You gave Arthur a thumbs up before disappearing inside.

The room you stepped into was dark. You heard soft snores coming from the bed in the corner, and saw a young man sleeping. You realized this must be the son’s bedroom. Heart racing a bit, you crept to the door, trying to be as cautious as you could. Thankfully their wood floors weren’t too creaky and you were able to make it down the steps to the door without much trouble. You turned the lock gently and pulled the door to, revealing Arthur’s shadowed figure standing in the door way. You nodded for him to come inside, and he obliged, brushing past you. The brief feeling of contact sent tingles down your spine and goosebumps crawling up your skin.

You two decided to split up and meet back in the living room where you could decide if it was worth trying to hit the other rooms on the second floor. You combed through the kitchen, picking up a few decent pieces here and there. Some nice silverware, some jewelry forgotten at the bottom of a drawer, and some food supplies. Arthur searched the back room, which had been made into a make shift wash room. He found one or two valuable pieces himself before circling back to the living room to meet you.

“Whatcha think Arthur?” You whispered to him, standing on your toes a bit to talk into his ear.

He almost jumped out of his skin, hearing the way his name floated off your lips and brushed against his ear. “Yeah um… so far so good. Let’s clear this room then we’ll see about upstairs.” He quickly took a step back, knocking in to a side table with a loud thud. He caught himself with one arm on the back of the couch, but the vase sitting on the table threatened to fall. It wobbled once, twice, then Arthur’s large hands grabbed hold of it. He carefully set it still and you both froze, listening in silence for a few painstaking seconds.

Loud footsteps over head made your stomach drop. Arthur said nothing, just grabbed your arm and tugged you into the closet under the stairs. It was tiny and cramped, your back pressed to Arthur’s chest, one arm wrapped securely around your waist. Neither of you moved a single inch as you listened to the footsteps come down the steps, you heard the all to familiar sound of a gun click as they began to creep closer. You could feel Arthur’s breath fanning over the top of your head and you could heard the floor creaking just outside the door. Arthur pressed you impossibly close to him, his other hand preparing to reach for the pistol in his holster.

“George? Did you find anything?” A woman’s shrill voice called from the top of the steps.

The man outside the door gave a grunt. “Nothing. I told you you didn’t hear shit woman.” He turned and lumbered back up the steps, grumbling under his breath the whole way, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

You both suddenly became very aware of how close you were. Jesus it was like the man was just trying to tempt you. Arthur nervously loosened his grip on your waist and tried to adjust to give you some more room. However, it seems this closet wasn’t designed to hold men of his stature and he didn’t really have anywhere else to go. You stayed like this for a moments more, making sure all had gone back to bed, before you made your way out of your confines. You both took what you had and hit the road, trying to get as much distance between you and the house before you set up camp.

You picked a secluded area off the main road a good ways away from your previous location. You and Arthur hadn’t said much the whole ride there and even now you sat in silence around the fire he had built for you.

“Look (y/n) I’m sorry about tonight. I should have been more careful, especially with you there.” His gaze fell to his boots, hat brim coming down to hide his face.

“It’s not a big deal Arthur. It was an accident and it all turned out fine anyways.” Similar to Arthur, you studied your boots as well. You’ve had a hard time looking at him since leaving the house. If you did, you were reminded that you could quite possibly be falling for a man who doesn’t feel the same about you, jeopardizing your friendship. You weren’t too sure you could go on lying to yourself about what you felt for him, the floodgates had been opened.

“Nah it ain’t even that… I’m sorry if I made you… uncomfortable. It wasn’t what intended I-I just didn’t think it through all the way-“

“Arthur.” You watched him as he desperately tried to explain away.

“Honestly I wasn’t thinking at all (y/n) and-“

“Arthur!” You now turned to face him fully, still trying to get his attention.

“I’m just real sorr-“ Arthur was interrupted by you slamming your lips to his. At first he was so surprised he sat there, stiff as a statue. After a few seconds he let his desires free, returning the kiss.

You pulled back, eyes focused on his sea green ones. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable Arthur.” You returned to facing the fire, watching the hot flames flicker, thinking that’s how your insides felt. “Truth is, it’s been pissing me off how much I enjoyed it.” Feeling like you were already in deep you decided there was no going back anyways.

“Huh?” Arthur was rather confused, and his eyes scanned your face, desperately trying to find an answer on your features.

“Arthur… I know we’re friends and all, and I shouldn’t have let this happen in the first place…but I’ve had feelings for you for longer than I’d like to admit. I know it’s wrong and I shouldn’t-“ you began to word vomit, frantically trying to explain yourself and let out all that you’ve been holding in.

“You think it’s wrong?” He leaned back on the log he was on, arms crossed.

“Well… we’re friends. I wasn’t supposed to be thinking of you in any other way.” You quickly adverted your eyes from Arthur, suddenly feeling like a child in his presence.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Well darlin we got big problems…”

Here it is. The big rejection you’ve feared. You weren’t sure if your friendship could ever be the same after this.

“If it’s wrong then me and you are on the same boat. Cause I’ve been sweet on ya… just about since the day I meet ya.” As much as his roaring heart told him to look away, he didn’t. He forced himself to keep his eyes on you.

You quickly turned to meet his gaze, saying nothing for a moment. You began to laugh a little, “Arthur we’re a pair of fools, you know that?” You rubbed your face in the palm of your hands. “A pair of fools.” You repeated. You then lifted your head from your hands to turn back to Arthur. You gently placed one hand upon his own, which rested on his thigh. You leaned in, this time waiting for Arthur to meet you the rest of the way.

He gingerly took a strand of your hair and tucked it behind your ear, hand stopping to rest on you jaw. Slowly, he pressed his lips to yours, this time much deeper. “Yeah, yeah darlin we are.” He murmured against your mouth before going back in for another kiss.

[drivinmeinsane]

Don't Go Breaking My Heart

※Chapter Two ※ Holland March x Jackson Healy ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 } ※ { previous chapter }

※ Summary: Even during the most wonderful time of the year, Holland March can't help but be clumsy. A stressful hospital trip to set the detective's re-fractured arm leads an unfortunate revelation about his relationship with Jackson Healy.

Part of the Butterfly Effect collection. Can be read as a standalone.

※ Rating: 18+ for mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Fluff and Angst, Smut, Established Relationship, Period-Typical Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Injury, Canon-Typical Alchohol Consumption, reference to religion, Typical Idiot Holland March, Insecure Jackson Healy, Collaboration, first time anal sex, lotion as lube,(Seriously do not use lotion as a personal lubricant), Holly just wants her dads to get their shit together, mention of Christmas

※ Word count: 3,474

※ Status: Complete/Multichapter, Chapter 2 of 2.

※ Author's Notes: Second chapter of the collaboration I did with @danime25. It's always a pleasure to cook with someone else. &lt;3

It’s the harsh beam of sunlight boring through his eyelids that wakes Holland up. Without opening his eyes, he rolls over in the bed and reaches out for his partner. His hand makes contact with nothing but slightly cool air. It’s so jarring that he’s instantly awake, staring at the space Jackson Healy that has been occupying every single night without fail for the past few months.

Scenes from the night before flash in his mind and he can’t quite suppress a groan. He can only hope that the other man is still in the house and not in his crappy apartment above the comedy club that had turned into an office space rather than a place to live. Surely they can fix whatever the hell went wrong between them.

The detective awkwardly scrambles out of bed, all too aware of his injured arm. He goes through his minimal morning routine feeling as though he’d been run over and left for dead in the street. He hasn’t felt this battered since the Amelia case that had brought Jack into his life to start with. Roughly wiping his damp face off with a towel, he finally steps foot into the living room.

His knees want to buckle in relief when he spots the other man standing in front of the coffee machine. Holland has to rein himself in to keep from rushing over and wrapping his arms around him, seeking reassurance that everything is all right between the two of them. Instead, he takes a seat at the breakfast bar. His cast makes a heavy thudding noise against the counter-top. Healy doesn’t so much as twitch at the sound.

Pulling a cigarette out of the pack resting on the counter, Holland observes the shorter man. He puts it between his lips and lights it. While he contemplatively takes a drag, he watches Jack take two mugs out of the cupboard and pour them both coffee. Despite last night, the other man is careful to leave Holland’s black, doctoring his own with a heaping spoon of sugar and way too much creamer. Healy picks up both mugs and places the PI’s down in front of him before taking a seat at his side.

“Holly left a note. She’s at Jessica’s. Wants us to figure our shit out,” the other man says as a greeting. Holland just nods, tired.

“So, my head is a little hazy from last night,” he says around the dangling cigarette, “but did we break up or something?”

His partner’s hold noticeably tightens on his coffee cup, almost enough to shatter the ceramic, before he relaxes his hand. When he speaks, his tone is bitter. “What was there to break up? Two men can’t be in a relationship, March. Last night at the hospital sure proved that.”

“C’mon Healy, you don’t mean that,” his voice catches in the back of his throat.

If Jackson says another hurtful thing like he just did, Holland is going to have to show him the door. He knows how he feels about the other man. Society be damned, if loving Healy is wrong, he sure as hell didn’t want to be right. He knows they’re doing to face vitriol over their relationship, but he knows there are other people like them. Hell, there is that politician in San Francisco… what was it…? Narancia? It was some kind of drink. Thinking out loud, Holland mumbles, “Juice?”

“It doesn’t matter what I mean. I can feel however I wanna about you, and it still doesn’t change things,” the other man responds while Holland thinks. After a lengthy pause he looks at him, confused. “What the hell does juice have to do with this?”

“Huh? Oh, there’s this politician. His name is some kind of drink…”

Healy puts his face in his hands and lets out a hopeless little chuckle. “Jesus, March… What do you want from me?”

That is enough to snap him back onto the topic at hand. “I just want us to go back to what we had… even twelve hours ago. When I could kiss you and you wouldn’t flinch away like I was trying to kill you. Shit, I just want us to be together without all of this .” He waves a hand in the air, his cigarette tucked between his fingers.

“I don’t want you to wake up down the line and realize you wasted your time on someone who doesn't legally matter. I can’t be there for you and Holly like a woman could. I’m the worst possible option for you.”

“And how many times do I have to tell you? That doesn’t fucking matter. I love you regardless,” he snaps back, hackles up. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t realize he said the thing that he’s been struggling to say for weeks. It dawns on him and he winces. It’s too late to suck the words back into his mouth.

Healy is deadly still. So still that Holland would even take a slap across the face if it meant that the other man had heard him. His cigarette burns to the end of the filter and he snubs it out in the nearby ashtray. He doesn’t look at his partner

Finally, the silence is broken by the bruiser's audible swallow. “You don’t mean that, March. You can’t waste that on me.”

“No, I do mean it!” He shouts, getting up from his seat to pace. Holland gets more worked up with every step he takes. “Damn it, Jack, I love you.”

Much to his trepidation, his partner also gets to his feet and approaches him. Jack stops short and clenches his hands, self-soothing. The grizzled man looks unsure, very much unlike the image of himself that he presents to the world. “I want what’s best for you and your daughter.”

“You’re what’s best for us. Look at everything positive that has come out of this. Holly thinks of you as another parent. I think of you as a partner. What I want is you .”

Jesus, he could use a little liquid courage. Even without, he still bridges the gap between the both of them and kisses the shorter man, arms firmly around his neck to keep him close. Holland meant every single word of his outburst. He breaks the kiss, anxious. “I love you so much, Jackson Healy.”

His words are finally enough to get Healy to turn the affection. Holland can’t help but sag with relief as the other man’s arms wrap around his waist and hold him tightly. They’re forehead to forehead, breath intermingling. “I… I love you too, March.”

“You better,” he quips before ducking in for another kiss. This time it’s eagerly returned. He smiles into it, nipping lightly at his partner’s mouth. He pulls away, trailing his fingers from the nape of Healy’s neck to his stomach. He toys with the hem of the other man’s shirt. “You know… there was something we were going to do last night.”

“Right, and then you went and broke your arm,” Jackson says, carefully deadpan.

“Well, yeah… But we can make up for that now.”

He’s pleased when he receives a low sound of agreement and a squeeze on the hip from his partner before the man sets off in the direction of the bedroom. He might be hopelessly needy for Jackson Healy, but at least the other man was equally as infatuated with him when he wasn’t having a crisis. If anyone was going to be panicking, it should be March. It’s his role in this ragtag little family.

On the way to the bedroom, Holland starts working to strip himself of his clothing. With his daughter out of the house, he doesn’t have to be nearly as modest. He lets his pants fall the moment the door is closed behind him. Healy is immediately crowding him against the wood. The other man’s hands with their scarred knuckles slide underneath his shirt and pull it off his head to reveal his soft body. The detective feels something tender well up in him at the careful way his partner extracts his re-fractured arm from the sleeve. Soon, he’s left in just his underwear and socks.

Healy is panting in his ear, sloppy kisses laid in the crook of his neck. He groans at the feeling of the other man’s facial hair scraping along his sensitive skin. The knee that the shorter man just wedged between his thighs is going to speed things up more than Holland would like He feels like a live wire, ready to spark at any moment. Reluctantly, he pushes at his partner’s chest with his good arm, shoving him backwards until he nearly falls on top of him when the backs of Jack’s knees make contact with the bed and he goes down onto the mattress.

With a clumsy hand, Holland strips the prone man of his sweater and his undershirt. His dick twitches with an almost painful throb in his underwear the minute the other man’s upper body is exposed. Holland desperately wants to grab hold of his shoulder and rut against his partner’s stomach until his cum is matted in the dense trail of hair adorning it, but there’s something he wants more. He clamors up onto Jack’s jean-clad thighs, legs spread wide to accommodate the girth. He presses his forehead against the man’s broad shoulder so they don’t have to make eye contact while they discuss what he wants.

“Uhh…” he starts, not very eloquently.

“Yeah, March?” Healy's newly placed hand is a soothing weight on his back.

“I know we usually give each other handies or blowjobs…” he trails off, scouring his mind for the words he needs. He fails. “Maybe we can do something more?”

“… Like using my chest?” He questions, referencing one of Holland’s earlier requests. The first one he’d ever made.

“Actually… more inside than that,” he clears his throat, thankful that the other man cannot see his flushing face. Holland has seen enough porno content while on cases. They both have holes, surely his partner can pick what he’s implying here.

“March…” Healy trails off, sounding strangled, “you want me to take it up the ass?”

“ No! I want you to stick it in me. Have me take you up the ass.”

“Oh… Yeah, yeah, we can try that, but… I haven’t y’know.”

“Well, neither have I.” Holland shrugs a little bit, not too concerned. He trusts his partner enough to not hurt him.

Finally, he peels himself off of the other man. He scrambles to find a comfortable spot on his back beside him before stripping off his boxers and throwing them onto the floor. Jesus, what he’d give for a drink right now, but Healy doesn’t fuck around with him unless they’re on equal footing when it comes to being sober.

With less confidence than he’d like, he mimics the position he’d seen once playing on a television screen at one of the more questionable places he’d questioned someone at. His legs are spread, inviting Healy to kneel between them. The other man does. Through half-lidded eyes, Holland watches him swallow and run a nervous tongue over his lips. He leaves his arms at his side, wanting him to take the lead. He’s willing to be moved around like a Ken doll by Jackson’s hands

Holland is not disappointed by the other man’s initiative. He can’t contain a moan at the feeling at the warm hand wrapping itself around his soft cock, stroking it into hardness. His pleased noises get swallowed up by Healy leaning over him to press his mouth to his. Both men are wedged together with hardly enough space for the bruiser’s hand to work at him. Holland is the one who has to break it off to draw in heaving breaths, he’s already leaking copious amounts of precum over Healy’s knuckles.

Without pausing the steady movements of his wrist, his partner checks in with him. “You doin’ alright? You’re never this quiet.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Holland responds, staring up at him. He feels his face flush again. Healy looks better than he has any right to after a night of presumably sleeping on the couch, but this was his guy. His partner. Of course he’s going to look good to the PI.

“Let’s do this already. We need lube…” He glances around the room for something to use before spotting a bottle of lotion on their bedside table. “The lotion is probably the best we’re gonna get.”

Without preamble, the other man leans over just enough to pick it up. Holland’s teeth end up worrying at his bottom lip as he watches Jack slick the fingers of his right hand until they’re pale and streaked. They two of them are as ready as they’re ever going to be for this.

His hole easily accepts the intrusion of Healy’s finger. He moans, throwing his head back into the pillow and arching his body. “Yeah, that feels good. Feels really good. Fuck .”

That finger feels even better when the other man pumps it in and out of him. He can’t keep himself still. The second only heightens the sensations he’s feeling, finally giving him enough of a stretch that foreshadows what’s to come. The detective nearly leaps off the bed when Healy’s otherwise unoccupied hand reclaims it’s place around his dick. That touch is all the warning he gets before the other man leans down and takes the head of it into the wet plushness of his mouth.

“Jesus!” He yelps. His hands are gripping the sheets, clinging onto the fabric like it’s a lifeline.

In response, his partner takes his cock further, almost deep enough to gag on it. Holland swears he’s seeing stars as he feels the bruiser’s tongue trace along the underside of his shaft. He’s still fucking into him with his fingers, daring to add a third. The lotion is just barely doing its job. The detective feels almost full.

“I’m not going to last long,” he admits, panting. It’s taking everything in him to not sink into the arms of his building orgasm.

At his warning, Healy pulls off. He stills his hands and looks up at his face. “Do you want me to stop? I can finish getting you off like this. Don’t have to go all the way.”

“No, I'm fine. Just hurry.” Holland's voice catches in the back of his throat, giving his words a whimpering quality. Something hungry flickers over his partner’s face.

“Okay, let me just…” Healy trails off, sliding his fingers free of the tight heat of Holland’s body. He unbuttons his jeans and unzips them. His dick looks engorged and flushed, twitching and tapping against his ample stomach. He slicks it down with copious amounts of lotion and takes himself in hand. He pauses with the tip of his cock just slightly pressing into Holland. “You ready?”

“Yes .”

Slowly, with a series of pauses, Healy eases his thick cock into him. Despite opening Holland up with three of his large fingers, it’s still a tight fit. The other man bottoms out, snugly seated inside of him. The sensation of his stomach brushing against his still very interested dick has him smothering a whine. He feels full, pleasantly so.

“Are you doing okay?” His partner asks, concern lacing his voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he responds, “Jesus, I never realized how big you were until now.” The sentence slips out of him without his permission. He tenses up as he realizes what a weird thing it was for him to say. He could slap himself right now.

Healy doesn’t look upset, though, merely flustered. The other man clears his throat and offers him an unusual compliment in return. “You feel really good, March.”

Holland relaxes when his partner rubs a soothing circle over his hip. Perhaps sensing that he’s starting to get impatient, Healy starts to move, a slow drag of his cock nearly all the way out and bottoming out back in. He settles in to a relaxed pace. Instinctively, the detective’s back arches ever so slightly, angling so that the other man’s thrusts plunge deeper. He’s still hanging onto the sheets.

Lightning strikes him when he feels the head of the Jackson’s dick graze over his prostate. Before he’s fully aware, he’s cumming in messy spurts over the bruiser’s stomach. The resulting clench of his hole around his partner serves to drag him over the edge right along with him. Both men are shaking and muttering broken words as they empty themselves.

Shuddering from the stimulation as Healy pulls his softening cock free with a wet sound and extracts himself from their tangled position, Holland can’t help but fumble for the bedside table. His hand manages to hand on a loose, half smoked cigarette still sitting in the ashtray. Good enough. He lights it and gets it between his lips the moment he finds the lighter he keeps next to the table lamp.

“Fuck, March,” the other man groans.

The detective just nods in agreement, stricken silent for once. He had liked that, liked that way more than he probably should. He wonders if his partner would be willing to let him ride him next time.

“Didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No, it felt fantastic actually,” he says. Despite feeling fucked out and limp, he leans over and kisses the other man’s stubbled cheek.

His reassurance must sooth the other man because Healy hauls himself off the bed with a groan, back popping. He heads into the en-suite bathroom to clean himself up before returning to the bed with a damp cloth. He carefully wipes Holland down much to his appreciation. It saves him the hassle of moving his cast-bound arm more than strictly necessary.

“Thanks,” he says softly and snubs out the cigarette.

He sits up enough to pull the other man into the bed beside him once they’re both clean. It’s the most natural thing in the world to tuck himself against the broad man, to feel him wrap an arm around his back and hold him close. Holland is on the cusp of telling him that he loves him again when his partner speaks.

“So… I wanna apologize,” the other half of the Nice Guys Detective Agency starts.

“What do you mean?” He asks. He thought they were squared up, that they were good again. Sure, he wasn’t upset at getting an apology, but it felt worrisome. Healy won’t meet his eyes, instead choosing to focus his gaze on the ceiling tiles.

“I was an ass after the hospital. I was a pansy and didn’t handle it like I should’ve.”

“Yeah, you were… I know you said some of the things that were bothering you when we were fighting, but what got you so worried about us?” Holland follows his line of sight up to the ceiling.

“The nurse reminded me about how I can’t be there for you when it matters, y’know? You broke your fuckin’ arm and I just had to sit in the waiting room. ‘Sides, I don’t know how to be a good partner. I did so badly with my wife she left me for my old man.”

Oh , Holland thinks. His partner had felt helpless. That would explain a lot actually.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, patting the other man’s shoulder. “I’m not very good at it either. Hell, I still don’t know how I managed to get Holly’s mom in the first place.”

“She must’ve been a very patient woman,” Healy jokes dryly..

“Like a saint.” Holland responds in kind, mildly miffed at the implication that he’s a difficult person to be with. He hovers his hand over Healy’s hair before combing through it.

The other man lets out a groan and shifts enough to sling a thick arm over his stomach, settling against him more comfortably. “It’s a good thing you didn’t get the catholic school treatment too. We’d be even more cataclysmic.”

“You’re excused?” Holland makes a face as he tries to decipher what fucking word just came out of Healy’s mouth. This feels like their ‘eunuch’ schtick all over again. He tries to quietly mouth the word ‘cataclysmic’ and make sense of the word before his partner starts to talk. Again.

“It’s like ruination,” he supplies, not bothering to open his eyes. He’s dozing off.

“Maybe Holly can buy me a dictionary next year, and I’ll be able to understand you for once.” Holland grumbles. Jackson fucking Healy everyone. He shakes his head. “We’re getting off track… you were apologizing?”

The only response he gets is a loud snore from Healy. He’s actually asleep. Out like a damn light.

“Love you too, pal,” he grumbles, feeling more fond of the man using him as a pillow than he’d ought to be.

{ previous chapter }

[onlygenxhere]

Hide away from the world with me

Luke knocked at Julie’s door like she’d asked all of them to do so many times at this point he’d probably knock on door if it was open.

No answer.

She had to be in there though, where else could she be?

He really wanted to show her the song they had been working on at practice earlier. He thought he’d gotten the next verse fixed but needed her brilliant mind to confirm it really was as good as he thought.

He took a deep breath and he took his afterlife in his hands and walked though her bedroom door.

He stopped looking around at the seemingly empty room except for the large lump in the middle of the bed. Julie seemed to be buried completely under the covers.

At first he thought maybe she was asleep. He’d just seen her a couple hours ago at band practice just after dinner, but it wasn’t that late yet.

Julie tended to be a bit of a night owl like he was, even on a school night. So he was as little worried if she’d actually already gone to sleep.  

The comforter shifted, and then settled again, as he stood at the foot of her bed like a creep.

“Julie?”

Still no response.

He should really leave, but what if she was sick?

He wasn’t sure how to check without scaring her. She obviously couldn’t hear him for some reason.

Pull the blanket back?

Stick his head through the blanket?

He chewed on his lip and swayed on his heels trying to make a decision.

He knew what he wanted to do…

Fuck it.

He kicked off his shoes and poofed under the bedspread beside her.

“Shit!” Julie jumped and dropped the phone she was holding and pulled out her ear buds. “Luke! You scared me to death, what the hell!?”

“Sorry, sorry!” I did all the things! I knocked and I called your name several times.” He bit his lip. “I was just worried when you didn’t respond and I didn’t know what else to do.”

She sighed and nodded taking deep breaths trying to slow her breathing back down. “Ok, ok, your second death has been postponed. What did you want?”

He finally gave her a good look and noticed the tear tracks on her cheeks. She wasn’t crying now but she definitely had been.

“Why are you under here Jules?”

She looked at him a long time. It was weird being under the comforter like this, like they were the only two people in the world.

“Sometimes I can get all in my head and I just need to go away, shut off the rest of the world and I need the illusion that the rest of the world has gone away from me… if that makes any sense?”

He nodded encouraging her to keep talking.

“So I’ll bury myself under the blankets, pull up a movie or some youtube, put in my ear buds and just… check out.”

Oh, that he understood. He generally didn’t need the blankets and the headphones to “checkout” but he could understand how they’d be helpful.

He reached up and swiped his thumb across her cheek. “But why were you crying?”

She turned away from him and tilted her head up blinking rapidly and sniffed.

“Oh shit Jules, I don’t mean to make you cry again.” He awkwardly patted her arm.

She giggled and glanced at him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I know and it’s really stupid anyway.”

He was caught in that onyx gaze, her eyes almost black in the darkness under the comforter. “I’m sure it’s not.”

A tear escaped down her cheek and he couldn’t stop himself from wiping it away with his thumb.

She sighed and closed her eyes as another tear ran down her cheek. “Tonight was a really good practice.”

“It was.” He nodded even though her eyes were still closed.

“Sometimes it just hits me…” she started to get choked up and the tears ran more freely. “It hits me that my mom will never hear us play.” Julie opened her eyes and the pain and sadness shining through her tears was like a knife in his chest. “She would have loved the band.” She sobbed as she reached up to touch his face. “She would have loved you.”

Luke didn’t even think as he pulled her to his chest and held her tight as she started to sob.

Tears filled his own eyes as she cried and held him just as tight as he was holding her, like she might fall if either of them let go. “I got you Jules. I’ve got you I swear.” He whispered into her curls.  

He wished he could have met Rose too, if only to thank her for sending him to Julie like they suspected she had.

He ran his hand up and down her bare arm and whispered that everything would be ok even though he had no idea if everything would be ok or not.

Most days he tried not to think about it but he had no idea if they’d ever make a name for themselves as a band, what that might mean for him and his own family, or even how long they’d get to play music together… how long he’d get to stay… with her.

But as he whispered those words of assurance to her he tried to believe it himself too.

He hoped and he held her as his own tears slid down his cheeks.

He hoped that even after he was gone he’d still get to remember how she felt in his arms, what her skin felt like under his palm, what her hair smelled like tickling his nose, what her voice sounded like singing their words.

Eventually her tears subsided and Julie lifted her head off his chest and looked at him with red rimmed eyes. She reached up and wiped at his cheeks as he sniffed and turned away.

“No, no,” she pulled his eyes back to hers. “Don’t you dare hide from me after I just cried my eyes out all over your favorite shirt.”

He chuckled and glanced down at his Rush tee and couldn’t argue. “It’s just,” he sighed, “I was supposed to be comforting you, not the other way around.”

“Luke…” Julie breathed out and he shivered as her breath ghosted across his face. “We can comfort each other.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” she pushed his hair back off his face. “Remember,” she grinned at him. “We make each other better.”

“Yeah we do.” He smiled back at her, reaching up to tuck a curl behind her ear. His heart ached as he looked at the beautiful girl in his arms, so close and yet still so far way. She was alive in every way to everyone and he was only alive to her, for her.

“So,” she patted his chest. “Why did you come looking for me in the first place?”

He opened his mouth to tell her about the song and then closed it again. He didn’t want to break this spell they were under. He didn’t want to pull back the blanket yet and rejoin the rest of the world where she was a fifteen year old high school student and he was a seventeen year old ghost who had been dead for twenty five years.

“Could we maybe just stay under here a little while longer?” He bit his lip and nodded at her dropped phone. “Maybe watch something together?”

She looked at him for a long moment searching his eyes before simply nodding and picking up her phone and handing him one of her ear buds.

He placed it in his ear as she laid her head on his shoulder and propped her phone up on his chest. “I’ll start it over. I was only about twenty minutes in anyway and it’s not like I haven’t watched this a dozen times.”

As some old guy started talking about looking at stars and stars looking back at them Luke whispered against Julie’s temple. “What’s this movie about?”

She tilted her head up at him and grinned. “It’s a fairytale and its got action, humor, magic, true love, a great villain and a happy ending.” Julie snuggled back into his side with a contented sigh. “You’re going to love it.”

And he did.

He loved it.

Almost as much at the girl in his arms and this magical time together.

It reminded him of a movie he’d seen as a kid with his mom. It was everything she said and more and when Yvaine was the one to save Tristan in the end he couldn’t help thinking about how Julie had saved him and the guys with her own magical glowing hug just a few weeks before.

Julie threw the comforter off their heads as the credits started to roll and turned to look at him.

“So…”

“Time to get back to reality?” he pouted.

She looked down and traced lazy circles on his sternum. “We can’t hide forever.”

He tilted her chin up to look at him. “But maybe…” he chewed on his lip. “We could do this again another day?”

The smile that broke out on her face was blinding.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” He smiled back at her, “Maybe we could watch The Princess Bride next time?”

“Ok,” She giggled and pushed herself up to sit beside him. “So are you ready to tell me why you came in here in the first place?”

He gaped at her. Only Julie Molina could make him forget about writing a song. “I think I’ve got the second verse of the new song.”

She bounced on the bed. “Oh, show me.”

And he did.