#bic x reader

[slytherinshua]

　　　mcnd masterlist ⟡₊ ⊹

⋆˙⟡ = author's pick !

　　　　seongjun

nothing yet . . .

　　　　seungmin

nothing yet . . .

　　　　minjae

nothing yet . . .

　　　　huijun

[11:34am]

genre: fluff. timestamp. | wc: 470.

　　　　junhyuk

nothing yet . . .

[sailor-aviator]

By Its Cover: Chapter One

By Its Cover: Chapter One

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: The frivolity of high society has never much interested in you. You preferred to spend your time reading, something your sisters couldn't fathom as they spent their time shopping the latest dress styles. The youngest of five children and the fourth daughter, not much was expected of you. You knew you might be married one day, but you hoped beyond hope that it would be to someone that might understand your intellectual pursuits. You begin exchanging letters with a mysterious stranger, and what's more, your older brother's rakish best friend seems to find himself in your path more and more as the season goes on. What's a girl to do? (Regency!AU)

Content Warning: Anxiety, Anxiety attack, Debutante presentations, Sibling not being supported, Spoiled sibling, Self doubt, Negative self talk, Catty girls will be catty girls. I think that's really all, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 4.6k

Series Masterlist

“Dearest, you must stop squirming.”

“This dress is uncomfortable.”

You picked at the skirt of your gown, an off white in color, as your mother let out a heavy sigh as she pursed her lips. You stood outside the throne room with a gaggle of other, more eager, debutantes waiting to present themselves to the queen. You couldn’t think of a worse punishment if you tried, if you were being quite honest.

The thought of parading yourself around for all to gawk and inspect had your skin crawling, and while you weren’t proud of it, you had even attempted to feign illness in order to escape the mortifying spectacle of it all.

“Enough,” your mother huffed, grabbing your hand and jerking it down to your side as several of the other ladies of the Island turned their scrutinizing gazes towards your direction. Your mother gave them a polite, cheery smile, never taking her eyes off of them as she turned towards you. “I know you are nervous, darling, but this is something that must be done. Your sisters all had to do it, and I before them. It is simply something one must grit their teeth and bear.”

You let out a heavy sigh, signaling your reluctant understanding of the situation, and your mother’s shoulders visibly relaxed. You mustered up your best smile, one that you were almost positive looked more like a grimace, and stood up a little straighter as one of the palace attendants walked briskly up to where you stood.

“My lady,” he nodded at your mother, sweat beading his brow as he gave a quick bow before turning to you with a look of distress. “You are next. This way, please. Hurry, hurry.”

You sucked in a breath, sparing your mother a half panicked look as you were ushered towards the towering doors that led into the throne room. Your brother and sisters were in attendance, you knew this. Most of high society was behind those doors, and the ones that weren’t stood behind you, eagerly awaiting their turn. Your fingers trembled with nerves, and you were vaguely aware of your mother glancing at you just as nervous.

You were sure you looked as worse a state as you felt. Your skin felt clammy, tight against your face as you sucked in deep breaths through your nose, letting them out through your mouth. The hum of conversation sounded behind you, and you felt your pulse quicken as you heard the attendant announce your name behind the ornately carved doors of white and gold.

The whispers behind you hushed as the doors slowly opened to reveal the crowd of nobles and well-to-do families gathered in the spacious room. Your eyes roamed over the familiar faces, clinging to where your siblings stood in the middle of the room, your brother giving you an encouraging smile as your sisters looked on. You spotted Natasha not too far off, an encouraging smile on her face that stood in stark contrast to the concentrated grimace that pulled on your brother’s lips. You gulped, taking a shaky breath as your mother cleared her throat quietly behind you, signaling for you to start walking. Your eyes snapped forward, meeting the stunning green of the queen’s.

Queen Penny was a most beloved monarch, having been the figurehead of the royal family for decades since she married the king. Her quiet grace and beauty was apparently a strong compliment to the wisdom and discernment of the king, not that anyone your age would really know considering he had kept himself cloistered away in the palace for almost an entire decade. No, very few had seen him, rumors of a prolonged illness following his name with every mention—something the queen was quick to make her displeasure known about, and so mentions of the king were kept hushed between stolen whispers and curious glances whenever she showed up to an event alone.

Now, her attention was trained solely on you, the look of terror on your face must have seemed a sight to the dignified woman as you took a tentative step forward. A perfectly manicured eyebrow raised slowly as you took your second step forward, slowly picking up pace as you made your way down the makeshift aisle. All eyes were on you as you strode across the room, doing your best to hold your head high and shoulders back, vaguely aware of your mother keeping pace behind you.

“Smile, dearest,” you heard her whisper quietly. You inhaled sharply, stiffening at her words. You willed yourself to pull your lips into a smile, cringing at the forced feeling of it and knowing that it looked as awful as it felt. You could have sworn you saw the queen’s own lips twitch, but still her face remained stoic as you came to a stop in front of her. You were barely conscious of the fact that you managed a curtsy, dropping your head slowly before rising once more.

The room was quiet, silent enough to hear the scampering of a mouse. You waited with bated breath for something, anything. A dismissal? A laugh at your awkwardness? An ill-tempered comment at your utter lack of decorum?

Another beat of silence passed before the queen rose from her seat, eyes staying fixed on your near trembling form. Her lady-in-waiting stepped forward, but was quickly waved off as Queen Penny took slow, measured steps down to where you stood. You held your breath as she stopped in front of you, green eyes scanning you from head to toe before moving back up. She said nothing as she circled you slowly, her eyes studying you for any sign of weakness or perceived imperfection. You heard her state your family’s name with a thoughtful hum.

“Your sister was the season’s diamond not five years ago, yes?” She asked from behind you. You swallowed thickly, not daring to turn and look as you nodded.

“Yes, your majesty,” you replied, surprised at how even your tone was given the panic coursing through your veins in that moment. You were surprised you even remembered you had sisters.

“Yes, I remember,” she agreed. “Married an earl, if I remember correctly.”

You heard your mother murmur her assent, and you assume the queen had looked to her for confirmation.

“The youngest of four girls,” Queen Penny continued, “you must have had your hands full, Celine.”

“No more than any other mother, your majesty,” your mother replied with a nervous chuckle. The queen hummed in agreement as she rounded your other side to come face to face with you once more. You glanced up at her with trepidation, waiting for her verdict. Her face remained impassive before her lips pulled into a regal smile.

“You show promise, my dear,” she said, placing her fingers below your chin to raise it as she looked down at you. “You may just be the season’s greatest surprise yet.”

And with that, she turned and made her way back up the steps to her seat. Your heart stuttered in your chest, frozen with the shock of the encounter before snapping out of it as your mother’s gentle touch pulled you back into the moment. You looked back to see her with a tight smile on her face as she gestured for you to step to the side so that the presentations could continue. You felt your cheeks warm at your slight blunder, allowing yourself to be led off with the other debutantes.

“But Mama, why her?”

You rubbed your temples to try and soothe the headache you were currently trying to fight off as Georgiana screeched her displeasure throughout the manor. Georgiana had been so proud of the smile and nod the queen had given her the year prior, boasting about it to anyone who would listen for a solid week after it had happened.

“Georgiana, my darling, you must calm do-”

“She doesn’t even deserve it!” She screeched once more, whirling around to fix you with a glare. You winced, shrinking back into the settee with a grimace. Though you loved her dearly, Georgiana was perhaps the most spoiled out of all your sisters.

She had been the perfect image of what it meant to a young lady of one of the oldest families of the Island. Her hair was always poised in elaborate updos with her dresses styled in the latest fashions. Her outward appearance, however, was no match for the ugliness she kept inside in your opinion.

While beautiful in outward appearance, earning many interested suitors in the season prior, she was determined to have nothing but the best.

“I think I’d like to marry a Duke myself,” she had commented one day once her many suitors had left. “The only thing better would be a handsome prince.”

You had snorted at the idea. You loved your sister dearly, but her expectations of the lavish life she should lead left you with a sick feeling in your stomach. A quiet life surrounded by family and friends suited your tastes quite well.

You were ripped away from your silent musings as your older sister stomped towards you, wrath consuming her features as you pressed yourself further into the seat.

“What makes you so special?” She huffed, crossing her arms with a sneer. “Why would the queen show such an interest in you of all people? You’re so…boring.”

You bit back the angry remark that threatened to leave you at the insult your sister hurled your way. Just because you didn’t delight in the latest fashions or take part in the favorite pastime that was gossip, didn’t mean you were boring. You spent your days strolling through the gardens or park with Natasha or in the parlor with your latest read. Did you loathe the idea of going to parties or finding yourself stumbling along the dance floor? Of course you did.

You weren’t stranger to the fact that you had been compared to your elder sisters from the moment you were born. Of course your parents had treated you all with equal kindness and love, but those outside your family were not as forgiving of your faults or perceived imperfections. Now you were beginning to wonder if the judgement had been following you all along.

“I don’t know, Georgie,” you answered her quietly, glancing towards your mother for help. “Perhaps she was bored. You know how she likes to stir things up for her own amusement.”

Georgiana seemed to mull this over for a moment, and you could see the frown that tugged at your mother’s lips as the words passed through your mouth. Before any of you could say anything more, the doors to the parlor opened to reveal a familiar older man strolling through with a smug smirk adorning his face.

“Good afternoon, one and all,” Pete Mitchell drawled as he sat down on the settee next to you. Mr. Mitchell belonged to a wealthy, respectable family, albeit as the second son tasked with making his own way in the world. He had been a dear friend of your father’s since boyhood, and was practically an uncle to you and your siblings.

“Peter,” your mother sighed, looking relieved as the tension in the air was cut by the cavalier aura that Mr. Mitchell seemed to exude everywhere he went.

“How lovely to see you,” she smiled, sitting across from you as Georgiana took up space in one of the armchairs, a small pout still marring her features.

“And you as well,” he grinned back at your mother. He turned to face you, the smirk falling back into place as he regarded you. “I heard you made quite the impression on our dear queen, Bug.”

Georgiana stiffened noticeably, and you waived him off with a scoff.

“I’m sure the queen was merely bored with all the humdrum of the day,” you offered stiffly. The room fell into an awkward silence as Mr. Mitchell glanced between the three of you as you looked everywhere but at Georgiana.

“I believe I’m sensing some tension,” Mr. Mitchell spoke finally.

“Nothing ever gets past you, does it, Peter?” Your mother sighed.

“No matter,” Mr. Mitchell grinned, looking between the three of you excitedly, “Charlotte and I are hosting a ball tonight, and I wanted to come by to invite you all personally as the family of my dear, late friend.”

“Oh, Peter, how lovely,” your mother smiled. “Of course we will be in attendance. Won’t we girls?”

Georgiana clapped her hands excitedly as you felt a wave of dread wash over you. Mr. Mitchell leaned closer towards you to whisper in your ear.

“Don’t you worry, Bug,” he said. “I’ve already got the books laid out for you in my library when you’re ready to sneak off.”

You offered him a thankful smile as he turned his attention back towards your sister and mother. Perhaps there were people in this world who understood you after all.

The Mitchell’s manor was as ostentatious as any of the nobility’s homes as far as you were concerned, and it was a wonder that they weren’t mistaken for the actual ruling class more often.

Your carriage stopped in front of the steps leading up to the entryway, and an attendant moved forward to open the door and offer his hand to your mother to help her out, followed by Georgiana, with you stepping out last. The cool, night air was abuzz with excitement, laughter, and the sound of general revelry from those in attendance that evening. It already felt suffocating as far as you were concerned.

“Smile, my darling,” your mother murmured to you, resting a gentle hand on your arm to steer you towards the front doors. “It is a party, after all. You should at least try to have some fun while you are here. You’ve already caught the eye of several suitors.”

Your head whipped around, spying a group of men assessing you from across the yard. A frown tugged at your lips as the feeling of dread came back in full force. They weren’t unattractive by any means, but you weren’t thrilled at the idea of being appraised like a piece of meat either.

“I think I’d rather pluck my eyelashes out one by one then entertain that lot,” you muttered, earning a sigh and a sharp look from the older woman.

“Bug, please.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek for a moment before casting her an apologetic look.

“I am sorry, Mama,” you said, defeated. “I will try to make the most of our time tonight.”

Her disapproving look morphed into one of kind understanding. “That is all I ask, my darling.”

Georgiana walked a couple steps ahead of the both of you, eager to fawn in the attention of the available suitors in attendance that evening. William had gone ahead of your little group to arrive earlier in the evening whilst Lydia and Theodosia would arrive with their husbands throughout the night if they hadn’t arrived already.

Several men appraised Georgiana as she passed, a pleasant smile on her face as she sauntered into the ballroom. Her pale, pink gown swished about her as she greeted old friends and passed demure smiles to the men she walked past. You felt more and more out of place the further into the room you wandered, pressing closer and closer into your mother’s side.

“Bug!”

You turned to see Natasha making her way towards, purple skirts in hand as a grin spread across her face. A smile of your own broke out across your lips, and you abandoned your mother’s side to rush towards your best friend.

“Nat!” You exclaimed, grabbing onto her hands as the two of you met in the middle. “You cannot believe how relieved I am to see you.”

“You?” She laughed. “I had to go through a whole year of this without you! It’s me who’s relieved.”

She pulled you off to the side, glancing around the room as she did so.

“I see Georgiana has already started her ritual,” she snorted, nodding towards the middle of the room. You turned to see your sister surrounded by a group of potential suitors, their gazes never leaving her even as her friends attempted to garner attention with a well timed comment here and there.

“Let her have her pick,” you scoffed. “Everyone will be so busy with her and her future husband, I’ll slip beneath their attentions and escape for the season.”

The two of you began to walk the side of the room, avoiding collision as you chatted arm in arm.

“You don’t want a husband?” Nat inquired, arching a brow at you in amused curiosity.

“Not if I can avoid it,” you chuckled. “I enjoy my freedom too much. My sisters have set the standard of the perfect housewife and lady, and as we both know, I am anything but. I am far too well read for any of the young men here for them to feel secure in the fact that they’re the smartest person in the room, and any other man who would want me is simply not worth having.”

“Honestly, Bug, I don’t know how you manage it,” she smirked sardonically.

“Manage what?” You asked slowly, giving her a curious look.

“Manage to make something as fun as courting and the attention of men seem absolutely barbaric and grim,” she quipped with a laugh. You rolled your eyes with a smile, moving to say something but you were stopped as you ran into a wall.

You stumbled back with a grunt, resting a hand on your chest as you glanced up. Not a wall, no, but a solid chest of warm muscle.

“Is this what we’re stooping to now, ladies?” Drawled the man as he turned around with a tired sigh. He was handsome, you’d give him that. Blonde hair cut short that still seemed to dance in front of his ivy green eyes. A chiseled jaw that clenched in irritation as he regarded you with a raised eyebrow.

“I beg your pardon?” You asked him, brow furrowing in confusion. He rolled his eyes with a scoff.

“Are you that desperate for my attention that you need to assault me in order to gain it? Did you think I’d rush to your side and play the gentleman? I can assure you, many have already tried that approach, and they’ve all failed. You’ll have to come up with something new, I’m afraid.”

A muscle in your cheek twitched with your growing irritation at the arrogant man in front of you.

“What?” You asked him flatly, face already hardened into a glare. Nat rested a hand on your shoulder to keep you calm, all too familiar with your temper.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said politely, offering him a placating smile, “but I’m afraid we have no idea who you are.”

The man studied her for a moment before his emerald gaze flickered back to you curiously. Something seemed to have clicked in his mind because his irritation morphed into a mixture of curiosity and surprise.

“Seresin?”

All three of you turned to see William approaching you, a look of pure excitement on his face as he fast approached. He let out a laugh as the other man gave him a grin.

“My god,” your brother exclaimed, pulling the other man into a brief hug before clapping him on the shoulder. “It is you! It’s been years, hasn’t it? You’ve been off gallivanting across Europe for God only knows how long.”

“I see you haven’t changed a bit, Will,” the man laughed. Your brother’s gaze flickered to yours before doing a double take.

“There you are,” he said, moving towards your side. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Seresin, you remember my younger sister.”

The man turned to you once more, and your cheeks warmed at the feel of his eyes roving over you.

“Come now,” your brother chided. “Surely you remember Bug.”

The man’s eyes alighted at your nickname, a smile curling on his lips that made him look much more boyish and mischievous than before. It was the smile of a familiar face, and suddenly you remembered a friend of your brother’s from when you were small. A handsome boy with golden hair and green eyes that spent nearly every holiday off from the prestigious boarding school at your home with your family.

“Lady Bug,” he breathed in what appeared to be disbelief, and you scowled at the nickname.

“You’re the only one who still calls me that,” you griped, causing the blond’s smile to grow.

“I suppose it’s a name that can remain between us then,” he suggested, taking your hand in his and placing a lingering kiss to the back of your hand. The heat in your cheeks grew, and you quickly snatched your hand away, clearing your throat and gesturing towards Natasha who still stood at your side.

“Nat,” you chirped, waving between the two. “This is Jake Seresin, Duke of Austin. Your grace, this is Natasha Trace.”

“A pleasure,” Nat smiled politely with a small curtsy.

“Miss Trace,” he nodded, eyes darting back to you. You swallowed thickly, looking anywhere but at the man in front of you. It was then that you caught Georgiana’s eye as she made her way across the room to your little group. She tossed her hair over her shoulder as she sidled up in between your brother and the duke, a coy smile sliding onto her face as she batted her eyelashes at the latter.

“My, I was wondering where you were, brother,” she sighed, casting William a look over her shoulder before fixing her gaze back onto the handsome man in front of her. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Georgie,” William started, clearing his throat, “don’t you remember Jake? He spent quite a few holidays with us growing up.”

Recognition lighted in her eyes.

“Oh my!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “It’s been so long that I hardly recognized you, your grace. We were just children last we met if memory serves, but it would appear that we are children no more.”

“Yes,” he agreed, eyes straying towards you. “It would appear we have all grown up.”

Georgiana turned to follow his gaze, a scowl creeping onto her face as she realized he was looking at you.

“Of course, this is Bug’s first season,” she commented with a hollow smile. “I even wonder if she was ready to make her debut. She’s still so much like the little girl we all knew.”

You pressed your lips into a firm line, willing yourself to stay calm in the face of Georgiana’s blatant baiting. Her gaze met yours, daring you to speak up, but you knew better than to give fuel to your sister’s fire. Instead, you turned to look at the dance floor, choosing to ignore her rather than play her silly, little game.

“I recall being rather fond of that little girl,” Jake remarked, and you felt your lips twitch into a smile before schooling your features once more.

“Yes, well,” William interrupted with a clap of his hands. You turned to see him offer his hand to Natasha with a small smile. “Miss Trace, would you care to accompany me to the dance floor?”

“I would be delighted, my lord,” she smiled, taking his hand as he led her off to join in the next dance.

“Oh, I do love to dance,” Georgiana sighed, looking up at Jake through her lashes. “Do you like to dance, your grace?”

Jake offered her a polite smile. “I suppose there are worse pastimes.”

“Bug much prefers to have her nose shoved inside a book, I suppose,” Georgiana remarked, barely concealing her sneer. “I have no taste for them, as I find them dreadfully boring. When I’m not waltzing, I’m practicing my pianoforte. I’m quite accomplished, you know, but I’ve always said I would have liked to make a career out of dancing were such a thing possible.”

“You don’t like dancing, Bug?” Jake asked, turning to look at you with curious eyes. You opened your mouth to answer, but Georgiana cut in.

“Oh, she can’t stand it!” She giggled. “Ever since we were little, I’ve always been the dancer. You’ll hardly ever find her on the dance floor.”

You supposed you were used to being talked over, being the youngest of your siblings—the quiet one, even. You had your opinions, of course, but being the fourth daughter and sister of an earl made it so that you flew under the radar more often than not. You were simply forgotten at the best of times and ignored at the worst. What could the fourth daughter possibly have to contribute to a conversation that the others before her had not already offered?

Still, it surprised you when Jake paid little mind to Georgiana’s comments on your nature, opting instead to maintain his focus on you. Like he was still waiting for you to answer.

“I don’t…dislike dancing,” you started carefully, glancing out on the dance floor. “I suppose what I dislike is having to pretend that it doesn’t hurt when boys step on my feet during it.”

A grin broke out on the blond’s face, and the scowl Georgiana shot your way did not go unnoticed by you.

“I suppose that would dampen anyone’s attitudes towards dancing,” he joked with a wink, and you felt a stirring in your stomach as your cheeks heated once more. Perhaps it was nerves from the unexpected attention.

The song ended, and Georgiana let out an exaggerated sigh as she shot a longing glance at the dance floor. Jake grimaced before schooling his features into a more placating look as he offered his hand to Georgiana.

“Would you care to dance with me?” He asked her politely. Georgiana gave an excited gasp as she placed her hand in his, shooting you a triumphant look that you chose to ignore. She was the clear choice between the two of you, so why she seemed to think this was a competition was beyond you. Still, you couldn’t help but notice the glance back the duke did as he accompanied your sister out onto the dance floor, and for a split second, you wished it was you instead of her.

You shook your head to rid yourself of your thoughts. You were lucky to be in the position you were in. You were the youngest daughter, an afterthought. You had the freedom to do what the others could not, to disappear without ever marrying if you so chose. You could live your life in solitude with the freedom of expanding your mind and not having to worry about playing lady of the house under the authority of your husband.

You lifted your chin, watching as your best friend danced with your brother and your sister danced with the duke. You could be content on the sidelines, away from everyone else.

Silently, and careful not to attract attention, you slipped out of the ballroom and into the foyer, padding up the stairs to Mr. Mitchell’s private library. He had promised you a new menagerie of tales, and as you crept higher and higher up the stairs, twisting and turning down the halls, you came upon the quiet stillness of the library. The fire was already lit, as if your surrogate uncle knew you’d make your way up sooner rather than later, and as you ran your fingertips on top of the leather-bound books, the dreams of a different life faded into memory.

A/N: Chapter one is done!! What did we all think? I'm so excited to see who Regency!Jake turns out to be and who Bug will grow into as a character. As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. If you would like to be notified on when I post updates, please follow my side blog (@sailoraviator-library) and turn on post notifications! My work is cross posted on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator. Until next time!

[winnie-won]

thinking….what if i start posting one shots…… would you guys like them? i have a few in mind for mcnd (win) but also please request stuff because i would have no idea otherwise

[fanaticsnail]

"Thank you"

Word Count: 2,168 Sanji-Pollen "Drabble" Part 2 (Part 1 here)

Masterlist Here, Pollen Masterlist here

Warnings: Pollen!Sanji, MDNI, Sanji has inhaled pollen, Sanji can't relieve himself, Edging, Crying, Whimpering, Begging, rutting, Solo!Sanji, Sanji x Afab!reader. smut, p in v

Minors, this is not meant for you.

Tag List: @vespidphoenix @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @sordidmusings @delectableworm @feral-artistry @writingmysanity - We couldn't just leave him like that now, could we?

As the first of the Straw-Hat crew to return to the vessel, you were unsure as to what following the strange sounds down the lengthy corridor would bring you. Nothing in all of your flirtation-ship with the chef could’ve prepared you for the sight gracing your eyes.

His vision was foggy, jaw slacked and a mixture of sticky saliva sweeping down his chin. The beads of sweat pouring from his temples, dampening his cheeks and gluing his soaked blond hair to his forehead as you witnessed his eyes rolling back into his skull. Growls, cries and whimpers were choking through his throat and coating the air with his desperate screams for aid.

Your eyes widened, following the trail of sweat glistening skin over his torso and down to the chiseled ‘v’ of his blonde happy-trail. Everything was red, hot and desperate. His skin rubbed raw with the clawing fingernails of his dominant hand thrusting his cock within his fist with a violent ferocity. Shock held you stationary in the doorway, your hand dropping the objects you had purchased from within town and thudding against the floor; alerting the poor chef to your presence.

He snapped his gaze to you, his body too weak and desperate to shield his aching cock from your vision. Much to the horror of you both, he continued tugging desperately on his abused shaft and pinching his swollen tip as he was brought to the edge of another orgasm.

“I-I’m so s-sorry,” he managed to stutter out through his thrusting, hot and fresh tears falling freely down his cheeks, “I-I can’t st-stop. It h-hurts t-to stop-p.”

“Sanji, what did you do?” you asked him, hastily bringing yourself into his quarters and closing the door behind you. You hesitated, your brows furrowing and eyes panicking at the sight of your friend in a state of complete vulnerability.

The two of you had something unspoken between you; subtle touches as you brushed past one another in the halls, preferential treatment at meal times, and you always seeking him out and gifting him with tokens from your travels – one of which lay abandoned on the floor beside the door.

“Sanji, what did you do?” you again questioned him, your eyes searching his and attempting to dismiss what he was doing to pleasure himself in front of you. You bit your lip, unable to simply cast aside the lewd noises he was mewling at you, desperately calling your name within his shaky voice.

“I-I can’t,” He sobbed, his cock desperately writhing and twitching within his palm, “I can’t cum!” His desperate cry for help broke something in you, you immediately taking pity on him and running over to sit at his side. The mattress dipped at his torso, you refusing to look below his clavicle and search his gaze for answers.

“Sanji,” you hesitated, your hand halting slightly in its descent towards his glistening forehead.

“T-Touch me, please. Please, love. P-Please touch me,” he begged with you, his eyes shutting tightly as he winced out another cry, “I n-need you. Please, I need you.” You pressed your palm against his forehead, taking in his scorching temperature beneath your palm and wincing at the contact.

“You’re burning up, sweetheart,” you commented, swiping his damp hair away from his forehead and sweeping your palm to collect his cheek, “what can I do? Tell me. I’ll get Chopper-.”

“-NO!” He roared at you, shock springing to your spine at his ferocity. His eyes were open and pupils completely blown with unbridled lust as he managed to wince out, his pace not halting in the slightest as his bicep continued to maintain his bruising rhythm of fisting his veiny cock.

“J-Just-… Just…” he closed his eyes, his breath continuing to stutter. He bit his bottom lip hard, piercing the skin as he attempted to again push himself over the edge of another orgasm to no avail. His body was wrecked with grief, physically shaking. You were unaware of the possibility of someone being struck pale with horror and glow crimson with embarrassment: yet, here lay the poor blonde chef in a puddle of his own sweat, shaking with arousal and frustration.

“Just, what? What can I do? Love, name it,” you cooed down at him. You couldn’t bare to watch another moment of him like this, but truly unaware of how to best aid him in his predicament. Sanji cringed through the pain, gritting his teeth and persevering his unspoken thought.

“Darling,” he called to you, attempting to sit from his reclined position; only to falter back onto his unused elbow as he winced out, “I need you to fuck me.” You were absolutely taken aback by his statement, the seriousness in his eyes and the animalistic tone in his voice. Sanji would flirt with you, sure. You would reciprocate, absolutely. But this was something new entirely.

“-Don’t think about it. Don’t think about me. Just-…nmph-…” he was hit with another wave of lust as the dust in his lungs fuelled his desire further, “-You can picture anyone else. Imagine the most handsome man, or beautiful woman you could concoct. Picture the stupid swordsman, I just-… -f-fuck… Just please, lay with me. Please f-fuck me-.”

You placed both hands either side of his face, pulling his lustful gaze into you and holding his grey eyes fixed on your own.

“Sanji,” you called to him, your voice soft and calm. A whimper fell from his parted lips as you rolled his name over your tongue.

“Y-Yes, my love? Y-Yes?” he asked you, his eyes full of sorrow and defeat. You sighed at his expression, smoothing your hand over his face once again.

“There’s no one else I would dream of doing this for,” you confessed to him, “why would I imagine anyone else?” His actions halted, his body immediately reacting to your words and holding himself completely statuesque. At that momentary pause, his body screamed at him to begin moving once more; a growl releasing itself from within his chest and verbally chastising himself.

“Darling, please. Please,” he begged, thrusting upwards his hips into his hands, “Please ride me. I need you.. -nghh-…, please, I…-hhah-…p-promise I’ll be good. Please.”

You sighed, closing your eyes and feeling the waves of his heated desperation falling off him and coating the room with the perfume of his musky arousal. You stood, facing away from him and removed your pants, pooling them onto the floor to entangle with his bedsheets and pillows he flung carelessly off his bed earlier. Shimmying out of your underwear, you kicked them off to the side, your walls already coated with a shameful amount of arousal at the sight of your desperate friend as he pumped his cock in front of you.

Keeping your eyes closed, you turned around to face him again while bashfully tugging down the length of your shirt to shield your arousal from him. You coyly knelt atop the mattress, avoiding his desperate gaze as he took in every moment of your descent towards him. He continued to fist at his cock at a bruising pace, the heavy slaps falling like punches down his shaft to hit at his groin painfully heavy as he cried out for you one last time.

“I’m s-sorry. I’m…a-aahh-…I’m so, so sorry,” his apologies were flung into the air with a mixture of your name and a variety of creative pet-names. You reached down and collected his unused hand, lacing your fingertips within his slowly and carefully.

“It’s okay, Sanji. If you could just-,” you crawled onto his lap and hovered over his rapidly beating hand tugging his aching cock, “-stop for a moment, and I’ll-…” you reached down and tugged away his hand from gripping his cock in the firm vice-clench of his hand. He whimpered and began gyrating into the air at the absence of stimulation, his tongue darting out to dampen his bottom lip with a fresh coat of saliva.

You placed his hand on your hip and released it from your grasp, reaching down to pull back the skin of his shaft and steady yourself as you made a slow descent to impale yourself atop his throbbing cock. His shiny red tip brushed against your glistening folds, prompting him to let out a feral scream at the contact. Your eyes snapped open, searching his face for any harm or pain, only finding a warm blush dusting his cheeks, his jaw slack and a trail of saliva connecting his upper and lower teeth. You furrowed your brows, hardening in your resolve and sunk the tip of his cock into your core. Another scream erupted from Sanji, his whimpers falling away to become feral growls and ferocious snarls.

“Sanji,” you moaned, the tip beginning to stretch your core as you adjusted to his size. His eyes snapped open as he gazed at your face. Although his vision was blurry and exhaustion was overcoming him from edging his body, he was desperately pleading with himself to be present for this moment. A moment he truly never foresaw ever completing on his own. Although still clad in your t-shirt, your torso hidden from him as you sunk down onto his aching cock, he had never seen something so beautiful. His eyes filled with glassy, fresh tears of relief as you continued slowly coaxing his cock into you.

He unlaced his hand with yours, bringing it to meet the other side of your hip as you descended down onto his cock; fluttering as you adjusted to his size. As you nearly took in his entire length, he mustered all of the strength remaining in his body and sat with you fully sheathed on his lap. His balls were sucked into his stomach with the pressure of his release, the new angle immediately hitting the sensitive underside of your clit with his curved cock with his soft pubic hair tickling against your clit.

In that one swift motion of you taking in his entire length, he was immediately a trembling mess; whining sweet praises at you while physically shaking in his shoulders while desperately clawing at your ass.

He was cumming. Instantly.

Ribbons of his pent up release coating your inner walls with the slickened backsplash of his cum. Twitching, lightly rocking with his entire length disappearing within your walls, he held you so tightly as if you were the only thing tethering him to this world. He pressed his forehead against your shoulder, sobbing onto your shirt with tears dampening the material below his closed eyes.

“I-I’m cumming. I’m cumming. O-Oh f-fuck… -nghhh-… I-I… -hh-hahh-… I’m s-sorry. I-I’m c-cumming,” he cried against you, his shoulders shaking with his sobs. 

“It’s okay, shh,” you drew your hands to the back of his hair, soothing over the sweat covered, matted locks, “sweetheart, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re loved. It’s truly okay.” You pressed a small kiss to his temple while he slowly rocked you within his lap, his cum continuing to shoot up into you and dance with your own glistening arousal. Although you had not experienced a release, you could empathetically feel his satisfaction as he was finally able to climax through whatever seemed to hold him incapable of doing so. 

Waves of exhaustion fell from him, his rocking halting as the last few beads spilled over and into your body, your arousal satisfying his unquenchable thirst and smothering the flames of his wild, burning panic. He sighed into you, releasing your hips from his grip and circling his left hand around your hips and hooking his right hand up the middle of your back to cradle you against himself. A small shudder of his shoulders followed by a low rumbly, laugh of relief had you finally able to relax, knowing your chef was finally himself again. You giggled, lacing your arms over his shoulders and whispering down against his temple.

“Are you okay down there?” you giggled as you checked in with him, prompting another laugh to erupt from his parted lips at your question. He slowly moved his forehead away from the crook of your shoulder and neck, placing a small kiss against your neck before looking up at you.

“Hi,” he whispered to you, a coy smile rising to his lips as his eyes finally met yours. 

“Hi,” you smiled back in return. He placed his forehead up against your own, brushing your nose with his. His eyes creased upwards, his relief falling over him in waves as you traced circles atop his shoulders. He slowly snuck a glance down at the point where your two bodies connected, noticing his slowly dissipating harness was still buried within you. He sighed out a content breath before seeking your gaze out once more. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?” Sanji huffed a small laugh, “I’ll return the favor, then I’ll cook you something. That sound okay?” You laughed at his suggestion, nodding enthusiastically and placing a small kiss on his forehead. 

“Sounds perfect, chef.”

[honeyedmiller]

Clouded | Joel Miller

husband!joel miller x wife!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

warnings: use of marijuana, reader and joel both get high, smut (unprotected piv, two ass slaps, somewhat dirty talk??, brief nipple play, cock warming, joel is touchy), the adlers hate the millers in this one probably, she/her pussy pronouns, a tiny bit of fluff, joel is corny af and makes corny ass jokes (ofc cus what else would he do). let’s pretend that’s joel and not javi in the pic above just for the sake of this horny mess of a fic, cool? cool. no use of y/n.

word count: 1.2k

a/n: idk. this was just pure brainrot what can i say

synopsis: saturdays are meant for errands and chores. joel convinces you otherwise just for once.

Saturday mornings were meant for running errands and cleaning the house. At least, that’s what you and your husband agreed to. 

But today was different. Today, it started off with Joel mumbling ‘five more minutes’ into your shoulder, hands roaming around your body to feel your bare flesh beneath his calloused palms. 

He eventually made his way down to your clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles into you while you ground your ass into his stiff cock. 

It was nice. The change of pace was something you were relishing, even if it was short-lived. 

You grabbed his hand from underneath the sheets, bringing his middle finger to your mouth to suck on the tip. He groaned when you bit the pad of his finger, and you couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction. 

“So needy, Mr. Miller.” You teased, twisting your head so your gaze could lock on his. 

His usual honey brown eyes had darkened, pooling with pure lust and desire as his hands gently wrapped around your throat. His thumb and forefinger lifted your jaw up so your lips could easily slot between his, biting your bottom lip as he pulled apart from you. 

“What I need is my pretty wife on top ‘a me. Show me how a real cowgirl rides it.” He winks, and you can’t help but laugh at his corny joke. 

But still, you oblige. Who were you to say no to being deliciously filled up by your husband’s cock? 

You twist out of his grasp and swing a leg over him, straddling his hips. He instinctively grabs onto your waist and slowly guides you down over his erection.

You needed him badly, but you just had to tease him first. Your already-slick cunt settled on top of his cock, and you started to rock your hips slowly to coat his length in your slick. 

You both moaned at the contact, Joel closing his eyes as he clenched that familiar muscle in his jaw. His eyes snapped open as he felt you shift your weight above him, watching you lean over to pull something out of your nightstand drawer. 

You pulled out the half finished pre-roll you and him had smoked a few nights prior along with the neon green bic lighter stashed to the side. You shoot him a wicked grin before slotting the joint between your lips and flicking the lighter a couple of times before the end of the joint starts to crackle. 

You deeply inhale as you stare down at Joel, tossing the lighter onto your nightstand before you grab his length with your hand. You tease yourself with the tip of his cock, a shiver running down your spine as you finally allow yourself to sink down onto him. 

Joel plucks the joint from your lips and slots it between his own, groaning at the sensation of your warmth completely enveloping him. 

You use both of your hands to grab his thighs behind you to hold yourself upright, smoke escaping your lungs as you let out a strangled moan. 

It didn’t matter how many times you two had fucked—the stretch was always something that made you gush every single time. 

You gave an experimental roll of your hips, lolling your head back in pure pleasure. Joel’s hand skated up your body and squeezed your breast, toying with your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. 

You rolled your head back around so you were looking down at him, and he gently grabbed the back of your neck to coax you down. He used his thumb to open your jaw as he blew smoke into your mouth, gripping your other hip so tight that you felt the imprint of his wedding band into your flesh. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby. My beautiful wife. Can’t believe you’re all mine.” Joel’s voice is soft and sincere, and you lean down to kiss him before taking the joint from him to slot it between your lips once more. 

“You’re pretty too, cowboy.” You wink at him and a laugh rumbles from his sturdy chest, slightly shaking you in the process. He gives your ass a light slap, but you moan and roll your hips to the contact. 

Joel shoots you a shit-eating smirk before he slaps your ass again, harder this time, and the sting is fucking delicious. 

You lowly moan his name as you begin to ride him faster, and his hands easily find home on your hips as you find a steady rhythm. 

Nothing but your pants and slick skin slapping on skin reverberates off of your bedroom walls, and you partially think to yourself you should’ve fucking filmed this for later use. 

Joel takes the joint from your hands and stubs it out as quickly as he can before his hand rejoins your hip, groaning at how fucking good you feel. 

“Jus’ like that baby. So fuckin’ good.” 

You whine at his praise, head cloudy with lust and desire as you ride him even faster. Your hips burn and you’re panting hard, feeling that devilish little burn in the depths of your core. 

“C’mon baby, I know you’re close. Can feel ya. She’s fuckin’ squeezin’ me so goddamn good.” He continues, and at this point he takes matters into his own hands and starts to fuck up into you. 

You cry out in pleasure as you rest your hands on his chest, nails digging little crescent marks into his hot skin. 

Your mind was so foggy and all you wanted was for that coil to fucking snap. It was wound up so tight, and Joel’s cock was nudging that perfect spot inside of you. The wiry hairs at the base of his cock added that extra bit of friction, creating the perfect cocktail for a most blissful orgasm. 

“Atta girl, there you go baby. I know you wanna fuckin’ come for me.” 

And you did. Your body went rigid as your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, legs shaking as you gushed around your husband’s cock. 

“Fuckfuckfuck—Joel!” You couldn’t help but scream, not giving a fuck if the neighbors could possibly hear. 

Hell, you wanted the whole world to know just how good your husband fucked you. 

Your body tingled as he grunted, immediately stilling as he fucked his spend up into you. 

You collapsed on top of him, breathing heavy and eyes half-lidded and glossed over in your fucked-out state. You moved to get off of him, but Joel stilled you and wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead as he kept you in place. 

“Mm mm. Don’ move. This is nice.” He mumbled, kissing your forehead a few more times before you nuzzled your face into his neck, licking his salty skin before giving him a small nibble. You kiss him after, sighing into him as your body felt like it was floating on cloud nine. 

“Fuck, what about our errands today?” 

“They can be done tomorrow.” He says, eyes closed as he traced patterns onto your back with his fingertips. 

“On a Sunday?” You ask, looking up at him. With his eyes still closed, he offered you a lazy grin before giving you a small nod. 

“So fuckin’ worth it.” 

tags: @nostalxgic @endlessthxxghts @punkshort @ilovepedro @amanitacowboy (this one’s for us lindsey <3)

divider by @saradika-graphics

[katsu28]

for you i'd wait forever

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader

summary: bradley breaks things off with you before a deployment because he doesn't want you to worry about him (4.2k)

warnings: some swearing, bradley's commitment issues, happy ending i promise!

a/n: okay so from what i gathered from my googling is that tapping out is typically for new military graduates (i think?) but this idea was so cute so pls forgive the inaccuracies i have no idea what i'm doing at all <3 and also pls forgive me for the utter lack of writing since the beginning of the year, these last few months have been brutal (creatively and otherwise) but i am hopefully back!!! xx

Bradley thought he knew the tolls of being in the Navy. It was tough on not only him, but the people in his life. For the most part, he’d always put his career first. His life had always been on a set track, and although there were plenty of setbacks, he forged ahead until he got where he was today. 

And then he met you. Fell in love with you. Finally knew what it meant to have someone in his corner who was just his. Who knew him for him only, not as Goose’s kid, or Mav’s protege.

For the first time in his life, he could actually see himself spending the rest of it with you. Marriage, house, kids, grandkids—the whole shebang.

That was his first mistake. The more he thought about what life could look like with you, the more he thought about what your life could look like without him. What would happen if something happened to him and he didn’t make it back from this next mission coming up in a few weeks. 

He thought about his mom and how she lost his dad—her husband. The man she thought she’d be spending the rest of her life with. 

Bradley’s thoughts grew quite grim after that. Countless what if’s and thinking about every possible outcome and he eventually made up his mind. He had to break up with you. 

He didn’t want to. Not by a long shot. You were probably the best thing that ever happened to him in his thirty plus years of life. But deep down, he knew that it was the right thing to do. He was about to leave for six, seven months, with little to no contact with anyone who wasn’t Navy. That would definitely take a toll on your relationship. You’d never been through something like this before, and there really was no way to prepare you for what it would be like. 

You would worry about him every single hour of every single day, he knew that for a fact. Bradley barely remembered what it was like when his dad was away because he was so young, but he did remember how worried his mom was all the time.

Looking back, he understood now. He didn’t want that for you. The worry would hold you back from other things you wanted to do in life, things that brought you joy and gave you purpose. 

With the mission creeping up on him faster than he would’ve liked, he knew he had to do it sooner rather than later. 

That was how Bradley found himself on your doorstep right now, pushing down his guilt by telling himself over and over that breaking up with you was in your best interest. He hadn’t called beforehand to tell you he was coming by, so when you answered the door and beamed brighter than the stars when your eyes landed on him, he almost wanted to chicken out. 

“Hi!” You exclaimed, immediately pulling him into a warm hug. His arms closed around you out of instinct, thumb rubbing over the sliver of exposed skin at your waist, nose nudging its way against your neck the way he always did when you embraced him. 

He inhaled the scent of the lotion you loved to use, that flowery one that sometimes made him sneeze. You always said you’d buy a different one the next time you went to the store, but you always forgot. He didn’t mind it at all though. A small bout of allergies was nothing compared to the inevitable smattering of apology kisses you pressed to his face when you realized you’d forgotten. 

Fuck, this was going to be way harder than he thought. 

Your hands made their way up his biceps to cup his cheeks, eyes darting around his face. “What’re you doing here? Oh my god, did we have something planned? I’m so—” 

“No.” He gave his head a shake, offering you a smile. “No, we didn’t have anything planned. I just…wanted to see you. To talk to you.” 

“Come in, come in, I was just about to start dinner,” You hummed, escaping his embrace with an arm hooked through his to tug him over the threshold. “Trying a new recipe I found the other day, not sure if it’ll turn out good or end up being a shitshow, but—well, you can help me be the judge of that, I guess!” 

“Is it okay if we talk first?” 

If you were confused, you didn’t show it, just changed direction seamlessly, making your way to the couch instead of the kitchen. You sat down, patting the cushion next to you for him to settle on and he did, rubbing his clammy palms against his thighs. 

“Is everything okay?” 

Everything was far from okay, he wanted to say. Instead he inhaled a deep breath before his next words. 

“I wanted to tell you I’m shipping out in a few weeks.” 

Your face fell a little, but you nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. What do we do? Is there anything you can tell me? Like, what’s the best way to get in touch with you, when’s the best time, that kind of stuff? Or is sending letters better? Sorry, I feel like I’m asking a lot of questions. I don’t—I’ve never really done anything like this before, so—” 

“I think we should break up.” He blurted. 

You hesitated before answering, blinking at him like you’d somehow heard him wrong. “What?” 

“It’s hard having someone overseas for a long time, even more so when it’s a partner. It was really hard on my mom, and hard for me having to watch her worry like that for months, and I—I don’t want that for you.” He said quietly, not daring to meet your eyes until he gave his poor excuse for an explanation on why he was doing the one thing he swore he wouldn’t do to you. 

The moment he’d realized he’d fallen in love with you, he’d promised himself he would never abandon you, never break your heart or your trust, and here he was, doing that exact thing. It was tearing him apart inside. 

“I don’t want you to have to go through all that, so it’s just better if we—that we break up now. Before I go.” 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m sorry. It’s for the best.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Your voice broke just after the last word, swallowed up by a hitched inhale of a breath that had his resolve wavering just the slightest bit. He could barely look you in the eyes the whole time, and now…he didn’t think he could stand the sadness and hurt flooding every single one of your beautiful features. 

“All the worrying and the uncertainty of not knowing what’s happening, I don’t—it wouldn’t be fair to you. I care about you too much to put you through all of that.” 

You were silent for the longest time, eyes glued to the floor as you processed the information. He thought you were about to start crying with the way your brow creased, but when you finally looked back up at him, your gaze had hardened. “Did these last six months mean nothing to you? You’re just gonna throw everything away because what—you don’t think I can handle it?” 

They meant everything to me, he wanted to say. You mean everything to me. 

If he was really being honest with himself, it was him who couldn’t handle it. Still, he forged on, thinking it best to just rip off the bandaid. He could live with being the asshole if it meant sparing you from the terrible experience of him being god knows how many miles away for months. 

“I’m sorry. I wish you nothing but happiness, Y/N. You deserve better than anything I could ever give you.” 

“You wish me nothing but happiness?” You chuckled humorlessly, shaking your head. Bradley’s eyes tracked you across the room as you paced back and forth, guilt ridden expression on full display. All he wanted to do was take all of it back; to kiss you senseless and tell you everything was going to work out, but he couldn’t. He’d burned the bridge, cut the rope. Broke your heart. He felt like the biggest asshole in the world. He probably was. “Screw you, Bradley. I mean it.”

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, for what seemed like the hundredth time. It was all he could say. 

“Get the fuck out of my house.” 

“Y/N, I—” 

You rushed at him, pushing, shoving, sending him stumbling step by step towards the front door until he almost crashed into it had he not managed to pull it open a split second before you shoved him outside. He’d never forget the look of betrayal in your eyes right before you slammed the door in his face. 

Bradley forced his feet to take him back to his car, then to drive away before he could have a chance to even try and make things better. He’d most likely end up making things much, much worse. Though he didn’t think it could get any worse with the way he was feeling about himself right now. You were angry at him, and you had every right to be. 

But had he lingered at your door only moments after, he would’ve heard the thump against the wood that was you sliding down to the floor and the sob that escaped your mouth. 

All because of him. 

-------

Bradley was happy to finally be coming back home after ages away, but then he realized it—he didn’t have anyone to tap him out this time. His mind jumped to you first, but there was no chance in hell you’d be there for him. You’d probably moved on months ago. Forgotten about him. And with Mav away on another deployment, he really had no one. 

His chest ached the longer he stood at attention, jaw clenched tighter than he meant it to be as he watched the rest of his squad get tapped out by their loved ones. Coyote’s parents, Fanboy’s sisters, Hangman’s nieces and nephews, Phoenix’s girlfriend. They were all emotional reunions, and Bradley was happy for them, he really was. But it sucked being the one with nobody there for him. 

He wasn’t expecting the soft tap on his arm when it came. He thought it was a mistake at first; someone else’s family bumping into him accidentally, so he didn’t move. But when the hand didn’t leave its place wrapped loosely around his bicep, Bradley knew it really was for him. He turned around, squinting against the blinding sunlight to see who’d come for him. 

“Hi.” You said softly, hand dropping back down to your side. He couldn’t help but let himself take you in, eyes drinking in every single achingly familiar detail of you until you shifted nervously under his intense gaze. You looked so beautiful he almost felt dizzy, just like he remembered but at the same time somehow even better. 

“You came.” He said, disbelieving. He could still hardly believe you were actually here. 

“I promised you I would.” 

“But that—that was before…everything happened. Why are you—what’re you doing here?” The last thing he wanted to sound like was ungrateful, because he was quite literally the opposite, but his mind just couldn’t wrap around the fact that despite him breaking your heart seven months ago, you still remembered what you’d promised him in the very beginning of your relationship. 

“What does it mean to tap someone out?” You asked quietly, tracing a finger along the planes of Bradley’s bare chest. Your legs were tangled under the covers, both of you still basking in the aftermath of getting reacquainted with each other again after Bradley had been out of town attending a weeklong training exercise. 

His skin was still damp with sweat, but you didn’t mind one bit, too busy exploring the expanse of muscle shifting under his bronzed skin again. “In military terms, I mean.” 

He chuckled, hiding a content smile into the hair at the crown of your head. “That’s a weird question.” 

“Humor me, Bradshaw.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Bradley stroked a rough palm down the smooth skin of your arm, taking a few beats to come up with an answer that would make sense. “Tapping out is a super long standing tradition in pretty much all military units, I think. It comes at the end of a mission, when we’ve come back to base.” 

His arm repositioned itself under your head as he scooted closer to the warmth radiating from your body, nose nuzzling deeper against you just so he could engrain the smell of your lingering fruity scented shampoo into his memory forever. 

How you still smelled so good even after your…physical activities just before this was beyond him, but he loved it. 

“An aviator’s loved ones are usually the ones to do it. Friends, family, those kinds of people. When you tap out your aviator, literally you’re releasing them from formation. But I guess it’s kind of a gesture that means…you’re home.” 

Your wandering fingers stilled against his skin, lingering right above his heart. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Go for it.” 

“Who usually taps you out?” 

Bradley remained silent. It was an innocent question, he knew that. He’d told you a little bit about his parents, and you were just curious. Still, it sent a pang of sadness through his chest whenever he thought about what it would’ve been like if they were still around today. 

He cleared his throat, sniffing once. “Usually Mav. Or sometimes one of my squad’s family. If no one can, I just gotta wait til everyone else is done.” 

“I wanna do it.”

“What?” 

“I’m gonna be there next time you come back from a mission. To tap you out.” 

“I appreciate it, honey, I do. But you don’t need to.” 

“I want to.” You said firmly, pulling away from him to prop yourself up on your elbow and look him in the eye. You looked damn serious too. He raised a quizzical brow. “You said that to tap someone out means to tell them they’re home. I want to be the one to tell you you’re home. Here. With me.” 

Bradley opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then snapped shut when no words came out. He really was at a loss for words. No one had ever done that before. Sure, Mav’s offer was always a good one to fall back on, but Bradley had never had someone he cared about as much as he did about you telling him they were going to be there for him. 

The next best thing he could think of instead of saying anything at all was to kiss you. So he did. 

He pushed himself up towards you, sliding a hand around the nape of your neck and pressing his lips against yours. Not bruisingly hard, but enough to let you know he was all in. The other hand curled around your shoulder, splaying across your back to bring you back in closer to him, until your chests were flush and you could feel his heartbeat thundering under your palm.

He was home. You were his home. 

“I told you I’d be here to tap you out, and I meant it.” You said simply, holding his gaze. “I keep my promises, Bradshaw. Even after the way you left things.” 

Red hot guilt crept its way through his chest like vines, bringing all the memories of the last time you saw each other right back up to the surface, even after how hard he’d tried to shove them all down. If there was one thing he regretted in life, it was how he left you that night. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself for that one. 

“I don’t even know what to say, Y/N, I—” 

“Then let me say something.” You blurted, wringing your hands. Bradley nodded instantly, still too dumbfounded to reply. “I’ve been thinking about what I wanted to say to you today for months. I don’t even know if I should.” 

“You should.” He encouraged, nodding quickly. He’d always wanted you to be able to speak your mind with him. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear it.” 

“Okay. Okay, well first of all, you’re an asshole, Bradley.” 

He nodded again. He deserved at least that much. “I am. Absolute asshole, I know.” 

“But I never stopped loving you. Even though I was angry and sad and confused as fuck as to why you would do that to me, I still loved you. And eventually, I realized that it wasn’t anything I did wrong. You were scared. Of losing me, of me losing you. So you decided it was your responsibility to pull the ripcord before you crashed and burned.” Bradley winced slightly at the comparison and you grimaced at your own poor choice in words. “I—sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“It’s okay. You’re right. You didn’t deserve that.” 

“You said you didn’t want me to worry while you were gone, well, I did that anyways.” You chuckled, like you were remembering a fond memory instead of the constant state of anxiety you’d been in. “But instead of worrying that the man I love might not make it home, I was terrified that if you didn’t come home, I’d spend my whole life replaying our last conversation in my head. Wondering if there was something I could’ve said or done so you wouldn’t have given up on us so easily.” 

“You think that was easy for me? Sweetheart, walking away from you was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in my whole life.” 

“Sure seemed pretty easy.” You scoffed lightly, only a tad spiteful. A low blow, you realized, when Bradley stiffened for a split second, but you held steady. 

“It wasn’t.” His reply was immediate and firm as could be, but somehow, that didn’t make you feel any better. “You have to understand, breaking things off was the last thing I wanted to do. But I couldn’t—I thought that if I didn’t, you’d wait for me.” 

“I would’ve waited, Bradley! I did wait for you! For you, I'd wait forever because I love you, but you didn’t even give me that choice. You made the decision on your own instead of talking to me about it. That was what hurt the most.”  

“I’m sorry.” Bradley said quietly, reaching out to take your hand. His fingers laced through yours almost tentatively, feeling so familiar but so foreign at the same time. There was a point in your life where you never thought that concept would apply to Bradley. “I never should’ve left like that, I wish I could take it all back.” 

“I think I understand now why you did it. I understand that fear that comes with the experience of losing a loved one like that. But Bradley, you’re not responsible for my feelings. And I don’t care how scared you get, I’m not going anywhere. From now on, we work things out together, no matter what you think is best.” 

“From now on? Does that mean…?” 

“You’re my home, Bradley Bradshaw.”

Bradley took your face in his hands and he kissed you, long and hard, pouring every ounce of pent up feelings he’d been bottling up for the past seven months into it. Pain, fear, love, hope—all of it. You were never one to believe in such emotion being able to convey itself through a simple physical action, but now you could honestly say you understood it. 

Your hands spread across the broadness of his back, fingers pressing into the crisp starch of his uniform like you were afraid of letting him go , even though he was home and everything was okay now. Losing him the first time made you angry. You didn’t even want to imagine possibly losing him a second time. 

He drew back, only far enough to press his lips to your forehead, hands still holding you close as could be. “Thank you for coming.”

“I don’t make a habit of breaking my promises.” 

“C’mon, I wanna introduce you to the squad.” He said softly, lacing his fingers through yours. The way he all but bounded over to the group of aviators a little ways away was almost boyish, as was the excitement in his voice when he approached them. “Hey everyone, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Bradley announced, sliding a hand around to the small of your back. 

Everyone’s eyes turned on you, conversations petering to a gradual stop as they looked between you and Bradley. You shifted nervously, suddenly feeling unsure with all the attention on you, but Bradley’s thumb rubbed along your skin, soothing you just a bit. “This is Y/N. My girlfriend.” 

The tall blond reacted the quickest, snapping loudly before aiming a finger in your direction, along with a shiny smile. “Wait, I know you! You’re the one in that photo Rooster keeps tucked in his helmet. Lemme tell you, he looked at that picture every damn day, it was like—” 

Bradley let out a very forced laugh, aiming a not-so-subtle daggered glare at the other man. “Okay, Hangman! That’s okay, I really don’t think—” 

“You’re a real saint, taking this one back. If I ever pulled the shit he did, my car would’ve been keyed to all hell when I came home.” Hangman chuckled, giving his head a shake. 

“Hangman. Shut. Up.” 

“Don’t tell me to shut up, you shut up!” 

“You’re the only one talking!” 

“Alright, alright, you’re both grown men here,” The dark haired woman sighed, turning towards you. “At least, I hope so.” 

You chuckled at that, casting a glance over at Bradley to find him already looking back at you, the back and forth with Hangman already long forgotten given the way he was smiling at you, like you were the force that made the world go round. Taking you in under his arm, he dotted a kiss to your hairline as your fingers came up to intertwine with his again, watching you interact with his squad like you’d known them for years. 

It was everything he ever wanted. And now that he had it, he’d never be dumb enough to let it go again. 

His mind drifted back to his parents’ fate— how they never got to live out their life together. How there was no guarantee about anything when it came to Bradley’s own fate with you.

And sure, it was scary to be so uncertain about the future, but you’d both climb that hill together when the time came. For now, Bradley could let himself be content. This second chance at a life with you wasn’t one he was planning on taking lightly, not by a long shot. 

“Let’s get off this damn carrier and hit the town! Drinks at the Hard Deck, last one there buys the first round!” Hangman’s drawling voice drew Bradley out of his thoughts, just in time to let the words sink in.

You, on the other hand, stifled a giggle at the sight of seeing a group of full grown adults scatter as fast as Bradley’s friends did. Watching Hangman nearly shove Coyote to the ground upon seeing their cars were parked next to each other was something you’d never not get a kick out of. 

But Bradley, he didn’t seem as worried about it all. In fact, he walked leisurely with your hand firmly in his, swinging both of them between the two of you as you made your way to your own car. 

“Aren’t you worried you’ll be the last one there?” 

“I’ll buy the round, I don’t care.” He shrugged. “I wanna spend some time with my girl.” 

“Your girl.” You hummed, giving his hand a squeeze. “Gotta say, I’ve missed hearing that.” 

“I’ve missed saying it. We’ve got a lot to catch up on, honey. Starting with, do you or do you not have a voodoo doll made in my image that you stabbed with pins when I was away because I broke your heart?” 

You scoffed, letting out a not so attractive snort. “Bradley, I mean this in the most respectful way possible—what the hell are you talking about? Where would you even get that idea?”

“I—uh, I had a dream about it? A few weeks into deployment.” He admitted sheepishly, cheeks burning red in embarrassment. You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. “You don’t, right?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You replied, giving his chest a firm pat. You didn’t have a voodoo doll of him, of course, but playing along was worth it just to see Bradley squirm. 

“Wait, wait, wait, but you didn’t say no.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“So you do?” 

“I didn’t say that either. But if you’re not sure, I’d watch yourself the next couple weeks.” 

His brows furrowed in confusion and a bit of fear as he watched you walk away from him with some bounce to your step. “I…really don’t like the sound of that. Hang on, get back here. Explain, please!” 

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[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶Casual was much harder rule to abide by when Eddie spent more time with you, as facilitated by his daughter. Dialed back was a flirting style you weren't accustomed to, and proved near-impossible to follow when Eddie's lips were pressed to your ear.✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, slight scent kink, allusion to jerking off, reader wears eddie's jacket, drug/alcohol mention/use, depictions of poverty, 18+ overall for eventual smut

chapter: 5/20 [wc: 15.1k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 5: You're Gonna Get Me in Trouble

————

The days of the week lost their meaning in the best way. Turning from one to the next like the colors of the leaves. Falling in and out of obscurity. What was a Monday, when Monday felt like Friday? And what was a Friday, when the familiar clicking sound of your bicycle spokes found him on a Saturday?

The days blurred. The edges sharpened. They were long when the sun was short. They were beautiful, and aggressively tender, including the lows, because the lows themselves used to be the highs.

The days swirled into an everlasting seasoned breeze of cherished moments. Too many to fill the memories of those collecting them. Glimpses into a life of pleasantness–of contentedness–if one were to grasp them.

————

Leather. Vanilla cologne. Spicy deodorant and earthy tobacco.

You grabbed the cuffs of your sweater into your fists and worked your arms down the sleeves of Eddie’s jacket before grabbing your bike from the porch, and setting off on your shortcut through the frosty grass.

The farther you journeyed, the more you smelled like him. The more you sounded like him.

In Robin’s driveway, cigarette smoke overwhelmed your nose, but as your skin warmed from exertion, the nuances appeared. The natural musk clinging to the inside lining, and the artificial fragrances on top, now enveloping you. You turned onto the main road leading to the auto shop, and the chains on the sleeve cuff clinked against the broken zipper. Bouncing your tire up onto the sidewalk, the snap tab collar jangled in time with the small rocks you rode over on the way to the front employee door. You dismounted your bike in a fluid motion, and the supple leather made to fit Eddie creaked and groaned as you got out your keys.

The door opposite you in the garage was ajar, meaning he was smoking in the alleyway.

Quietly, you went to the break room, and said your peace. “Boy’s clothes are always better.”

Standing in front of the coat hooks, you slipped your hands into the pockets and pulled out the items for no other reason than to observe them in remembrance, as if you hadn’t inspected them for hours over the weekend. A half-empty pack of Camels crowded with rolling papers. Translucent green BIC lighter. A grocery receipt from two weeks ago with an obscene amount of pasta and marinara listed on it. A peppermint candy wrapper you could now confirm came from the candy dish on your desk intended for customers. And, of course, a tiny blue high heel shoe belonging to a Barbie doll. Because what father wouldn’t have that in their pocket.

Returning the items from whence they came, you fished a strip of paper out of your jeans, and added it to his treasure.

You removed the warmth you’d become accustomed to, and stared at the coat hook. You glanced down the hallway. Listened for Eddie.

Silence pressed in on you.

Intentionally, after spending more time doing this in bed than you cared to admit, you found his scent to be the strongest on the inside of the collar, and brought it to your nose.

Hugging the jacket to your chest, you inhaled deep, and sighed.

Years of the leather being draped around his neck did wonders for your loneliness since moving here. Last night you caved despite the voice in your head telling you it was weird to find comfort in your coworker’s belongings. As you stared into pitch-black attic, laying alone in a borrowed twin size bed with someone else’s parent’s hand-me-down blankets, cold, and without the glow or noise of the city to keep you company, you surrendered, and wrapped yourself in him. It was a split second decision, quickly overwhelmed by a sensation you hadn’t felt in quite some time. And it was an emotion you were more than happy to shove behind the other clutter in your brain, vowing you’d unpack it some other day, totally. Definitely. You’d absolutely process the heady buzz, and delightful sweat breaking out across your skin at the thought of your coworker’s arms giving you this embrace, and being able to press your nose to the crook of his neck to experience his salty taste on your tongue first-hand.

A squeaky truck passed by on the street, breaking you out of your spell.

“Good God, get a hold on yourself,” you begged aloud, and hung up the jacket.

~~~

The coffee machine sputtered liquid energy into the pot, signifying the end of your morning chores. And yet, Eddie had not made his appearance, whether it was wanted or not, depending on if he was hiding around a corner, or doing the thing he did where he stood next to you and looked like he wanted to say something, but never did.

The back door was still ajar. You poked your head out, and he was there, leaning against the wall. The stubby end of his cigarette was pinched between his forefinger and thumb with a trail of smoke coming off of it.

Early sunrays pierced the tree-lined horizon, gilding the silhouette of his nose in brilliant beauty. He heard you step onto the rocks, and rolled his head to the side to watch you stand between him and his car. The sun caught his hair. Glanced off the gentle slope of his cheek. Caused him to squint one of his eyes, and wrench his mouth into a lopsided grimace.

“Good morning,” he was first to say.

“Good morning,” you replied brightly. “You cut your hair.” By the way his face fell, you gathered he assumed no one would notice, but the feathery edge of his bangs curled higher onto his forehead, flaunting the harsher shadows of his confusion. You reassured him, “It looks good.”

He continued to stare at you without an emotion you could decipher.

“Really good?” you added, thinking he was seeking a better compliment.

With a soft smile and averted gaze, he flicked the ash from his cigarette, and admitted, “Sometimes I have problems vocalizing my thoughts before they’re gone, and I forget you can’t hear them if I don’t blurt them out. Luckily, my daughter demonstrated much better manners than I did, and thanked you for her costume, while I–”

“Waved for an obscenely long time, and then made fun of me,” you finished.

On cue, you both made eyes at each other, and looked away.

The sun couldn’t compete with his smile. The birdsong couldn’t compete with your giggle.

“Yeah,” he exhaled in a croaky groan. “I did do that, didn't I?” You shrugged and told him it didn’t bother you. It was just how you teased each other. “Still, thank you for putting in so much effort to make it special for her. She was crazy excited when she saw it. My uncle, too. I–uh, I appreciate you doing that for us more than I let on.”

“I know you do.” While Eddie may not have shared many of the details of his life prior to your arrival in Hawkins, it was evident in his every decision that people were not frequently kind to him, and the simple act of noticing he trimmed his bangs was something he’d think about for days.

“You think my hair looks good?” he asked, circling back to the original topic.

“The bangs, or everything?”

After a beat of consideration, he ventured, “Everything?”

You tilted your head. “Oh, it’s outdated. Messy. Unprofessional and like you just woke up from a 7-year coma. The worst case of bed head I’ve ever seen. More like a bird’s nest after a storm than anything, but yeah, it suits you. Can’t picture you with any other hairstyle, to be honest.” His expression was a mixture of bafflement, yet also flattery. You put emphasis on the latter. “I love it. It’s wild. I think you look good,” followed by, “for a weirdo,” to dodge the implication of calling him attractive.

In the long seconds that ensued, you rocked from foot to foot, waiting for him to say anything. Do anything besides stare at you with a slight smirk. Anything at all to make you feel like your nervous habits weren’t being examined under a microscope.

Cheeks suitably burning from the shyness of saying too much, you tugged your sleeves into your sweaty palms, and pivoted while saying, “Welp, time for me to be anywhere else on Earth but here.”

You swung open the door to the garage and he spoke up.

“You look pretty today.”

Halting your momentum on a dime, you slid your gaze from the floor to him–to his way of pressing his shoulder blades to the brick wall, leaning his full weight into the pose, arms crossed over his chest, cigarette between his lips, eyes set on you with an irresistible amount of tenderness to them.

You said, “Thank you, handsome,” and left the door open behind you.

But before you walked inside, before you blinked away, you watched that tenderness widen to excitement. You saw the soft curve of his mouth stretch to a smile. Heard him expel his breath in a single stunned laugh. And you listened to his voice fade as he turned his face up to the sky, and took the final drag on his cigarette with a smug mumble of, “Knew it.”

————

The next morning you stared at the full coffee pot suspiciously. The countertop was wiped clean and the powder creamer container was replaced, alongside the sugar packets being restocked.

Still wearing your backpack, you slipped off one strap, swung it around to unzip the top, and put away your lunch in the fridge. While bent over, you surveyed the room again, and narrowed your eyes at the shiny glass pot filled with dark brown coffee.

A certain someone was feeling generous today, helping you out with your morning chores, and that certain someone was currently sneaking behind your desk.

Pretending to mull over who could do such a courteous thing for you, you ran your finger over the packets. Neatened the coffee stirrers. Hummed a pleasing tune as you left the room with heavy steps. Stomp, stomp, stomp, all the way to the end of the hallway, meandering just before you would turn to sit at your desk.

“Raaah!” Eddie jumped from behind the wall–hunched over, hands clawed at you, face etched with utter deviousness, grinning broadly to bare his teeth.

You took the coffee stirrer and thwacked him on the forehead before sidestepping to your chair.

His wickedness withered away. “Hey,” he complained, rubbing the sore spot. “How did you–?”

“Your reflection, dork.”

He clicked his tongue and peered down the hall at the full coffee pot and microwave door, both giving away his movements. “Damnit.”

————

Lunches together became the norm.

Even after Carl and Kevin left the room to ruminate over the real clunker of a car that came in yesterday, you and Eddie remained crowded together on one side of the round table, eating.

You swiped the crumbs from your sandwich into your container. “How’s Adrie’s sleep been? I thought the whole ‘regression’ thing was just for babies.”

Eddie spoke with his mouth full of half-chewed spaghetti, gesturing with his fork, “Usually, yeah. It’s more like she has nightmares ‘nd stuff. Scared of the dark. Monsters under the bed. That sorta thing.” He hadn’t even swallowed before dipping his garlic toast in the marinara sauce and taking a bite. “It’s gotten better, though. I think only one nightmare these past two weeks.”

It happened last Wednesday. You remembered. After your boss and the other guys went home, Eddie fell asleep at the table, and you turned off the lights for him, letting him rest after taking his work jacket off the hook and placing it over his shoulders. He always pretends to not be awake when you do that, but you could tell from his breathing when he was awake and when he wasn’t.

“That’s good,” you said. “I had a talk with her on Halloween about how the dark wasn’t so scary; how she was a bat and bats love the dark, and I’m a mouse, we’re nocturnal, nighttime is just like daytime and there’s nothing to be afraid of, yada yada..” You trailed off upon seeing the faint shadow of his dimple flourish. “What?”

“That’s a genius move,” he said, impressed. “You sure you’re not a parent?”

You wanted to continue the conversation, you really did, but..

Sighing, you closed your eyes. “Eddie, you have sauce–just–all over your mouth.”

“–Shit, sorry.” Intent on rushing to the stack of napkins near the sink, he didn’t notice how close you were, and stumbled into your chair when standing up.

He caught himself on you. His hands were heavy on your shoulders as he regained his balance. Landing there on accident, yet it felt on purpose when they remained a moment longer, benefitting from your innate response to clasp your hands over his wrists and ask if he were all right, looking up at him with wide eyes of concern and your cheek pressed to his forearm.

He cursed another apology from above your head, and withdrew his grip–but only after you let go, too.

————

“Oh, Adrie, I found that shoe you were.. looking.. for?”

It was the weekend before Eddie managed to wear his leather jacket. He reached into the pocket after coming inside from smoking on the makeshift porch attached to the front of his uncle’s trailer, and uncurled his fingers.

The blue high heel rolled across his palm along with a folded piece of paper.

Jutting his bottom lip in confusion, he gave his daughter the shoe, and as she galloped to her room to play with her dolls, he opened the note.

sorry i stole your jacket

 come to me for a prize when you find this :)

if you find this

So that’s why you gave him that weird expectant look every morning..

————

Facing you on the other side of your desk after a customer left the lobby with their receipt, Eddie held up the note pinched between his index and middle fingers. “What’s my prize?”

Elated, your eyes lit up at the sight, and you motioned for him to give it to you while you held the phone to your ear with your shoulder, and continued your conversation with the auto parts dealer. “So–Yeah, three of those,” you went on, making a note with your pencil on where you left off in the catalog. “Yes, the smaller size, please.” You wrote something on the back of the paper and gave it to him.

Eddie snatched it–darting his eyes over your handwriting–and his excitement melted.

you finally cleaned out your pockets

    your prize is a job well done ♡

“That’s not a prize,” he said, face falling into a pouty glare.

Unamused by his inability to keep his mouth shut when you were clearly busy, you turned your hand over as if to ask ‘what did you expect?’ and directed a question at the man over the phone.

Not one to be ignored, Eddie began searching through the candy dish for a treasure to appease his appetite for a reward, and spilled peppermints over the side as he dug to the bottom.

You made a shushing gesture at him, widening your eyes at the crinkling wrappers interrupting you. “You’re out of those? Okay, then, I’ll move on to the door handle replacement. Let me just find the model number,” you spoke evenly into the receiver.

Eddie grunted, not finding what he was looking for.

You snapped your fingers at him, and pressed the phone to your chest to muffle yourself, “Do you not have a job or something?”

He held up a pink Now and Later, and asked in a stage-whisper, “Where’s all the butterscotch candy?”

“Bu–What?” you balked. “You ate them all? Those are for customers, Eddie! Yes, I’m still here,” you rattled off a make and model for the car. Eddie’s eyebrows rose at the quick switch from your speaking voice, to your cloyingly sweet customer service nasally octave, and back down to your annoyed tone at him. “Stop eating candy not meant for you and get back to work. You’re distracting me, you absolute nuisance.”

“Can you buy more butterscotch ones? Those are my favorite.”

“Sure, gramps, I’ll get right on it.”

Undeterred, or perhaps spurred on by earning your attention, he flattened his stomach to the ledge, and leaned over, invading your space to grab a stack of Post-it notes from the far end of your desk. Your Post-It notes. Your Post-It notes in his scuffed up, greasy hands, and his wavy hair sweeping from over his shoulders to block you from reading the lines of numbers and letters you were about to recite.

“What’re you..” You gave up when he grabbed your favorite pen.

You slid the catalog into your lap and turned away from him, facing the wall as you ordered the rest of the parts you needed, ending the call with an unintentional chat about the mild autumn weather–two minutes tops–and spun around to no one. Eddie had gone out to the garage. But not before sticking a note right smack dab in the middle of your desk where you couldn’t ignore it.

BUY MORE BUTTERSCOTCH

                                     -EM

His initials. It was silly, but two months into knowing him, and you’d never heard his last name. It wasn’t said aloud by him, his friends, or the other mechanics. Maybe you’d remember to ask him what it is one day.

————

Eddie had one rule–no reading over his shoulder when he was writing in his black notebook.

“Oh, chill,” you scolded him. “I’m here to microwave my lunch, not read your diary.”

Mr. Moore was out of office and the photocopier was broken, meaning you had to bike to the drug store and use theirs, missing your lunch break. With Eddie being the only mechanic in today, and having no customers, he made himself at home over the hour you were gone to catch up on.. whatever it was he was catching up on.

He slammed the thin red book shut and flipped it over. And when he thought that wasn’t good enough, he smashed the looseleaf papers back into his binder, closed it, and scrambled for his notebook, tearing through it like a wild animal until he found a blank page. Quick–He spun in his chair and laced his fingers in his lap, donning a weak smile. About as composed as a floundering fish. 

A pink flush crept up his neck, and his heavy breathing caused his unbuttoned coveralls to open wider over his chest, showing more than a glimpse at his black shirt underneath, stretched taut across his pecs.

His pencil dropped to the floor.

“Uh, hey. Didn’t hear you walk in.”

“Yeah, that much was obvious,” you snorted.

“What took you so long? I thought it’d be, like, 15 minutes tops. You could’ve read the manual and fixed our own copier by now.”

You popped open the lid to your container, and placed it in the microwave. “I’d rather jump off a bridge than sit there and read instructions. Anyway, I took a detour to see an apart–”

“Actually, that’s a good question. Would you jump off a bridge if someone asked, with your policy and all?”

“I’m not dignifying that with a response.” You punched two minutes on the timer. “As I was saying–Do you know that motel that closed down on Cypress? Bobbie told me it was a little mom-and-pop place that struggled to compete with the Motel 6.”

Perplexed as to where this was going, he squinted, and answered with a tepid, “Yeah?”

“Well,” you explained, “apparently someone bought the building and has been renovating them into apartments. I guess it wasn’t in too bad of a shape, with them just knocking down a few walls to make them into two bedrooms, and stuff. Bigger kitchens, whatever.” His features softened. The fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes lessened, and the tenseness in his jaw weakened. “Bobbie met the guy who’s renovating them and, uh, they’re gonna be available sometime at the beginning of next year, and the projected rent isn’t that bad. Really manageable for the both of us. As long as her dad is getting better, we could be moving out soon. It’d be nice to not live in their attic anymore, y’know.” You ended it almost on a lilt, as if it were a question, but maybe you were just goading him into saying what was on his mind, because with the way he was looking at you, you had no idea what had him so captivated.

“I–Yeah, I know the place you’re talking about. It’s just a few minutes from here.” And he added helpfully, “It’d be a shorter commute to work.”

“Yeah!” you exhaled, nodding in agreement. “Shorter commute.”

“Yeah,” he said again, allowing the information to wash over you both in different ways. “Closer to the grocery store, too.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and the laundromat.”

Eddie raised his brows. “Oh, nice. I use that place when our washing machine is broken.”

By some miracle you kept your mouth shut, saving yourselves the trouble of listing more establishments you’d be near when you moved. He must’ve realized the awkwardness as well, because he fidgeted with his fingers sheepishly.

“So, does that mean you’re staying in Hawkins?”

Hearing him take interest in your future kicked up your heart rate. It could be coming from a place of blunt curiosity, or conversational politeness, but like hell if your adrenaline didn’t surge from the unmistakable way he leaned in, hanging onto your every word, as the warm hum of the microwave served as background music to the glimmer of eagerness in his eyes.

Downplaying your excitement, you told him one eensy-weensy tiny caveat about your situation, “I am, but Robin’s moving in with Vickie at some point–don’t know when, but probably by the end of summer when she goes back to Indianapolis.. so.”

“And after that?”

“Dunno. I can float rent and bills by myself for a few months, but I’m not sure after that. Could tag along with them to the city, or stay here and, y’know, keep answering phones and annoying my favorite mechanic like I do now. Maybe even find someone willing to go on another date with me, since my first one was a bust.” He didn’t laugh. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll end up back in New York and audition for Cats.” You threw it out there as an outlandish possibility without serious consideration, and you thought you conveyed that through your jokey tone.

The microwave beeped.

You turned around, missing the way Eddie averted his gaze down and away before speaking.

“Just waiting for the next big thing to catch your eye and sweep you away, huh?”

“Not the first time you said that,” you commented teasingly, thinking you were still playing with each other. You grabbed your steaming rice and stirred it with a fork from the cutlery drawer. “What’s wrong? Afraid of not having a pretty girl sit across from you at lunch every day? Scared some other mechanic’s gonna need a receptionist, and then I’ll be gone? Or are you worried you’ll actually miss me if I leave?”

You giggled at your melodramatic phrasing and waited for him to respond. And when he didn’t, you looked over at him.

His shoulders rose and fell with his steady breaths as he thumbed through his notebook, mouth in a flat line.

Confusion stung embarrassment to your cheeks. Holding the hot tupperware, you asked, “Are we not eating together?”

He opened the binder and shifted closer to the table, scraping the chair legs across the tile, signifying the end of the conversation. Worse, still, he spoke in what would be a casual tone, if it weren’t for his rejective back facing you. “Actually, I’m trying to finish this,” he said, putting his pencil to the page and continuing the sentence where he left off.

“Oh.. Okay.”

You walked out the room and sat at your desk. Alone. Glaring at the stupid grains of rice and moving them around with your stupid fork and slouching over to rest your stupid cheek on your stupid fist.

Were you really less interesting than whatever he was writing in that notebook of his?

“Maybe I will find a bridge to jump off of,” you concluded, deciding you’d clock out on time in order to preserve your dignity. At least Robin would be home, and she would be honored to hang out with you.

————

An apology of sorts waited for you on your desk the next morning.

Three fresh-picked flowers in a chipped vase with a torn square of lined paper beside it.

     YOURE RIGHT

  I WOULD MISS

     EATING  WITH YOU

IM SORRY

                    -EM

The bud vase was from his home, the paper from his spiral bound notebook, and the dew-coated flowers from Hawkin’s soil–the last of their kind before the season put them to sleep.

Eddie wouldn’t be coming in today; he had the day off to take Adrie to the dentist. So, he woke up early to leave this peace offering when he could be sleeping in.

You set your elbows on you desk, and laced your fingers to rest your chin atop them, taking in the finer details of the periwinkle blue asters. After a moment, you traced your knuckle along your grin, and nibbled at the skin.

“So silly.”

————

And the morning after that, Eddie strayed from his bee line for coffee to approach you with a familiar meek posture; head lowered in deference, and a pouty expression of remorse on his lips.

The glass candy dish shined like a chest of golden coins awaiting him.

He folded his forearms on the ledge, and picked one of the butterscotch candies on top, pulling either end of the wrapper to unfurl it until the lustrous surface of the sweet flashed under the lobby’s lights.

You sank into your chair and watched him sweep his gaze across your desk in search of the flowers, and after not seeing them, he popped the candy in his mouth, and mumbled, “Does this mean you forgive me?”

Flitting your focus back and forth between his big eyes, you peered into each one, drawing out the moment by clicking your pen in thought, forcing him to sweat and fiddle with his wrapper in the echoey room. “Hmm..” You crossed your legs and shined your fingernails on your shirt, inspecting them.

His mouth twitched into a slight smile, favoring the side with his dimple.

Tipping his head so he was looking at you from under his lashes, he begged, “Come on, haven’t I groveled enough for you to have lunch with me later?” Bravery swelled his chest, jerked his chin in a smug nod once he had your attention. “Got you flowers and everything.”

You locked eyes with him for one, entire, sweet second, in which he winked at you.

Interestingly enough, you remembered you had paperwork to grab from Mr. Moore’s office, and rushed out sloppy sentences as you went, laying the sarcasm on thick to disguise the hitch in your throat, “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll have lunch with you if it’s that important to your livelihood, since you can’t live without me, or whatever.” You closed the office door behind you.

God, your face had never burned so hot.

~~~

And it was that night, when Eddie was alone with himself, he thought of the morning smiles through the glass window, and the afternoon laughs shared at the lunch table. The way you sat next to him and he moved his feet outward, spreading his legs to occupy as much space as possible. And he thought about how you accommodated him. Nudging his knee at first to test the waters, and when he responded by closing the distance between your shoe and his, you leaned towards him at the height of the story you were telling, and the length of your thigh pressed against him in a satisfying squish. He wasn’t entirely sure it was on purpose, but with the state he was in, it mattered not.

Eddie fluttered his eyes closed from blinking lazily at the shower head, stroking away the fleeting guilt of wondering if he should be testing his boundaries by thinking about you while doing this, even as his lips parted with silence, and his stomach tensed from pleasure.

Even as he held his shaky breath to keep himself mute, and his hand moved with renewed swiftness from his release mixing with his spit, and he watched the mess gather in his palm before washing it down the drain, he convinced himself.

This was so casual.

————

Saturday you went to the grocery store–AKA, hell day in hell land. You only needed a few ingredients, and figured getting out of the house for a while was better than calling Robin and asking her to pick them up for you.

However, life mocked you. After a heart-racing encounter with a truck narrowly missing you on the highway, you slowed to an agonizing stop every few feet from people blockading the aisles, taking their sweet time to decide what type of oil they wanted, when you could’ve snatched the one you needed, and moved on if they–would–just–move–a–freakin’–inch.

Least to say, by the time you made it to the baking aisle, you were mentally over it, and yet..

The cocoa powder was on the top shelf, taunting you by sight, just out of reach.

You huffed.

Rising onto your tiptoes, you employed your entire wingspan into clawing for it–tasting victory with your fingertips–but not enough to grasp the slippery plastic.

And of course no one else on the aisle was taller than you. They were hunched over walking canes, and clutching their layers of cardigans over their chests.

And of course, as you were stepping onto the bottom shelf for leverage, and becoming intimate with the bags of flour you inadvertently shoved your face into, your worst nightmare loomed behind you.

You knew it was Eddie before he spoke. You knew his gait, his smell, the sound of his laugh when he kept it in his chest. You knew his radiating warmth, his soft grunt, the way he took a sharper breath and held it for a beat before releasing it as a teasing remark. You knew the magnitude of his presence even when he was being demure. How respectful he was to invite himself into your personal space without crossing a line, squeezing his firm hand on the meat of your shoulder to let you know he was there, and heeding a modest gap between your bodies as his unbuttoned shirt brushed your sides.

He backed away half a step, and waited until you were turned around in the crowded space of him and the metal shelves to wave the tub above your head. The rings decorating his fingers glinted as he boasted, “Shucks, looks like it’s the last one too.”

You held your palm up and dropped your head to the side. “Are you gonna make me jump for it like Adrie, or are you gonna be a grown up and give it to me?”

“Give it to you? Maybe I need” –He read the label– “Cocoa powder.”

“You so do not.”

“You don’t know that,” he replied, lifting his chin at your bored expression. “If you want it..” He shifted his stance and sank into his hip, curling his bottom lip over his smirk as he peered down at you, prolonging your misery instead of just finishing his sentence. “..You can use the magic words.”

What an infuriating immovable object. Blocking everything in your view that wasn’t his red flannel thrown over a wrinkled white tee, and his rebellious hair eclipsing the fluorescent lights.

Just the worst person to rescue you from your predicament. Standing so close you could scrutinize the permanent five-o-clock shadow on his upper lip, and the wispy curls composing his sideburns.

So annoying how his hair reached the shadow of his clavicle, where a chain link necklace showed beneath his shirt, and the tendons in his neck stretched an alluring contour from the hollow of his throat to the underside of his square jaw.

His shoulders shook with a quelled snicker. “Come on,” he sang with an infuriating timbre, swaying the cocoa above you.

You met his steeped tea eyes, and insisted in a warm honey tone, “Please stop being a dickhead, and thank you for not being an asshole and handing over the cocoa.. Fucker.”

Eddie’s face cracked into the biggest grin. Beside you, a blushing grandmother shot you a scathing glare, and grabbed a bag of sugar from the shelf before tsking and walking off.

Bestowing you the tub in your hand, he wrapped his palm over top of it and didn’t let go as he bent to you. “Hey now,” he said in a lower register, voice cracking on the consonants from the remnants of his laugh, “no bad words in front of my kid. Or the elderly. Show some respect.”

You perked up. All transgressions in regards to baking ingredients were forgotten when you spotted his daughter sitting cross legged inside the shopping cart behind him. “Adrie!” You pushed Eddie out of the way, and wrapped her in a tender, heartwarming hug.

“Miss Mouse!” she cheered in equal enthusiasm, dropping the box of cereal she was reading aloud to lock her arms around your neck.

You giggled at the giddy feeling soaring in your chest, and encouraged her, “Yeah, I’m Miss Mouse.” The clunky braids Eddie put in her hair smashed against your cheek as you held each other tighter.

Taking inventory of the sparse groceries she was amongst, you spotted a pattern. “You like pasta, huh?” It was an easy guess considering there were three bags of noodles with two large jars of sauce standing out from the rice dinners and a few cans of soup. Practically a replica of the receipt you found in his pocket. But she corrected you.

“No. Daddy’s just bad at cooking.”

Your eyes bulged, and you pursed your lips to refrain from bursting out in impolite laughter. Standing up straight, you combed a few stray curls behind her ear, and whispered, “Geez, kids are ruthless.”

Eddie shifted his weight to his other foot, and gestured at the groceries with a pencil before striking out something on the short list he had written one on a pad of paper. “Eh, Wayne’s the chef of the family. She knows what she’s getting when it’s my turn to cook.”

You hummed at the new information, and went to pick your hand basket off the floor when something caught your eye–and it definitely wasn’t the leather loafers on the old man shuffling past you.

Eddie, obviously, wasn’t dressed in coveralls.

His black tennis shoes were nearly identical to the white ones he wore on Halloween, with the floppy tongues out against his light-wash blue jeans. (Very, very nice fitted jeans with holes in the knees, and a rip stretching wider across the curve of his thigh.) Dragging your gaze up, you clocked the interesting belt buckle he wore on your way to admire the soft outline of his stomach pressed against his shirt. He moved his flannel aside to stuff his shopping list in his pocket–struggling due to how tight his pants were–and incidentally showed off a smidgen of skin above the waistband of his plaid boxers.

Just a hint of skin marked with the bottom lines of a larger tattoo and you were salivating–

A loud intercom announcement sang a jingle about tortillas, and you were reminded of where you were, and where Eddie was, a few feet away from you, well aware of the places your gaze stalled before landing on his smirk.

He caught you checking him out.

Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Find everything you were looking for?”

“I, uh–” you stuttered two words out before your brain threatened you to shut the fuck up. As an alternative, you snapped into finger guns aimed in the opposite direction, and made up an excuse. “I forgot to get.. something.”

“Forgot what?”

You blinked. “Milk.”

“Milk, huh?”

“Yep.. Milk.” Sweating under the heat of his narrowed eyes, you made yourself scarce. “Welp. Hope to never see you outside of work again, because this was we-ird,” you enunciated in lilt as you strutted away. But just as you were about to disappear around the corner, you stopped, and said, “Adrie, however, I’d love to see you any day of the week.”

She turned in the shopping cart and waved. “Bye, Miss Mouse.” Eddie was too busy watching you make a fool of yourself to correct her, letting the nickname stick.

Rounding the end cap display of premature Christmas themed candies and bakeware, you held your gaze steadfast ahead as you passed by someone not-so-inconspicuously trying to blend in with the background, wearing a red managerial vest, and holding a clipboard over their mouth.

Robin lowered the employee break schedule, and whispered rather loudly, “He’s so in love with you.”

You groaned. “Can you not spy on us?”

She sweetened you up, “Seriously, he was totally checking you out when you bent over.”

You turned down an aisle and felt her hot on your heels. Yielding in front of the boxes of chamomile tea, you examined one, and asked with an air of disinterest as if you were inquiring about the weather, “Was he now?”

Screwing her face up, she nodded empathically, “Majorly.”

“Good, because I want to crawl in a hole and die.”

~~~

Six feet under seemed like a better fate than what you were dealt.

Though you gave it your best effort, meandering about until enough time had elapsed that you figured he’d left by now, you made your way to the front of the store, and stopped. Eddie had the end of his cart angled towards the registers. Adrie held a package of cookies out for him to approve of, and in a depressing moment of realization, you watched him revert to the person you met him as.

The playfulness was gone. His face was cast with the exhaustion of being around strangers for too long. His lips were bitten raw. His chest sank with a long exhale, and his stomach caved as he looked at his daughter asking for something the other parents around him could throw in their cart without a second thought, and he had to disappoint her.

He didn’t say ‘no’ exactly, but the nervousness of doing so was there. “They’re not on the list,” he begged her in a defeated whisper to understand and not make a scene. He couldn’t handle a scene.

Not yet five-years-old and she sensed his stress and put them back.

“Hey, cutie.” You didn’t know you spoke until Eddie jerked his head up, and you witnessed the change in his mood wash over him. Turned on a dime. He grinned at you in genuine relief, and in a bout of awkwardness, you smiled at Adrie in particular to imply your initial greeting was for her. Not that he wasn’t cute, too. “Fancy meeting you two here.”

He pushed his cart forward, taking the next spot in line, and peered into your hand basket, assessing the Reese’s Pieces, baking goods, tea, and distinct lack of one item. “Hmm, got lost on your way to the milk, huh? Or did you need someone to reach it for you?” He placed his gallon of milk on the conveyor belt first for emphasis. You rolled your eyes.

The two of you must’ve appeared cozier than you gave off, because the cashier motioned at you–specifically, he pointed from Eddie’s groceries to yours. “You two together?”

Eddie froze. Just a useless doe-eyed deer in headlights. You, on the other hand, swallowed your spit before you choked on it, and realized what he meant.

“No, no, separate,” you answered, taking a plastic divider from him and putting it after Eddie’s bag of red delicious apples and before Robin’s dad’s tea.

You stifled your giggle as your beloved coworker fumbled into action after the exchange dawned on him. Bouncing between bagging his groceries, finding the cereal box for Adrie so she could finish tracing the maze on the back, and wiggling his wallet out of his back pocket. The chain attached to it clinked as he rifled through the papers in the biggest slot. They didn’t fit quite right like proper money would. They didn’t look quite right, either. Printed in muted red, purple, green, and blue like Monopoly money. Big text on the front with a picture of the Liberty Bell. Large numbers in the corner with fine print beside it.

Food stamps.

They were food stamps, and it was the middle of the month, and he didn’t have many left.

He counted two of them out, and hesitated, choosing to add a few dollars to meet the total, and handed them over.

Eddie had no reason to feel embarrassed. This was his life. This was how he fed his daughter. But still, he snuck a glance at you, and you looked away so he didn’t think you were staring, even though you were. You were. Not from a place of judgment, but of natural curiosity. Unfortunately, as you directed your gaze elsewhere, you noticed other people around you weren’t as gracious. Eyeing Eddie with cruelty behind their study of the town freak coming inside their territory and depending on their honest wealth to pay for his food.

He’d only begun to stop chewing on his lips when he left the store. Exiting swiftly to begin the process of calming his anxiety as he loaded his car with groceries, knowing he had meals to eat, even if the price he paid stung his ego.

You went through the motions of bagging your groceries in your backpack, and listened to your gut.

Outside, you unchained your bike and put your bag in the wire basket attached to the handles, squinting in the noonday sun as you walked it to the back of the parking lot where Eddie was placing the plastic bags into the trunk of his car. No one parked on either side of him. Not a notable thing, but with how the store was packed, it stood out.

Eddie heard your wheel spokes click as you neared, and schooled the indications of worse emotions from his face to keep you from prying, but he frowned anyway when you passed him to talk to his daughter instead.

The rear door on the passenger’s side was propped open. You flapped your hand at her to get her attention, and she stretched her arm out as far as her car seat allowed in effort to link your fingers. “See you later, girlie,” you said, squeezing her hand in lieu of a proper hug. “Be good for your dad, alright?”

“I’m always good,” she responded, giving you an assured nod of angelic innocence. Eddie barked a laugh, and closed the trunk.

“You can’t swindle her,” he told Adrie. “She knows all about the fit you threw the other morning when I wouldn’t let you bring your stuffed animals to school.” She cut him a sassy glare at being called out.

“Don’t listen to him,” you consoled her. “You’re perfect.” She beamed at you, and you paralleled her delight as you let go of her to smack Eddie’s hand away from your ribs. “Anyway, I’ve gotta get going. Gotta get this milk in the fridge, y’know.”

You stole a coy look at him reveling in what you hoped wouldn’t become a running joke, and steered your bike away, saying another final goodbye to Adrie.

“Not gonna say goodbye to me?” he asked with an aching amount of pitifulness.

“Ch’yeah.” You swung your leg over the frame, put your feet to the pedals. Ensuring you were a decent distance apart, you called out, “You’re right! I should respect my elders.” You waved and shouted at him pointedly, “Farewell, Eddie!”

He fixed his lazy grin on his daughter, who was laughing like it was the funniest thing she’d ever witnessed, and told her with utmost fondness, “Saw that one coming from a mile away.”

————

Sunday morning, Adrie threw him for a loop.

“I want Miss Mouse to come to my play,” she said, spearing the scrambled eggs on her plate with the tines of her plastic Little Mermaid themed fork. “Can you invite her for me?”

Eddie went rigid. The triangle shaped extras from her pancakes being cut into stars flopped off his fork, paused mid-air on the way to his already stuffed mouth. He chewed slowly. Methodically. Swallowing the syrupy sweetness coating his tongue, biding his time as he hunched deeper over his plate, and stared her down while his uncle took special interest in her request.

Wayne wasn’t able to make it this year, and Adrie was quick to think of a suitable replacement.

With a voice scratchy from cigarettes, he directed his question at his nephew, “Miss Mouse?”

Eddie shut him down with a diplomatic answer without breaking eye contact with his daughter. “Adrie’s nickname for the receptionist at work.”

“Oh! The one who did the costume, and went trick-or-treating with you.”

He sounded much too happy, much too chipper for Eddie’s liking, and when he withdrew his gaze from Adrie to pin it on Wayne, the sharp rush of annoyance at the twinkle in his uncle’s eye manifested in a low, tempered correction for him to drop it. “My coworker from the auto shop, where I’m lucky to have the job that I do.”

Wayne wasn’t having it. He leaned in, and matched his intensity, loading his words with a much deeper meaning than the type of conversation they could have in front of Adrie. He spoke to him man-to-man. “The receptionist who is nice to you and Adrie, and, understandably, is being asked to go to a small event at her school.”

“I know what she’s asking,” Eddie replied from behind his hand. “Stop acting like you don’t.”

“Daddy, please,” Adrie begged, kicking his shin under the table. Eddie inhaled sharply and scooted away.

Wayne looked at him.

Adrie looked at him.

His rules, convictions, and morals of the workplace looked at him, rising as a tense pressure in his chest. Eddie sighed them out.

He was weak.

————

Sunday night, you and Robin were up to your usual bullshit.

Stress baking, and stress baking.

Her house was dimmed to only the small lights above the stove and sink, painting the room in an intimate mood of warmth bouncing off the smoky haze clouding the cramped space from the counter where you transferred a tray of hot cookies to a cooling rack, and she swayed behind you to the sultry Cher record spinning in the distance, seeming far away with her deep vocals melding into loops in your sleepy highs.

“Eddie’s beyond in love with you,” Robin said for the hundredth time, probably.

“He is not,” you argued for the hundredth time, probably. “Can you get me a bag for these?” The double chocolate cookies with Reese’s Pieces on top were ready to be put away to make room for the oatmeal ones.

“I just don’t get why you think he doesn’t like you–Oops.” While reaching for the ziploc bags from the top of the refrigerator, she accidentally knocked down a piece of artwork hanging on the door. She tossed you the box and picked the magnet up, along with the drawing of a mouse, owl, and bat off the floor, and put them back into place. “I mean, the way he looks at you every time you speak..” she trailed off in a wistful, airy breath. “So romantic.”

You answered her dreamy grin with a melancholic shrug of your own. “Yeah, but you don’t see all the other times he looks at me.”

Robin persevered. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.. He’s really–” You struggled for a word, interrupted by the sound of roiling bubbles behind you. “He’s really confusing.”

Exhaling at the ceiling, she asked, “Confusing how? Seems pretty clear to me.”

You groaned. Robin jabbed her elbow into your arm and offered you the bong, and when you showed her your greasy fingers, she turned it around and held it to your lips, lighting it for you until your lungs ached from a full inhale and you gave her a thumbs up to pull the stem.

Different place, same old bullshit. Smoking the last of your combined stash of weed you moved here with while bitching about life. It was hardly the first bowl of the night–or even the third–and the sentences you were trying to string together lulled into the drowsy dregs at the back of your mind.

You dropped your head back and sighed the smoke out. “He gets weird sometimes.”

“He’s always been weird.”

Shaking your head at her, you shifted the tone of the night to a somber one. Serious. Reflective.

Rolling the sugar cookie dough into balls, you recounted Eddie’s most recent rejection. “Last week I was telling him how we were hoping to move out soon, and he was giving off signals and asking questions like it was leading somewhere, but then I ran my stupid mouth, and it’s like he flipped a switch. He just stopped talking to me for the rest of the day.”

She put the bong down on the counter next to the tiny vase holding three flowers, and crossed her arms. “Ran your mouth how?”

You groaned louder into the hot wave of heat fanning your face from opening the oven door. “The dude will seriously flirt with me from clock in to clock out, but I–I dunno. I think I lay it on too thick, and it freaks him out. Like suddenly he realizes I’m serious, and he’s not into it. I’m pretty sure that’s what happened last week, anyway. We were going back and forth listing the pros of me living closer to work, and the cons of you eventually moving in with Vickie, and I kinda made a pass at him..”

“A pass how?”

You drew your brows in, and blinked your droopy eyes in a concentrated effort to recall the conversation. “..To be honest, I can’t remember. It was along the lines of me hinting that I’d want a second date with him. Which I only said because he seemed interested after I told him we were staying in Hawkins, but whatever. Guess I read it wrong.”

Perhaps too astute, your best friend in the entire world navigated your love life with undue keenness in spite of how blitzed you two were, breaking into dumb giggle fits at, quite literally, you dropping a spoon. “How obvious was this hint of yours?”

“Doesn’t matter.” You waved off the notion before you could grow attached to it. “We’re still coworkers, so I need to dial it back, regardless.”

“I think you should dial it up.”

“If I dialed it any more up, I’d get an HR complaint.”

“You don’t have HR,” she reminded you.

Squinting, you paused mixing the chocolate chips into the next batch of cookies. “I think I am HR?”

You handed her the pyrex bowl since it was her turn to roll them into cookies, and as she snacked on the raw dough, you filled the ziploc bag with more treats, stuffing it full.

Cher sang about starting over and finding love again.

The drawing on the fridge was in your periphery, as was the vase. Reminders of how kind, and gentle, and sweet Eddie and his daughter were. You were bound to misread his flirtations, but there was no harm in matching them, right? As long as you didn’t cross any lines, yeah? Just followed his lead and stopped when he made it clear it wasn’t welcomed.

Yeah.

Dialed back. You could do dialed back.

————

This was new.

It was early afternoon when you closed the manila folder of invoices, and directed your attention to Eddie, who, for the first time, imposed himself on your side of the desk.

He acted brave when he was timid. A blatant facade, still hesitant to commit to crossing the threshold past the invisible line where your desk ended and the hallway began. Made himself smaller by leaning on the wall behind you, giving you room to leave if you wanted. Not yet courageous enough to take his hand away from playing with the ends of his hair over his rosy cheeks. “So–um–Adrie’s class is putting together a Thanksgiving play, and she requested your attendance by name,” he finished with an adorable pout of your moniker, “Miss Mouse.”

You sat up straighter with lifted brows.

Thinking he was doing you a favor, he dropped the formalities, and gave you an out–a carefully worded out to avoid any cheeky response about your policy, “It’s gonna be a bunch of rambunctious toddlers singing off key, and not remembering their lines. It’s cool if you don’t want to go, I’ll tell her you were busy or somethin’. She’ll understand.”

You gripped the armrests in a burst of enthusiasm. “What? Of course I wanna go! When is it?”

Eddie was unconvinced. He crossed his arms, and bent at the waist to better assess if you knew what you were getting into. “Uh, Wednesday around lunch time–we can be out and back during our break if we hurry–but I’m serious about the little kids being obnoxious part. You don’t have to go.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” It was a rhetorical question he was going to answer, but you knocked the air from his lungs with one simple sentence. “I want to be there for her.”

Warmth bloomed. Spread throughout his body. The things he suppressed. Taking over all at once.

“You said Wednesday around lunch time?” you clarified. He nodded dumbly, a bit distracted. Your grin grew. “Both Mr. Moore and Carl are taking a half-day to start their Holiday early..” you began, and waited for the realization to cross his features.

“So we could just..”

“Lock up, and..”

“Take the rest of the day off too,” Eddie finished with an undertone of pride. He’d have to work extra hard to complete the cars he was working on before then, but the idea was genius. Playing hooky under his boss’ nose like he was a teenager again.

There was perhaps more he wanted to say, but the phone rang.

You answered and kept the exchange short, using your normal speaking voice. “Robin’s dad is being discharged from the hospital today,” you told him after hanging up. “I’m gonna clock out early to help prepare the house for when he gets here.”

Eddie watched you tidy up your desk in preparation to leave, and figured he should get back to work.

Picking up where he left off, he sank into the passenger’s seat of the Ford Taurus outside, and ran a mental checklist of things he still needed to do. Or he tried, rather. He was mostly sitting there daydreaming about potential scenarios, until he saw you come from the breakroom with your jacket in hand, and left out the front door, waving goodbye as you went.

Two dramatic minutes passed.

The quiet warehouse amplified the aural representation of his loneliness.

Eddie frowned. He wasn’t about to attribute the weather to your proximity, but he was certain the temperature in the garage dropped when you weren’t in the office. Or, maybe, he lost the pretty thing distracting him every few minutes, and he had the time to reflect on how badly he wanted a smoke break in the sun to warm him up.

He went inside to get his jacket from the breakroom, and instead of encountering a pack of Camels in his pocket, he grasped an oddly shaped object, and wrangled it out.

bobbie & i made too many

    share with adrie & your uncle!

                      ♡

An array of cookies surprised him. Several flavors, in fact. Some with fun toppings, some plain.

He smiled.

Well. Smiling would be putting it mildly.

Acting on impulse, he (accidentally) crushed the bag to his chest, and made a high-pitched noise of glee in his throat, absolutely smitten. Eddie hadn’t received a sweet gesture like this in years. If ever. Ironically blessed with the allure of being older in high school, he couldn’t distinguish the genuine crushes girls may have had on him from the fake love letters people stuffed in his locker to mess with him. But this? This was sincere. Even if the intention behind the cookies were to pawn them off because you made too many, you still thought of him and Adrie.

Too excited, he opened the bag and went to eat one, but a distinct odor itched his nose–one he was too intimate with to miss.

He held the baggie up and sniffed, then smelled the cookies. Inhaled the acrid scent clinging to the plastic, and nibbled on one of the innocuous looking treats.

He consulted the note again.

share with adrie

You didn’t just give him and his daughter edibles, did you?

————

Wednesday came unannounced. You crossed several days off the calendar in the garage, forgetting to do so with the influx of orders, phone calls, and customers getting in their last minute fixes before the Holiday break. You did what you could. Eddie did what he could. And now, you taped a handwritten sign to the front door and locked it until Monday morning.

Grabbing your backpack, you went to the women’s restroom, and Eddie went to the men’s to change out of your work clothes. After some arguing back and forth through the doors, you made him agree to open them on a countdown, and through your giggles, you shouted, “Three!”

You swung open your door and were instantly disappointed. “Why are you wearing that?”

Eddie made a similar sneer across from you in the hallway, and questioned your sanity, “What in the world are you wearing?”

“It’s adorable, and festive!” You defended yourself by pointing out the scarecrow patch on the chest pocket of your baggy overalls, and how your orange flannel matched the one he was wearing. “Do you not think so, you big gray cloud?”

“Yeah, super cute. You’ll blend right in with the toddlers,” he snarked with much less malice than his words implied, on account of his lopsided grin.

“Big talk coming from the guy dressed like a moody teen.” Sinfully tight black jeans, black boots, black belt sporting a handcuff buckle, black leather jacket, black tee with a graphic of a rattlesnake wrapped around a skull.

It was his first date outfit again. How sweet.

And you didn’t need to be checking out his ass to see the bandana hanging out of his back pocket as he escorted you to his car, but you weren’t complaining about the opportunity. “You should worry about scaring the children with how angry you look.”

He held the employee door open for you, and locked it–then almost tripped on his way to unlock the car door, and hold it open for you too. “Angry?” He glanced from your outfit to his. “Good thing I’m with you, then. We’ll balance each other out, Sunshine.”

“An unlikely pair,” you agreed in good faith. Once he shut your door, and was in the process of walking around to his side, you gawked at the nickname. “Sunshine?”

You snapped your mouth shut as he fell into the driver’s seat, and started the car.

“So,” you drew out to break the silence after he didn’t have the courtesy of turning on the radio to ease the tension of being stuck in a small enclosure together, “red, huh?” The entire interior–every last detail–was custom made in the same bright crimson, from the air vents to the tiniest knobs.

The engine revved with his heavy stamp on the gas. Your stomach flipped. His grin went wicked.

“There weren’t many made in this color,” he said, thrilled to see your fingernails dig into your palms as he peeled out onto the street, and the garage became a miniature in his rearview mirror at a frightening speed, considering you were coming up on an intersection. “I’m lucky I found her used, and she didn’t need much work.”

Petrified as you might be by his reckless driving, you still had it within you to make a sound of disgust. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys that refers to their car as a woman.”

“What?” he scoffed. He relaxed one of his hands on his thigh as he lounged back with his head cocked, brazen with his newfound vanity. An arrogant curve to his lips as he interpreted your lingering gaze on his fingers splayed across his leg as being impressed by him, his car, his attitude. The whole package. “You don’t gender your bike?”

Without giving it much consideration, you supposed, “I think my bike is a he.”

“Ha! You ride a man to work every day,” he mumbled after the abrupt laugh.

His smile vanished.

The fact he didn’t mean to say that out loud became very apparent.

The blood drained from his face as quickly as it returned. Splotches of blushy red worked its way up his throat, turning his ears the same color as his beloved car’s interior. Same shade as the traffic light up ahead. Same bawdy hue typically associated with the lustful act his brain suggested before his mouth caught up.

Eddie sat at attention. Swallowed against his pulse as he stepped on the clutch and downshifted gears. The leather strapped steering wheel creaked under his dual vice grip. His chest deflated with a heavy breath, and blinking rapidly at the road, his pounding heart trembled his voice, “Please forget I said that.”

Curled into a ball facing the window–stomach clenched painfully tight from uncontrollable laughter–you muffled yourself with your flannel’s collar, “Never!”

~~~

The rest of the car ride was boring in comparison to the start, but you made it to Adrie’s preschool with only a few more unintentional eruptions of giggles when you remembered Eddie’s horrified face, while he drove in abject misery.

He parked the car, and got out quickly.

“How precious,” you said. The squat brick building had aged pine needles clinging to its shingled roof, and Thanksgiving themed art hanging in its windows.

Opening the entrance door brought the waft of buttery biscuits and grape jelly. Eddie guided you with purpose through the makeshift cafeteria, made snug with four child-sized picnic tables in the middle, and fingerpainted art adorning the navy blue walls. His keyring dangled from his belt, drumming against his jeans as he pivoted into a hallway illuminated by the overcast day outside. Gentle music came from the empty nursery to the left, and to the right was a heavy wooden door that did little to quiet the ruckus beyond it.

He paused. The rectangle window above the door knob streaked the side of his face with warm light from within, countering the nervous energy in his eyes as he took a long moment to look at you. You waited for him to speak, but he decided against it.

“I’m excited,” you offered, just above a whisper, wanting to say anything to help ease the eerie vagueness in his expression.

A muscle in his cheek twitched like he was going to smile, but it came across rather apprehensive.

He turned the knob. You walked inside first. Both of you stood still.

The room was as inviting as it was overwhelming. Bright, decorated, and packed with people. People who were dressed in business casual, and broken off into pairs of two. People who knelt to speak on level with someone who displayed a combination of their distinct features. People who mingled with other adults after the little ones were ushered to the front of the room by the teachers. People who gushed over a topic with their heads together, beaming at a miniature version of themselves dressed in a costume. People who contributed in a joint effort to create life, and the reason they were here today.

Parents.

They were parents.

This was an event for parents.

This was a play for parents to attend to see their child perform, and partake in themed crafts with the implication of going home afterwards to spend the Holidays together.

Eddie watched you realize this.

An older woman gravitated towards you two.

This was very, intensely, happening right now, and you had to navigate the whiplash to the best of your improv abilities.

“Good to see you,” she greeted Eddie first, and he gave a pleasant reply, but she didn’t hear it. Her attention was on you, eyes magnified by her thick glasses, and smiling wider than before. “You brought someone,” she all but gasped, speaking to him, though she was clasping your hand. “I’m Mrs. Teresa. And you are?”

Eddie had a response prepared.

“I’m Adrie’s friend!” you blurted.

He pressed his mouth shut and gave you a sideways glance.

“And, uh,” you continued to dig your grave, “and I work with Eddie. I met Adrie one day, and we really hit it off, haha. Next thing I know I’m trick-or-treating with her, and uh.. now I’m here!” When her expression of anticipation did not wane, you followed up your ramble with your name, and she nodded appreciatively, patting the back of your hand.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” she said. “We’re starting soon if you’d like to sit.”

She moved on to a non-platonic couple, and collected their kid to the front where a backdrop of an autumnal forest jostled due to the jittery group of children hiding behind it–most notably, the little girl at the edge who peeped her head out, and jumped up and down.

You both waved at Adrie.

Eddie’s hand landed on your mid-back, and he directed you with an appropriate amount of pressure towards the last row of chairs, choosing two in the middle.

“Smooth,” he commented.

“Shut it.” Sneaking an eyeful of the broad man next to you wearing a blazer under his boiled wool overcoat, you scooted your chair closer to Eddie’s. He must’ve had a similar train of thought, because he did the same to get away from the woman next to him, unwittingly making you two cozier than you were at the movies.

Shoulder to shoulder, he kept his hands in his pockets, and your elbow slotted into the crook his arm created when he slouched towards you.

“Are we not friends?” he asked in reference to your introduction.

You assured him, “The best of reluctant friends.”

The impish smile he shared with you dwindled with each set of hypercritical eyes getting their gawk in before one of the teachers turned off the lights.

The room was overcome with darkness. Blackout curtains suppressed daylight from coming through–for naptime, you assumed–and as children do, they squealed. The teachers soothed them with an amused shush, and turned on two lamps, pointing them like spotlights at the backdrop. Your eyes refused to adjust past the faint outline of your leg pressed flush against Eddie’s, (from hip to calf as a result from seeking support in each other,) but that was beside the point. The show began.

Mrs. Teresa sat off to the side and opened a comically large book. She read the first passage aloud with the pages facing the parents, and out came the kids dressed as pilgrims, brandishing their buckle shoes and hats. In another breath, the ones wearing brown shirts and feathers arrived, and you grimaced at the watered down kid-friendly rewrite of history being acted out, interspersed with songs about sharing.

At least Adrie was dancing around as a carrot with other vegetable-clad children, spelling out what part of the cornucopia they were.

Truly, it could’ve been worse.

But it was during a chorus about friendship sung at the top of their lungs, you unbit your tongue, and leaned into Eddie. “So when are they gonna enslave the Natives and steal their land?”

“Pft!”

Several pairs of shoulders in front of you turned to glare at what they assumed was Eddie snickering at their children’s bad singing before sitting forward, surely perturbed.

He knocked the side of his fist on the top of your thigh, and went to scold you.

But the room was dark.

So dark.

And he misjudged how close you sat.

The cold tip of his nose made contact with the cusp of your cheekbone. His stuttered breath caught your jaw. Your arm slipped further into the curve of his body.

He could’ve realized his mistake. He could’ve stopped there. He could’ve apologized for overstepping the coworker code of conduct. He could’ve reminded himself you’d be gone by the end of the summer. He could’ve dialed it back. He could’ve kept it casual. He could’ve backed off, and dropped the silly reprimand altogether. He could’ve done so many things. But he didn’t. He accepted the risk, and committed to it.

He dipped his head until his plump lips discovered the shell of your ear. Every word vibrated on your skin, rippling goosebumps in the wake of his groaned warning, “You’re gonna get me in trouble.” Trembly, raspy from keeping his voice low. Hardly hitting the hard consonants with his tongue before he was withdrawing.

The humidity from his exhale remained. It cooled on your skin. In the weak lamplight, you shifted your wide eyes to his, and the knowledge of what transpired reflected in his keen gaze gauging the consequences of his actions.

Stuck in a daze of buzzing endorphins, you had no idea how to interpret what the hell just happened.

Careful, he didn’t dare express an emotion that would give his true self away.

Together, you both redirected the focus to his daughter.

It took another few seconds for either of you to discern the back of his hand resting on your thigh. He took it away, and crossed his legs, establishing some much needed space between you.

~~~

The play ended, and the lights were flipped on. Everyone winced. There was an announcement from one of the teachers about a snack and crafts for the parents who were staying; and without an auto shop to attend to, you and Eddie were able to dote over Adrie instead of being forced back into the intimacy of his car.

He stood up and said he’d be right back. Lucky for Adrie, she bolted for you first, and you wasted no time in scooping her up into a crushing hug, grateful for the distraction.

Overflowing with pride, you channel all your love into lauding Adrie in mushy compliments, rubbing your cheek against hers. “Oh my gosh, you did so good! You were the best carrot I’ve ever seen. I’m downright impressed by your performance, remembering all those lines.” Pulling away, you waggled your eyebrows. “You wanna grow up to be an actor? Have people flock to see you on stage?” Her face brightened in renewed excitement.

“On a stage like Da–?”

Eddie intervened out of nowhere, “You two ladies gonna join me?” You startled an imperceivable amount from his sudden appearance–truly, you didn’t even jump–but it was enough to earn his toothy grin. “I reserved two seats at the Queen’s table for the princess and her esteemed guest for the evening.” He bowed with a swept out arm, showing you the way through the sea of adults.

Queen’s table was certainly a way to sell it.

It was a tiny, tiny thing. There were several of them at the back of the room, seating four children at most–or two adults and a four-year-old–and Adrie chose a blue one with a cartoon turkey decoration in the middle.

Half an ass cheek fit in the chair, the tabletop was at your shins, and your knees were tucked to your chest. You met Eddie’s gaze above Adrie’s head, and rubbed her back while he stroked her hair, running his fingers through the tangles.

You assumed, for the most part, he wanted to ignore what happened earlier as if it never happened, and you followed his lead.

Adrie broke you from your musing. There was commotion surrounding the teachers, and she gasped, flapping her hands when she saw what they were carrying.

A palm-sized pumpkin pie was set before her, along with three spoons.

“I made this fresh this morning,” she informed you as if she were running a bakery. And as head baker, she was in charge of portion sizes. She took one spoon and scooped out a modest amount of pumpkin filling, and not a crumb of graham crust more. That one was for Eddie.

For you? She split the rest of the pie, and gave you your half balanced on your spoon, and dug into her half without giving her dad a second glance.

“Hey,” he whined. “Not fair. I’m the one who raised you. Why does she get more?”

Speaking down to him like it was the most obvious thing ever, she rolled her eyes, and said, “Because girls are better, Daddy.”

You didn’t hide your snort.

“Yeah, Eddie.” You taunted him by waving the spoon before sticking the pie chunk in your mouth. “G–irls sh’are better.”

Chewing on his measly portion, he regarded his princess and her esteemed guest with a similar amount of weakness, and the tension at the corners of his eyes softened. He submitted. “Yeah. Girls are better.”

~~~

After the snack was a craft. In this case, hand turkeys. Paper, crayons, markers, and colored pencils were passed out amongst the tables, and a teacher gave instructions to the kiddos.

You grabbed the cartoon turkey decoration in the middle of the table for reference, and began your masterpiece. Adrie kept it classic, tracing her hand. Eddie did.. whatever he was doing, hunched over to hide his paper from you two for the past ten minutes.

“I made a princess turkey,” Adrie announced. Indeed, her turkey was decked out with a flowy dress and pink pointy hennin. In the background was a cobblestone castle.

You showed her your realistic turkey, hoping to impress her, but she pulled a face.

“Ew, he’s ugly.”

Frowning at your drawing, you compared him to the one on the table centerpiece, and felt bad for all the less-than-beautiful turkeys around the world. “That’s just the way he looks..”

Eddie, happy as a clam, slammed his pencil down and flaunted his drawing. “I turned mine into a dragon.”

Converging with Adrie, she whispered in your ear, and as a unit, you judged his hand turkey, weighing the artistic ability versus the outlandish deviation from the original assignment.

After a heated debate, you cleared your throat for his attention.

You both applauded his efforts with a humbling clap.

~~~

It wasn’t long before Adrie grew bored with coloring, and left to play with her friends. They gathered around a chest by the teacher’s desk, and brought out non-Thankgivingsy costumes. She played dress up in a fairy-unicorn combo, and another girl hopped around in a mermaid outfit, complete with a shimmery tail.

Eddie switched seats, flopping into the middle chair with a grunt. He moved Adrie’s drawing aside and set up shop. Made himself right at home. Really just invaded your area like he owned the place.

“Uhh–” You gaped. “Can you kindly remove your knee from my vicinity? You’re blocking both my drawing and the colored pencils.”

He imposed himself more. Nudging his feet wider for the sole reason of bothering you until you were forced to curl in on yourself in an uncomfortable hunch. Actively ignoring your plea by sketching the finishing touches on his dragon.

Resigning your sneer at the back of his head, you agreed, “All right.” If he wanted to play that game, you would too. You snatched the orange pencil you needed for your turkey’s feathers, and shoved the markers to the far side of the table, outside his reach.

Giving him no time to prepare a counterattack, you looped your arm around his leg to his shin, and hugged his thigh to your chest with your flexed bicep, locking his knee in a sleeper hold any wrestler would be proud of, preventing him from getting up.

Yes, things scattered as you did this. Yes, people rubbernecked. No, you didn’t care, and Eddie didn’t, either.

Well, he cared a little, even if the grumpy persona he donned cracked with each failed frown.

His mouth curled into a grin despite his resistance. “I can’t have the red marker?” The syllables were caught amongst his hissy laugh at your ridiculousness–tip of his tongue to his teeth, voice rich with affection, and eyes squinted from pure adoration–a short question articulated through his mirth, with his chest braced against your arm after accepting the position of your entwined bodies, and another beg for you to understand on his lips. “How am I supposed to outline the fire he’s breathing, huh?”

He furrowed his brows to appear angry, but it was futile. His smile was here to stay. And what a treat it was to get lost in the moment.

At any point he could’ve easily broken from your hold. Hell, you hardly had his leg secured in your embrace after he shook his hair out of his face, and your muscles were rendered to warm jelly. But still, he played along.

You hunkered down and returned to your drawing with his jeans rubbing on the underside of your chin. “I once heard of these magic words you could use to get what you want.. if you ask nicely.” He hummed a disgruntled noise to show his displeasure. Poor him, being beaten at this own game, and served with a dose of his own medicine.

Incredulous, he huffed, “Magic words?” But there was something suspicious about his tone..

Something just not quite right, indeed..

Without looking, you snatched his hand seconds before his mischievous fingers wiggled their way to your ribs. You interlaced an assortment of index, middle, and thumbs in a twist of power, and dragged your gaze away from your artwork to mock him. “So predictable, Eddie.”

“Am I?”

An aware glimmer from how unpredictable he was half an hour ago presented itself as a gorgeous flash of slyness across his eyes, crinkling his crow’s feet at the corners–

The metal feet of Eddie’s abandoned chair scraped along the floor.

You disengaged from each other, cheeks burning with fresh shame.

Mrs. Teresa had a yellow paper folder tucked under her arm. This was not favorable for Adrie on account of her sharp heel-turn when she saw her teacher sit at the table with her preschool assessment opened for her dad to pour over.

You couldn’t read anything from your angle, but it appeared to be a collection of Adrie’s assignments and a progress report with many notes written in the margins.

Pushing her glasses up her nose, Mrs. Teresa licked her fingertips, and flipped through the pages, updating him since the last time they did this.

The conversation was about the places Adrie excelled, and where she could improve. In regards to education, she was surpassing where she should be, and she was a quick learner. Kindergarten would be no trouble for her. It was sharing, and social interactions she was struggling with, despite her ability to make friends.

Mrs. Teresa guided Eddie towards a more serious discussion about these concerns by asking him if he told her ‘no’ frequently, and how she reacted when he did. You’d never seen him so nervous. Fidgeting, bouncing, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. Stuttering through a weak admission that he has trouble disappointing her.

He was uncomfortable, and you did your due diligence to tune them out. But it was no use.

Surveying the room, your mind was consumed by Eddie once more. For a different reason, and inciting a different emotion.

Parents at the other tables whispered observations about his mannerisms into their partner’s ear. About his disheveledness. His weirdness. His clothes.  His nonconformity. His last name. The whole package.

He was the father to the sweet little girl they invited to birthday parties, but never stayed after dropping her off with a gift? This was the man who never spoke. Never lingered long enough to put the rumors at rest. Never denied them either, so, logically, the gossip about him must be true.

“As you know, Adrie will throw tantrums from time to time when you drop her off,” Mrs. Teresa eased him into the topic. “When she cries, she asks for you, and it’s difficult to calm her down. This is abnormal for how long she’s been enrolled here. Have you been working on those techniques I taught you to help steer her towards more independence?” Her inquiry was kind, and sympathetic. It was valid, but his first instinct was to defend himself.

“I-I, well.” He took a shaky breath, and leaned towards her with his elbow on his thigh to cup his hand around his mouth, and sliding it to wring the back of his neck. “She’s–It’s just, she’s all I have, a-a-and–”

Mrs. Teresa rubbed his shoulder.

Though you were missing context for what Adrie’s teacher was trying to correct him from doing, you wanted to show your support. Lessen his stress. Afterall, the integrity of dialed back crumbled when his lips grazed your ear, and following his lead culminated in you being invited into his daughter’s world, so what’s the worst that could happen if you took a risk and comforted him? ..Besides discovering if David’s Auto Repair had an HR department.

Eddie’s pitch fluctuated as he bounced his leg harder, “When I’m home, I just want to make her happy–and, she’s, she’s–” You placed your hand on his knee, and stroked your thumb over the skin peeking out from the rips in his jeans. His inhale hitched at the sensation.

Without otherwise addressing what you did, he covered your hand with his own, crooked his cold fingertips into the spaces between yours, and parsed his thoughts. Slowed his mind. Ceased his nervous habit of bouncing his leg. Appreciated the gesture, even as the tacky silver spider ring on his pinky taunted you.

“I’ve been better about telling her ‘no’ lately,” he said more clearly. “The tantrums are happening less, and they don’t last as long when she sees I’m not budging. But the other stuff.. I don’t know.”

“Do you still carry her?” she asked, and he avoided eye contact.

“Yeah.”

“She’s almost five. She’s not a baby anymore, dear. It’s best to wean her now before it becomes a bigger problem.”

“I know.”

Mrs. Teresa gave him a motherly pat on his back, and smiled at you–his coworker–and rearranged Adrie’s folder to the bottom of the stack she had, and moved on to another table.

For a while, Eddie twisted the hair at his nape around his finger. Eyes fixated on the crayon box. You waited for him to come around, and when he did, he smiled and squeezed your hand before sliding his clammy palms to his thigh, allowing you to let go of his knee.

His chest rumbled with a soft laugh. “Sorry, was I shaking the table?”

Yes? No? Maybe? You weren’t paying attention to notice. “Yeah, like an earthquake,” you joked.

“My bad,” he said with not a hint of remorse displayed in his delighted expression.

On cue, serving as the perfect interruption to the prolonged stare you gave each other, another autumnal craft was being distributed amongst the parents remaining, and Adrie set her chin on top of where your and her dad’s shoulders touched.

Mrs. Teresa’s advice regarding his codependency went ignored for another day.

Eddie shut his eyes and pressed his temple to Adrie’s, humming contently to himself, cherishing the affection he ached for.

Adrie, on the other hand, gasped when she spied what was on the table, and rang his ears, “Glitter!”

~~~

Thank God Eddie was a safer driver with Adrie in the car; your stomach couldn’t handle another queasy acceleration through a yellow light while you made a concentrated effort to get flakes of gold glitter out of your eyebrows, having no recollection of how they got there.

In her car seat behind you, Adrie regaled you with the plot points of the latest episode of My Little Pony Tales, chirping away happily about the interpersonal relationships between the cartoon horses until Eddie pulled into the alleyway behind the auto shop, and you turned around to say your goodbyes, thanking her for inviting you.

You opened the car door and heard Eddie do the same. You were about to ask him why he was getting out too, when he went up to the employee door and unlocked it for you.

Right, you left your keys in your backpack.

Rationally you knew he wasn’t a mind reader, but you were still sheepish when getting your bike, wheeling it out to stand across from him in what was a dreadful amount of silence.

“So, uh,” he faltered in the same rush of feelings crashing like a wave over the both of you. “Thank you for coming today. I know Adrie appreciated having you there.” He went shy, scratching the back of his head before putting his hands in his pockets. “Sorry about the mess.”

You shrugged at the mention of glue on your sleeve. “It’s whatever. I’m just glad I got to watch her perform.” Dumbass move, bringing up the play when what happened during it influenced every bit of this awkward interaction. You hurried to move past it, “Plus, the pumpkin pie was nice.” And what happened afterwards when we held hands–twice–was nicer.

Jesus Christ.

Reeling in the desire to bolt, you gambled on one last question before going home to scream into your pillow. “Uhm–Can I ask you something?”

“I guess,” he answered with a wary tone.

“Why do people look at you weird?” You motioned at his clothes. “Besides the obvious.”

The deep creases between his brows from years of scrunching his face in a sour expression became more prominent. “There’s a lot of rumors out there about me.. Some are true, some aren’t.”

“Do you want to tell me which ones are true?”

Inside the car, Adrie swayed in her seat, belting a tune neither of you could hear.

“I will some other time, okay?” He flicked his gaze to you, saw the understated kindness of your soft smile, and diverted his attention to the rock he was grinding under his shoe; bashful despite the burden of his reputation affecting the instant sag in his posture. “I will,” he promised again, giving you a curt nod.

You walked your bike up beside him, and bumped his elbow. “Hey, don’t look so glum,” you insisted. “Whatever it is, I’ll still go with you to parent-teacher conferences as Adrie’s best friend so you don’t look so painfully single.”

You threw your head back in a witchy cackle as you hopped on your bike and rode away.

And it was when you were in the familiar territory of woods flocking either side of the dirt road leading to Robin’s house that you gave into the urge, and released an embarrassed, guttural, annoyed groan of one word, scaring the blackbirds in the nearby trees, “Why?”

Single, single, single. Good God, could you be more obvious?

Dialed back was a lost cause from the start.

“Well, whatever happens, happens, I guess.” And you finished it with, “Idiot.”

————

Eddie had been sitting in his car for all of two seconds when he patted the side of his seat for the back recliner, and cranked it until he was almost laid flat.

Driving his hands from his nape and upward, he gathered his hair between his fingers and covered his face, mashing the curly ends over his eyes screwed shut from red-hot shame.

He inhaled deeply, and reprimanded his dumbassery in the loudest groan. “That was so–incredibly–not casual.”

“What’s the matter, Daddy?” Adrie asked, sounding like a therapist as she pinched her sticky fingers together to shift the gold glitter from one to the other.

Composing himself, he finished dragging his palms down his cheeks, and combed away the strands stuck on his eyelashes. He blinked. “It’s nothing.” Nothing at all. He definitely wasn’t thinking of how fucked he was, believing he could handle today without taking things too far.

But it wasn’t how he almost kissed your cheek that bothered him the most, nor the multiple scenarios he supplied in effort to hold your hand, or touch you in general.

No. It was worse.

Staring unfocused at the ceiling, his lips parted with a realization.

His whisper was for himself, and his heart only. “I didn’t even care that people were staring at me today..” The mercy of your presence brought a line of water to his eyes. Not enough to flow over, but enough for him to notice his loneliness.

“Can you invite Miss Mouse to Thanksgiving?”

“No, she has her own Thanksgiving to attend,” he told her, and held his hand out, making a grabby motion at her. She understood and put her shoe in his palm so he could squeeze her ankle. Any affection. Any at all. Giving or receiving.

Knowing the answer, he asked, “You really like her, huh?”

“She’s my favorite.”

“Yeah, she’s my favorite too,” he said, in whatever capacity she meant, he meant it as well. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t, but he did.

Massaging his thumb and forefinger into circles on his forehead, he meditated on the right thing to do. Meaning, he thought about the hundreds of reasons he should put an end to this, to discourage Adrie’s relationship with you, and to resist the temptation of forming his own; and instead he latched onto the idea of him not appearing single for a little longer than his logical brain was comfortable with.

Coworker, risk, flighty personality, yada, yada..

He snorted. “Yeah, I should probably stop this.”

Adrie rolled her leg in his grasp to get him to let go. “Can we stop at McDonald’s first?”

“Wha–?” After a moment of confusion, he sighed. “Give me a break, kid.”

[jensettermandu]

song worthy - jang wonyoung

genre; smut

pairing; show-goer!wonyoung x rockstar!female reader

content; set in the mid 2000s, cigarette use, mentions of wiccans/witches (wony being referred to as a witch at times), still channeling the inner dirt-bag/rockstar core (claiming it <3), rockstar!reader x show-goer!wony. smut; switch wonyoung/reader, cunnilingus (both giving/receiving), fingering (both giving/receiving)

synopsis; wonyoung gets stoped by the frontwoman of the band that's been making a buzz lately and gets offered a deal she can't decline, especially not with the mutual desires that linger in both of their gazes.

wc; 5.4k

masterlist

a/n; this is from a scrapped story, but enjoy!

Y/n’s cold hand dug into the pocket of the black leather jacket before taking out a wrinkled and soft pack of cigarettes. Another sniffle followed, her nose cold as she took one out and put it between her lips, eyes woefully looking at three cigarettes left and no money to buy more.

“So much for being a performer.” She mumbled as the money her band earned was close to nothing. The impulsive decision of dropping school to pursue a band with her friends was biting her in the ass. It felt impossible to do anything right for the forlorn singer who had been negative about her life since the day she was born. 

She put the pack back, searched for the zippo, and groaned when she realised that she had thrown it into the van earlier after lighting her previous one. Her friends were already gone after leaving her behind since she couldn’t crash at theirs; the girl having no place to stay the night at.

The streets were half empty, people passing by and minding their business and cars speeding along the road. She held the stick between her glossy lips, looking around, hearing sirens somewhere in the distance, being well aware of how unsafe this area was and it did make her anxious—at the back of her head which she ignored. 

The wired headphones blasted Jennifer’s Body by Hole and small stones dragged along the wet concrete behind her. Y/n looked back to see a girl walk out from behind the alley she had come from. Unaware of the frontwoman’s presence since her gaze was on the ground beneath her platforms. 

Y/n quickly took the cig out of her mouth. “Hey, hey, wait up!” She called for the stranger, almost stumbling over her duffle bag as she caught onto the girl’s bare arm, stepping over the bag in the process and managing to stay on both feet.

“Are you out of your fucking mind!?” She harshly exclaimed, yanking her arm out of the band member’s grip. Her eyes were hard at the sudden and blenching intrusion that made her back up a step. The girl’s eyebrows raised into a frown as she looked over at the lead singer who was looking back at her. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, but I just need to borrow a lighter–if you have one on you that is.” She quickly spouted out an apology, noticing she scared her. Y/n’s eyes searched for why the girl seemed so familiar. 

It clicked for Y/n when she looked over at the inch-taller girl. She had seen her in the crowd the past two shows and she remembered because she had a face and style hard to forget. The girl who had just raised her voice at her came as more than a poser. She was dressed in black fishnets with ripped sheer tights under, a small top, exposing most of her skin and a mini leather skirt with a studded belt.

A silence followed after the apology as the taller girl sighed through her nose with fingers looking through the black Rachel bag. She took out a pink bic and Y/n almost in haste grabbed it as she finally had something to light the cigarette with. 

“Thank you,” she muffled out with the cancer stick between plump lips. Her hand came up to cover the side where a gentle yet cold breeze blew at them so the fire wouldn’t blow out. With that she ignited it and inhaled, filling her lungs with the smoke as the tip caught an ember before it turned to ash, burning along the white.

The girl watched the girl she knew as Y/n, the lead singer of the band that just performed.

“Were you at the show?” Y/n questioned her while handing back the lighter, sticking her right hand into the pocket of the leather jacket to keep herself from getting even colder. The taste of the smoke was strong on her tongue, the cheap cigarettes had to suffice as she could not afford any better brands. Not like she had money for a nicotine addiction–not having money for a place to live–but it was too late for consideration.

“Yeah…” She simply confirmed.

Y/n nodded at that and her eyes trailed along the slim figure in front of her and they only stopped on her thighs. She pointed down at her thigh with her head, blowing the smoke to the side while flicking at the cigarette between her fingers. A garter on the girl’s left thigh with a pentacle. 

“Are you Wiccan?” She questioned, knowing enough about the pentacle to know that Wiccans who often identified as witches used them although not all witches were Wiccan.

“You’re the first one to ask me if I’m Wiccan and not Satanist…But yes.” 

Y/n hummed and looked back up from the garter with the steel pentacle. “They usually use an inverted one.” She pointed out, knowing better than to assume the girl was Satanist as they usually used inverted ones. The two had significantly different meanings to them. 

The brunette tilted her head, dark hair falling down her shoulders and over her pale skin that was illuminated by the shitty yellow lights that went along the sidewalk the two girls stood on. 

“So…This is where you offer me a cigarette, rockstar.” The girl said, doing a once over at the lanky musician. Their eyes met, both having slept in smudged eyeliner although the proclaimed Wiccan could see the tiredness and bad nights of sleep on the other girl who chuckled and took out the cigarettes.

“What do I get for a cigarette?” She questioned her and the latter raised her eyebrows as she looked at Y/n who tilted the pack and showed the content inside, three sticks pathetically waiting to be smoked. 

“Only have three left so it’s a big offer.” The singer added. She usually wouldn’t offer or give anyone cigarettes if she only had two or three left. Especially if she had no money. 

“You get the honours of being a kind human being.” She gave the only thing she had to give as she toyed with the lighter in her hold, igniting it and letting go. Her eyes came up and looked at the girl in leather who hummed unsure with smoke coming out of her nose, catching the little shining gem on Y/n’s left nostril.

“What’s your name?” Y/n asked. 

“It’s Wonyoung.” 

She nodded at that, the lead singer still needed a place to stay the night and the weather was turning colder as it was close to being 2:30 am. She took another quick drag and blew out the smoke before licking her lower lip which tasted of vanilla and tobacco. 

“Okay…What would I get for a cigarette and two tickets to the show next Friday, Wony?” She offered Wonyoung. 

The tickets were somewhat expensive, around 20 bucks, 10 for entrance to the club and 10 for the band's show. Expensive or not, Y/n saw no reason for Wonyoung to deny because who said no to free tickets? She always carried a few on her as they at times worked like money. Aside from the duffle bag filled with clothes and another pair of shoes, they were her most prized possession at the moment. 

The deal was made as Wonyoung’s fingers nimbly reached for a cigarette from the pack as she spoke. “What do you need?” She asked before putting the stick between her plump lips, covering it from the wind and lighting it with the pink bic. Her gaze came back up to Y/n after as the smoke they blew out trailed away from them. 

“A place to stay for the night…I have the tickets in my bag.” Y/n pointed to the bag behind her feet while hoping that the newly met stranger would let her crash. In the end, she seemed harmless as she was hot and liked their music if she had shown up to three shows. It wouldn't be Y/n’s first time crashing at a stranger's place.

“My car is parked right there…I live along the boulevard.” Wonyoung said and pointed along the sidewalk where a black sedan stood. That was enough for Y/n to turn around and get the duffle bag.

Wonyoung eyed the lithe girl who turned her back to her. At the moment her confusion was how the whole idea seemed ludicrous because why on earth did the frontwoman need a place to stay? She didn’t ask though because she felt like it wasn’t her business and neither did she judge. In the end, she got two free tickets and the band’s lead singer all in the deal. The new sex symbol among showgoers. There was no need for complaints. 

“Let’s get going then.” Y/n sighed, huffing as she slung the heavy bag over her shoulder while ignoring the pain of the strap straining through the leather jacket and against her shoulder. 

Wonyoung led the way as they walked beside each other, the heels of their chunky boots dragging along the wet concrete, unconsciously kicking at small pebbles as they approached the car. 

She opened the BMW E36, the lights blinking as the locks released and Y/n put the stick between her lips while opening the back seat to put her bag inside while the witch got into the driver’s seat. The doors slammed closed after them and the frontwoman got into the passenger seat in the front as Wonyoung started the car.

“Are you like a fan or something?” Y/n curiously questioned once she was settled, glancing at Wonyoung while slightly rolling down the window to let out the smoke just like the driver's side window was down. It let in the cool breeze and prevented the smoke from lingering longer than needed. 

Wonyoung scoffed out a short laugh at the question, the singer rather fixated on her being a fan because she was going to let her stay the night. “Tickets to big bands are too expensive for me and there’s been a buzz about your band…You take what you can.” 

Y/n laughed at the reply, eyes crinkling as the grin stayed until it turned to a softer smile. She shook her head and reached into her pocket once more with her free hand, throwing the butt of the cigarette out the window. 

The speakers in the car played the album Paranoid by Black Sabbath, the CD case lying on the dashboard with a few other cases. Y/n took out the stolen MP3 from her pocket, not having money to buy a device that expensive she found a different way to get one. With that, she turned off the music and the blasting from the wired headphones stopped as she took them off. 

“I can’t deny that you guys have great songs and you, a great voice.” Wonyoung complimented as even if the band was just a try after hearing the buzz about them, they did catch her attention because it was just what she liked. A mix of grunge, alt, heavy metal and punk rock with lyrics sung raw and with emotion. 

She ashed the cigarette out the window while looking at the girl who reached into the back seat, blatantly, not minding that she was in a mini skirt and Wonyoung did not mind it either as her eyes beckoned at the exposed skin of her long legs and further, getting a glimpse of the black lace underwear.

Y/n let out a breath, Wonyoung’s eyes went back to the road when she sat back in the seat after shoving her headphones into her duffle bag. The car smelled of cigarettes and sweet vanilla, and there was a faint smell of strawberries as there was an old and aired-out car freshener hanging in the rearview mirror shaped like a strawberry with its colour drained—from how old it was. 

The dark-haired girl looked at the driver of the car as she rested her cheek against her fist, elbow resting by the window that let in cool air. 

“You have a quite soothing voice,” it was almost like a purr coming from Y/n, complimenting Wonyoung’s voice. It made a smile grace her lips as she glanced at the singer, flicking away her cigarette. 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Wonyoung stated although there had already been a silent agreement between the two of them when they first looked at each other and Wonyoung agreed to let Y/n stay the night. 

There was no denying the mutual attraction that came from looks to music taste and demeanour. 

All Y/n did was shrug while Wonyoung sped through the almost empty street. “You did say you liked my voice and I thought you knew that we would share a bed tonight.” She leered out, pointing out the obvious as neither was going to let this opportunity slip. 

There was a hot girl dressed in grunge, driving Y/n to her place.

A hot lead singer was asking to crash at Wonyoung’s place.

Wonyoung sniffled, Y/n’s eyes catching how her pierced nose scrunched up before trailing further down at the nipples protruding through the thin black shirt. Her skin was catching goosebumps from the breeze let in through the windows. 

“It would be quite nice to hear a lead singer’s voice under different circumstances.” Wonyoung beckoned, welcoming to the idea the singer in question brought up. 

Y/n bit her lower lip and Wonyoung’s eyes landed on her once again, the two constantly glancing at each other. With each glance a heat grew in the cool air of the car, a tension thick enough for a knife not to be able to even cut through it. 

The sexual desires grew with lust hazing in the air, growing like a fog in the morning as Planet Caravan started to play. A fixated look as she trailed her eyes up the exposed stomach of the singer. The light pink butterfly navel jewellery with three dangling gems was just one of the things that caught Wonyoung’s attention.

“And to see the hearts.” She added, seeing the two heart shapes protruding through Y/n’s shirt. Y/n looked down at her chest, the two piercings with heart-shaped jewellery outline showing through the small tee. 

A sly grin came onto the frontwoman’s lips, tongue poking at her canine as her eyes attended to Wonyoung’s body. “Might make you a fan tonight.” It smugly left her lips and Wonyoung chuckled, turning the car and slowing down as she drove into the neighbourhood with fingers tapping against the wheel. 

The two were getting jittery and wanted to make it to the apartment as quickly as possible because their sexual desires and lust would suffocate them both soon enough. 

“What if the roles get reversed?” The witch questioned as she parked the car, stating the possibility of the vixen in her passenger seat becoming the fan tonight. 

The vixen in question let out a breath, questioning herself if she was in love with the woman who parked the car. It wasn’t love—the two of them were just horny and found each other hot in so many ways. 

“Then there’s gonna be trouble.” Y/n gave a heads-up, opening the door just like Wonyoung did as they both got out. Doors slammed closed as the lithe girl opened the backseat and quickly got her stuff. 

The door shut and the car got locked, the bag being slung over the almost sore shoulder once again. Y/n’s eyes looked around the empty neighbourhood as everyone seemed to be asleep at around 2:30 am. Her eyes landed on the two-story apartment building with an external staircase that they were heading towards. Everything was a luxury for the singer who did not have a place to call home yet after getting kicked out of every place. 

“Do you often let band members stay the night?” Y/n asked, looking up at Wonyoung who walked ahead of her on the stairs, catching a glimpse of her ass covered in sheer tights and fishnets. The shaking of the metal stairs resonated through the empty night, leaving an echo as their heavy boots collided with them. 

 “I’m no groupie…You were just convincing enough, hot too.” Wonyoung replied over her shoulder as she didn’t bring any band members home. This was the first one as no one in the other bands had stood out like the girl behind her who made the small stage her playground while delivering vocals with emotions and different techniques depending on the song. 

It felt almost weird for Wonyoung to hear the singer talk as her voice was contrasting to the one she sang with. She’d sing and vocal fry, but spoke in a tone that made it hard to believe she was the same person. It left her more than intrigued and needy for more. 

Y/n smiled at the reply and they reached the second floor and the first door right by the stairs. Wonyoung took out the keys to the door from the small purse she had and inserted the keys into the lethargic keyhole. The door jammed as she twisted the key and bumped it with her shoulder for it to budge open like she always had to open it. With that, she managed to push it open fully and stepped inside, grabbing hold of the wall to remove her boots.

“Where’s the bedroom?” The question left Y/n’s lips the second she stepped inside and closed the door after her. The cursed duffle bag fell to the wooden floor with a loud thud and Y/n somehow managed to pry her heavy boots off her feet, each one falling to the floor with a thud. 

The one-bedroom apartment was dark as the brunette hadn’t turned on any of the lights and instead grabbed the arm of the leather jacket. “Right this way, star.” Wonyoung’s tone was torrid as she pulled Y/n after her, walking through the open kitchen and living room. Guiding her the short distance from one door to another that she pushed open. 

The bedroom was merely lit up by the lamp posts and other passing lights outside that were gandering through the creaks in the blinds. 

Y/n shut the door with her foot and Wonyoung turned around, her eyes murky with lust as she looked at the girl. Her hands clutched onto the lapels of the leather jacket, pulling the frontwoman into her whose lips parted right away when they met Wonyoung’s. 

It was almost tacky how sloppy the kiss got as their slick tongues met—the two loved it. The singer's barbell was pulled at and brushed against Wonyoung’s teeth. Slender hands ran to the back of the witch and grabbed hold of her ass under the mini skirt, gripping the warm and soft flesh between fingers that threaded through the sheer tights and fishnets. 

Wonyoung pulled her closer, breathless moans falling from both girls as she stepped back, pulling Y/n along while tilting her head, her tongue toying with the hard barbell. 

The kiss tasted of vanilla, strawberries, and cigarettes, lip gloss mingling, making Y/n pull back and capture Wonyoung’s lower lip. She sucked on it, tongue dragging along her lips until Wonyoung’s legs hit the bed and Y/n’s hands came up to her small tee. She tugged it over her head, discarding it to the side before shoving Wonyoung to sit on the bed and hastily removing her leather jacket. 

The heat coursed their bodies, everything going south as it throbbed with need between their legs. Y/n’s hand threaded into dark waves as she tilted Wonyoung’s head up, capturing the plump strawberry-tasting lips, pushing the girl back until she had her lying down on the bed. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” That gruffly voice came out from the singer, close to the one she would sing with and Wonyoung’s chest heaved as Y/n’s wet lips ran down from her lips. Kissing down to her jaw almost heedlessly with how messy it was, panting hot air against her skin.

“I’ve left your last two shows all wet because of how hot you’re on stage,” Wonyoung admitted, lost in the moment when lips wetly trailed down to her chest. A gasp fell from her lips at the teeth grazing her hard nipples before getting engulfed in Y/n’s warm mouth. It was enough to make her hips buck at the throbbing between her legs, Y/n’s one hand roughly grabbed hold of her skirt, bodies almost flush against each other. 

“You sure you’re not a groupie?” Y/n humidly chuckled against Wonyoung’s chest before burying her face in the breasts, nipping and sucking at the ample flesh. Faint and needy moans fell from Wonyoung’s lips as she looked down at the band member with her hand in her hair, pushing Y/n further down. 

“Mhm…” Wonyoung breathlessly confirmed and Y/n dropped onto her knees between the girl’s legs on the hard and cold floor. “Never planned on actually fucking you.” Yet here she was, about to fuck with the vixen she only thought of fucking. 

She bit her lower lip, hips lifting off the edge of the bed where she was lying when Y/n hooked her fingers under the skirt and every other piece of clothing. The two were too eager to wait around, wanting nothing more than a taste of the Hellmouth they both were entering through for the night. 

Y/n yanked at the clothes, hearing something rip in the process as she pulled them off of Wonyoung’s legs before she dropped the tights and skirt onto the floor. The brunette was left naked on the bed. Her pussy dripping with need just from the rough and messy handling by the lead singer who kissed her warm thighs. 

Y/n grabbed hold of Wonyoung’s right leg who hooked it over her shoulder before slumping back down onto the bed. Her eyes were on the dark ceiling as her chest heaved before she closed her eyes and drowned in the kisses that were being scattered along her inner thighs. 

Y/n pushed Wonyoung’s other leg further apart, her eyes landing on her dripping cunt and her fingers eagerly came up to her puffy pink folds. The girl’s lips parted with a gasp at the cold fingers that ran through her lips, gathering the slickness and spreading it up to her clit. The small nudge on the bundle of nerves was enough to make her let out a vague whine with thighs tensing up. 

She coated her fingers in Wonyoung’s slickness, spreading her lips with them as she moved forward and kissed the fleshy mound, feeling how Wonyoung stifled her hips from bucking. The brunette's warmth was becoming a sopping mess, the slickness running down to the sheets as Y/n pulled away with her mouth and wetted her lips. Her eyes fell on the clit she revealed by spreading her open with two fingers. 

“Oh–I’m gonna make you fucking dizzy,” she muttered under her breath, lips attaching around the swollen and slick clit—followed by a sharp suckle and flicking of a skilled tongue.

It was enough for Wonyoung to moan, the action being so precipitous that her chest tightened at the gasp she let out, hand flying into the dark hair and fingers tangling in it as her back arched before she slumped back with her other hand clutching onto the sheets. 

Y/n savoured the taste on her tongue, massaging the clit with her tongue, Wonyoung continuously let out small whimpers and gasps as her hips rolled into the girl’s face unable to lay still at the pleasure running through every nerve in her body. Her blood running warmer and making her body heat up even more. 

Y/n’s fingers dug into the flesh of her thigh that rested over her shoulder and pulled her closer to the throbbing cunt. She moved her other hand away from the thigh she was holding onto to keep Wonyoung from closing her legs and moved it down. 

Among the sucking and flicking at her clit, Wonyoung’s stomach tightened in anticipation when she felt two fingers caressing her clenching hole. Y/n brushed her middle finger over it, the wetness letting her easily slip her finger into the warm and tight wetness. Her walls throbbed around her finger as she decided to push in a second one, both fingers getting sucked right in by the girl’s tightness.

“Y/n—” Wonyoung moaned, hand tugging onto her hair, making the latter moan against her heat, working her tongue faster on her clit. 

“Fuck.” She breathed, Y/n’s fingers pressing and caressing her g-spot in a way that was making her thighs spasm and the orgasm quickly build up. Her hips pushed more into Y/n’s face, her pussy squelching from how sopping she was, the warmth around the fingers inside her squeezing as her whole body slowly tensed up. The occasional brush of the barbell against her sensitive clit was making her light-headed and whiny.

“Oh fuck—” It hit Wonyoung so quick, her words fading as she let out a harsh gasp, eyebrows furrowing and mouth falling slack as she arched her back, the back of her head pressing into the mattress. Breathless whimpers and whines fell from her lips as her body convulsed at the orgasm that hit her, being enough to make her ascend for a second before falling back down to earth. 

Y/n slowed down, pulling out her fingers as she dipped her head to lap everything leaking out of her grasping hole. 

Wonyoung heaved for breath as her hot body relaxed with her heart pounding, enjoying the last of the slick muscle cleaning up the mess she was made into. Y/n hummed and pulled away, taking her fingers covered in the latter's juices into her mouth and cleaning them up too. 

Her leg came down from the shoulder and Y/n pulled back, grabbing the hem of her tee and pulling it over her head. The small piece of material got thrown to the side before she stood and Wonyoung sat up. 

The brunette’s grip was harsh as she grabbed hold of the meagre wrist and pulled the girl onto the bed. Y/n’s back hit the soft mattress as she pushed herself up with her head on one of the pillows. Her eyes barely being able to focus because of how uncomfortable the heat between her legs was as Wonyoung crawled over to her and settled herself between her legs. 

Her limber fingers ran along Y/n’s thighs as the witch bit her lower lip, looking at the latter’s chest with two pierced nipples, adorned by heart-shaped jewellery with light pink gems just like the ones in the navel one. Contrasting from the dark grunge clothes she’d dress in. 

“I’m gonna have you running back for more…” Wonyoung mumbled, her fingers hooking under the skirt and pulling it down Y/n’s slim and bruised legs, discarding the piece of underwear in the process too. 

“What do you need me running back for, Wony?” Y/n questioned as the girl on top leaned down, resting her arm beside Y/n’s head. Bodies pressed into each other, the gems of the piercing rough against Wonyoung’s nipples and she chuckled. 

Y/n caught the taller one's lower lip and sucked on it with her hands wrapping around her shoulders. “Free tickets—” She breathed out, kissing down the defined jawline before dipping her head and kissing under it. Her fingers sneakily ran along Y/n’s inner thighs, the wetness smeared and thighs tensing around her body. “And good sex.” She finished while humming when Y/n tugged at her ear with her teeth.

“Better make me feel as good as music does then.” A shaky breath followed Y/n’s words, the puff of air hitting Wonyoung’s ear and making her shiver—her fingers running through the wet folds. Wonyoung’s mouth trailed kisses all over the lead singer’s neck, leaving it wet while her fingers worked to gather the wetness to the bundle of nerves. 

Y/n’s hand grabbed hold of the dark hair, pulling the girl back up as their lips met. It was as messy as before, slick tongues pressing as they both tilted their heads to get more of each other. The whimper from Y/n was muffled by the mouth sucking on her tongue when Wonyoung circled her clit with her fingers. Softly she continued to circle it; teasing as the frontwoman’s hips continued to buck in need. 

She got what she needed and wanted as Wonyoung dipped her hand, swiftly pushing two of her fingers into the tight hole. She pulled away from Y/n, licking up the string of saliva between their lips as she watched the lead singer let out a whimpering moan that was light at the two fingers that started to move in her. 

Wonyoung worked her fingers, flicking her wrist as her palm met the slick and swollen clit, pressing and rubbing. The two long fingers engulfed in the snug pussy rubbed at the soft and spongy g-spot.

Y/n’s grip tightened in Wonyoung’s hair, hips rolling into her hand and the girl between her legs pushed herself up. Her eyes fell between their bodies, the sounds were lewd from the loud and very vocal vocalist and the slickness of her fingers dragging along the warm throbbing walls. 

“I’m not sure where you sound better, Y/n.” Wonyoung let out a satisfied hum and bit her lower lip. 

“Wony—” Y/n stopped and her chest heaved, the said girl stopping her movement for a split second as the heat on top of the singer disappeared together with the two fingers deep in her. 

Wonyoung pushed herself down and got down on her stomach. It was as if her mouth was watering, seemingly deprived of sex and she inserted her fingers back in. “Fuck that’s good.” Y/n hummed, Wonyoung licking up her slit before circling the clit, both of the girls rolling back their eyes—one in pleasure, the other at the addicting taste.

Her head tilted, flicking her tongue as she wrapped her lips around Y/n’s clit, fingers still driving inside the tight hole. Y/n’s back arched, hands tangling in Wonyoung’s hair as her hips moved into the warm mouth, the tongue slick and scalding against her cunt. 

“Shit—I’m gonna write a song about your mouth–oh fuck.” 

Wonyoung smiled at the words, doing her best to pleasure the lead singer with her mouth and fingers after getting an orgasm that made her feel like she ascended for a second. The slim thighs spasmed around her head and she reached her other hand up, cupping under the supple breast that fit right into her palm. Her fingers, toyed with the piercing and nipple as she worked her tongue harder against the clit between her lips. 

She could feel the walls tighten around her fingers, making her press down on the soft wall and continue the movement of her tongue. Fingers pinching and tugging at the hard nipple as Y/n let out whiny and light moans. The mess grew bigger on the sheets with each second, spit and slick covered her chin as her mouth worked sloppily on the girl’s cunt, making it so much more lewd.

Her thighs quivered at the warm tongue dragging and flicking over her clit. It made her head buzz at how deep she could feel Wonyoung’s fingers inside her heat unable to stop how she clenched around them with every movement. The slurping of the girl’s mouth was barely making it to Y/n as her ears grew muffled, not being able to think about anything but how good it felt.

Heat shot through her whole body as her legs tensed up around Wonyoung’s head, the orgasm running through every part of her body as Wonyoung only stopped once she was heaving under her just like she had done. She pulled her fingers out of the pulsating walls and licked everything up before pulling away, clearing her fingers with her tongue too while sitting back on her heels. 

“Song worthy?” She questioned with a sly smirk and Y/n hummed, pushing herself up and grabbing hold of Wonyoung’s wrist. “Totally, but this whole night is gonna be song-worthy.” She let the girl know, making her straddle her thigh, the wet heat pressing against the skin of it. Their lips met once again as she gripped Wonyoung’s hips, guiding her to roll them. 

masterlist

[waitimcomingtoo]

SLUT!

chapter one: and I know you heard about me

pairing: peter parker x reader

series masterlist

“Sign the attendance sheet, please.”

An attendance sheet on a piece of loose leaf paper was sent around the classroom to mark the start of a new school year. Peter signed his name and then passed the paper along to the girl next to him. He could see you looking for a pen out of the corner of his eye and wordlessly handed over his own.

“Oh, thanks Peter.” You smiled at him and took the pen from him.

“No problem. Wait, how’d you know my name?” Peter wondered as you signed your name in the sheet.

“Because it’s on the attendance sheet you just handed me.” You laughed awkwardly.

“Oh. Right.” Peter blushed and strained his eyes to try and see what name you had written on the sheet.

“Y/n.” You told him when you saw him looking.

“What?” He asked and looked back up at you.

“You were looking to see what my name was. Its Y/n.” You replied and held up the sheet to show him.

“Oh.” He smiled timidly. “Yeah, I was. That’s a nice name. I wish I had it.”

“Thanks?” You laughed at his strange joke as he squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment.

“Oh, and thanks for this too.” You said and went to hand him his pen back.

“That’s okay. You can keep it. I have millions. Actually, just 45.” Peter said and pulled a box of 45 blue Bic pens out of his backpack. You laughed at how serious he was, making him relax a little. He had just transferred to the college that year and was worried about being the only new kid in junior year, but you were making him feel comfortable already with the prospect of a new friend. And it didn’t hurt that you were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

“44 now.” You smiled and held up the pen.

“Right. 44.” Peter blushed. A silence settled between you but class had not started yet. The attendance sheet was still going around and the professor was busy on the computer. Peter felt awkward and didn’t know if he should continue the conversation or leave you alone now that you’ve spoken to each other. You were wondering the same exact thing and raked your braid for something you could say to restart the conversation. You and Peter turned to face each other and spoke at the same time.

“So what’s your major?” You asked at the same time Peter said “Do you play?”

“Oh, sorry. You first.” Peter laughed in embarrassment.

“I asked what your major was. I haven’t seen you around before so I was curious.” You repeated now that you were the only one talking.

“Bioengineering. And you haven’t seen me because I just transferred here. What about you?”

“Undeclared still but my advisor said this class will fulfill my math and science gen Ed’s. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

“So you’re not taking organic chemistry for fun?” Peter tried his hand at a joke. Luckily, you laughed even though his delivery wasn’t his best work.

“I am not. I’m only here so I can graduate. What was your question?”

“Oh, right. I wanted to know if you play.” Peter asked and pointed to the soccer ball sticker on your closed laptop.

“Yeah. I’m here on a varsity scholarship. There was no way I was getting into this school otherwise. I’m not very smart.” You said with a nervous laugh.

“I’m here on a scholarship too.” Peter smiled at having something in common.

“Oh, cool. For a sport?”

“No. For being poor but smart.” Peter said seriously, but you laughed again as if it were a joke. Peter felt himself relax around you and settled into the conversation. You chatted for a little longer until your professor finally started class. When class ended, Peter hung back in his seat and waited to say goody bye to you once you finished packing up.

“Could I get your number? I like to have at least one person number in the class in case I miss a day.” You asked Peter and handed him your phone.

“My number? Oh. Yeah, sure.” Peter tried to sound calm as he took your phone in his hands. He put in his name and number and smiled to himself for finally giving his number to a girl.

“And cause I think you’re cute.” You added as Peter typed, making him freeze. He looked up at you in shock as he added his contact to your phone.

“What?”

“See you later, Peter.” You laughed and took your phone back before walking away. Peter stood there frozen for a while before heading back to his dorm. Ned was already inside, working on something on the computer.

“I’ve fallen in love.” Peter said as he shut the door behind him. Ned immediately closed his laptop and wagged his finger.

“No. Cut it out. None of that. Absolutely not.”

“You don’t even know with whom I’ve fallen in love with.” Peter pointed out as he plopped down on his dorm bed.

“Fine. With who?” Ned asked him.

“Her name is Y/n. She’s on the soccer team and in my organic chemistry class.” Peter said proudly.

“Wait, Y/n from the soccer team?” Ned asked. “Oh no, Peter. Thats never going to happen. I heard she’s really popular, but for the wrong reasons.”

“What reasons?” Peter asked. “And can people really be popular in college? Is that still a thing?”

“She’s a different kind of popular than what you’re thinking of. I heard she’s very popular with the guys at this school. And that’s all I’ll say.”

“Well can you say more? Because I don’t know what that means.”

“Oh my God. Do I really have to spell it out for you? I’m saying that I heard she’s kinda a slut. Like, big one.”

“A slut?” Peter laughed in surprise. “Do people really still use that word? I thought shaming women for their sexuality went out of style.”

“Nope. People still say it. Especially about her. I heard she sleeps with guys to get them to do her school work for her and then breaks their hearts. And I heard she even slept with the son of the President of the school to get in.”

“What? Come on.” Peter rolled his eyes. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t think she’s like that.”

“How would you know? You’ve only had one interaction with her.”

“And you’ve had 0 interactions with her.” Peter pointed out. “I’m hearing a lot of “I heard” and yet none of those things were told to you by her. So I don’t think it’s fair to judge her based on some crazy rumor before you even talk to her.”

“I’m just saying.” Ned shrugged. “She has a bad reputation. And that has to come from somewhere.”

“Well it doesn’t matter to me if she’s slept with a bunch of guys. If that’s even true. That doesn’t make her a bad person. She was nice and funny and I want to see her again. No matter how many guys she has allegedly slept with.” Peter replied with a slight roll of his eyes.

“Let me ask you this then; does she know how smart you are?” Ned questioned.

“Yeah. I told her I was here on a scholarship. Why?”

“Come on, Peter. Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious that the campus slut befriended you after finding out you were smart? She’s just gonna use you like she used all those other guys. I’m trying to look out for you, dude. I don’t want her breaking your heart, okay?”

“She’s not gonna do that.” Peter insisted. “And she’s not gonna try to sleep with me either. You’ll see. She just wants to be friends.”

Peter put his headphones on to end the conversation but Neds words didn’t leave his mind. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was any truth to those rumors. You did ask for Peters number after finding out he was smart, but that didn’t necessarily mean you were gonna use him, did it? One the one hand, Peter would he sad if it turned out that all you wanted from him was homework help. On the other hand, he felt slightly excited that a pretty girl wanted to use him. He knew his friendship with you probably wouldn’t end well, but he knew the middle would be fun.

The next day, Peter was walking across campus when he found himself having to pass through the club fair. He squeezed by a few tables and avoided any flyers when he suddenly spotted you. You were sitting alone at a table with a sign for the girls soccer team. You looked rather lonely and Peter noticed no one was going to your table. You suddenly made eye contact with each other and your face lit up.

“Hey, Peter!”

“Hey.” Peter greeted you as he walked up to your table.

“Can I interest you in signing your name next to one of our game dates? If you show up on that date, you get a free water bottle. Water not included.” You said and held up a clipboard.

“Oh, I’m very interested.” Peter joked and wrote his name down next to every upcoming game you had on the clipboard. You took the clipboard back and smiled when you saw how many he had signed up for.

“Are you sure? You’ll have to see me a lot if you come to all of these.”

“Sounds horrible. I’m in.” Peter replied, making your smile grow. He immediately pushed everything Ned had said about you out of his mind and let you speak for yourself.

“So where’s the rest of your team?” He wondered.

“Oh, I don’t know. They said they were coming but they haven’t showed up yet.” You said with a sad smile. Peter looked at the two empty chairs beside you and felt bad that your team mates hadn’t showed up. You noticed him staring and smiled in embarrassment.

“Hey, uh, what are you doing now?” You asked him.

“Nothing. I have a gap between classes so I was gonna go get some work done.”

“I have work too. You going to the library?”

“I might be.”

“I’ll join you.” You smiled and got up from the table. You took your clipboard with you and walked in stride beside Peter towards the library. You passed by a group of boys on the basketball team and Peter heard you let out a sigh. One of the boys, Brad Davis, whistled loudly at you as you passed by. You stepped closer to Peter and quickened your pace, but Brad just stepped in front of you.

“Well look who it is.” Brad grinned. “I haven’t seen you on campus yet this semester. But I figured you were, you know, busy.”

You kept walking and Peter stayed beside you as he gave Brad a strange look. Brad didn’t even acknowledge Peter and only kept his eyes on you.

“What? I don’t get a hello now? I thought we were friends.” Brad asked you as he slung an arm around you. You forcefully threw his arm off of you, sending him stumbling back a few steps.

“That’s fine.” He scoffed. “I see how it is. And I’d be careful around her, Peter. She’s a homie hopper.”

“I thought you played defense?” Peter asked you. Brad was so confused that he immediately stood still and stopped harassing you. You couldn’t help but smile at the way Peter unintentionally diffused the situation and linked your arm through his.

“I do. Let’s keep walking.” You whispered and quickly made it to the library.

“I hate that guy.” You mumbled once you sat down at a table together.

“You do? I mean, same, but why?” Peter wondered.

“Why don’t you tell me why you hate him first?” You laughed and leaned on your hand to look at Peter.

“It’s simple, really. Brad and I went to high school together so I’ve have a long time to build this resentment. But it stems from that fact that he’s rich and popular and into sports and I’m the other kind of boy you can be.”

“Ah, I see. The quiet, non-sports boy? Those are real? I thought they only existed in movies.” You teased him.

“Many would assume so, but we’re very real. And very jealous of big handsome jocks who drive cars that look like Hotwheels.” Peter replied, making you laugh again.

“Hey, let’s not pretend you don’t have some heat under those clothes. I felt your arm before. It’s harder than a steering wheel.”

“Thank you?” Peter blushed and scratched the back of his head.

“You’re welcome. And you’re plenty handsome so you don’t have any reason to be jealous of those boys. Especially not butt-wads like Brad Davis.”

“Oh. Well, thanks. You’re handsome too.” Peter said and then immediately regretted it. You gave him a look and he sighed.

“I meant-“

“It’s okay. I knew what you meant.” You chuckled.

“Oh, good. So what are you working on?” He asked to change the subject.

“Homework for our chemistry lecture. But I don’t understand any of it.” You sighed and flipped back and forth between your notes.

“Can I see your notes?” Peter asked and you slid your notebook over to him. Your notes were very unorganized and sentences often went unfinished. He assumed it was because of how fast the teacher spoke and you not having time to write it all down before the class moved on. Peter looked up at you and could tell you were embarrassed by them. He gave your notebook back to you and took his out of his backpack.

“Here. We can use mine instead.”

“Wow. You have girl handwriting.” You smiled in surprise and touched his perfectly organized page of notes.

“I appreciate that.” Peter said sincerely.

“How do you even know what to write down? I have no idea what’s going on in that class. I try to pay attention but the teacher goes way to fast so when she asks if we have any questions, I don’t even know what I’m confused about yet.“

“I was pretty good at chemistry back in high school. If you want, I could tutor you?” Peter offered.

“Really?” You lit up. “You’d do that?”

“Yeah. I’d be happy to.” Peter nodded. You smiled brightly, but then your smile faded as you realized something. You looked out the window at where Brad Davis was before looking at Peter again.

“Can I ask you a vague question and then not elaborate?” You asked him.

“Um, sure.”

“Have you heard anything about me?” You asked, and Peter immediately thought back to what Ned had told him.

“About you? No.” Peter lied.

“So you’re offering to tutor me out of the kindness of your heart? Not because of what you think will happen if you do?” You questioned skeptically.

“What’s gonna happen?” Peter laughed awkwardly. He knew exactly what you meant; you were asking if he only wanted to tutor you because he thought you would sleep with him. But Peter wasn’t about to tell his new friend that he heard she was known for that.

“Nothing.” You smiled in relief. “Do you want to get together tomorrow after lecture for our first session?”

“Sure. I’d love to.”

“Cool.” You smirked. “See you then.”

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[deathbecomesthem]

Kiss the Cook 4 | 2.3K

linecook!Eddie Munson x server!reader

Summary: It's just you and Eddie working on a lazy Wednesday morning. Until an unexpected guest throws a wrench in the gears.

A/N: This might seem a little out of place in this current series, but it's an older piece I wrote many moons ago. Based on a mostly true Thanatos server experience.

--

As usual, you leave the cream colored coffee mug at the prep station next to the fruit cup that Eddie’s prepared for you. His back is still turned, he’s throwing down a case of bacon to fry off before opening. This time of the day, his clothes are clean and fresh and his hair is still damp from his morning shower. His hair is pulled up in a bun that sits a little higher than normal, and it gives you a good view of the fine hairs at the back of his neck. Little soft curls that cling to his skin just above the place where his shoulders work underneath his crisp white shirt. 

The tattoo there has always been something that you’ve noticed, but you’ve never gotten the chance to really see it until now. It’s a sword, the hilt of which can barely be seen through the curls that rest at the nape of his long neck. The blade looks sharp enough to cut, and it reaches straight down his spine. You wonder about it, and hope there’s a day when you’ll get to see the tip of that blade, wherever it may be.

You’re thinking about reaching out to touch his neck. - let your fingertips feel the skin and hair - when he turns away from the grill and the meat that’s already begun to spit. He seems totally unaware of your gaze, even now with his profile in full view. You could already be sitting on the curb out back puffing through your pre-opening cigarette, but this is a rare thing getting to study him so intensely in a quiet moment.

“You gonna stand there and stare all morning, or do you wanna go smoke before this place turns into a zoo?” You can feel heat in your face immediately, and hope he doesn’t turn to look at how you’re reacting to his teasing. You were caught, but also, he was letting you look. Your stomach does a flip at the thought of it, and you wonder how long he’s known that you’ve been taking all of the sly glances you can.

“I was just waiting for you,” you spin on your heels and head towards the back door before Eddie can look at you, “whenever you’re done screwing around with your meat, I’ll be out here.” Eddie’s low giggle follows you through the back door. The 90 seconds between when you sit on the concrete and when Eddie opens the back door to join you is enough time to consider that he was flirting with you. Openly. That’s new. You think it’s new, anyway. Maybe you’ve just been missing it.

It’s with a heavy sigh that Eddie sits down next to you on the low to the ground curb, his long legs extended so his knees don’t sit up high under his chin. He’s long, like a stretched out cat dressed in his still clean black denim and cotton shirt. He’s close enough for you to smell the soap that still clings to his skin from his morning shower, and the deodorant he must have put on directly after. 

“So. I’ve been thinking about something.” Eddie’s fumbling hands are reaching around in his apron pocket while a Camel dangles from his lips. You extend your green Bic, flame lit, to his cigarette. Eddie smiles around the paper filter, his eyes flick from you to the end of his cigarette where the cherry burns to life. “Thank you,” he whispers on an exhale, his full focus back to you.

“What have you been thinking about Eddie?” You push your shoulder against his. As always, it’s a way to connect your bodies in a mundane and friendly way. You think it might be your imagination, but you could swear you can feel his body heat through his and your own layer of clothing. He’s gotten shy now, eyes focused on the asphalt parking lot in front of him. His long fingers are twirling the lit cigarette around while you wait for his answer.

“Well,” the word comes out in a higher pitch than normal, he clears his throat, “well, I was thinking maybe we could go out sometimes. Just you and me, like uh -” he brings his eyes back to yours, gauging your reaction, “- I’m sorry, I’m shit at this. It’s ok if you say no, I don’t want it to be weird at work or anything.”

“I don’t know how anything could be weird when you haven’t actually said anything outside of wanting to go out. Sure, Ed, we can go out. We’re friends aren’t we?” You can’t hold back the snicker that laces your words. Eddie’s so cute, his cheeks are pink and his eyes are pleading. He looks like a boy instead of the 26 year old man that he is, and he’s begging you for mercy.

“You’re torturing me on purpose, and it’s not nice.” No, it’s not nice, but it’s having its intended effect. Eddie wants to take you on a date, and you can’t care that the words are too hard for him to say when his face is so close to your own. When his lips, oh he can definitely see that you’re looking at them, are so pretty. He’s close enough that you can see the stubble across his top lip. Fresh shave this morning, but the light of the sunrise is starting to make the tiny hairs sparkle.

“I’m sorry, Ed,” both of your cigarettes are burned to the filter, and you know it’s at least a couple of minutes past opening time. You can’t find it in yourself to care. You have a wild thought about asking him to flick work with you. To go for a long walk and hold hands. Your thoughts get wilder when you notice his eyes flick down to your mouth as if in question. Unconsciously doing the same thing your own eyes have been doing to Eddie’s lips. Are we going to kiss out here on this curb while the sun is still hiding behind the trees?

Your thought is answered and the moment is broken. The sound of a familiar voice mumbling a curse accompanied by a fist loudly knocking against glass. A quick glance at your watch tells you it’s 3 minutes past opening, and Jimmy is right on time as always. The retiree that sits at the corner of the counter for the first hour of the diner’s business, and has been doing so since the week of the grand opening 15 years ago, is ready for his morning’s coffee. 

“Sorry, Jimmy, I’ll be up front in 30 seconds!” You shout around the corner of the building from your spot on the curb, neck craned in the direction of Jimmy’s grumbling before slapping your knees and standing up. You look down at Eddie and find that his gaze has returned to the tree line beyond the parking lot. He lets out a chuckle and pulls out another cigarette while you pat the top of his head in goodbye. By the time you get Jimmy's coffee and cruller, Eddie will be inside to fry up his eggs. You wonder, as you step back in through the metal door, whether the words between you and he will mean anything, or will be forgotten as the day moves forward.

–

You’re perched on a barstool at the counter, Jimmy is the only company you have when it happens. Eddie’s smoke break took longer than was reasonable, and you stepped out of your assigned role to make two sloppily fried over medium eggs for the old guy. You didn’t mind, you assumed this was just one of those mornings. Sometimes, Eddie is pensive. You only wished there was a way to relieve him of his duties for the day so he could get a real break. 

The sound of the back door opening draws your attention towards the kitchen while your hands mindlessly pull out a knife, fork, and spoon to roll into the paper napkin in front of you. Immediately you realize something is wrong, because the familiar sounds of Eddie stomping are replaced with a choked off scream and - possibly the sound of a scuffle of some kind. 

“What the hell -” before Jimmy can’t get out his thought, he too recognized that something was wrong in the small hallway that holds the back door and bathrooms, Eddie’s high pitched yelling freezes you in your spot. A split second later, your fear has you on your feet and sprinting towards the cacophony.

“Motherfucking son of a bitch!” Eddie hollers before throwing open the swinging kitchen door, narrowly missing your face. A small red blur passes in front of you before you catch sight of Eddie. He is standing in front of the men’s room door with his shirt pulled half over his head and his apron tangled in his arms. Your brain cannot make sense of the sounds and sights you’ve just experienced, and then you hear the voice of another man shouting at the opposite end of the restaurant.

“Christ Almighty!” Jimmy sounds less frantic than Eddie did a moment ago, but no less surprised. Your feet are moving again, letting the swinging door close on the disheveled line cook. Your mind is working to make sense of things when you round the corner to enter the dining room and find your foot skidding against something slick. A quick look down tells you it’s - what the fuck - bird shit.

There’s a bird loose in the restaurant. A bird. And the two men here are screaming messes.

You head back to the dining room and grab a broom before you make your way into the dining room to save an old man from the bird menace. The crashing of silverware tells you that things are not chill, and you’re ready for it. You think you’re ready for it until a flash of red feathers swoops down at your head as you remember to step over the spot of shit left on the linoleum. 

“What the fuck.” Your attempt to bat the bird away from your head with the broom, it’s a cardinal - you can see it clearly now, results in you breaking a bulb in one of the hanging lamps that are throughout the dining room. Glass rains down on your shoulders, and you have at least enough sense to shake it off rather than use your fingers to brush at it. “Can birds have rabies?”

“No!” Jimmy answers your rhetorical question from the opposite end of the dining room. You see that his coffee mug and plate of eggs are spilled on the floor next to his abandoned barstool, “but this one is fucking possessed! I flew right at my head like it was out for blood!”

–

The battle of the bird vs. Eddie Munson lasted 2 hours. Casualties included one lightbulb, a glass coffee urn, a set of salt and pepper shakers, a ceramic coffee mug, a tray of donuts (bird shit), and the ceramic plate that held Jimmy’s poorly made over medium eggs. You and Eddie tried and failed to catch the terrified creature dozens of times before opening both the front and back doors and returning to the spot at the curb where Eddie almost managed to ask you out on a date before the chaos began. It took less an 5 minutes for Mr. Cardinal to find the exit, swooping down at Eddie’s head as a final “fuck you”.

“What did I do to deserve that bird’s rage?” Eddie’s hair is a mess, and you can’t help but wonder if he had managed to do something that has resulted in this avian vendetta. “I say we clean up and call this day a loss. Charlie can kiss my ass if he has a problem with it.”

“Charlie won’t care. We already lost breakfast to a bird.” Your words came out with a giggle. Eddie caught the itch of laughter. The post bird drama hysterics had you both hunched over in gasping laughter until the thought of your lost wages made your smile fade. “I’m gonna make Charlie pay me kitchen wages for today.”

Eddie hummed in agreement with the sentiment. You certainly deserve it, especially considering what it will take to get the bird shit out of your non-slip footwear’s sole. When you go to stand, finally deciding it was time to clean and get as far away from the war zone as possible, you’re stopped by a soft grasp of Eddie’s calloused hand on your forearm. You look at him and find his gaze firmly on yours, and not looking out past the tree line. 

“How about we clean up and go out to lunch somewhere? My treat?” A battle well fought has given Eddie the nerve to ask the question he’s been wanting to ask for months. Even now, when he knows your answer, butterflies’ wings beat in his chest as the silence after his question is asked fills the air.

“Ok. But only if we can get some ice cream after.”

[sailor-aviator]

By Its Cover: Prologue

By Its Cover: Prologue

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: The frivolity of high society has never much interested in you. You preferred to spend your time reading, something your sisters couldn't fathom as they spent their time shopping the latest dress styles. The youngest of five children and the fourth daughter, not much was expected of you. You knew you might be married one day, but you hoped beyond hope that it would be to someone that might understand your intellectual pursuits. You begin exchanging letters with a mysterious stranger, and what's more, your older brother's rakish best friend seems to find himself in your path more and more as the season goes on. What's a girl to do? (Regency!AU)

Content Warning: Historical inaccuracies, Regency period, Period related drama, Talks of judgement, Period typical sexism, Talks of marriage, Death of a parent, Talks of making a debut, Reader's feelings are hurt, light angst, some fluff. I think that's it, but let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: 1.6k

Series Masterlist || Moodboard

Winter gave way to spring as quickly as one rumor gave way to another. Public opinion changed as quickly as the seasons, as far as you were concerned. Your whole life was spent in the thralls of high society, your entire life scrutinized by the judgmental lords and ladies of the Island before you could even walk or talk.

You had earned your reputation as a rather odd girl fairly young not quite seven years. Where the other girls were interested in dolls and hair ribbons, you found yourself enraptured by the world around you. On more than one occasion, you received a tongue lashing from your nanny as you tracked mud through the house after one of your many excursions into the garden, your mother heaving a tired sigh as you argued the merits of fresh air and stimulating your endless supply of curiosity.

“My darling,” she’d say pointedly, giving you one of her signature looks that reeked of motherly disapproval and exasperation, “while I find the fresh air and time in the garden as stimulating as the next person, it is unbecoming of a lady, dearest.”

You had recounted the tale to your father later that evening, the older man sitting at his desk with his feet propped up on the top of the wooden surface as he thumbed through a page of one of his many novels.

“I just don’t understand, Papa,” you muttered, your hair hanging from where you sat upside down on the chaise. “Why can Will go about doing as he pleases while I am to be tied down by all of these ridiculous rules?”

Your father had merely chuckled, marking his page before setting his book down to look at you.

“My darling Bug,” he smiled, taking his feet down and opening his arms wide to you. “Come here.”

You obeyed, righting yourself on the couch before standing to walk over to him. Bug had been bestowed upon you as your moniker well before you could remember. Your father had said that you earned the nickname once you were old enough to crawl all over the place, getting into things that you most decidedly shouldn’t. Your siblings had said it was because you were a pest.

Your father grasped your upper arms gently, the smile on his face as affectionate as always.

“William doesn’t get to do as he pleases,” he explained, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you pouted at him. “He will one day be lord earl of this estate, and as such he will take on many duties that will prevent him from doing a great deal of things. Indeed, he will take on many things that will see him as constrained as you.”

“I don’t believe you,” you grumbled, scowling up at him. Your father tilted his head back with a booming laugh, patting your head before placing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Nevermind all of that now, my little Lady Bug,” he hummed. “I’ve found a new story for you, would you like to read it?”

Your father was a fixture in your life, encouraging your love of learning perhaps more than he should have given the expectations set forth by society for you. Your mother saw no problem with your need for intellectual pursuits, but often grew exasperated at your clear lack of regard for decorum and stereotypical ladylike hobbies. Your elder sisters were the pinnacle of what proper ladies should look like in society, and you often found yourself being compared to them, much to your chagrin.

North Island, or the Island for short, was the nickname given to the group of nobles and upperclass that made up the elite, wealthy families that dictated the standards of polite society - the society you had the misfortune of being born into along with your elder siblings.

Your brother, William, was the pride of your family. He was a handsome, strong man that commanded the room with his very presence. He was jovial, charismatic, and intelligent by all accounts, and very popular amongst the other ladies of the Island.

Lydia was the second eldest after William, and was the the spitting image of your mother, with beautiful features that left all the men on the Island giving her longing looks. It was the Earl Reuben Fitch that won her hand in the end only seven seasons ago, and now they visited once in a while with their three children in tow.

Theodosia, or Theo for short, was the second eldest daughter, having entered into society only one year after Lydia, she was the prize to be won with her charming and elegant demeanor. Not quite as beautiful as Lydia, she made up for it with her wit, having won the affection of a viscount that same year.

Georgiana, or Georgie as your family was prone to call her, was only a year older than you and had made her debut the year prior. She had not settled for any of the men of the Island the year prior, setting her sights high and determining that the best had yet to come.

You rounded out the lot as the youngest, the strange, little sister that no one knew what to do with more often than not. The ladies of the Island often remarked that your head was too full of ideals, unsuitable for a lady of your noble family, and they lamented how your mother and father must have grown lax in their child rearing when it came to you. Or perhaps you were a hopeless cause. The reason varied day to day it seemed.

You were quite content with how your life was playing out. You had your books, the garden, and your dearest friend, Natasha Trace. Natasha, or Nat, was about a year older than yourself, having made her debut the same year as Georgiana.

“I’ll be happy once you make your debut,” she had said to you one night. “I won’t feel so alone at all the balls then.”

You had frowned at her words, the very thought of entering society growing less and less appealing by the day.

“Why must I debut?” You had asked your mother not too long after. “I’m the fourth daughter of an earl. Surely it is not that important that I marry.”

“Dearest,” your mother had sighed, setting her needlework down to look at you, “marriage is not all work. As the fourth daughter, you have more freedom to marry whom you would like. Your father would have wanted you to marry.”

“Father would have wanted me to do what made me happy,” you had muttered, turning to leave the room before she could respond.

Your father had passed years prior when you were only eight, and his memory still haunted the halls of the manner. William had taken up his title as earl, seeing to the estate with the help of your mother until he was capable of doing things on his own. Ten years your senior, he had done his best to fill in the holes your father’s absence had left behind, though he still needed reminding that he was, in fact, not your father.

“You’ll be making your debut this year,” he reminded you, scribbling away in the family ledger, casting you a spare glance as you scowled down at him.

“Please don’t make that face,” he sighed, setting his quill down to give you his undivided attention. “And please don’t make this more difficult than need be. Every young lady makes her debut at some point or another.”

“Why must I debut?” You frowned, your lips quickly forming into a smirk as a thought struck you. “Can I not live out my days on my own with you to support me?”

“You may not,” Williams replied flatly. “Bug, I know it can be nerve wrecking-”

“You have no idea what it’s like,” you interjected.

“But, it’s a part of growing up. You’ll find a husband who will make you reasonably happy and live out your days with him,” he finished. You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you clasped your hands together.

“William,” you began, “who would want me? The whole Island has deemed me strange, the black sheep of our family. You would really put me through this embarrassment for the sake of tradition?”

“I think you’ll find yourself surprised at who may want you,” William countered. “Many men on the Island are in need of a wife, and some may be willing to settle for someone of your nature given the right circumstances.”

A beat passed between you two, your heart stalling in your chest at his words.

“Settle?” You laughed quietly, but there was no humor to be found in your tone. “I am something to be settled for then?”

You hated how small you sounded in that moment. Of course, you didn’t care for what others thought of you. No, you were above all of that. Still, the thought that your brother saw you as some secondhand prize, something no one would seek out, hurt, and you willed the stinging tears behind your eyes to go away as you schooled your features.

William cursed under his breath, moving to stand, his face apologetic as he rounded the desk.

“Bug, that’s not what I meant-”

“No,” you snapped, sniffly slightly as you fought to compose yourself. “You’ve said quite enough already, brother. You’ve made perfectly clear where I stand as it is.”

He moved to say something, but you waved him off, already turning to leave the study.

“You’re busy,” you said flatly, “I’ll leave you to your business.”

William called out your name, but you ignored him, walking briskly down the hall and to the solace of your family’s library.

If you were something to be settled for, then you would at least make the most of what little freedom you had left.

A/N: Ahhhh!! The long awaited, much requested Regency!AU is finally here! Here's our first taste of Bug and Jake, so what do we think? As always, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. If you would like to receive updates on when I post, please go follow my sideblog (@sailoraviator-library) and turn on post notifications! My work is cross posted on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator. Until next time!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, clashing personalities, exclusion, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: moody boy Curtis Everett x bubbly, plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You vow yourself to confinement. You will not leave your desk for any reason. You even brought a thermos of coffee. The container is a honey brown and the lid has bear ears, an animated face painted on the metal. It makes you smile despite the gloom that clouds you.

You don’t know how it happens. You always mean well but things always end up so wrong. So you’ve determined you’re better off on your own. Minding your own business and getting through the work day without calamity.

It’s lonely. You eat your lunch in your cubicle, watching a crochet video on the small screen of your phone. You still can’t figure out how to get just the right shape for the hippo you’ve been working on. It’s the final piece in your collection; to go along with the giraffe, the elephant, lion, and zebra. With your new job, you haven’t even had the energy to try.

You get back to work, eyes fuzzy as you stare at the spreadsheet. Millennia of human existence and for what? For excel and stale coffee? Is this really progress?

You reign in your wandering mind and work through the numbers. You just want to get through your first week. That will be a feat you can be proud of. You drain the last lukewarm sip from your thermos and pout. You could really use a refill but you will resist. You can’t risk it.

At the end of the day, you sneak out down the stairwell. You’re breathless by the time you reach the bottom, dizzy from the winding levels above. You shake it off and head off. You could use a nice hot bath, those office chairs are really not comfy.

Your night goes by as any does. You get your bath and eat some ramen before tucking into bed and mindlessly scrolling on your phone. You fall asleep with the light on and wake up to the blare of your alarm the next morning. 

It’s Friday! You get up and get dressed. A lilac skirt that buttons up the front and a frilly white blouse on top. You pull on a lemon yellow cardigan and a pair of matching flats. It’s bright and fun! Unlike anything else in that gray office.

You shove one of the pillows from the couch into your bag, the one that looks like a sprinkle donut, and grab your thermos. You race out to catch the bus and throw yourself into the day ahead. You just need to make it to the end and you have the whole weekend ahead of you.

Once at your cubicle, you settle in. You place the donut pillow on the thin cushion of the office chair and kneel on the floor as you work at readjusting the backrest and arms. You get up and plop down, testing the height and swiveling a bit. It’s slightly better.

You roll closer to your desk and boot up for the day. You reach for your pen cup but stop short as you find only the boring Bic sticks that overflow the supply cupboards. Huh?

You reach under your desk and grab your bag. You stir around, certain you careless slid your pen in there. You can’t find it! Your most favourite pen is gone. There’s a tiny penguin at the end and the pen’s body is filled with water and glitter that shimmers and looks like falling snow. Where is it?

Your panic has you searching the empty drawers of the desk and down on your knees crawling around. You don’t find it. You give up as your chest sinks and you mope at your monitor, clicking mindlessly on your Outlook and the company’s shared drive. 

You sit back and uncap your thermos. You take a drink and nearly choke. Oh no! It’s so bitter it leaves your tongue gritty. The filter must’ve split in the machine again. You let out a blech and get up, letting your chair roll back carelessly.

You go down to the break room and dump the coffee down the sink. That’s when you remember you’re not supposed to be in there. Shoot. You look around. It’s empty. You should have time enough to fill your cup.

You go to the machine and pick a pod from the rack. You don’t pay attention to the flavour, you just want coffee. You wait for the machine to grind and claim your cup as the brew stops below the brim. You quickly retreat back to your desk and sit, leaving the lid off the thermos to let it cool.

Ow! Your tailbone hits the thin seat and jars your spine. You get up and look down at the barren cushion. Your pillow is gone. What the heck?

You roll the chair around, thinking maybe you knocked it off when you stood up. It’s not that hard to miss. Nope, it’s gone. 

You look over at Dana as he yawns over a Starbucks cup. She has no donut under her bottom. Who would do that? Who would steal your pillow? You chew your lip and resign yourself to another day of discomfort.

You taste the coffee. Mmm, it must be the dark roast. It’s full-bodied and rich, slightly smoky. You don’t usually go for it, you prefer more caffeine. It might be good for you, you really don’t need the extra jitter.

You plant your elbow beside your keyboard and fall into your work. The office awakens around you. The clack of keys, the clicking of mice, and the low voices that rise and fall over cubicle walls. 

You lean back and check the time. Barely an hour in. You stretch your neck and massage your shoulders as you try to work out the kink of your poor posture. As you do, you sense a shadow approach Dana’s desk. You shift your chair and peek over, quickly wheeling back to your desk to hunch down and hide. It’s him.

“Phillips,” he calls her by her last name, “you still in charge of supplies?”

“Morning, Curtis,” she replies tritely, “what is it? We don’t have budget left for tech upgrades until end of month.”

“Coffee,” he growls, “dark roast.”

You tap your foot nervously. You didn’t know he liked the dark roast. If you did, you wouldn’t have taken the last pod. Maybe you should offer him what you have left… no, you should just leave him be.

“I’ll add it to the list,” Dana acquisces dismissively, “anything else?”

He grunts but doesn’t answer as he pivots on his heel. You peek up above the wall of your cubicle and immediately regret it. His attention is drawn by the movement and his eyes meet yours as his features twist into a scowl. You try to smile and he rolls his eyes before setting his shoulders and striding away.

Oh, you have an idea!

[hp-hcs]

Yandere Theo & Enzo x male muggle reader

Where they both go out one night to see what the outside of the wizarding world is like and bump into a muggle (the reader) who lets them stay at his house and shows them around, thinking they’re tourists.

But they fall madly in love with him and now when they have to go back to hogwarts they kidnap him and take him with them.

The reader is stuck in their room, a spell cast where he can’t leave and he’s freaking out.

+ can they be like super touchy with him and affectionate and possessive and he’s just thinking that it’s like a normal thing from “whatever country they’re from”

T h a n k s (:

OH i wish i had a tenth of the imagination y’all have i mean cmon y’all be out here bringing the most well thought out ideas and my fics are all just like “l i ght hu ose 👍🥰👍”

oh also i don’t speak italian so if i fucked up that’s why lmfao i took fucking latin in high school, not anything actually useful 🥲

requests open!

BIC — yandere! enzo berkshire x male! muggle! reader x yandere! theodore nott

warnings: kidnapping/abduction, infatuation (?), implied tobacco use

(also ik they wouldn’t be using US dollars but shhhh)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Oh, Merlin, my father is going to kill me-”

“Relax,” Theo rolled his eyes, a bit winded from Apparating. “Think of it as just a… fifteen minute excursion. Tops.”

“Right, tops,” Enzo mumbled anxiously, rubbing his freezing hands together as another gust of snow blew past.

As he stamped his feet in an attempt to get feeling back into his frigid lower limbs, Enzo looked through the windows of the damned store Theo just had to show him. (There’s this one boy there, Enz, and he’s just gorgeous. You gotta see him.)

Large posters dominated most of the windows, advertising things Enzo had never heard of before, like whatever a ‘Monster Java’ and ‘Geekvape’ was. Stacked outside the store was an entire shelving unit of something called ‘propane’.

Through the windows, Enz could see rows upon rows of candy, chips, snacks, sodas, all in obnoxiously saturated colored packaging. A buzzing neon sign that hurt to look at flashed the word OPEN in blue and red.

This store was awesome.

Lorenzo looked up at the half burnt-out sign above the door that proclaimed this magically wonderful place to be the shop of ‘Jacksons’.

A small bell chimed when Theo pulled open the door, startling Enzo. He followed his much more confident friend inside the store, looking around with wide eyes.

Theodore stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, leaning in to whisper into his ear.

“Okay, the guy I was telling you about? He’s kind of under the impression that I’m like, a tourist from out of the country, and that’s why we’re so unfamiliar with their wares. If he asks, we’re Italian exchange students and only speak shitty English, got it?”

Enzo nodded. As if on cue, a ‘Jacksons’ employee popped up out of seemingly nowhere, startling the fuck out of him.

“Hiya, Theodore!”

The employee—a boy around their age, maybe seventeen at the most—was unusually chipper for 10PM on a Sunday.

This must be the guy.

“Who’s your friend here, Theodore?” You asked, smiling.

“Hello, Y/N! This is Lorenzo.”

“Hello,” Enzo greeted softly, his cheeks flushed pink from the snowstorm outside (and that’s the only reason, Theo, stop laughing.)

“Can I help you boys find anything or’re y’all just looking around?”

Enzo couldn’t look away from you. How small you seemed in comparison to his awkwardly lanky height, the way the harsh fluorescents cast dramatic shadows of your eyelashes across your cheekbones, the light blush on the tips of your ears as you looked at Theodore.

Theodore.

He’d said your name. You’d said his name. You knew each other?

How often does he fucking come here? Enzo wondered, a sharp stab of jealousy running through him.

“Cigarettes,” Theo said immediately, exaggerating his usually undetectable accent to an honestly ridiculous amount. Enzo bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at his friend’s ridiculousness.

You just smiled and ducked behind the counter. “Same as last time, or’re you trying something new?”

“Same, please. And un accendino, please,” Theo made a clicking motion with his thumb, indicating a lighter.

You nod, easily pulling down a pack of Marlboro Red without a second thought.

How often does he come here? Enzo wondered for a second time. Enough that you know his favorite kind of cigarette.

“Cheap lighter or d’you wanna go fancy?”

“Cheap, please.”

“Alrighty, one BIC lighter coming up for ya,” you grabbed a lighter off the back wall behind the counter, setting it down by the cash register.

Enzo couldn’t help himself as he stared at the bright blue chunk of… what did Muggles call it again? Plastic.

“Bic?”

You glanced up at his timid voice, shooting him a grin that was just a bit friendlier than the classic customer-service smile. “BIC. It’s just the brand. They make cheap lighters and also pens, for some reason.”

Enzo wanted to ask what a ‘pen’ was, but he had a feeling that that was a terrible idea.

“$7.98. Cash, I assume?”

Theo, for the first time, genuinely faltered, cringing apologetically as he laid down the mess of all-identical green papers on the countertop.

You smiled patiently, plucking one paper out of the spread and pushing a few buttons on the cash register, then returning two papers and a handful of coins to a baffled Theo.

Fucking Muggles, with their impossible-to-memorize currency.

“Damn. It’s really coming down out there,” you shook your head as you peered out the front window of the store, waiting for the long white piece of paper to stop moving from the odd humming machine that sat next to the cash register. “Where’re y’all staying? I don’t think you guys should try to drive home in this.”

They follow your gaze, eyes widening when they see how high the snow has risen. The storm had gotten much, much worse.

“Hey- where is your car, anyway? The parking lot’s empty,” your eyebrows furrowed as you turned back to them with a quizzical face.

Enzo mentally panicked. He knew the word ‘car’—he probably heard it while only half-paying attention in Muggle Studies—but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what a ‘car’ was.

“We walked,” Theo said quickly, jumping in and taking hold of the conversation.

“You walked?” You asked, clearly horrified. “No, no. I can’t in good conscience let you two walk back in this. Haven’t you seen the weather? It’s supposed to be like, nearly a blizzard! Worst snowstorm of the decade!”

Lorenzo’s eyes widened.

Muggles could predict the weather? Holy Salazar, his parents might’ve been wrong about Muggles’ intelligence.

You misinterpreted the way his eyes widened. “Listen, this sounds crazy, but would you guys like, consider crashing at my apartment? Just for the night? Maybe the snow’ll clear up overnight.”

Theo opened his mouth to protest, no, really, we couldn’t take advantage of such hospitality, Y/N, but Lorenzo interrupted.

“We would much like that,” he said firmly. “If it is no problem for you.”

Staying at this hot guy’s apartment for the night? Duh, that’s an obvious yes.

“It’s no problem,” you wave off his concern. “‘sides, wouldn’t want a pair of pretty boys such as yourselves to freeze to death, now would I?”

Theo stiffened and blushed bright red at that, a dopey smile spreading across his face.

Oh Merlin, were you two flirting with each other? Enzo felt that sharp spark of jealousy flare up again in his chest, dampered only by the fact that it was Theo, and not anyone else.

“It’s just right across the street. Lemme close up shop for the night, and we can make a run for it,” you say with finality, ignore Theo’s weak protests.

They watched as you lock the cash register and counter with the practiced ease of someone who had done so many, many times.

You pulled the grate down over the cigarette shelves on the back wall, flicking off the overhead lights and tugging a tiny metal string that made the painfully bright OPEN sign go dark.

“Alright, let’s go,” you said, shooing them out onto the sidewalk, buttoning up your heavy winter coat, and locking the front door.

As you stuffed the keys back into your jeans pocket, Theodore rested his hand on the small of your back.

“Lead the way, bello,” he said with a charming grin. You nodded, smiling at the difference in cultures, wow! and motioning for them to follow you.

The boys followed you in a comfortable silence, shoulders hunched up as they braced themselves against the furiously icy wind.

You all crossed the street, Theodore and Enzo both baffled when a tiny light that looked like a person indicated it was safe to cross.

Your boots clanged on the shaky metal stairs up to the third floor of your apartment building, and your boys followed resolutely.

When they reached the landing, they were met by the image of your rather quaint front door, a tiny, clearly homemade wreath hanging on the center.

“This is it. Not much, I’m afraid,” you sighed, your freezing fingers fumbling with the key as you twisted it in the lock, opening the door for them. You flicked on the lights, illuminating the interior of the small apartment. “Do you guys want tea? Hot chocolate? Coffee, if y’all are psychopaths?”

“Perhaps it is a bit late for coffee,” Theo snickered at your dry humor as he stepped inside. “Tea, if it is not a hassle?”

“‘Course not. Make yourselves at home. My mother won’t be back for hours,” you chatted happily, setting a kettle of water on the stove to boil.

Theodore tentatively sat down at one of the kitchen chairs, looking around the small apartment in surprise. At your reassuring smile, Enzo sat down too, drumming his fingers against the table anxiously.

The kettle whistled after a few minutes, and you poured three mugs of tea, setting them on the table and settling down in one of the empty seats.

Theo reached for one, purposefully brushing his fingers against yours.

After that, it all goes blank.

~~~

Your eyes slowly cracked open, your head pounding and your stomach twisting and turning. You blinked away sleep, rubbing your eyes and yawning as you sat up in bed.

What happened last night?

You startled when your brain finally registers that you’re not in your apartment.

You sat up in a panic, looking around horrified when you don’t recognize your surroundings. The room itself was decorated with an honestly abhorrent amount of green and shiny silver. There were three other beds, identical to the one you were laying in, set up intermittently around the room.

A dorm? You wondered.

A huge window dominated the wall adjacent to the bed you were in, the view on the other side of it oddly distorted and warped.

You leaned in closer, confused, when a tiny yellow fish swam by.

You gasped, and put your hand on the glass to peer out even further.

Were you underwater?

Your amazement was interrupted by a large unidentifiable shadow filling the window. You frowned, your hand drawing back from the glass, when the shadowy shape moved, opening.

A giant fucking eye.

“Jesus fucking-”

You scrambled backwards, falling off of the bed with a yelp. While you fought with the blankets that seemed hell-bent on getting tangled around your legs, the giant eye slowly blinked before the shadowy form started moving again.

A giant squid, you thought with astonishment. There was a giant fucking squid outside of this dorm room’s window.

Finally wrenching yourself free of your blanket prison, you scrambled to your feet and sprinted towards the only door in the room. You jiggled the handle, cursing when it didn’t open.

There wasn’t even a lock, a keyhole, nothing.

How the hell was this door so firmly locked shut then?

Something tacked to the door- actually, there wasn’t a tack either. How was it stuck there?

But what caught your eye was a small scrap of… paper? Parchment? It looked like the paper your art teacher once showed you how to stain with tea.

Who the fuck still writes on parchment? You wondered, scrunching your eyebrows up in confusion as you examined the perfect swoops of calligraphy on the page.

Darling – We’re really sorry for taking you with us (please don’t hate us) and we'll be back here around noon Xoxo, Theo & Enzo (those actually are our real names we promise!!)

((we also might’ve made your mother forget about your existence so she doesn’t try to find you. you’re safe though, don’t worry!))

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

wow! people actually like my stuff enough that i now have a taglist??? (some of y’all weren’t showing up, so lmk if i need to troubleshoot 😭)

@gayaristocrat @slytherinboysappreciation @lemonaderiddle @h-------n @yournogoodalone @knave-hearts @schaebickel @lexacantsleep @big-brother-problems @darkcharmx @cyberbl4de @amandajonhsson @megannxn @catz-80 @ghostiesen @fruityfrog505 @coysa @fruitypebblesstuff @mildlyuninformative @glittervame @cayaevans1 @lizeylavender @cloudydaysinmydreams @ironickarkatlover @ahead-fullofdreams @tachyon-girl @jaythes1mp @lovelyfandomqueen @ashisgreedy

[rhaenzokla]

Smoke In My Lungs

Suguru Geto, Satoru Gojo, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro x F!Reader (separately)

Summary: Stoner Boyfriend head canons and blurb

CW: teasing from Gojo (ofc), sexual innuendo in Toji's blurb.

Suguru Geto

Sweet Suguru would be a wake and baker and a night-time puffer.

As soon as his eyes are open in the morning, he's reaching for his grinder and bong.

His bong is his prized possession of his smoking materials.

It's dark blue with black accents wiping all around the triangular base and long neck.

It has a wide hole as he prefers to stick his lips in the opening instead of over the lip.

He defiantly loves to put on some lo-fi in the background as he smokes.

He will absolutely smoke on his own if he can't find anyone to share his stash with, but he prefers a group setting.

He loves the bond between sharing bud and telling/listening to some vulnerable stories.

He's generous with his stash as well (except for Satoru).

One of his friends, or worse, you, doesn't have anymore stash left?

He's bagging up some from his own stash for you to take with you, but only after he smokes you out, that is.

At night, he's smoking bowl after bowl to get ready for sleep.

He's an insomniac with his work, so smoking before always helps him sleep.

Imagine his shirtless frame waking you up from the bubbling sound of his first pull of the morning, smiling at you as he releases the smoke from his lungs. "Want some, baby? It's gooooood." he asks as he waves the bong lightly in front of you. "It's 7am, Suguru, of course I want some." you playfully bite out as you sit up in the bed, taking the bong from him and slowly taking a hit. His lungs are far more used to being abused so early in the morning than yours so you take your time. His eyes droop lowly as the affects of the drug start to take over, making his heart calm and mind slow. You cuddle up into his side and block his arm in the process. "How am I supposed to hit this when you're laying on my arm baby girl?" he asks with a slight aggravated smirk. "Just light the bowl and I'll pull it for you." You're pretty sure you saw hearts in his eyes at your words and he instantly sparks up the lighter, setting to the bowl. You carefully watch the chamber as to not let it get too opaque, pulpit for him as he takes in the hit. He hums softly as he releases the smoke and kisses your head. "I think I just fell in love with you all over again..." He smiles and goes in for an actual kiss, you can taste the left over residue on his tongue. "Why?" you ask, genuinely confused." "Only stoners will know why you touched my heart just now. You'll get there in no time." He chuckles and hands you the bong.

Satoru Gojo

Satoru would be the smoker who will whip out a joint just about anytime he can, especially after any inconvenience.

As you might've guessed, Gojo's medium is joints.

He loves the classic Raw 1.5s but he also loves splurging on flavoured papers, as well as flower wraps.

He has a light blue Bic lighter that he keeps in the inside pocket of his sorcerer jacket.

He used to carry his joints in an altoids container to try and hide the smell before you, his loving girlfriend decided to gift him joint tubes.

Now its smell proof, and he doesn't have to walk around smelling like spicy baby powder anymore.

He can easily finish a joint by himself in 10 minutes or less.

While he enjoys a group sesh, he'd much rather smoke alone or with his partner.

Will only share his stash with you and Suguru, unless they can pay for their share.

Loves shotgunning with you, no surprise here, he loves teasing you, after all.

What better way to do that than to get your lips impossibly close and get the remnants of smoke he allows you to have.

Satoru had just finished up work for the day and he's making his way down the street, smoking a joint. He was meeting you for dinner at a little shoppe at the corner of this road. it hadn't been long since you had made your way to the dining space either, bumping into him on the way. "Funny seeing you here." He says with a smirk, joint lit and realising a thin line of smoke in its wake. "Were meeting for dinner, literally, right now." You chuckle because you knew he was teasing. "Hmm. I remember now... this shit is pretty good, want some?" His head tilts down towards you to gauge your reaction as he takes a slow drag. When you nodded, he pulled the perfectly burned joint from his lips and placed it against your own, his fingers touching your cupids bow in the process, sending shivers down your neck. He chuckled lightly as he pulled away and a light couch left your lips from the potency of the hit. "Let's eat and then I'll teach you how to hit this properly, maybe ill even teach you to shotgun." he finished off the joint as you both made your way to the restaurant, hand in hand.

Kento Nanami

This man, is in no way, shape or form, a stoner.

HOWEVER, he does enjoy a good edible when work gets rough, and a celebratory bowl from his pipe he has just for the occasion.

Now, normally when I say bowl or pipe, you're probably thinking of a glass blown bowl or a titanium two-hitter, but no.

His father passed his tobacco pipe down to him when he passed and since Nanami liked the taste of tobacco even more than Mary Jane, he uses it exclusively for his celebratory bowls.

What celebrations he might break it out for is an engagement announcement, baby announcement, death of someone, and/or birthdays (under certain circumstances)

His favourite type of edible is gummies. They're easier to eat without leaving a residue in his mouth, and its not overly sweet.

He'll definitely take his edible in whatever way you want to make them, but he doesn't have a big sweet tooth, but he'll eat anything you make for him.

"Hey baby! Welcome home!" You smiled wide as your boyfriend walked into the kitchen. "How was work?" He smiles at you, immediately brightening his day. "Not so bad now, Angel." He pulls you into his chest for a quick hug before he realises what he smells. Marajuana and sugar flood his nose after he realises its there. "What ya making, sweetheart?" you can see his nostrils flare slightly as he takes in the smells. "Just some chocolate chip cookies for you. wanted to try a new recipe and since we have that trip coming up soon, I thought that now would be the best time to try it. They should be ready any min-" you were cut off by the timer on the oven, you pull the cookies out and let them set. Two hours and two cookies, for each of you, later and you are relaxing in each others arms on the couch with a random movie on in the background. Both of your eyes start drooping as you slowly drift off in each others arms. Maybe you only need one cookie next time. This recipe is really good.

Toji Fushiguro

This man right here, is the king of stoners.

Bitch is broke because he spends all his money on upping his stash.

He ONLY smokes blunts and wraps. Mofo will pack that shit tight.

And know that he will be using the stash he dropped on his couch two days ago to fill in the gaps.

He can't afford to let any of it go to waste.

He has a four compartment grinder and he waits until he's done with his oz to open the kief collector and smoke a kief only blunt.

He smokes in the morning, during the day, at night before he sleeps, he'll even wake up in the middle of the night and roll another blunt.

Expects you to have your own stash if you wanna smoke with him, no charity cases with him. Even for you, pookie.

Will smoke in a group setting, but he not sharing, and he's the only one allowed to roll.

Rolls fat dubies that take forever to smoke because he packs those shits hella tight.

Makes sure his shit burns slow to make it last.

Toji grumbles under his breath as you make your way down the street, towards a shoppe you wanted to stop by for some time now. "You don't have to come in, babe. Just stay out here, ill be just a second." You smiled sweetly at the tall, fit figure looming over some poor kid that was sitting at the bench closest to the store. The kid instantly booked it when he realised Toji was going to sit and wait for you. He waits deadass two minutes before he gets impatient and pulls out his smoking case, pulling a pre wrapped blunt from the sleeve, holding it in his mouth like a cigarette as he flicks his lighter, carefully lighting the dark brown blunt. He's half way done with it by the time you return back to him, bags in your hands. "See you couldn't wait for me?" You look at him with a fake pout. He stands, taking your hand in his and walking towards your shared apartment. "This is the blunt with just my stash. We can crack our shared one open at home. Then maybe I can crack something else after with those clothes in your bag." He snickers as he pulls one side of your bag open to see a set of lingerie. "Who said I bought this for you?" you snicker evilly as his eyes darkened and stayed silent the rest of the way home. You knew what you were doing, and he knew it too.

©RhaenZokla

Part 2? Let me know!

Thank you for reading!



[tieronecrush]

102

frankie morales x f!reader

based on the song 102 by the 1975

rating: M

word count: 3k

summary: every week, you and frankie meet up at the same spot at the same time to catch-up and share a coffee. you’ve been his best friend for years. through thick and thin, always there. thing is, frankie’s been in love with you for nearly as long as he’s known you and hasn’t worked up the courage to tell you.

warnings: no use of Y/N, post-film timeline, au where frankie doesn’t have a kid, use of pet names (solecita, mi mejor), high school level spanish (mostly swear words), unrequited love, self deprecation, alcohol use/drunkenness, smoking

Bright, tepid morning light bounces yellow-white light off of the water in front of Frankie, the pond’s smooth glass-like surface reflecting the partly cloudy sky. The sunlight covers him like a heated blanket, the black sweatshirt on his torso soaking up the warmth. The chilled breeze ruffles the curls peeking out from under his hat, brushing them against his forehead. His knees are bent, elbow resting while he holds the paper to-go cup in both hands between his thighs, the coffee inside swishing with his subtle movements to settle on the large boulder next to the small man-made lake.

The trail that winds around the water and throughout the park is quiet, only a few passersby giving him a polite wave or a tight smile as they jog or walk past during their workout. He watches each one approach, looking for the familiar face of you that he’s been waiting for at this spot, for this time and day of the week every week since he’s come home from his last deployment with Special Forces. It was your idea, forcing him to check in at least weekly in person to make sure he was doing alright adjusting back home. You both knew that he couldn’t say no to you. You thought it was because you were best friends since the start of high school, your long history creating an unbreakable bond. The real reason, that only he and the boys knew after they coerced the confession out of him on a mission, was because he was in love with you. Has been for years.

This week feels different though. Part of him isn’t sure that you’ll show up after what happened the night before last. Anxiety swirls in his gut and his fingers twitch for some nicotine, his hands patting his pockets to pull out the crumpled packet of cigarettes and Bic lighter. The colored end rests between his lips while he clicks the lighter until the flame appears, holding it to the small roll of tobacco and inhaling around it to catch the dried leaves alight. He puffs out a few drags, billowy, thin smoke surrounding him as his muscles relax and his mind calls back to the night he last saw you.

He told the cab driver your address.

Of course, he didn’t realize he’d rambled it off until the guy kicked him out at the curb, turning around to get his bearings, and seeing the small three-bed townhome you shared with your roommates. The screen of his phone showed him the time, a slurred curse slipping from his lips when it registers how late it was.

1:02 AM

You would definitely be asleep by now. You had been texting him all night recapping stupid things your roommates’ friends said during a girls’ movie night at your place, making him smile at his phone often while out with the boys at the bar. Your messages slowed down and then stopped altogether around 11:30 pm, cluing him in that you’d fallen asleep. Their incessant teasing and the ache of his unrequited love drove him to drink a little too much, and he must have been so drunk that his subconscious took him to you.

He should go home. Back to his empty house, where he’d pass out alone and cold.

He always felt warm around you.

And his phone is about to die, which meant there was no chance he could call a cab or order an Uber.

Guilt crawled in between his ribs with each step he took down your front path, sighing softly to himself and lifting his hat to run a hand through his hair before he knocked on your door.

There’s no answer, so he succumbs to finding your contact through his messages, pressing the call button and holding the phone up to his ear. It rings three time before he hears a rustle on the other end, your sleepy voice coming over the line.

“Hello?”

“Hey, solecita.”

“Frankie? What’s up? Is something wrong?”

“Uh, not really? Well, kinda. ‘M a lil’ tipsy, actually more than tipsy, and accidentally told the cab driver your address instead of mine so I’m outside your house right now. And my phone’s abouta die.”

You take a slow inhale before exhaling a short chuckle.

“Hold on.”

You don’t hang up the phone and he listens to the sounds of you climbing out of bed and your footsteps echoing in the wood-floored hallway. The front door swings open in front of him, your drowsy grin calming his anxiety immediately. Butterflies kick around in his stomach and a grin pulls the corners of his mouth up when he sees you in your matching pajama set, white cotton with dainty pink flowers. You hang up the phone in front of him, and he drops his own hand to his side again while giving you a cringed expression.

“‘M so sorry, solecita. Woulda called another Uber if I could.”

“‘S fine, Francisco. C’mon, just stay here for the night.”

You wave him in, quietly shutting the door and locking it again, turning back to him and nodding up the stairs. He follows your silent order, climbing the stairs ahead of you and stumbling only a few times from his slightly impaired depth perception. Your soft hands find his shoulders at the top of the stairs, guiding him to your room. The door closes behind you and he turns to face you, a small hiccup escaping his mouth.

“I can sleep on the couch, mi mejor. Don’t wanna take up your bed.”

“Frankie, you’re like six feet tall. You’re not gonna be comfortable on that tiny ass couch. Just get in the bed, I’ll be right back.”

From across the small room, he watches you slip out of the doorway, shutting it behind you. He takes the chance to slip out of his jeans, discarding his Standard Oil hat on your dresser. He knows what side to lay on from the countless times he’s stayed the night after getting wine drunk with you or when you’d stayed at his after it’d gotten too late to drive home, insisting you use the same side you do at home. He plugs his phone into the extra charger you have, laying back against the headboard as he covers his face with his hands and drags them down.

“God, fucking idiot, Frankie,” he mumbles to himself, knowing you’ll probably sweetly retell this story at the next dinner with the guys and dreading the shit he is going to get from them. They all rag on him like brothers around you, and you laugh along when Frankie does, encouraging him to let it roll off his back when he gets annoyed. All he hopes is that you don’t think he’s as bad as what you’ve been told in the last few years. The pain of his heartache around you would only be compounded if you thought any less of him ‘cause of the stupid shit he’d done. Including showing up at your house drunk at one o’clock in the morning.

The door clicking close again pulls his hands from his face, an exhausted sigh expanding and compressing his chest. You cross over to the bed with your “backup emotional support water bottle” (your words, not his) in your hand, passing it over to him.

“Drink half now. Other half in the morning. And here’s ibuprofen for the morning, too.”

You drop the few pills in his hand and he twists to set them on the nightstand, unscrewing the lid of the bottle to chug half the contents. He closes it again, setting it down to the side next to the pills. The mattress sinks when you climb in on your side, returning your own phone to it’s charger and laying down on your side facing him. He mirrors your actions, laying down to look at you tenderly.

“Thank you.”

“Always, Frankie.”

You’ve never not been there for him. You’ve left work earlier to find him at home in the middle of a panic attack when Pope’s called you, picked him up from bars and random house parties. Even been his friend when he’d been using.

You’ve never not been there, and that is exactly why he can’t bring himself to tell you that he’s in love with you. He can’t imagine his life without you.

“Can we cuddle?” He sounds like a little kid, feeling his face fall into an involuntary pout.

A faint laugh hits his ears in the dark room, no direct answer comes from you. Instead, you scoot closer to him on the mattress, hands grabbing either side of his shoulders and shifting him to face the wall with your windows. An arm slides under his neck, the other pushing between his bicep and his ribcage to wrap him up as the little spoon. He relaxes against you, breathing in your scent from your arm under his head.

No other words are exchanged, your breathing evening out against his back when you’ve fallen back asleep and then he finally closes his eyes to rest.

He dreams of you. Not sure what exactly, but the warm fuzzy feeling he’s got told him you were around.

The next morning, early sunlight filters through the sheer curtains covering the windows. Frankie’s eyes slowly open from the brightness, a pounding headache immediately throbbing in his skull and radiating pain all over his body. The two of you have moved throughout the night, your head on his chest and his arm under you. The sight of you peaceful, relaxed, angelic tears at his heart, the pain doubling at the thought of facing you this morning.

He slips out of your bed, cowardly slinking out of the house and avoiding any possible situation that he would have to tell you how he feels about you. Outside of your house, he waits at the curb after he calls Santi to come to get him, shooting a message to you that he left to head home and sleep off the hangover for the rest of the day, but he would see you tomorrow morning for coffee like always.

When he’s about to give up and head back to his car with his tail between his legs, he spots you speed-walking up the path and waving wildly to him. He smiles to himself, taking one last puff of his cigarette before putting it out on the rock next to him.

He stands, stepping to the edge to offer you a hand to help you up, steadying you as you catch your balance. Wordlessly, the two of you sit next to each other, the small bag of duck food that you always bring set down between your sides.

“Morning, Francisco. How’re ya feeling today? Better than yesterday?”

Teasing is evident in your voice, a sly smirk on your lips. He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, hitting his shoulder against yours.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am, solecita. So no need for the smugness. Took care of you way more drunk and hungover than I was so you got no room to talk.”

“Hey! I was asking out of the kindness of my heart. Someone’s sassy this morning. What’s got your undies in a twist?”

He laughs softly, looking out at the water in front of him and shaking his head as he shrugs.

“Nothin’ much, I guess. Reason I got drunk on Friday was ‘cause I had another shitty day at work. I really don’t wanna work at the airport anymore.”

Your head nods in understanding, swallowing your sip of coffee.

“Well, what would you wanna do instead?”

He peels at the seam of the cardboard sleeve on his cup, eyes not daring to look over at you as he quietly admits what has been toying over in his mind for the last few months, not spoken out loud to anyone.

“I wanna do private charters again. Be up in the air, flying,” a tired sigh escapes his lips, head dropping in shame as he turns it to look at you, “But can’t do that with a suspended license.”

“Yeah, that’s true. But the key word there is ‘suspended’, Frankie. Didn’t they send you instructions to schedule a hearing to start the reinstatement process? Have you done anything for that?”

All he can do is shake his head, turning back to the trail and the pond to people watch.

“We can take a look at it all together if you want. Maybe my brother can offer some legal advice,” his skin burns from your hand resting on his back, even through his sweatshirt and t-shirt over it, “We’ll get it figured out. You’ll be up in the air in no time.”

His heart sings at your use of “we”, his mind clearing his anxious haze and giving him the nerve to spill his guts to you at that moment.

When he turns to face you, he’s met with your wide, optimistic grin and it only swells his heart against his ribs even more, feeling as if the vital organ is going to explode out of his chest unless he says something.

Frankie opens his mouth, inhaling a sharp breath as he formulates the words to start with; as he’s about to speak, your smile grows brighter, eyes lighting up.

“Oh! I didn’t get to tell you last night cause we fell asleep so quick, but, um, I started seeing this new guy. We’ve been on a few dates, but it’s gone really well so far and I really like him…”

Frankie half listens as you continue to recount each date, a dull buzzing noise covering the sound of your voice in his ears as his stare unfocuses in front of him. The courage dies in his throat, feeling as if the lump there is blocking his airway and slowly suffocating him. He’s quiet for the rest of the catch-up, and if you noticed, you never said anything. The two of you part ways at your cars, you heading home to get ready for another date with this guy and him heading home to have a date with the twelve-pack of beers sitting in his fridge.

The next week, Frankie only leaves his house to show up for his shifts at work. When he skips out on guys’ night on Friday, Santi stops at his on his way home from the bar, pounding on the door until Frankie answers.

“You look like shit.”

Pope barges in and gives Frankie a once-over, shaking his head and flopping down on his couch, picking up one of the cans of beer on the coffee table and popping the tab. Frankie sighs, closing the front door and sitting at the opposite end.

“What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t show up tonight, haven’t returned any texts or calls all week. Needed to make sure you were alive, cretino.”

“Well, I’m alive. Now you can leave me alone.”

Santi shakes his head, clearing his throat and giving Frankie a sympathetic look.

“Did something happen on Sunday morning? Did you do something stupid and she’s not talking to you?”

Frankie stews silently, glaring at Pope before breaking in the silence.

“She’s got a guy she’s seeing. Been on a few dates with him.”

“Ahh. Makes sense why you’re been moping then.”

“She couldn’t stop gushing over this new pendejo. And the worst part is she told me right as I was about to tell her how I felt.”

“Why can’t you still tell her?”

Frankie looks at Santiago like he’s got two heads, scoffing at the ridiculous thought.

“Cause she’s happy?”

“You said they’ve only been on a few dates. Not like she’s married, or even engaged,” Santi says with a casual shrug, “You’ve been in love with her for years, estúpido. I think that trumps a few dates. She deserves to know. And you deserve to know if she feels any ounce of the same way.”

The two men sit with each other, watching the movie Frankie had on while he mulls over Pope’s words. After Santiago leaves, Frankie shuffles into his room and finds the shirt he wore last week at your house, picking it up and switching it out with the one he was wearing. As he pulls it over his head, all he can smell is you. He holds the collar up to his face a takes a deep breath, battling with his thoughts into the early hours of the morning before he finally decides to call you and confess everything.

1:02 AM

You pick up on the second ring, the same sleepy voice you had last Saturday morning muffling over the phone.

“Frankie? Are you outside my house again?”

He laughs softly, biting his lip before he responds.

“No, no. ‘M sorry to wake you, solecita. Just wanted to talk to you. Been thinkin’ a lot tonight.”

“About what?”

“I dunno. Life, I guess.”

“Tell me about it.”

He stalls, chatting with you and rambling about the proceeding forms he’d dug out from his desk for how to move forward reinstating his license. You listen intently, offering supportive comments, asking questions, and giving him advice. The conversation falls into a lull, and like last week, as Frankie works up the courage to say what he really called about, you speak first.

“Can I tell you what happened on my date tonight? It was really nice.”

The pain in his chest brings his hand up to press against it, a burning lump growing in his throat.

Frankie clears his throat and responds with a quiet ‘yeah’. You tell him everything, and all he can think about is how this has to be some sign from the universe or God or whatever’s out there that it’s not meant to be between the two of you.

You start to yawn repeatedly, and he lets you off the hook with a tender goodnight, thumb smashing the red ‘end’ button and burying his head in his hands while he sits at the edge of his bed.

After a few moments of silent tears, he picks up his phone, sending one last message before he goes to sleep.

TO: Cabrón

It’s never gonna happen.

tagging some mooties: @beskarandblasters @swiftispunk @joelsversion @lunapascal @addictedtotlou @death-wife @johnwatsn @pedgeitopascal @pedrospartner @atinylittlepain @soaringcloud @wannab-urs @javiscigarette @yazsos @northernwindd @pr0ximamidnight @theelishad @scrambledslut @thetriumphantpanda @dinsdjrn @midnightswithdearkatytspb @ladamedusoif

[wh0re43van]

Boyfriend Pt 2 (Warren Lipka x Reader)

Summary: Your boyfriend catches Warren being a little too friendly with you, causing a fight to break out. Warren expresses that he wants to be more than a secret booty call.

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: smut, violence (not really directed at reader), blood, weed

Pt 1 , Pt 3

I wake up to my cell phone buzzing on Dakota’s nightstand. I groan, throwing the unconscious boy off me as I roll over to grab the small rectangle of plastic. I check the digital alarm clock.

2:35 in the morning. Who the fuck is calling me?

My stomach flips when I see Warrens name lighting up on my phone. I run out of the bedroom and into the bathroom.

“Hey,” I whisper. “Warren it’s 2:30 in the morning,” I giggle quietly as I lock the door.

“I know, I know,” he laughs. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about you,” I hear the bong bubbling in the background. My cheeks burn red. “I just got some crazy bud if you wanna come smoke,” I can hear his smirk through the phone. “I can pick you up,” he offers. I smile at his extremely tempting offer.

“I can’t,” I sigh, disappointing both Warren and myself. “I’m at Dakotas. He’ll wake up and I already agreed to drive him to the gaming store first thing in morning,” I explain. He’s silent for a moment.

“Alright,” I can hear frustration in his voice. “Yeah, I’m the side piece, I forgot,” he scoffs. My heart sinks.

“Warren, I’m sorry,” I want to cry.

“No,” he sighs. “I understand I guess. I will see you soon though,” he says calmly.

“Of course,” I sigh in relief that he still wants to see me.

“I’ll see you around, beautiful,” he says, then the line goes dead. I delete the recent call before crawling back into bed, but I’m unable to sleep. I miss Warrens voice so much. I kick myself for not accept his offer as I toss and turn for the rest of the night.

•

•

The next afternoon, I sit across from Dakota in a small local diner, playing with the spoon sticking out of my coffee mug as he talks on his cellphone to one of his friends about a football game or something, I’m not too sure honestly. I’m not really listening.

A car door slams catching my attention. I look out the condensation covered window next to our booth to see Warren and a guy I’ve never seen before step out of a vehicle. My eyes light up.

“I’m gonna go smoke a cig real quick,” I sputter in one breath, taking my pack of Camels and running out the door before Dakota even responds. I walk up behind warren without him seeing me, as he talks to the other guy getting out of the car.

“Got a light?” I ask, popping a menthol in my mouth as I smile from ear to ear, tapping his shoulder. He turns around with his eyebrows threaded in confusion, but immediately matches my expression as soon as he sees me.

“Y/n,” he pulls me into a hug. “Spencer gimme your lighter,” he demands the other guy. He tosses a blue bic lighter to Warren.

“Who’s-“ Spencer begins to ask.

“Just go get us a seat, man,” Warren cuts him off. The awkward boy walks away quietly. Warren turns back to me, his grin returning as he lights the menthol cigarette between my lips.

“Thanks,” I smile, feeling butterflies in my stomach as he watches me remove the cigarette from my lips, exhaling the smoke.

“Mind if I bum one? Spencer locked mine in his car,” he motions to the pack of Newports trapped on the passenger seat. I giggle, handing him a cig.

“You here by yourself?” he asks as the orange flame from the lighter lights up his face and reflects an auburn glow in his dark eyes.

“Uh, no, actually,” I take another drag, motioning my cigarette towards the window of the dinner. Warren tuns to see Dakota talking on his phone, still unaware of my departure.

“Oh,” his grin faulters.

“I’m, uhm, free after this though,” I offer. Just like that, his dimples have returned.

“I have some stuff to go over with Spencer,” he throws his thumb over his shoulder in reference to the awkward boy in dinner, then ashes his cigarette. “But I’m free tonight,” he stares into my eyes. I can’t contain the huge grin plastered on my face. Warren reaches his free hand out to slowly release some loose strands of my hair that the wind blew into my lip gloss. His hand lingers on my face, we lock gazes as his thumb caresses my cheek, I close my eyes and lean into his touch.

“What the fuck are you doing with my girl, man?” Dakota shouts, quickly approaching Warren. He swiftly turns around to face my angry boyfriend.

“Just calm down man. I wasn’t-“ Warren laughs, tossing his cigarette on the ground, but Dakota cuts him off by shoving his chest, hard. He doesn’t budge, but easily retaliates the gesture, sending Dakota stumbling backwards a foot or two. I know it’s wrong, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say its insanely hot watching Warren get angry.

“Keep your hands off me, douchebag or ill kick your ass right here in front of your girl,” he spits in Dakotas face, literally. Dakota looks at me, wiping Warrens’ saliva off his face, then quickly hits Warren with a right hook. Warren’s head snaps to the side with the loud thud of knuckles on skin. Warren looks back at Dakota in shock, wiping the small trickle of blood from his nose. I watch completely stunned, even though I want to stop them, I can’t move. This all happened so fast.

“You hit like a pussy,” Warren chuckles before uppercutting Dakota so hard that his neck cracks as his head flies backward. I snap out of my haze, running over to Dakota as he steadies himself. I grab his arm in attempt to help him.

“Come on, Dakota let’s just go,” I plead, not wanting to watch him get his ass laid out on the frozen pavement.

“Get off me, bitch!” he screams, back handing me, not taking his eyes off Warren. I grab my cheek, about to cuss him out when Warren takes Dakotas collar into his fists, shoving him against Spencer’s car. Warren grabs his throat, holding his head steady, so his already bruised knuckles can strike as hard as possible against Dakota’s jaw. Blood immediately pours out of his busted lip.

“Don’t fucking talk to y/n like that!” he screams, just inches from my boyfriend’s face. The veins popping out of his neck, his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping onto Dakota. Warren spits the blood that’s dripped from his nose between his lips into Dakota’s face. “Does that make you feel strong, pussy boy? Huh? You feel like man when you bitch slap your girlfriend?” he growls, his fist contacting Dakotas abdomen this time, knocking wind out of him, leaving my boyfriend wheezing.

When Warren screams that last phrase, that’s when I realize; Dakota is fighting for his masculinity, Warren’s fighting for me. I turn on my heels to run inside the dinner, finding the boy that Warren arrived with.

“Spencer, right?” I ask out of breath. He nods his head, confused. “Warrens beating the shit out of my boyfriend, I need you to help me stop him before he kills him,” I explain breathlessly.

“Oh,” Spencer says processing what I’m saying. “Oh my- Oh my god!” He jumps from the seat, running out the door with me.

“Warren, dude come on, you’re gonna get arrested!” Spencer shouts, cautiously approaching the scuffling boys. It seems like this isn’t the first time Spencer has witnessed this. It appears that Dakota managed to get another hit or two in, because Warrens eyebrow appears busted and they’re on the ground now, a small pool of blood forming on the frosted pavement underneath Dakota.

“Fuck off, Spence,” Warren growls about to strike again.

“Please Warren! You’re gonna kill him!” I shriek. Warren pauses, Spencer takes the opportunity to pull Warren off Dakota. I run over to my boyfriend, trying to help him up.

“Get off of me you stupid bitch!” Dakota shouts, slapping me off him as he tries to stand on his shaky legs.

“Hey!” Warren shouts in the background, Spencer holds him back again.

“Dakota, please. You need help,” I plead feeling bad for him.

“This is your fault! If you weren’t out here whoring it up with this clown, this wouldn’t have happened,” he screams in my face, blood dripping from multiple different wounds on his face, his nose already purple.

“Just let me drive you home,” I sigh, feeling less guilty since he had the audacity to call me a whore, when he slept with my cousin in my own car two months ago. Actually, after remembering that, I don’t feel bad for him at all anymore.

“No! I’m walking! Fuck off! And fuck all of you! You too Spencer!” he shouts as he limps away, holding his stomach.

 I guess spencer was the mutual friend.

 I turn to see Warren leaning against Spencer’s car, smoking one of his Newports.

“What did I do?” I hear spencer ask, I ignore him.

“Warren I’m so-“ my eyes well up with tears, my cheek still stinging as the cold wind blows against the hand print on my face.

“Come here, are you okay?” He pulls me into a quick hug then examines my cheek. Placing a bloody hand on my cheek.

“Of course I’m fine,” I sigh grabbing his face. “Look at you,” I frown, putting a gentle hand on his face. He winces against my touch. His bottom lip and right eyebrow are both busted. There’s blood coming from his nose, flowing over his lips and onto his chin. His right cheek is bright red and swollen.

“You should see the other guy,” he chuckles, popping the cigarette back into his mouth. How can he joke at a time like this. Nevertheless, I laugh lightly, shaking my head.

“Let me get you cleaned up,” I offer.

“I’ll go get your keys and stuff,” he smiles.

“No, Warren, I can get them. Just stay here,” I dash back into the dinner, everyone giving me weird looks. I smile awkwardly, throwing a 10 down on the table, then run back to the boys, the bells on the doors jingling loudly behind me.

“Okay, come on,” I take Warrens hand.

“Should, uh, should I just go home then?” Spencer asks awkwardly with his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, Spence. Get the fuck out of here,” Warren dismisses him, half joking with the timid boy. I can tell that their friendship has an interesting dynamic.

•

•

“Thank god my folks ain’t here,” Warren sighs as he unlocks his front door, allowing me to enter the home first.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” I ask looking around the house, which is becoming a familiar scene.

“I’ll grab it, just head down to my room,” he says motioning to the basement door as he walks up the carpet steps. I obey, making my way to his bedroom.

I sit down on his couch, a few moments later, Warren enters with the first aid kit.

“Is the worst of it on your face?” I ask the mangled boy in front of me as I pop the plastic box open. He winces as he pulls his black t-shirt up and over his head. He turns around to reveal a nasty patch of road rash stretching from his spine over to his left shoulder. “Oh, Warren,” I gasp, sadness in my voice. I feel horrible for him. He sits down on the couch next to me.

“He got the best of me for about four seconds, but it was enough to fuck my back up pretty bad,” he laughs. Somehow still smiling even though he’s covered in dried blood-most of it not his- and his lip is busted.

“I’m sorry about that, Warren. I should have just stayed in the diner,” I shake my head as I open a gauze pad and grab the rubbing alcohol.

“But if you’d done that, you wouldn’t be sitting in my room right now,” he grins, but winces a bit. It probably hurts to smile; His cheek is bruised pretty bad.

“Yeah, but at least you wouldn’t be in pain,” I say as I pour the strong smelling alcohol onto the gauze.

“Worth it,” he smirks, resting his busted knuckles on my thigh.

“This is gonna sting,” I say, taking a deep breath. He nods, closing his eyes. I press the alcohol soaked cotton onto his split eyebrow.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts through gritted teeth, squeezing my thigh.

“I know, I know,” I pat the wound a couple more times before removing it. “I’m sorry,” I dampen another gauze pad, moving to his lip. He hisses again but allows me to clean the gash. Finally, I have him stand and turn so I can clean his shoulder. I can’t help but admire his back, running my fingers gently over the undamaged skin, leaving goosebumps behind every trace. The room is quiet, just the faint buzz of the dim overhead lights and Warrens breathing.

“Does it look bad?” he breaks the silence, looking at me over his shoulder.

“No, uh,” I clear my throat. “Sorry just uhm,” I clumsily grab a new cotton pad and the alcohol, naturally spilling it a bit, embarrassed that he caught me staring. “No, it’s not too bad,” I say as I fumble with the cotton.

“Why are you so nervous all the-“ he laughs, then I push the alcohol to his cuts. “Shit! Fuck, Y/n warn me next time!” he shouts. I wince at his loud tone as all the muscles in his back tense. I pull away, tears begin to form in my eyes. The past hour has been so stressful and him raising his voice sent me over the edge. I know he didn’t mean anything by it, that I just caught him off guard, but I can’t help how my body responded.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he quickly turns around, seemingly forgetting about the pain, bringing me into a tight hug as a couple tears roll down my cheeks. “I didn’t mean-“

“I know,” I smile up at him as he wipes the stray tear from my face. He looks so pretty, even when he’s doused in dried blood and half his face is bruised. “I’m sorry, I’m just stressed… I really need to smoke,” I sigh.

“Ditto,” he agrees, pulling away. “I’m gonna shower real quick. If you could, would you grab me the icepacks out of the freezer in the kitchen? Then I’ll bust out the bong,” he winks as he walks towards the bathroom in just his blood stained jeans. I smile and nod, then turn to walk up the steps.

•

•

After locating the ice packs, I run to my car to grab my weed. I go back inside, making my way to the steps, hearing a The Offspring cd playing as I descend into the basement. I see Warren already sitting on the couch, wearing nothing but a towel, his damp dark hair stuck to his forehead.

“Hey beautiful, what took so long?” he asks as I take a seat next to him.

“Oh, I ran out to my car to grab my bud so I could match you,” I explain as I set the jar on the table, then I hold an ice pack to his cheek. “You poor thing,” I sigh. He looks much better now that he’s cleaned up, but now I can see the wounds for what they really are.

“Come on y/n, you know I’m not gonna let you match me,” he laughs, continuing to break up the weed.

“Warren, I insist. I already feel bad enough that I got you into a fight,” I open the jar, but he snatches it out of my hand.

“No,” he says sternly, looking into my eyes. “And don’t say that. You had nothing to do with the fight, that dumbass came out swinging and disrespecting you. That’s all on him,” he says seriously. I just nod, a bit intimidated by his stern tone. He grabs the lighter and the bong handing it to me,

“Ladies first,” he winks, the mood much lighter now. He takes the icepack into his own hand so I can hit the bong. He watches me as I take a big hit. The warm smoke filling my lungs quickly. I blow the milky smoke towards the ceiling, as I sink into the couch.

“What?” I giggle when I realize that Warrens still watching me.

“You’re just so pretty, I never want to take my eyes off of you,” he smiles, setting the icepack down to take the glass out of my hand, pulling a huge hit. I see his muscles relax almost instantly.

“You’re pretty too,” I chuckle, taking one more hit. It doesn’t take long to feel the effects, I feel light but heavy at the same time; like I’m floating, but my limbs are too dense to move. This is one of my favorite feelings in the world.

“I was, until I got my face banged up,” he frowns, putting his mouth to the opening of the bong.

“I don’t think it’s a bad look,” I say honestly. “I know you’re in pain, but you do look pretty badass. It’s kinda sexy actually,” I giggle, the THC clouding my brain doesn’t allow me to keep that last thought to myself. Warrens ears perk up at the word ‘sexy’. He sets the bong down, scooching closer to me, the towel wrapped around his toned torso falls a bit, exposing his V-line and a bit of brown hair right below it. The sight makes me moan internally.

“Is that so?” he smirks, his face coming closer to me.

“Mhm,” I smile, bringing my hand up to feel his bare chest. He hovers above me as I lay heavy in between the couch cushions. “Even sexier than normal,” I smile, looking at him through lidded eyes. Warren leans down, pressing his busted lip against mine, I kiss back gently.

“I’ve missed your lips,” he smiles, resting his forehead against mine.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” I ask, cupping his uninjured cheek in my hand.

“Nah, you fixed me up real good Doc,” he chuckles. “Plus, I’m pretty stoned right now. As they say, weed’s the best medicine,” he says bringing me into another kiss. I melt completely into him; This is all I’ve craved in the two weeks it’s been since I’ve seen him last.

“I’ve missed you so much, Warren,” I admit into the kiss.

“Lay down darling, I owe you for fixin’ me up,” he says helping me turn to lay down the couch.

“Warren, you should just take it easy, baby. You’ve been through a lot,” I rub my hand up and down his arm, over his silly tattoo. He smiles at the pet name, reaching for the waistband of my pants.

“I am taking it easy, beautiful. Weed might be the best medicine, but you’re a close second,” he smirks, taking my pants and underwear off in one swoop, making my stomach flip. I’m almost ashamed of how easily I become puddy in his hands. “Mmm, so pretty,” he gently runs his hands up my thighs as I spread my legs for him, he doesn’t even have to ask. I’m always ready for him.

“Warren you really don’t have-“ he places a quick kiss on lips.

“Shh, I don’t wanna hear you speak unless you’re moaning my name, okay, beautiful,” he says gently but sternly, a small smile plastered on his face. I can’t help but giggle as excitement courses through my body. I simply nod my head ‘yes’.

He slides down my body admiring me in all my glory. He gently slides a finger over my heat, watching me intently.

“Sucha pretty girl,” he coos as he settles his head between my legs. He wraps his arms around my thighs, holding them open as he begins licking at my clit, quickly earning a moan of approval from me. He gently sticks a finger inside of me as he continues working on my nub. “Does that feel good baby,” he asks against my core.

“Mhm,” I moan out, bringing a hand to hold onto his damp hair. The amount of weed in my system amplifies the pleasure by 100. He sucks gently on my bundle of nerves as his finger pumps into me, curling perfectly.

“Fuck warren,” I pant, curling my toes, my breath becomes shallow. He continues his steady pace, the pleasure winding in my stomach begging for release. I begin grinding against his face, begging for more contact as his tongue works expertly against me. He moans against my sensitive skin, sending chills down my spine.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” I come undone, gripping hard onto his hair as my hips continue to grind into his face, covering him in my release. He pulls away proudly, licking his fingers as I try to catch my breath.

“You taste just as good as you look,” he winks making me blush. He sighs happily, before grabbing the bong, taking another hit.

“That’s all I get?” I ask as he passes me the glass. He looks at me confused. I take a quick hit- not worried about the weed, I want him inside of me. I reach over, further removing the loosely draped towel covering his torso, revealing his erection.

“I was treating you, baby,” he laughs, “but if you insist,” he lays me back down on the couch once again as he presses a gentle kiss to my lips. He gives himself a couple pumps before lining himself into me, those dark bloodshot eyes gazing into mine makes my heart skip a beat.

“Fuck, I love how you stretch me out,” I moan as he pushes into me, a proud smirk appears on his bruised face.

“You feel so good, beautiful,” he grunts, grabbing my hips as he begins to thrust in and out of me. He’s so deep; I swear I can feel him poking my stomach.

“You fuck me so good warren, faster, please,” I whine, begging for more. I’m defenseless against him, the amount of pleasure he brings me is inhuman. He obeys, fucking me faster and deeper. I wrap my legs around him as he leans down, placing a sloppy kiss to my lips. “I want you to cum in me warren,” I pant against his lips, his eyes go wide. “I’m on the pill,” I giggle. “Please Warren I want to feel you cum inside me, I’ve never let anyone else do it, please,” I beg. His eyes cloud with even more lust, something I didn’t think was possible. He groans, sitting up so he can pull my hips flush against his with every thrust. He brings one hand down to play with my bundle of nerves, I’m unable to contain my noises of pleasure, moaning out his name.

“Fuck,” he groans lowly to himself as he rocks his hips into me. “Who’s pussy is this?” he asks in a deep growl, goosebumps appear on my skin. “Y/n, who’s fucking pussy is this?” he asks again as he thrusts hard hitting my g-spot perfectly.

“Fuck!” I scream. “Yours! It’s all yours Warren,” I pant desperately, my tone that of one you’d hear in a cheesy porno. His possessiveness and the way he’s hitting the deepest parts of me mixed with the weed brings me to my second orgasm of the night.

“That’s fucking right,” he growls, grabbing my face. My walls clench around him as his powerful thrusts become sloppy. I scream out his name, euphoria enveloping me as he shoots his cum deep inside me, I’ve never experienced anything as erotic as him fucking his seed into me as it leaks out of my throbbing cunt onto his couch. Warren pulls out reluctantly, his legs visibly shaking. I lay limp in the same spot, trying to steady my breathing and stop my own legs from shaking.

“Are you okay?” he laughs helping me sit up.

“Yeah,” I giggle. “I’ve just never been fucked like-“ I stop when I see his lip gushing blood. “Warren, baby, your lips bleeding again,” I stand up quickly to find the gauze, I ignore his cum that begins to run down my thigh.

“Leave it” he waves his hand, laying back on the couch. “I feel too good to care,” he laughs. “Come lay with me,” he pats the couch. I pick up an alcohol soaked cotton pad, then sit next to him.

“Let me clean this first,” I say. He nods reluctantly, hissing as the pad hits his lip. The bleeding stops soon. “You need to put some antibacterial ointment on that. Mouth abrasions can get infected really easily,” I begin to explain.

“You should break up with your boyfriend,” he blurts out. I don’t think he was listening to anything I said. He stares at me nervously awaiting my response.

“I know I should,” I sigh, he reaches over to the coffee table handing me my phone. “What? Now?” I ask shocked. He nods his head.

“I want you to be mine, all mine. I can’t go another two weeks without seeing you, having you too busy with that douche to see me, and I sure as fuck don’t want anyone else touching you like I just did,” he pours his heart out, not dropping my gaze once. I look away, biting my lip. He’s right, as always. I belong with him; Anyone can see that.

“Well, at least wait until the morning,” I sigh looking back at him. “I mean you did just beat the shit of the guy and cum in his girlfriend, isn’t that enough for one night,” I smile lightly, not sure how he’ll feel about the idea.

“If you stay with me tonight, and do it very first thing in the morning, then I’ll agree,” he offers with a small smile. I agree, cuddling into his side. He lays a kiss on my forehead.

I should feel guilty, but I don’t, not towards Dakota at least. I feel guilty about getting Warren hurt, but my bitch ass boyfriend had it coming. I’ve finally found someone who cares about me, and I refuse to lose that, even if this is just a fling.