#come on guys throw me a fuckin bone

[asterdeer]

no offense but if mbmbam doesn’t come to gulf shores for a twenty sun and sea surf the vibe live show then they don’t deserve the year name

[evilminji]

You know all those Cults in Gotham?

Bet at least ONE of them could spring for both a Legit Magic User and a Cloning pod.

Because The Wayne's? Hearts of Gold. Long standing pains in the asses. Probably the only thing standing between this gods forsaken wasteland of a city and Their Dark Lord. For GENERATIONS no less!

It's sooooo obnoxious!

So they want to Curse Um dead. Just a good ol fashioned bloodline curse. Destroy um from within, etc. BUT! To do THAT? You kinda need a blood relative to sacrifice!

And Bruce is... well... rather infamously An Orphan With No Biological Kids (at that point).

So? What do you do? Make one, obviously. You send in some of your own on a Holy Mission. Honeypot that playboy! Get us a kid to sacrifice! Our God will reward you etc! But... FFS! What? Are brunettes not your TYPE or something?! Pretty lady! Throwing herself at you!!

TAKE THE BAIT!

But he DOESN'T. Because he's both really used to that behavior, as The Wayne Heir and a False Playboy, AND because? He's fuckin Batman. He can see through your schemes.

Okay.

Okay!

Plan B!

Get us some DNA. We'll CLONE the sucker. That should be doable, right?

........OH COME ON! How?!

Batman: [REDACTED] / Cultists: 0

Fuck it! This is impossible! How are we supposed too... *eyes drift over to the Wayne Family Private Graveyard* .......Idea? Ideeeeaaaa~! Someone get us a shovel!

So they, cultist bastards that they are? Fuckin rob a grave for some DNA.

OBVIOUSLY though, it can't be one of the more RECENT graves! He probably VISITS those! Watches them! No we gotta be SNEAKY! Get one a bit further back! Mwahahahaha! We're so brilliant! Our God is gonna give us SUCH a Good Grade in follower!

A thing that is both REAL and possible to achieve!

So, while a Weirdly FURIOUS Batman? Is just... VIOLENTLY breaking ALL of their bones? Cultist 17 is furiously digging like his life depends on it. Either somebody snitched or Batman was hunting them down! Either way?

Gotta! Get! That! DNA!!! *digs faster*

Ah HA! Got it!

Fucking SCATTER! Run you fools, RUN!!! *everyone bolts*

And AT LAST! They have it! Wayne DNA! Now? Pop that sucker into the machine and make us a baby! Too sacrifice! *relieved noises* Man, that was hard work you guys. But we DID it!

Except??

Theoretical Babies? And "Real, slowly forming in front of me and becoming a human child" type babies? VERY DIFFERENT psychologically. It's ONE thing to sacrifice a HYPOTHETICAL baby... but when you're the guy running and monitoring the Cloning machine? Watching it slowly form and come together into... into a CHILD?

You start asking questions of yourself. Of God.

Of what, EXACTLY, you are willing to do.

What lines you find yourself unwilling to cross.

And yeah, your life was SHIT before the cult. Yeah, you were alone. Adrift. Without purpose. Angry at the world for all of its ugliness and failings. But... sitting, alone, in a dark room? Nothing but the steady hum of machines and the cool light of that pod? You are left with nothing but time... and your thoughts.

And the baby.

The one... the one YOU made.

Almost... he's almost like a son, in a way. Your son. Floating there, innocent and unknowing. Destined to be born, only to die painfully, for a cause he could not even begin to understand. Because he's too young. Too small. Just... just a baby.

The baby YOU made.

Doubt seeps in like mist. Creeping into the cracks forming in your faith. Surely there's another way, right? Why not save up for a better magician? Or... or hire a hitman? Why involve a child? Surely... surely your God would not WANT this, right? Or if He did! Surely, he would want the boy to be able to CHOOSE, right? A noble sacrifice, for the cause?

The pressure builds. Batman is tearing the city APART looking for your fellow Believers. Leadership is pressuring you to get "It" ready all ready.

He's not an "it".

They are dismissing your questions. Threatening and posturing, as you grapple with your faith. Where? Where is the COMMUNITY that you joined? The camaraderie? Every day, Believers are being torn down. The faith has lost so many!

How can this be WORTH it?

Your faith is slowly, cruelly, strangled in your chest. A death, by ten thousand silences, and ten thousand more cruelties.

Your son is ready.

You do not tell them.

The Clone of Bruce Wayne's great-grandfather is small, but healthy, in your arms. A tiny warm body, with a strong beating little heart. You call the police. Leave your phone, call running, on the desk. No one thinks to stop you, as you calmly walk out the back door.

Why would they doubt?

You are Faithful.

You drive. Pray to a God you have lost faith in, beg forgiveness for what you do now. Your beat up old junker of a car makes decent time, as you leave Gotham. Your son, asleep in a carefully made nest of blankets, on the seat next to you. You drive. You keep driving.

Past towns.

Past cities.

Out of the state.

Stopping only to feed your son and fuel your car. You... you can not bring yourself to care about what will happen to you now. You know they will find you. Know this is the end. But something ancient burns in your chest. A caring you never thought was REAL.

You are afraid.

But you will not let them harm your son.

Finally, a town. Far from Gotham. Quite and cheerful. It calls to you.

Here. It... it has to be here.

You find the hospital. Tears choking you. There is a place to drop of children. You've seen them before. How strange, that now you stand before it and HURT. Your arms not listening to your command. You... you have to do this. You HAVE too.

He is just a baby.

He is your son.

You have to keep him safe. And... and that can not be with you.

You gently put your baby boy into the drop off. Press the buzzer. And then? You make yourself walk away.

Get back in your car, and drive. The gun in your glove box will insure they can never pry from you, what you have done. Where he is. He is safe now. He has to be. You... you did your job. As his father. You made sure he was safe.

You can barely see the road, through your tears.

You take your secrets to the grave.

And Danny? He grows up. Is adopted young and never knows different. Both a Fenton and a Wayne. Knowing only one of these, to be his. But... that Wayne? Was a damn fine man. A pillar of his community and a champion of the people.

Got tossed more then a few blessings, in his life.

They weren't the STRONGEST. But they added up. And more importantly? Were hardly the refined magics of the more powerful. They were cast onto "Him". By blood and bone, more often then not. Which was all well and good!

When there was only ONE of "Him".

Cloning technology did not exsist. So why would you word carefully against it? Danny becomes a VERY lucky boy. Survives many things he should not. In fact, the kindness and hard work of his original? Gifted back in magically powered well wishes? By this, he survives something NO ONE could possibly expect him too.

It saves his life.

His template would be quite pleased, knowing that. That his life of good deeds, saved the life of the child he never got a chance to meet. That it protected his children, from even beyond death.

And in Gotham? At long, long last. The program Bruce made in his helplessness and despair, to search EVERY child until the child made of his bloodline was found? Spits out a match.

A Watchtower engineer.

Daniel J. Fenton.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation

[macfrog]

backspin | bbf!frankie

surprise! we're taking a quick detour to fuck around with our brother's best friend again. what else is new.

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x fem!reader summary: you try to get even with frankie. it works. warnings: reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, enemies to lovers, mention of throwing up, alcohol consumption, cursing, oral, more dickhead frankie and more sassy reader word count: 6.3k

part one: rack 'em | main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💙

So, you fucked around with Frankie.

It’s no big deal, right? It was just a one-time thing. There was tension, you guys relieved it. Scratched an itch. Served a purpose. You still fucking hate the guy, and he still fucking hates you.

Nothing’s changed.

Right?

Mal sprays wine all over the kitchen table when you tell her. Gargles a, Sorry – fuck – sorry, through what little of the alcohol is left in her mouth.

You wipe your face clean in the crook of your elbow. It’s in your fucking eyelashes. You blink the room back into focus, and – “Jesus, Mal!”

Dark droplets teeter around the edge of the table, threatening to plunge straight down onto your mom’s chair cushions – thus damning you to her very own personal hell for all eternity. You can feel the flames licking at your feet already.

Your best friend rips a sheet of paper towel and drags it over the wood – white bleeding violet at the first swipe. “Why’d you tell me as I was taking a sip?”

“I didn’t think you’d fucking hose me down,” you hiss, taking the soaked crumple from her hands.

“You didn’t think I’d be a little surprised that you and Catfish Morales hooked up? Are you fucking ser–? Actually, you know what? I’m not that surprised.”

You glare at her from the sink, upper lip curled.

Mallory Bennett has been privy to your every thought since you were six years old. Hand in hand, arms swinging as you marched into first grade together.

Most days, you barely have to open your mouth – one flinching expression, one flash of eye contact, and she can parrot your own thoughts back to you.

Francisco Morales going down on you two nights ago is the first thing you’ve ever had to confess to her. It’s the first thing she never saw coming.

“Shut up,” you breathe, eventually thawing and sweeping over to your chair. The table sticks to your arms when you sit back down.

“There’s a lot to unpack there, alright? A lot of tension. I mean, you gotta fuckin’ feel it. You two hate each other’s guts! And you’re both single, and you’re only here for two weeks. And – he’s Santi’s best friend. It’s just…it’s the perfect storm.”

Another exasperated sigh passes your lips. You settle back, eyes closed, and lift your palm. “Enough. I’ve heard enough.”

“You wouldn’t’ve told me if you didn’t wanna talk about it. Was he good?”

“Mal.”

“Was he?”

“I was drunk. I don’t remember.”

“Bullshit.” Her face screws up; the gold hoops wobble from her ears. “Like hell you don’t remember. Tell me.”

Your eyes slip from her over to Ange. The old pup pushes herself to her feet with a huff, her joints stiff and bones frail. She moseys over to your side. You scratch the back of the dog’s neck, shrugging to Mal.

“Maybe if you hadn’t cheated your way to a free round of drinks, I’d remember enough to share.”

“Fuck you,” she snorts, voice rounded by her wine glass. “Maybe that just means you gotta do it again – sober.”

You scoff.

Angie looks up at you – watery eyes blinking, tail slowly fanning.

Mal’s already recounting the time Frankie snitched on the two of you for raiding your mom’s makeup bag. She waves her hands in the air, eyes bulging.

Do it again. The thought actually makes you want to laugh.

You and Frankie – you and Catfish, hooking up again. As if the first time wasn’t a total mishap, the biggest mistake in judgement you think you’ve ever made.

He drove you home, he made you come, he left.

One nil, right? You have one up on him. You got yours, and he probably went home and jerked off to the thought of it. Alone in his room, tongue licking at the corners of his mouth where he could still taste your release.

You won.

You won, against Frankie Morales.

“…and then fuckin’ – Pope tried to help us tidy it up, remember? He was scrubbing the hell outta the lipstick on the mirror. But that asshole – Frankie,” she seethes, “he went downstairs as soon as your mom came home. As soon as she…And he fucking ratted!”

She growls, balls her fists. Screws her eyes tight shut like the enraged eight-year-old she was back then. She still has the same little crease between her brows. “What the hell got into you that night? We hate him, junior!”

Ange slumps to the floor with a sigh.

“Me too, girl,” you mutter to her, twirling the base of your glass. You look back up at the crazed woman opposite. “I don’t know,” you insist. “I was drunk, we were on our own…It just happened, alright?”

Her shoulders roll in a shrug. She lifts her glass to clink the neck of the bottle against the rim, purple wine spilling in a swirl. “Maybe it’s the start of something.”

You scoff. “Mal. Come on.”

“I’m serious. Perfect storm.”

“Nope. No storm. Stop that.”

She jabs a tipsy finger in your direction. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you messed around with your arch fucking menesis– arch fucking…with – with Frankie, and you just – still feel nothing for him?”

“No,” you admit, “I feel plenty for him. I hate his fucking guts. I used to wish every birthday that he’d disappear. One time in church, when Father Joseph told everybody to bow their heads ‘n pray, I actually asked God to kill him for me.”

“Not Father Joseph!” Mal shrieks, grinning. “He was so fucking hot, by the way, for a dude with no hair. When the sunlight caught that cueball just right…that was a real fucking miracle. Goddamn.”

You bat her snicker away. “Me and Frankie used to brawl so bad that our moms had to separate us,” you continue. “I had to sit in the front seat if we drove anywhere – and that still didn’t stop him! He’d reach around the headrest and flick my fucking ear.”

“You gave as good as you got, though. I’m surprised he can even still get hard, the number of times your foot…” She swings her leg and kicks your thigh softly. “He was an ass, I know.”

“He was an ass then, he’s still an ass now. That’s all there is to it.”

“Okay,” Mal concedes. Her dark, glossy hair surfs around the lip of her wine glass when she leans in. “But you wouldn’t’ve told me unless it was still on your mind. ‘s all I’m saying.”

You throw yourself back with a quick, angry shake of your head. Your tongue flicks over your top lip.

“All I’m saying,” she repeats, holding her hands up.

But I won, you think – in a petulant little whine. Like you could shake your fists and stamp your feet at the same time. You got one up on him. He – he made you…

He made you come. He saw you. Felt you. Tasted you.

He knows what you sound like, whimpering his fucking name. Drunk on him, begging him not to stop. And now, the image of him fisting his cock over the memory of it feels less like a victory, and more like –

Another fucking loss.

You have no idea what he looks like, coming undone. No clue what his fragmented moans sound like as they tear from the bottom of his throat and rain down over you. You don’t know the weight of him in your hands, the wet slip of his tip as he leaks over your tongue.

Mal’s onto something new. Taken by a Facebook post from some girl you went to high school with. Biggest head I ever saw on a fucking baby, she mutters, wincing and then sprinkling a handful of salted peanuts on her tongue.

Frankie’s cocky smirk clouds over the sight of her at the opposite end of your kitchen table.

Francisco fucking Morales. The asshole wins again.

All at once, you hear his rotten little jeers in your ear – curbed painfully by his middle finger searing across your lobe. You feel his heavy palm on your skull, fingers scrunching roughly into your scalp.

A temper boils between your ears, heavy over your head. It feels juvenile, as if it’s armed with a Barbie in one fist and a juice box in the other. Sunken and wallowing in shame and rage, red-hot waves which wash over you as Mal cackles at some video on her phone.

You feel Frankie’s hands around your legs; the flicks of his hair tickling the inside of your thighs. The swarm of butterflies deep in your belly as you watched his figure swagger back across the street to his truck.

Loss after loss after loss. Each one wearing a satisfied smirk and a Standard Oil baseball cap.

Each one staining deeper than red wine in varnished oak.

You grit your teeth.

Frankie –

fucking –

Morales.

Santi floats the idea of a barbecue. Because of course he fucking does.

He says his place is too small, too many neighbors in earshot – and as long as Ms. Teller takes both hearing aids out, she won’t even know it’s happening.

“Just the guys ‘n us,” he chirps. “You, me, Will, Benny…Fran-kie…?”

You gag down the line. Body instinct whenever his name is mentioned, worsened by the latest developments in your relations. Ange glances up from her spot beneath the oak tree – her milky fur stark against the velvet green grass.

Santi chokes on a laugh. “Mal, too, if that helps with the Catfish thing.”

You lean the phone on your collarbone, sitting forward to apply a second coat of polish to your toes. The red gloss shines in the early morning light. “He is not welcome in my house.”

“First off: not your house. Second –”

“My house for the next eleven days.”

He says your name flatly. It sounds like a door being slammed. It shuts you up as though you’re nine again. “…Second: he won’t be in the house. He’ll be in the backyard.”

“You owe me,” you protest. “For ditching me the other night. I’m cashing in, Santiago. You want a cookout? No Frankie.”

Your brother sighs. “And how am I supposed to explain that to him, hermana?”

“Don’t,” you tell him. “What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

Santi mutters something incoherent, though you know from the razor-sharp tone of voice that it’s no compliment. Still – he’s a man of his word.

Eventually he agrees: no Frankie at the barbecue.

The store is chilly, plucking goosebumps along your arms.

You round the aisles, scanning your list. You’ve been battling with a janky front wheel which has squealed and veered off-course at every fucking turn. It almost mowed over an elderly woman in the meat aisle.

You’ve cleared most of what Santi told you to get. Drinks, ice, buns, meat, corn on the cob. He wanted to use Mom’s dinner plates – but that, you countered, runs the risk of them being scraped, chipped, or worst of all, smashed.

That’s not a risk you’re willing to take. So you’ve piled in some paper plates and plastic cutlery, too – just to be on the safe side.

The cashier cuts a familiar figure at the checkout: her navy apron and full-cheek grin. She’s a staple sight from your childhood – a pair of dimples and sweet giggle trailing after you as you’d follow your mom’s skirt back out to the parking lot.

Her eyes widen and she clasps her hands when she notices you approaching. “Well, would you look who it is?” she sings.

“Hey, Pol,” you say, fanning yourself with your scrawled shopping list. “How you doing?”

The belt jolts your supplies closer to her bejeweled fingers.

“Same as always, honey. Rockin’ and rollin’. What brings you back to town?”

“Housesitting, dog-sitting…Santi-sitting. Mom and Dad are on a cruise.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she says, nodding. “She told me last week. Caribbean, right?”

You nod, sucking a deep, unenthused breath in.

Pol hums, smiling to herself as she clicks the barcode for your hotdogs into her computer. She begins telling you what her granddaughter thinks of second grade – her two times table and the tadpoles they’re keeping in class.

Your eyes sweep around the store as she chats. Everything looks the way it always did, a time capsule from the nineties. Speckled floor and fluorescent lights; placards hanging overhead which sway each time the great glass doors pull open.

Baskets of fruit and veg lined alongside a lawn set on offer. Beside that, heaps of flowers and stacked planters. Beside those, a discarded shopping cart. And beside that –

Frankie fucking Morales.

Well – the silhouette of him. It’s pretty bright outside. But you’d recognize the outline of that dumb baseball cap anywhere. He’s talking to one of the assistants.

You hand Pol the cash Santiago gave you, and she trades it for a receipt. Dumping your bags back into your cart, you nod to her in thanks and stalk off towards the sliding doors.

Frankie tosses and twirls a pack of cigarettes in his hand. The assistant is telling him about some big college football game.

Your grip tightens on the janky-wheeled cart. You feel your skin begin to heat; prickling all over your arms, flushing down between your shoulder blades. Gathering somewhere south of there.

But you walk by him with purpose, choosing to ignore that warm feeling. Choosing to ignore…him.

He doesn’t turn. Thankfully.

The doors grant you exit and you give your cart one good shove across the threshold, back out into blinding daylight and sticky heat.

“Alright, man,” Frankie’s voice calls from behind. “Good talkin’ to ya.”

You nail your eye on the car. It’s, like, fifteen paces. You can make it fifteen steps without having to deal with him, right? If you take longer strides, it’s probably more like ten.

Ten steps, and then you’re in the sanctuary of your car. You don’t have to see, speak to, or deal with him.

So why are you slowing down?

You’re slowing down. You are. You’re borderline fucking loitering. Quietly hoping he’ll notice, catch up, maybe talk to –

You click the unlock button. The car beeps in response.

Five steps out. The front wheel is rattling. You’re doing your best to ignore it.

Four.

Three.

The wheel spins, flitting like a confused compass needle, and stops dead in the opposite direction. The cart hurtles out of your grip for less than a second before you recover it and haul it close to your car, cursing under your breath.

But a force – stronger, steadier – reaches around your body and takes hold of the thing. It guides it back to course. A force which, when it speaks, sounds a shit ton like –

“Woah, lil Santi,” Frankie mutters, and your chest leaps.

You freeze in your tracks. His weight is still around your back. He’s right fucking there, when you turn to look.

The brim of his cap bumps against your head. He steps back with a smirk on his face. He’s so fucking smug, you could slap him. “You tryna cause a goddamn accident with that thing?”

You pull a disingenuous smile. “Hey, Fish. Ever tried minding your own business?”

He feigns a wounded sound and clutches his chest. “Ouch. I’m just looking out for ya.”

“Feels more like you’re pestering me.” You pull on the door handle and slot the first bag along the backseat.

Frankie lifts his chin, peering in at the contents. The star-spangled plated, the dripping bags of ice. “Having a party?” he asks, one eyebrow cocked.

You yank the bag from his sight, spinning to push it alongside the others. “Nope.”

He crosses his arms. “Sure looks like you’re having one.”

“Well, I’m not.” You slam the door and turn back to him, staring blankly.

“Forgot,” he sniffs, “you need friends to have a party.”

“Hilarious. Those shit jokes how you make all your friends?”

He nods, impressed. Pouts his lips like an annoying little fish. Suits his stupid fucking nickname. “Then why’d Benny call ‘n ask if I’ll be at Pope’s parents’ tonight?”

Shit. Fucking – Benny.

You sigh, eyes rolling closed. Your fingers massage your temples. “It’s not…it’s…”

“Cookout, right? Yeah. That stings, baby. No call, no text. You owe me, remember?”

“I owe you jack sh–”

“Two drinks,” Frankie clips, holding a finger up to shush you. “Three, if you count saving your car from one hell of a scratch.”

“Fuck off,” you breathe, and then give voice to, “It’s a small gathering of friends, and – now you, apparently.”

He sways forward, bumping the cart into your hip. “You need me to bring anything?”

You heave it straight back at him, hopefully hard enough to bruise. “Tranquilizer gun, if you’ve got one.”

“Can get something even stronger, if it’s a party you’re after.”

Your eyes thin. “Wouldn’t be my mom’s favorite for much longer if she found out you were doing coke in her backyard.”

Frankie smiles. That trademark Catfish grin. “I’ve done worse in her kitchen, baby.”

He’s so goddamn cocky. So full of it, it makes you want to scream. He studies you, eyes shadowed by his cap. His hair flicks out around his ears, dark curls doused in golden sunlight.

When your eyes trace the shape of his jaw, the wiry hair above his top lip – the faint flicker of a memory glows across your skin.

The weight of his hand on your stomach, pinning you to the bed. The bristling feeling ghosting the inside of your thighs. Your desperate wet, his tongue covering ground across your body like claiming territory.

Every shade of wrong. Ignoring every atom in your body – betraying every version of yourself for ten minutes of euphoria. He brought every numb nerve under your skin to attention, the second he knelt between your knees.

But he’s looking at you now, the same way he did the other night. It’s boyish and dangerous. A naked match just waiting to fall.

Maybe you’re waiting for an excuse to drop it.

Frankie gives his cap a quick tug, and makes off for his truck.

“See you at seven, Garcia.”

Daylight melts into dusk and with it, goes the sharp sting of summer. A pale blue rolls across the horizon, covering the yard in a hazy sort of chill. A relieving breeze, like satin over newly burned skin.

You’re still fucking sweating.

“Are you going to help me, or you just gonna lie there and text your girlfriend?” you call across the yard.

The dark figure spilling over the edge of the hammock grunts in response.

“Santi.”

Your brother groans, rolling free from the marigold fabric. He strides across the lawn, swinging an arm down to ruffle Ange’s ears. “Not a girlfriend,” he says, slipping his phone into his back pocket. “She’s…she’s more of a…”

You lift your hand. “Not something I need to know.”

He laughs and looks at the spread on the table. He lifts the corner of a tricolor napkin, straightens a plastic fork. The foil over the hamburger buns crinkles. “We did a good job. Looks great.”

“We?” You scoff, slapping his wrist away. “Yeah, me and the fucking dog, more like.”

“How much did it all come to? The food and shit?”

You shrug. “Like, forty dollars. I don’t know.”

“Gave you sixty. Where’s my change?”

You frown, hands on your hips. “If you don’t know how to budget properly, that’s not my problem.”

“And if you don’t know when to just lie and say you spent it all, that’s not mine. Twenty bucks, kid.” He holds his hand out, fingers beckoning.

The squeal of the gate interrupts, followed by a barrage of voices. Will and Benny and Mal and – as you lean back to watch them parade through the yard, you spot the figure of Frankie at their heels.

“Pope?” Will calls. “Pope, do me a favor. Remind me which one of us threw up at Busch Gardens that one time. Remember – right after we rode Gwazi?”

Santiago chuckles. “I remember Mallory wearing her raspberry slushie.”

Will guffaws in Mal’s face.

“I spit up!” she protests. “I spit up in a flowerbed. I was not wearing my slushie.”

“You were fluorescent pink the whole day,” Will says. He slings an arm around your shoulders. “You remember, lil Santi?”

You frown. Yeah, you fucking remember.

You remember being forced to sit between Frankie and Mal the entire way home. Santiago got dibs on the front seat by pretending he was carsick, and Mal had to sit by an open window so she didn’t stink your dad’s car out with all her raspberry-flavored puke.

You and Frankie bickered the whole journey. Both absolutely certain that the other was leaning too far over your seats. Your dad vowed he’d never let you both in his car at the same time, ever again.

“Mhm,” you grit, shooting daggers at your best friend.

She mouths a Sorry, and then places her salad bowl in the middle of the table. “Enough about throwing up. I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

The boys spend twenty minutes arguing over how the barbecue works, before a single bit of food is cooked. You and Mal watch from the table, sneaking Ange slices of cheese and giggling when Will and Benny break into their fifth argument of the night.

Santi and Frankie take charge, shoving the brothers out of the way.

Pope passes over the meat, while Frankie mans the grill. He lifts his cap and wipes his brow with his bicep, giving his head a shake as he flips burgers and turns sausages.

And no, you’re not watching him. You’re focused on Mal and her story about some guy from work. Or – it might be a guy from her yoga class. The instructor, maybe? You’re not sure. Frankie just flapped the collar of his shirt and the hem lifted, exposing a sliver of his tummy.

You’re not watching him, though.

He runs his tongue along his top lip, focusing on the sizzle and spatter of the grill. His arm tenses, turning the tongs over and over. Wide shoulders stretch when he reaches for a plate.

He’s laughing quietly at whatever Santi’s babbling about at his side. His eyes are stuck on the barbecue in front of him. His fingers twirl around the tongs again. He never looked so lean and so broad and so fucking different, all at once.

Weird different. Good different?

You feel your cheeks flush with heat. This time, it’s not so much anger, as it is –

Oh, shit.

Mal gets up for a refill at the same time Santiago jogs inside to grab more meat. You and Frankie are alone on the patio – Will and Benny are kicking a ball for Ange to chase on the grass.

Morales turns, and you instantly stare down at your beer. You take a forceful swig as he approaches.

“Hotdog?” he asks, holding a plate down to you.

“Huh?”

He glares at you and scoffs. “Are you dumb? Hotdog.” He slips it onto the table in front of you.

You squint at the grill marks, and then squint up at Frankie. Puzzled and…offended, at the same time. You come back to your body with a jolt. “Why the hell are you–? Have you laced it with something?”

He shoots a glance over his shoulder, tongue between his teeth. “No, I haven’t fucking laced it with anything. I just figured you should have the first one, since you put all this on for us. But – Jesus, give me it.”

Your fingers lock around the paper plate when he tries to steal it back. For all that he’s a dick and might actually try to poison you – you’re fucking starving.

You figure you can stomach the poison.

Frankie sighs. He lets go. “I’m tryna be nice, alright? You know nice?”

“I know nice. You’re not it.”

“Shut up and eat your hotdog, lil Santi.”

You mimic him in a squeak as he strolls off, shaking his head. Still, the second he’s back at the grill, you rip into the hotdog.

Frankie stays at the opposite end of the table for the entire meal – closest seat to the barbecue, and furthest seat from you. There’s too much chatter, too much hilarity being thrown back and forth between you for either of you to kick up a row.

Probably better for the guys’ sakes, but – you want to fucking row.

It’s like a hit, now. A rush of electricity, any time Frankie looks at you for longer than it takes his face to twist into a grimace. You’re hunting for ways to ignite something – anything. Looking for an excuse to drop that naked match and set the whole thing alight.

Because it’s fun, when you’re in the heat of it. Feeling his eyes on you, as hot and angry as flames. Being suffocated by the smoke of it all; breathing in less and less air and more…him.

And, anyway – who knows you better than the one person who pisses you off the most?

As the sun is snuffed by the heavy hand of dusk, you disappear to a quieter corner of the yard. Tucked between two thick beech trees, you throw yourself into the hammock – one leg draped over the side, swinging idly through the night air.

A beer bottle balanced on your tummy, the round base seeping a chilled ring into your shirt. The swish of leaves overhead and the annoying midges at your ears for company.

That is – until the sound of footsteps over crisp grass, and the creak of an old, splintered garden chair disturb your peace.

Frankie adjusts his cap, flatting his fringe beneath it, and sits back. “You never change, do you, Garcia? Still the same little longer you always were.”

You hold your hands out, gulping back beer – and glee. “Can I fucking help you? I’m minding my own business.”

“Thought you might want some company.”

“Not yours, dickhead. You think I’m way the hell over here ‘cause I wanted you to come annoy me?”

He hums, picking at a flake of paint on the armrest. “Sure wanted me to annoy you the other night.”

“Alright,” you clip. “Cheap shot. You been practicing that one all afternoon?”

“Since I saw you at the store.”

You roll your eyes.

Frankie slips a cigarette from its pack and lights it, tipping his chin to blow a white cloud to the sky. “You’re too much fun,” he tells the stars.

You squint through the dark, staring at the glowing cherry. “What?”

“You. You get so pissed, so easily. Always have.”

“Well, you antagonize me. Always have.”

His cheeks lift. It’s something softer than a smirk, still laced with too much attitude to be a smile. “That’s ‘cause you were always around. Everywhere Santi went, there you were. Closer than his shadow.”

“Well,” you glower, “’s what happens when you have a big brother. You’re void of love; I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“No, I get it,” he says. “It just got fun to mess with you, after a while.”

“Uhuh,” you take another swig, “so is that what you’re doing? Messing with me?”

Frankie’s shoulders jump. “You tell me. There were two of us in your room that night.”

You swing your legs down to the grass. It’s brittle under your socks when you stand, still focusing on the end of his cigarette. “Damn, you really can’t shut up about it, can you? How many times have you tugged one to the thought of it?”

“Tugged one,” he snickers, but he seems nervous – watching as you approach. “What age are you?”

You push his knees wider, slotting between his thighs. “Which part does it for you? What sends you over the edge?”

“Come on, lil Santi,” Frankie says, averting his eye. “You’re embarrassing yourself now.”

One knee up, resting on the crease of his jeans. You lean forward and nudge his hip, lay your hands gently on his shoulders. “I bet you still hear me in your dreams.”

He scans up and down your body, lingering on your bare thigh. “Not – not gonna work, kid,” he promises, shaking his head. “You still annoy the fuck outta me.”

“Right, right.” You pinch the pale stick from between his teeth. “’cause nothing’s changed, yeah?”

His head sways in agreement. He’s distracted, watching as you lift your hand to your mouth.

You smile down at him. “’cept you know how I taste now, so.”

You slot the damp end of the cigarette between your lips and suck. Sharp, acrid heat sails over your tongue and down your throat, filling your chest in one inhale. You cough a little, batting the smoke as you blow it out.

“Tastes fucking disgusting,” you croak. “How can you smoke these?”

Frankie’s eyes never leave your lips. “You get used to it.”

You take another draw, letting the smoke soar through the space between you. “Gross,” you say, and prop the cig back between his lips. “Just like you!”

“Sh…shut up,” he groans, adjusting in his seat.

“Make me.”

But he doesn’t bite. Doesn’t flinch. He just stares back, rolling the smoldering stick between his thumb and finger. Running his tongue along his teeth.

You spill the last of your beer onto your tongue, cocking an eyebrow at him, and push from his lap.

You make it no more than five steps, before that same weight from the parking lot is around your shoulders.

He pings the cigarette somewhere in the grass, and grabs onto your elbow.

“Fran– Jesus – Where are we–?”

He drags you through the dull dusk to the other side of the lawn, ignoring the click of the motion sensor. You’re thrown through a wooden door onto cold concrete before the yard light floods over you.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust. Weak slivers of moonlight illuminate each tool hanging from the wall. The fairy lights outside lose their battle against the darkness the second they creep through the window.

Before you can sling something mocking at him, Frankie has you pinned against the wall.

“You want me to make you shut up?” he growls, teeth grazing your neck. His fingers slip behind the waist of your shorts, plucking at the button. “I’ll make you shut up. Make you shut up all goddamn night.”

“Frankie,” you gasp, grabbing hold of his shirt. You push on his chest, walking him backwards over to the workbench.

The thing shudders when he rocks against it.

“The fuck are you doing?” he murmurs, watching as you kneel before him.

“Getting used to it,” you reply.

You pull his belt apart, loosen the fly on his pants, and pull until they’re low on his hips.

Frankie holds onto the bench with a white-knuckle grip. He lays his hand over the crown of your head, rubbing small circles. A laugh slips across his tongue. “This what you’ve been thinkin’ about?”

You ignore him, instead focusing on the solid shape in his underwear.

His hips flinch when you drag your palm along it. He’s hard already. He hisses at your cold fingers on his stomach, tensing as your knuckles skim below the elastic.

And then…he’s in your palm. All of him. Frankie fucking Morales.

You’re trying not to think too deep about it.

Your fingers wrap around him, barely meeting around his width, and you slip him from his boxers.

His cock springs free, swaying once, twice – then settling to the right.

Your mouth fills with saliva. Suddenly – there’s no way not to think too deep about it.

He’s…he’s big. He’s thick; smooth and sculpted, veins trailing around his shaft. It’s not like you ever considered what he’s walking around with before, but looking at it now – you can’t believe it’s him.

Without thinking, you lean in and kiss him all the way down to the hair at his base. A wet trail, lips curving around the size of him. You run your tongue up and down, circling the tip and toying with it.

Frankie cups your cheek. “Pretty little mouth,” he utters. “Put it to good use, huh?”

You don’t need him to ask twice.

You sink down on him. Every inch of him – every aching, choking inch. Your jaw slackens to take him; nails digging into his thighs when he bumps the back of your throat.

“Oh, shit, baby,” he hisses. His hand comes down on your head a little too heavily.

You yelp and pull back, gasping when he slips out. “Prick,” you breathe, closing your lips around his tip again.

“Just too sweet with it,” he murmurs, guiding himself back across your tongue.

You suckle on him, using your hands to pump the inches your mouth can’t take.

Frankie’s head tips back, panting at the roof. His hips thrust to meet your movements. “Feels so – goddamn – good,” he moans, and you hum with glee.

You take his balls in your hands, kneading them as you work your way lower. He’s so deep in your mouth that it makes your eyes water. Each slip of his tip against the back of your throat makes you gag, pulls a lewd, muffled sound from your chest.

It shouldn’t feel like this. You shouldn’t be enjoying it this much. But he’s falling apart under your fingertips, he’s unwinding right before you. He’s whispering your name, begging you not to stop. Just like that, just like that, just like that. Oh, fuck, just like that.

It’s addictive. Now that you know how he looks, how he feels, you’ll never go back to before. When the most thrill he gave you was a burning temper; feeling your pulse jump in your throat with rage.

This – whatever the fuck this is – is all you know, now. Pulling threads from one another, watching the way they unravel. Watching each other unravel. Flashes of eye contact, salt and slick and sex dripping from every secret word.

Frankie’s hips jerk. His cock spasms.

You don’t want him to come down your throat. You don’t want him to climax when he’s too deep for you to taste it.

You want him all over – your lips, your tongue, dribbling down your chin. You want to mix him with your saliva and swallow; warm, salty, Frankie.

He got his taste. Now you want yours.

You bring your hands up to his thighs, purposefully pushing back off him.

His grip loosens, and he looks down. Brows low and close, eyes blown wide like he’s higher than any drug could take him.

He’s as addicted as you are.

“My mouth,” you mumble, head of his cock circling your glistening lips. “In my mouth.”

“Yeah?” he says, and the weight of his cock slaps on your bottom lip. “That where you want it, baby?”

“Mhm.” You wrap your lips back around him.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” Frankie spits, laughing. “Shit – just like that. Yeah, that’s it.”

Three, four more soaking strokes of your tongue and he’s twitching again.

You pull back only enough to rest his tip on your tongue, feeling the pulsing heat as he comes. Watching the way his face tightens, the pull of his brows as it overcomes him.

His eyes stay locked on you. Your fluttering lashes, your puffy, glossy lips. He fills your mouth and then some – semen spilling from the corners and dribbling down your jaw. And the sound he makes – this broken, scattered moan, bordering on a fucking whimper – is fucking perfect.

Frankie’s hand locks at the base of your skull, holding you steady until he’s done. His cock slips from your bottom lip. He gives one last satisfied sigh, petting your head as you stroke him slowly, tenderly – swiping kitten licks at the dripping mess of him.

“Fuck,” he moans, letting his eyes close over. His weight slumps against the workbench. “The fuck do you spend so much time yapping for when you’re that good with your mouth?”

You hum in amusement, tongue dragging along the underside of his cock. He’s softening, but still a decent size. Still a weight to it that makes your cunt clench around nothing.

One last little kiss, and you tuck him back into his boxers. You drag the back of your hand across your chin.

Frankie holds his hands out, and you pull yourself up. He fixes himself into his jeans, turning away to do up his belt. He had his cock in your throat two minutes ago, and here he is pretending to be shy.

He turns back around, half disappeared to the dark shed. “I, uh…I don’t want you to think that I came here just to…just for that.”

Your tongue dabs at the inside of your cheek, all salty. “Then this is awkward, ‘cause that’s the only reason I hadn’t kicked you out yet.”

He laughs, dropping your gaze. “You…” he shakes his head, “…are such a little shit, you know that?”

It’s nicer than he would’ve worded it half an hour ago. But still – having an exchange with Frankie that doesn’t involve spitting insults or jagged glares, warms your blood in a way that’s new and…unsettling.

“We should probably…” You toss a thumb over your shoulder, eyes flitting to the string bulbs outside. “We don’t want them wondering what’s…you know.”

He nods and strides over to the door. The wood squeals against concrete as he pulls it open.

The summer swirls around you again, sweetening the stuffy heat of the shed. Mal’s voice surfs through the breeze – she’s still arguing over the Busch Gardens story.

You make to step out, and Frankie’s arm halts you.

He opens his palm. “Even,” he tells you. “We’re even.”

He seems sure of himself. Sure of you. He looks you in the eye and doesn’t blink.

You smirk. Your hand slips into his, letting him shake your fist once. You stare straight back at him.

“We’re just getting fucking started, Francisco.”

[semperamans]

clo i need to know your thoughts on cal, johnny and benny all falling for the same, sweet local girl! <3 love ya xoxo

suse how could you do this to me :( currently trying not to scream cry and throw up in the coffee shop :( this somehow turned into jealous!danny? dunno how! kinda long, so ya gotta read more xo

benny says your name like it's this sacred thing and danny knows he's in for a treat. the sun grows weary as she dips beneath the tree line, but danny is unyielding; bony forearms braced on the tops of his thighs, microphone edging just a bit closer to his pondering interviewee. benny blows a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth, watching as it mingles with the cotton candy clouds and it's hard, danny thinks, to be around benny because everything he does is so damn picturesque. he's filled more than three rolls of film with just benny and yeah, he's gotta be mindful because film isn't cheap and he's broke but there's something about the way benny looks; leather cut laying just so over his shirtless form, white levis baggy from age, speckled with either dirt or blood, he doesn't know, and he's just so cool that it's impossible to resist. danny snaps a quick picture, scolds himself as the ticker tells him he's got four shots left, then turns his chin to watch as benny plucks the near-extinguished cigarette from between his teeth, flicking it into the grass. "what'dya wanna know about her?" "well," danny shifts in the creaky lawnchair, "y'know, i've talked to the guys and they, uh, they say she's the best thing that's happened to the club. girls are sayin' it too, n'not just cus she made you nasty bastards start washing your hands." benny is chuckling, pillowy lips damp from the swipe of his tongue. "so what is it about her?" danny asks then waits and waits and waits as benny sits, per usual, in silence. and, okay, maybe this isn't going as well as danny hoped and now he's scrambling, throwing haphazard sentences around his brain, but then benny is speaking and holy shit he's speaking. danny has never heard him say more than fifteen words but now he's a leaky faucet "she's good - everythin' about her - doesn't have a mean bone in her body, y'know? gave all've us a chance, gave me a chance." benny shakes his head as though he still can't believe it then stops, turning his head at the faint sound of the screendoor closing and there you are in a pair of cutoff overalls, hair pulled back with a crocheted bandana and danny can see it, the whole angelic thing. you pay neither of them any mind, tending instead to the flowers 'round the porch. your little yellow watering can is cute and danny can see the fondness constricting the base of benny's throat. "think m'biased." benny says, turning back to face danny. "but 've said it once and i'll say it till they throw me in the ground: she's heaven sent. an' i hope imma good enough man to see her again when i get where i'm goin'." danny leaves with a rekindled belief in love and hopes that maybe one day he’ll be lucky enough to be loved the way benny is.

it's been three weeks since benny's interview and danny can't help but notice things. he carries this leather notebook around - jotting down names and places and tape numbers - but the page he keeps coming back to is one he scribbled across a few days ago. the thing about benny's girl is that she isn't just benny's girl. he's circled it three times for good measure because benny's girl doesn't just belong to benny - sure, maybe in the ways it matters - but every single soul adores her; lights up when she walks in and it sure is a sight to see fifty or so bikers grinning and stumbling over their own feet for this girl who looks like she couldn't harm a fuckin' fly. if she had a male equivalent danny reckons it would be cal. cal with a personality as warm as fire, who talks to everyone, and cracks jokes, and is unabashedly himself. but cal has a temper and it shows during a run to akron. danny is interviewing zipco when he hears the commotion then suddenly everyone is stampeding toward two swinging figures and he knows this is where he steps back. it's a full-on brawl now and zipco sure as shit wasn't going to stay and yap while there was chaos amuck, so danny plops down, lights a cigarette and waits. "s'guy called her a bitch," cal says and danny almost jumps out of his fuckin' skin. where did the sun go? he scrambles to a sitting position, wiping drool from the corner of his mouth and smacking the record button on his cassette recorder. "what?" "some fuckin' prick called her a bitch." cal's got a handful of ice cubes pressed to his busted jaw and because the man knows no personal space a bloody mix has dripped onto danny's pant leg. "her?" danny's not following but the beat up boy tips his head and danny should've known. it's you. of course it's you. "not gonna let nobody talk to her like that. i don't take too kindly for no one talkin' ill to a lady, but 'specially her. s'the most fucked up shit you can do." that's when danny realizes that cal has it too. it's the same look benny had when you came out of the house - that dumb, lovesick gaze - but cal's is laced with longing and danny actually feels bad for him. "she sure is something." he says, testing the waters. he's out of cigarettes so his nimble fingers pluck a handful of grass from beside his boot. "sure is." cal takes a seat, reaching behind danny to grab the jug of strong-smelling alcohol. "never met anyone like 'er. been everywhere; hell to fuckin' Houston, never met a girl like her before." he takes a deep swig, grimaces, then swallows. "benny sure is lucky, ain't he?" danny says, peering under his lashes at the golden-haired boy and he laughs. "we're all lucky. she's the sweetest of the sunflowers, man. she's like the fuckin' sun. least she is to me - to us." poor bastard, danny thinks. poor infatuated bastard.

"where ya gonna be sittin', baby?" "with johnny." "good girl, c'mere gimmie a kiss." danny's at the bar nursing a beer and a hangover and probably a concussion and you know what? this kinda talk doesn't phase him anymore. he's used to it by now; sure he doesn't know the rules, but it's none of his business anyway and in his four months with the club he's learned, above all else, that bikers are fuckin' weird. still danny finds you, watches as benny grabs your chin bringing you up up up onto your tiptoes before planting delicate kisses onto your giggling mouth. "you go see 'em." it's a whisper and danny's not trying to eavesdrop but he finds himself leaning closer. "looks like he needs some cheerin' up." and maybe danny is still invested because he turns, following you as you float over to johnny's table where he's hunched over an intimidating stack of papers. you say something, but your sweet voice is too quiet over the racket and danny cares so he stands, goes over to the pinball machine, but doesn't turn it on. "hi, pretty." johnny reaches over, takes your hand, tugs you closer and you giggle, bracing your hands on his broad shoulders and this is different. none of the other guys put their hands on you - just benny, just benny because he's yours and you're his but johnny does it so naturally danny knows he's done it before. "what's goin' on, old man?" your voice drips nothing but affection and johnny smiles around his cigarette and launches into club dues and the upcoming springfield run and the dwindling bail fund and danny starts losing interest; his feet are going numb and there's only so much longer he can stand there pretending to fucking play pinball before someone catches on but then you're on johnny's lap and yeah this never happens. danny has seen benny beat the dog shit out of a guy for even suggesting that you sit next to him but now here you are, balanced on one of johnny's broad thighs, spinning his wedding band around and around his finger and benny sees, fucking smiles at the sight, and drops his head, lining up his next shot at the pool table. danny realizes you're talking and running your hand up and down johnny's arm as you validate his feelings and strategize fundraising plans and promise to bake some of your infamous strawberry shortcake bites. johnny's promised hand lays so delicately upon your cheek danny thinks he may kiss you but thank fuck he doesn't because danny'd surely blow his cover and a load in his pants because, okay, yeah, he gets it. knows now why everyone loves you, has started to catch feelings of his own but he's not johnny or benny and he'll never be able to touch you the way he wants so he guesses he'll join the ranks with cal as just another distant admirer. just another love struck bastard.

[spikedhe4rt]

you just did a soda with a mommy kink… now i want dally 🙏 doesn’t even have to be mommy i’m just CRAVING submissive dally! maybe reader and him could be out and dal’s all tough until they get home 🤭🤭

Word Count: 1364

A/N: Hey pookies. Im back!!! Hope yall enjoy this chapter. it came out longer than I usually write so I hope you enjoy <3 Requests always open and I love you guys!

✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

The party music only seemed to get louder as I sipped my drink. I had no intention of getting drunk. It was a party at bucks right below Dallas's room and it was keeping me up. Dally was already down here, drinking his ass off and probably gambling. There was only a matter of time before I had to reel him in. One thing about him is that he got ballsy when he was tipsy

I checked the time and it was 2:00 am already. Cigarette and alcohol lingered in the air, probably getting everyone if not already, slightly high. My eyes scanned the room before situating them on Dally, at a pool table. I started at his hard expression that was clearly pissed off. Its time. I rose to my feet and shuffled through the packed party to get to him. "Dal, its time to go up." I spoke, touching his arm slightly.

Dallas's arm shook off my hand before looking at me with a challenging look. "I'll come up when I come up" My eyebrows knitted closely together as my face twisted with annoyance. "Dallas-" I spoke his name again with more confidence. "Can you just let me enjoy my time down here-fuckin suffocating me all the time." I looked at him with a sarcastic smile before leaning into his neck.

I pressed my lips to his pale skin, sucking ever so slightly before biting down harshly to make a bruise. I pull away and search his face for a expression. His eyes find mine in pure desperation, mercy, and begging. My lips tugged in both corners as my hand found its way to his neck, my thumb rubbing the bruise forming. "You like when I mark you up? Don't you?"

His adams apple bobbed as he gulped, supplying me with my answer. "You're definitely not leaving the bed tonight so get ready." My hand resting on his neck, slowly raked down his chest before I turned on my heel to make my way upstairs. Liquid courage always bites him in the ass.

His footsteps pattered behind me quickly, as I continued to walk. Once we got into our room I pulled Dallas into me, his toned stomach flush against mine. Our lips connect and I start to tease the waistband of his underwear. He sighed, thinking that he would get rewarded for his behavior. Stupid "Get on your knees, pretty boy"

Dallas complied and looked up at me. "You're so pathetic, baby. Acting like you're such a man but turning into a whore when you come here with me. " I tutted. Dallas let out a muffled grunt as he shifted on the floor. "Please help me. I need you" his voice was low and desperate. It sounded like he was almost on the verge of tears honestly.

I smiled at him before grabbing his chin and making him look at me in the eyes. "Prove it." Dallas nodded. His lips captured the skin of my shin, they slowly moved till they reach my upper thigh. "Can I take them off, sweetheart. Please?" Begging.

"Do you think you deserve that?" I feigned confusion. He lifted his head with furrowed brows.

"Please, don't make me beg. Im sorry, I need it."

Satisfaction painted my expression. He relaxed a bit, knowing what the look meant. I was gonna give him something...anything. It was like throwing a dog a bone. "Go ahead"

The metal of the button of my buttons clinked as urged to get them open. He tugged them down roughly, damn near giving me fucking friction burns. Dallas's mouth immediately founds it way to me, tonguing me over my underwear. "Fuck. Thats good, baby" I moaned.

The tip of his tongue hit my clit perfectly through the cloth, making me groan. I threw back my head against the door. A hand snaked between me and the door, bringing down on his mouth further. Praise spill from my mouth as I felt hypnotized by his wet muscle. His other hand came to my aching clit, starting to rub fast circle.

He ate me out like his life depended on it, only coming up to take quick breaths. My moans only encouraged him to go faster.

"Shit, Dally, yes, such a good boy."

I pulled him back by his hair to look at him. He looked completely pussy-drunk, eyes dazed and my arousal shining off the lower half of his face. "You're such a pretty boy, Dally. Its a shame you're not a good boy most of the time." I feigned a fake sympathy face before pushing his face back between my thighs.

I looked down at him and his eyes met mine. His tongue wrapped around my clit and sucked as his fingers came to my entrance, teasing me. "Don't tease." His middle finger entered me almost immediately, making me groan loudly. My moans spewed him on, another finger pushing into me.

"You love eating my pussy, don't you? Say it for me."

He pulled back himself this time, "I love eating your pussy. I want you to cum. I need it, sweetheart"

I felt my peak get closer hearing his pleas. My hand founds its way to his hair pushing him closer to me. My hips bucked into his face, grinding harder and harder. My orgasm crash over me soon after, making me cry out.

I released his hair after pulling him away. "Get up. Dallas got up quickly. My lips found his immediately, my tongue slipping into his mouth to deepen it quickly. We both pulled away breathless. "Take off your clothes for me" I whispered against his lips.

Dally stepped back and hurriedly pulled off his shirt, pants and lastly underwear. I pushed him on the bed and straddled him, connecting our lips once again. "What do you want? Be a good boy and use your words. He groaned softly at my  choice of words

"I need to be inside of you, Please."

I told him to flip us over till I was on my back. "Always feels so good. Can I move, please?" He whispered into my ear as he pushed in. "Mhm." His hands grasped my hips as he pulled them flush against him. He let out a content sigh. "Fuck."

Dallas rocks into me, making me feel every part of his cock. "Go faster for me, baby" I told him. He whimpered and complied. "Shit, you feel so good." I pull him down to press my lips to his neck, giving him new marks. "You like that? I didn't forget about earlier, you're not coming yet.

His blissful expression dropped quickly as my words sunk in.

I could tell that he was close by the way his cock throb inside of me. The room was filled of sounds of slapping skin and moans. It almost feels addictive the way Im just taking him in. I felt him thrust particularly harder, making moan out. "You're so handsome when you're desperate, Dally"

He groaned. "Please say my name like that again. Can I cum?"  I shook my head and gave him a sarcastic pout. "Aw poor baby. All pent up. Well you should've thought about that before" His mouth came down to my chest, starting to kiss down the valley of my breasts. My orgasm approached as my moans got raspier and breathless.

I brought my hand down to me clit, rubbing fast circle on the aching bundle of nerves. "Gonna cum. You're doing so good" It only took a couple more thrust before I came, make me grip his biceps. "I need to-" he tried to get out before I interrupted. "Beg"

His thrusts don't halt as he repeats the word "please" to me in a effort. "Not good enough, baby. Cmon I know you can do it." I brought him back down to kiss down his jaw once again. "I love you. Im sorry, I won't do it again. I s-swear. oh fuck. I wont-"

"Cum for me." I whispered.

He buried himself into me at a hilt before shooting thick ribbons of cum into me. " Thank you! Thank you!"

Such good manners.

[msgexymunson]

Forbidden Fruit Part 3

Description: as you and Eddie's relationship gets more complicated, can you keep it under wraps? 

A/N: You guys, seriously. I want to kiss you all with tongues. I'm basking in your love for this Eddie. This has turned into a full blown saga. You blow my mind, I'm so happy you guys like it. I'm waffling here I'm sure, this was going to be a 4 part series but I have too much to say so it's turning into 5 parts!! If you like it, please comment and reblog, it makes my entire year!!

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI or I'll spank you and not in a nice way, age gap (Eddies 43, reader 21), p in v unprotected sex, male and female oral receiving, edging, I think that's it? 

5k words

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

The room is dimly lit and soaked in the stench of sex, the air so humid you could slice it up and serve it to the hungry, or at least the horny. Entwined in Eddie's lap on his armchair, your sweaty skin is sticking together and ungluing at each roll of your hips. He's gripping you harshly by the thighs, thumbs pushing bruises into the soft flesh. You barely noticed. 

He's already released inside you, it's dripping down your cunt and onto his lap, being smeared against his thighs and tight stomach. Your moans are reaching a crescendo as your fourth, or fifth, orgasm of the evening is building from deep within your core. 

Nails dragging along his shoulders, you beg for your release. 

"Oh Eddie, I'm so close, so fuckin' close, please, talk to me." 

Eddie's gone, mouth hanging open, forehead scrunched tight as he tries to focus on what you've said. 

"Wha-what d-do you wanna hear?" He battles out, on the verge of drooling. 

"Eddie, just, fuck, tell me things, I like it when you talk to me." 

Eddie stutters out, "h-hey hot stuff." 

Letting out a belly laugh you stop your movements, shaking with your amusement. 

"Hey hot stuff?!" You giggle, running a sticky hand through Eddie's salt and pepper hair, "are you from a 50s cartoon?" 

"I panicked! You put me on the spot. Fuck, stop laughing your clenching my dick, fuck!" 

That only served to make your laughs louder, giggling uncontrollably. It's too much for him, stuttering out a premature release deep inside you. 

You're too tickled to care, laugh continuing, making his seed spill out as your squeeze. He laughs too then, pulling you to him in a bone crunching embrace. He breathes in your scent, nose pushing into the crook of your neck. 

"I wish you could stay." 

The laughter subsides at his confession. You pull away to cradle his cheek, eyes brimming with tears at your outburst, and with something else you weren't prepared to admit just yet. 

"So do I, but I've gotta go home." 

He looks up into your eyes, hand coming up to cup your cheek, mirroring your movements. 

"Just once, I want to wake up with you in my bed, where you belong." Stomach fluttering at his words, you can only sigh in response. You'd both spent the last three months trying to avoid those sorts of words. Three months of sneaking around, of carnal bliss.   

Back to reality. 

You peel yourself off of him before you both say something you regret. 

"Right, I better clean up." He waves his arm at you, gesturing for you to go ahead, though he doesn't look at you. 

After a quick shower, you find your clothes all around the house, where you'd flung them a few hours ago. 

Returning to the living room, you see Eddie in his underwear, head in his hands. 

"You OK baby?" 

He lifts up, flashing you a winning grin, eyes crinkling. It looks forced, but you don't push it. 

"I'm great sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" 

"Sure." You smile back, making your way towards him to give him a quick kiss to his full lips. Walking back to the door frame, about to make your exit through the back door, you turn at the last minute. 

"See you later, hot stuff." 

Eddie laughs and throws a cushion at you, missing by a hair. "Bye sweetheart." 

Sneaking out into the night air, you wipe back an errant tear. 

Fuck, this was getting complicated. What the hell am I doing? Catching feelings for this man. 

You breathe, steady yourself, and walk silently over to your house. 

********************

Excitement bubbling in your chest, you had an idea you knew Eddie was going to love. You spin your car keys in your hand,  practically skipping to his back door.

And fling it open. 

And see your Dad, sitting on a chair opposite Eddie, drinking a beer. 

'Dad!" You squeak, surprise lacing your voice entirely uninvited. 

"Hey honey, what are you doing here?" He's smiling, but confused. 

Think, you need to think, before he does! 

"I was-" you spy your keys in your hand, an idea striking you suddenly, "I was giving my keys to Ed- to Mr Munson. He was going to give my car a once over, weren't you?" Your eyes flash over to Eddie, to plead with him. He owned the auto shop after all. It almost appalled you how quickly the lie had come.

"Of course sweetheart, get it fixed up real nice for you." 

He holds his hand up and you toss your keys over to him. He grips them with no issue and shoves them in a pocket without a further glance towards you. 

"Well that's mighty sweet of you Eddie." Your father beams at his friend, his best friend. 

"No worries, you know I'm here to help." His best smile, his forced one, is flashed at your Dad, not you. 

"Thanks Mr Munson!" You chime out and leave swiftly, running back to your house and your room, with a sigh of relief. 

Fuck that was close. 

You were sick of this. Sick of the tiptoeing around, of the games, the lies. It was becoming more and more tempting to just admit everything, consequences be damned. You're a grown woman after all. 

You need to speak with Eddie. 

********************

The following evening you're sitting cross legged on your bed, studying. 

Familiar boots are clomping up the stairs. Looking up, you hear the softest knock at your door. 

"Come in Eddie." 

The door swings open. He enters, and shuts it, tossing your keys on the bed. 

"I'm sick of this sweetheart." 

Looking up at him, he looks defeated. You're dreading the next words you're sure are about to spill from his lips. The lips you had kissed a thousand times, that you want to kiss a thousand times more. But they aren't what you expect. 

"Do you want to go away with me this weekend? I've booked a hotel, a nice one. Friday night and Saturday night." 

Relief flooding your chest, you grin up at him. 

"That sounds real nice Eddie." 

"Good. I'll see you soon sweetheart." 

He plants a kiss to your lips, a soft one, full of hope and promise. It's a start.

*********************

As you got into your car, you noticed it had been cleaned. Thoroughly. Shaking your head, you start it up, and start to drive to where Eddie had asked to meet you. He'd been awfully mysterious about the whole thing, only serving to peak your curiosity further. 

It even drives nicer too. 

You're not sure what he'd done, but it didn't surprise you. Mr Fix It. Humming satisfaction, you pull into a parking lot of what looked like a very swish hotel, all gold fixtures and huge glass windows. 

Surely he's not booked this place?

You'd almost expected a motel, or at least a chain place. This looked fancy. 

When you're exiting your car, grabbing your overnight bag, you spot Eddie's pick up, and a familiar figure leaning against it. 

Fuck, he's so handsome. 

Every time you see him, it feels like the first time. His hair is a halo around him, glowing in the waning light of the sun. You look at those toned arms, one around his middle, the other holding a cigarette to his lips, and wet your lips. 

Almost stumbling towards him, you watch as his face splits into a childlike grin, broad and genuine. As you approach, you spot the deep lines around his eyes, the bags beneath them. It looks like he's not getting enough sleep. 

As soon as you're in range he wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you into his body close. Stiffening for just a moment, you melt at his words. 

"It's OK baby, no one knows us here. I missed you." 

"Missed you too. What did you do to my car?" 

"Had it cleaned. Changed the oil. Replaced the brake pads." 

"Eddie what do I owe-" 

"Shut up. You don't owe me a thing." 

You break away to touch a kiss on the tip of his nose. 

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome." He grabs your bag before you can protest, shouldering it, and holding his bag in the same hand so he can hold your hand in the other. 

"Follow my lead, OK?" 

You nod, perplexed but trusting, as you reach the grand doorway. Eddie releases your hand briefly to open the door for you, and he ushers you inside. 

"Hey, Mr Munson here, checking in?" He nods at the hotel check in staff, arm wrapping around your shoulders. 

The check in guy, a skinny guy with tousled blond hair grins at you both. 

"Ah, Mr and Mrs Munson! Welcome! I spoke with you on the phone." 

Mrs Munson??

Eddie grins and holds you closer. 

"Oh yeah, Carl right? We're here to check in." 

"Oh course, honeymoon suite eh? Well, here is your key, there's a little surprise waiting for you. It's all paid up, just use the elevator to your left. Thank you for staying with us." 

He winks at you both as Eddie takes the key and turns you towards the elevator. 

"Mrs-" you begin, but Eddie grips your shoulder, which is enough to silence you. 

"Thanks Carl, appreciate it." He throws over his shoulder, steering you. 

The elevator ride is silent as Eddie grins at you in the mirror. It even smells fancy, air laced with sweetness and flowers. 

Reaching the room, he holds the door open for you. Your breath stops in your throat at the sight, letting out a gasp.

As you walk in, you take in the sheer size of it. This wasn't a room, it was a whole damn apartment. 

Fresh flowers sit in a glass vase as you enter, coating the place with the soft fragrance of rose and lily. Once you're in the room proper, you notice the sheer size of the bed, a monstrosity you're sure they must have craned in here, covered in crisp linen sheets and soft rose petals. The carpet feels plush, making you conscious of how dirty your sneakers were. The whole place looked so expensive, you were afraid to touch it. 

On a solid wood sideboard by the wall was an ice bucket, a bottle of champagne inside it. Two fluted glasses sat either side. You pick up the card leaning against it, and read it aloud. 

"Congratulations Mr and Mrs Munson, enjoy the champagne, with compliments from the management team. Care to explain, Eddie?" 

He looks sheepish, scratching his neck, bags abandoned at his feet. 

"I told them we eloped, and had to book a last minute honeymoon, and they were kind enough to give me this suite at the normal room rate." 

"Sneaky fucker." You grin, wrapping your arms around his neck, "Thank you, it's gorgeous." 

"You're welcome. Hope you don't mind playing the wife when we're downstairs?" 

Stomach erupting in butterflies, you reply, "not at all, sounds like fun." 

Pressing a sweet kiss to his lips, curiosity gets the best of you. 

"If I was your wife, and this was our honeymoon, what would you do?" 

A playful smirk pulls at his lips. "Well, first of all, I would have carried you in here, but I suppose I can start now." He bends suddenly and lifts you up, earning a surprised shriek from you. 

"I would put you on the bed, like this," he says in his running commentary, placing you down amongst the rose petals with exaggerated care, "and I would kiss you, like this." 

He softly strokes your face as he leans over you, and his lips brush your cheek, so lightly it was as if you'd imagined it. Then a further feather light touch to your jaw, and another at the corner of your mouth. The care he's taking has your heart flip flopping in your chest. 

When he envelops you in a sensual kiss, it astonishes you. He's usually so rough and primal, but this is different. You lose yourself in his kiss, in the fantasy. For a moment, you really are his newly wed wife laying in your marital bed. 

Opening your mouths to each other, his tongue massages yours ever so slowly, as if he has all the time in the world. Passion is rolling off of that tongue, every word that had been unspoken before this moment flows into you, forcing an errant tear to roll from your eye and down your temple. 

He breaks the kiss and stares into your eyes as they flutter open. If he notices your tear, he doesn't mention it. His hand brushes a couple of straggling hairs away from your face, his soft brown eyes boring into your own. 

"Then," he whispers, voice bordering on cracking, you notice, "I would worship your body, exactly the way you deserve sweetheart." 

"Eddie," you whisper back. "Show me." 

His lips find yours again, just as sweetly, but with an undercurrent of desire burning within it. 

A large hand drifts to your shirt, popping open the first button, then the second, then the third. Black lace and satin is displayed as the shirt falls open, the new bra you bought especially for him. Humming his approval, he traces the edge with his finger. 

"You get this just for me baby?" He smirks, fingers running back and forth, sending pinpricks of heat across your chest. 

"Y-yes" you stammer out, squirming under his gaze. 

"Already stuttering? I've not even touched you yet." 

Usually you'd bite back at a smug comment like that, instigating the push and pull game you two often played. Not today though. You merely whine as his hand palms your breast over the soft fabric. 

Moving down your frame, he leaves gentle kisses to your collarbone, your sternum, the top of each breast. 

"Fuck you are so beautiful." Hand tracing the swell of each breast, he moves it lower, traversing your stomach, making muscles flex under his movements. Unbuttoning your jeans with practised actions, he sees the front of your panties peeking out of their denim confines. 

"Matching? That's sweet of you." 

Just him pressing a kiss to your clothed mound and running his tongue under the hem of your underwear has you wriggling. He laughs softly and gets up to your dismay. 

He doesn't go far. Just to the foot of the bed, taking your feet in his hands one by one and removing your shoes and socks. A kiss is even placed delicately on the top of each foot. 

"Eddie, my feet are all gross." You half laugh and half cringe. 

Looking shocked up at you, he responds, "Sweetheart, they're not gross, they're your feet. I'd suck your toes if you asked me to." 

"Eddie!" You shriek, hiding in your hands. 

"What? Some people like that kinda thing." 

He removes his own boots, socks and shirt, leaving him standing over you in just his jeans. Every time you see his naked torso it has you panting, wanting. The curves of his muscles that react so well under your fingertips. The tattoos that you have kissed a thousand times. The happy trail that you want to run your tongue over, and down, down, down. 

He straddles your lap then, pulling you up to take off your shirt, holding you close to unclip your bra and gently drag it down your arms, whispering over your skin. 

Stopping for a moment, he looks you in the eyes, hand cupping your chin. 

"Eddie, I-" but you never finish your sentence, as his other hand has reached your breast, tweaking your bare nipple suddenly. You breathe out a gasp as he hums in satisfaction. 

Pecking a tiny kiss to the end of your nose he says softly, "lie back princess." 

Complying, you snuggle into the downy pillows.  

He's on you then, mouthing at your breasts, tongue running around your nipples, nipping, sucking. 

"Oh God, Eddie!" Reaching to his toned chest he bats your hands away. 

"Nuh uh sweetheart, no touching. Just enjoy it." 

Huffing, you put your hands to your sides, balling them into tiny fists. 

Starting to move lower, he kisses your stomach, and leaves little love bites on your hip bones. 

"These are really pretty." Hooking rough fingers into your panties, he starts to pull them down, then looks up at you in surprise. 

"You shaved?" 

"Yeah, I-I thought- I thought you might like it." 

"You went all out for me didn't you princess?" He's flashing you a lazy grin, teeth showing as his tongue licks his lower lip, sucking it between his teeth as if he can't believe his luck. 

Then your panties are on the floor and his head is buried between your thighs, tongue lapping, lips kissing, fingers dancing over your skin. Stubble is burning the tops of your thighs but you can't find it in you to care, legs tightening around his head as if you relish the burn.

The coil in your stomach is tightening, about to burst out. Legs quivering around Eddie's head of their own accord. 

"You about to come baby?" 

You whine, knowing he won't take that, he never does. 

"Y-yes Eddie, fuck-" He pulls away at the last minute. 

"Eddie what the hell?" You lean up on your elbows, sending him an admonishing glare. 

He laughs, a self satisfied smirk plastered over his face that makes your belly warm. 

"I'm worshipping you sweetheart. You trust me?" 

"Yes." You say, without hesitation, quicker than you would answer anyone with that question. So quickly it shocks you a little. 

"Then just enjoy it. I'm gonna build you up sweetheart, ok? Just trust me. Tell me when you're close." 

You nod your agreement as he bends in between your spread legs again, kissing you all over. 

His tongue is breaching your hole, licking your wetness as his fingers glide over your swollen clit sending sparks of sensation through you. 

Your orgasm creeps up impressively fast, rippling through your nerves. It takes a lot to tell him, but you have to. 

"Eddie, I'm close- so close, fuck!" You slam your fists into the bed as he pulls away and laughs. 

"Oh, poor baby, it's OK, this is gonna feel real good." His mocking tone is everything. It shouldn't turn you on this much but it does. 

"Eddie, please, oh please, I need to come, please make me come!" You reach for the back of his head but he swats your hands away again. 

"What did I tell you? Behave. Next time I'll have to tie you up." 

A guttural moan escapes your throat at the thought of being tied up, at his mercy.

"Oh, you like that idea? Dirty girl."

He looks at you with pride, thick fingers stroking through your wet heat and finding their mark. He slides two fingers in with ease, your dripping arousal slicking his fingers as he curls them up inside and presses his other hand to your lower stomach, forcing you into the bed. Full lips wrap around your clit suckling softly as the pressure mounts inside, harder than you've ever felt. 

"Fuck, its too much, I can't-"

He breaks his lips away from you for a second, hot breath on your cunt as his fingers push into that spot that has you reeling. 

"You can. You can take it. Let go. Come for me." 

The feeling of his fingers is all consuming. An embarrassing full sensation is boiling in your gut beginning to lash out. You moan, fingers clenching onto the bedclothes, white knuckled. Your vision is darkening at the edges as spots dance and swirl over your eyes. 

The wetness hits first before the feeling reaches its true crescendo, shooting out of your cunt in a gush of slick, enough to force Eddie's fingers from you. The flat of his tongue still presses harshly on your clit as you ride his mouth shamelessly. 

Then it washes over you. Wave after wave of intense pleasure, a hurricane force of ecstasy. Your back arches off the bed as you scream and babble his name over and over in a prayer to his prowess. 

Finally collapsing into a sweat soaked, slick covered heap, your entire body relaxes, tension everywhere dissipated. There's nothing, not a thought in your head, except for a slight tingle saying you should really look up and, well, thank him. Not that you can move right now. Your neck feels about as substantial as a soap bubble. 

Then, Eddie's hovering over you, wiping tears from your face that you hadn't been aware of until now. Refocusing your vision, you finally take him in. 

"What the hell- that was- holy-" words are hard. Breathing is harder.

Eddie chuckles, leaving a light dusting of kisses to your cheek and jaw, like freshly fallen snow. 

"You," he says between pecks, "squirted. Hard. Jesus sweetheart, you're perfect." 

You'd expect a smug grin, that self satisfied smirk you've seen a hundred times, but he looks almost in awe of you. 

"Thank you." It comes out as a croak. 

He falls to the side of you, scooping you up in his arms and holds you close to his chest. 

"Anytime sweetheart." 

********************

An executive decision was made between the two of you; whilst you both appreciated that there was a first class swanky restaurant downstairs, that would mean actually leaving the bed. Neither of you were prepared to do this however, so it would have to wait until tomorrow night. 

Right now, room service, soft hotel dressing gowns and pay per view were much more inviting. So, appetites sated, you cosied up to each other, flicking through the options on the TV. 

"What you in the mood for, horror, or-" 

"Or sci fi, I love both really." 

"Really?" He hugs you closer. "I knew there was a reason I liked you." 

"Oh, the mind blowing sex is nothing to do with it, huh?" You smirk, poking him in the ribs. 

"You wound me sweetheart. Hey, what about Alien? Sci fi and horror."

"I've never actually seen it." You admit. 

"Really? It's a classic!" 

"Sorry but it came out before I was born, you know!" 

"Fuck." He puts the remote to the side and turns to face you. 

"Listen, sweetheart. Have you thought about, well, us?" 

"What do you mean?" You ask, tilting your head to face him.

"I mean, if we did come clean. Aren't you worried at all what people might think of you? About your reputation?" 

Laughing out loud, you swat his chest with your hand, letting it linger there. 

"I don't give a damn about my reputation!" 

"Alright Joan Jett!" He chuckles, holding your hand and bringing it to his lips. He holds it there as he continues. 

"I just don't know if you've thought about us, you know, walking down the street. People looking, asking each other if that old man's her partner or her father." 

You look at him then, really look at him. He's frowning, deep lines etched into his brow, eye wrinkles deepened by worry. Reaching to his face, you stroke his salt and pepper stubble, rough against your smooth hand. His hair has the same streaks, though not as prominent. There's no denying he's much older than you, but nothing could stop you being anything other than entirely enamoured with him. He is ruggedly handsome; those deep brown eyes of his bore into your soul, each look making your heart jump and your thighs clench. 

"Eddie, I don't care. I lo… I really care about you. So much. I don't give a fuck what people might think. I just- I want you to be mine. Not a doubt in my mind." 

The look he's giving you softens and he brings you in for the softest kiss to your lips. He's pulling away, but you're deepening the kiss, climbing into his lap, hands holding his face. 

Then, you move lower, planting kisses to his jaw, his chin, and his neck. Sucking a bruise into the side of his throat, your teeth graze him as he hisses at the contact. 

"Sweetheart, what are you doing?" He asks, amused. 

"Shh baby, I'm worshipping." You smile into his neck, pulling his dressing gown to the side and sinking your teeth into the join of his neck and shoulder. 

"Fuck, princess, I'm sure I was more delicate." He huffs a laugh, but his breathing is laboured and his face is flushing. 

"Yeah, but I'm catering my worship. I know you like it like this." 

Sitting up, you pull his gown open, raking fingernails over his chest. 

"Holy hell- sweetheart, you ain't wrong." 

The gown you're wearing is slung to the floor, leaving you nude, straddling his hardening cock. Eddie's hands reach out as if on instinct and it gives you great pleasure to swat them away. 

"Nuh uh. No touching." 

"Rude." 

"Fair." You counter, positioning yourself in between his legs. Fingers trace his tattoos, his abs. Your tongue runs along in their wake, stopping to nip and suck. One spot has him flexing his muscles, a rushing groan runs from his throat. You can't help but notice his dick twitching under you. 

Moving further, you draw his skin into your mouth once more, leaving hickies on his hip bones, mirroring the marks he left on you. 

Hovering over his throbbing member, you breathe over it, hot breath fanning over the tip. 

"Fuck, sweetheart!" 

He almost looks angry as you look up to him, veins protruding in his neck. 

"You OK baby?" You frown, hand reaching down to cup at his balls and squeezing gently. 

"Oh my God, yes, just, please." 

Smiling, you continue to fondle him, and take the tip into your mouth, sucking softly, tasting salt and flesh and Eddie. Grunting his approval, you feel fingers graze the back of your head, until he remembers and tears them away reluctantly. 

Humming amusement at his predicament, you take more and more of him into your mouth, swallowing around his length. Hips buck up a little into you, making you shove him down with your free hand. 

Rolling the tip around and around in your mouth, you lick at the slit. Every movement has Eddie making little noises in his mouth, tiny shakes beginning to take over his thighs. 

You take him deep again, up and down, spreading your spit around the base as makeshift lube as you hollow your cheeks. 

"Sweetheart, that's so good, look at me." 

Eyes flash up to meet his, staring up through lashes dewed with tears. 

"Fuck, my dirty fucking girl. Can you take a little more?" 

Maintaining eye contact, you take him all the way to the base, squeezing a thumb in the palm of your hand to distract you. Even so, you can't help but gag a little around his intimidating length. 

"Fuck, sweetheart- that's- oh God" He's stammering, breathing heavy as more pre cum hits the back of your throat. 

Continuing to work at his length, tightening your grip on his balls, it's not long until you hear him again. 

"I'm gonna cum-" 

And you pull away. 

"Fuck!" His head thumps against the pillow, fists tight and hard on the bed. 

"I guess I fuckin' deserve that, huh?" 

You giggle devious, kitten licking at his shaft. 

"Poor baby. It's gonna feel real good, promise." Winking at him, he shakes his head, hand coming up to hold his forehead. 

Mouth on his tip again, sucking, licking. He's moaning louder, stomach shining with a thin layer of sweat. The deeper it goes, the more he groans, until you feel him twitching in your throat again, his noises becoming urgent, more high pitched. 

As you release your grip on him again, he grunts in exasperation. 

"Don't try sneaking it out Eddie, I can tell you know." 

"I know, just, please, I can't. I- just, please!" 

He's never looked so desperate, torso flushed in exertion, hands grasping at the bed sheets urgently, chest heaving with ragged breaths. 

You take one of his balls in your mouth, hand working his shaft, a teasing thumb rubbing over the wetness of his head. He's whimpering now, a sound you've never heard from him, but fuck, it's so pretty. 

An idea strikes you suddenly. Holding onto his shaft, you stare straight up at him, and spit onto his swollen head, hard. The noise that escapes him is nearly inhuman; a guttural, animal noise. A desperate noise. 

You take him once more into your mouth, your lips smearing your spit all over him, and swallow around his length, again and again. That does it. He cries out your name as he releases into you, spurting cum deep in your throat, over and over. The volume is truly tough to take, it just keeps coming. 

Swallowing until you can't help but splutter, you pull away, wiping your mouth of what you couldn't take. 

Sitting back on your heels, you admire your handiwork. 

Fuck I think I broke him. 

He's not moved, arms spread in supplication on the bed, eyes unfocused, chest still heaving. 

The look on his face as he finally registers you when you're leaning over him is priceless. You want to save it in your head, frame it, immortalise it forever. 

"Hey baby, you good?" You ask, giving him soft kisses. 

"Hmmm. You- you're so fuckin' special" He manages, a clumsy hand reaching to stroke your face and nearly missing. 

Laughs bubble up as you stroke his hair out of his face. 

"So, we'll watch Alien, yeah?" 

Eddie stares at you like you've grown two heads. 

"Just- give me a second, sweetheart." More panting breaths. "I think you just sucked out my soul." 

Giggling hysterically, you lay next to him and cradle his head to your chest. The movie can wait a minute. 

Tag list (if you want to stay please reblog my sweethearts!) 

@hereforshmut @g4ys0n @winchester-angel @eddiemunson95 @corrodedcoffincumslut @shazzie33 @severusswife @daluamaia1 @callsignraver @lightvixxen @newlips @eddiethefreakkmunson @hollster88 @ali-r3n @bebe07011 @roanniom @eddiesprincess86 @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @daisyridleyyyy @lolalanaie @dandelionnfluff @latedawnsearlysunsets92 @luv-flor7777 @topaz1983 @pixxie2004 @harmfulb1tch @findmeincorneliastreet @eddies-puppet @fertilitygodkiszka @freshsagegarden

[whxtedreams]

Chapter one - Fuckin' Tourists

Lovesick In Jackson

Summary: Your first day in Jackson, meeting a rather rude local and settling into your new home

Word Count: 4,5k

tags: Ellie being Ellie, Joel being a caring father figure, Joel being an ashole to everyone but Ellie, Ellie does mention not wanting to eat (let me know if i miss any)

an. thank you so much for all the love on the prologue! Im stoked you guys are just as excited for this fic as I am to write it! I hope you like it :)

if you saw me post this without the cut and photos - no you didn’t.

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

The inn is warm and inviting as you step through the heavy front door, the heat from the lit fireplace warming your icy skin as you enter the building. While winter has almost come and gone, and the spring season teases its arrival, the fresh cold air that lingers outside still covers the land with its icy grip. You take in a deep breath as the warmth from inside envelopes you, savoring the warmth as you admire the rustic interior of the small inn.

Fire crackles from the fireplace, a light glow filling the room. The light dances on the display of unique mugs that hang with grace from the wooden beams that line the ceiling above you. Fairly lights are strung up and intertwined with vines around the beams, adding to the soft and warm glow of the room. 

You wander into the middle of the room, your fingertips tracing the small crevices and grooves that line the wooden tables. The table feels smooth under your touch, the wood itself worn down and smooth as well. Setting down your backpack on the stool beside you, you roll your stiff shoulders and hear your bones cracking with relief as they loosen up again. The long train ride across state lines had been tough, with your body screaming to stretch and move after only an hour of being confined in the cramped cabin.

The clock above the fireplace ticks, catching your attention as you read the time. You frown to yourself as you look back around the empty bar. The clock had just ticked over nine-thirty, you would have expected at least one person in the bar at this time of night.

You turn at the sound of a door opening as a soft hummed tune flows through the room. A girl with black hair tied in a bun and a light dust of freckles littering her face walks through a door behind the bar. Her eyes are cast down to a glass shes cleaning with a rag and with a smile on her face as she slowly sways to the music playing in her headphones.

“Excuse me?” You try to gain her attention without startling her, but your effort is futile as she turns away from you and sets the glass down before grabbing another.

You lean against the bar with your arms crossed, your eyes roaming the room as you wait for her to turn back around. Suddenly, there's a startled gasp, as if caught in surprise. She yanks the headphones out of her ears, and her breath is labored with shock. She stares back at you, her eyes meeting yours for the first time.

“Oh fuck, I didn’t hear you come in.” She lets out a huff of a laugh, her mouth twitching into a smile as she realises her mistake.“I’m sorry about that,” she says, apologetically throwing her headphones on the bar in front of you and leaning against it with her hands. “We don’t normally get people in this late on a Tuesday” She shrugs, her face and body language seemingly relaxed despite the initial shock.

“That’s okay, I’m normally not out this late if I’m honest.”

“No? So what’s got you visiting the great Firefly Inn this late at night?” She smirks as she leans over the bar.

“Dina stop flirting with the poor girl.” Another girl teases as she walks out of the back room, rolling her eyes as she jumps to sit on the counter behind Dina.

Dina scoffs.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend anyway?” Ellie leans over and takes an apple from the fruit bowl, raising her eyebrows at her friend.

Dina turns around and snatches the apple from her hand before she’s able to take a bite and takes a bit for herself as Ellie frowns at her.

“No actually, we broke up again.” She shrugs as she takes another bite of the apple.

“Again?” Ellie groans, leaning back until her head hits the wall behind her.

You look between the two teenagers, feeling like you’re imposing on their private conversation. You wait patiently for one of them to acknowledge your presence, but they continue to bicker back and forth like children. They seem almost oblivious to any other presence besides their own, their voices growing louder and their playful arguments becoming more passionate with each turn of phrase.

“Is there any chance I could get a room for the night?” You attempt to break their conversation and their heads snap in your direction, successfully silencing them.

There’s a moment of awkward silence as the three of you stare at each other, no one seeming to know what to say or do. Your request finally registers in Dina’s head, and she smiles slightly in embarrassment, breaking the tension between the three of you.

“Oh fuck. Yeah of course.” She mumbles as she dashes into the room out the back and returns with a thick book you assume is for the bookings.

Dina scribbles down your details while Ellie crunches on the apple she successfully stole back from her friend, her smug smile suggesting that the victory tasted a lot sweeter than the apple itself.

Dina leads you up a set of stairs to the second level of the inn, the candles that line the narrow hallway casting a soft and flickering glow around the vicinity. She unlocks an adjacent room and hands you the key, the space itself offering a warm and cozy atmosphere that feels more like a private home than a room at an inn.

You mumble a thanks as you step into the room, about to close the door behind you. Dina's foot suddenly blocks your attempt, jamming the door from closing completely. She smiles sweetly at you as you glare at her through the crack in the door, the exhaustion from the journey and the teenager starting to wear on your patience.

“Breakfast is at eight, if you want any.” She offers and removes her foot from the door and disappears down the dimly lit hallway.

“Weird.” You sigh as you close the door, making sure to lock it.   

The town square is buzzing with activity as you walk down the main street, the morning's chill and overcast skies making the townsfolk more eager to get to their destinations inside the warmth of the next building.

Children are out and about, laughing and racing on their bikes as they speed by you with little to no regard towards any other pedestrians in their way. They seem to be racing each other to get to school in time, their speed increasing with each turn in the road.

With the dull gray skies overhead, the fairy lights strung across the town square provide a much-needed burst of warmth and cozy charm to the town's atmosphere. The lights glow dimly and softly, reflecting off of the damp pavement and casting a gentle glow against the trees and other surfaces that the lights have been tied to. You find yourself smiling at the sight, drawn in by the comforting atmosphere of the town and the familiar charm of the lights. You could definitely see yourself making a life here, and the thought makes you feel a sense of calm and happiness.

You don’t remember living here as a child, but you would have remembered this.

Your eyes scan across the town square as if searching for something to give you a further boost of energy after the tiredness of the morning, and there it is. A coffee shop sign, the words and colors of the sign beckoning you in like a magnet. You let out a yawn that seemingly came from your bones, your eyelids feeling heavier and your body screaming for a caffeine boost to help pick you up.

The bell above the door rings as you enter the cafe, the soft jingle announcing your presence. It's a small and quaint cafe on the inside with a few tables scattered throughout the middle of the shop. Brown leather couches are pushed up against a rustic brick wall where an older woman is seated with a book in her hands. The atmosphere is warm and welcoming, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling the cafe.

Walking up to the display case, you notice it’s full of pastries and cakes and your mouth waters at the sight.  

You hear the familiar ding of the bell as it rings again, grabbing your attention from the mouth watering food. Ellie, the girl from last night, walks in with an older man following in behind her. He looks just as tired as you feel, his dark brown eyes heavy with sleep as he holds the door open as she passes through, and she gives him a small smile in return before she bee-lines to the counter. There’s a smirk on her face as she leans over the counter, reaching for the bell and obnoxiously hitting the bell. 

“I thought I hid that.” The tired sigh of the barista behind the counter is a testament to the constant and obnoxious dinging of the bell. His back is turned as he finishes making a drink, seemingly used to the incessant noise that constantly plagues his ears.

“Not well enough Jesse boy.” She draws out his name, as if to mock him and his inability to hide the bell. There are a few annoyed glances from other customers who are growing resentful of her loud and disruptive behavior, but she remains unfazed as she continues to hit the obnoxious bell as if it were a toy.

The older man that walked in with her shakes his head in disappointment as he reaches over and takes the bell from her. A small frown settles on her face as she watches him take it from her, her mood being spoiled as she realizes she cannot continue her disruption. She lets out a small and annoyed huff as he places the bell on top of the display case, where his eyes meet yours for a brief moment. His face settles in a soft frown as he looks at you, muttering fuckin’ tourist under his breath before returning his attention to the girl by his side.

Your face shows your shock at the rudeness of the older man, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. You shake your head in disbelief, still unable to process that someone could behave so rudely to a stranger. “Grumpy old man” You mutter under your own breath.

 You look back down at the pastries, feeling a bit put off after the interaction but still considering what to buy.

“Come on kiddo, enough of that.” He mutters as he digs his wallet from his back pocket.   

Hmm, maybe a croissant, or a muffin?

The barista turns around with a grin, pushing two mugs onto the counter. “A hot chocolate for the troublemaker,” he says, gesturing to Ellie as he pushes the mug towards her. “And a black coffee for the poor tired soul that has to put up with her,” he jokes, pushing the second mug towards the older man standing beside her.

Maybe a cinnamon roll?

“You got that right.” The man softly chuckles as he takes out his card.

“Whatcha say Joel, you want your usual breakfast or are you finally going to try something else? We make mean waffles here.”

“Just the bacon and eggs.”

The muesli slice looks good.

“Alright, alright. I’ll change your mind one of these days.” The barista, Jesse, sighs with a grin as he taps the order into the tablet. “What about you Ellie?” He asks without looking up from the screen.

“Nah, not hungry.”

“Oh come on kid, you gotta eat something.”

“I’m not hungry Joel.” She shrugs as she crosses her arms over her chest.

A woman with dark brown hair boxed braided and tied neatly into a bun walks in, her eyes quickly scanning the crowded café until they land on you.  Her eyes instantly lock onto yours, her warm smile signaling that you're the person she's looking for. She politely asks, "Am I right to assume you're Rose's granddaughter?"

"Oh, yeah that's me." You respond awkwardly, a bit taken aback by the familiarity of the woman's question. You have no idea who this woman is or why she's so familiar with you, and she seems to know more about you than you do about her.

“I thought so. I’m Maria, the Mayor of Jackson. I knew Rose very well,” She smiles warmly, her hand resting on your shoulder as she mentions your grandmother. “I’m sorry about what happened, she was a lovely lady.”

You nod along to her words, a vague sense of familiarity dawning on you as you try to recall where you heard that name before. As she continues to offer her condolences, you remember her name from the letter your grandmother sent you. You thank her for her condolences and look back at the display case.

“I recommend the white chocolate and raspberry muffin.” She points to the muffin and you nod at her offer. “I get it every morning.”

Jesse takes one of the white chocolate muffins from the display and places it into a paper bag, placing it on the counter alongside a takeaway coffee. “All ready for you Maria.” He calls out and she politely dismisses herself from your conversation.

You watch from the side as she pays and thanks the young boy for her order.

The woman turns back to you with a smile and a friendly gesture. "Now, I do have a few things in my office for you," she begins, her voice sounding genuinely friendly and welcoming. "If you want to come by today, I can give them to you and show you the farm?" she offers.

You quickly take her offer, explaining that you were already on your way to her office before stopping by the cafe.

You step towards the counter as the woman leaves, Jesse humming to himself as he wipes over the counter. He looks up at you as he notices your presence, a smile appearing on his face as he offers a warm greeting. "What can I get for you?" he asks, tossing the cloth aside.

You place your order, deciding on taking up Maria’s recommendation and a dirty chai.

Your eyes are instantly drawn to a small table by the window, the sunlight gleaming through the room and illuminating the table as though spotlighting it for you. The bookcase behind the table shows a small collection of books and board games, all seemingly put in a neat and orderly fashion. The entire room feels clean and organized, as if everything has been placed in just the right location and given the proper focus.

You take a seat at the small table by the window and ease into a comfortable position. As you relax, you start to scroll through your emails, going over the updates about the delivery of your belongings. According to the tracking and updates, your belongings should be arriving by tomorrow, and you hope that everything goes smoothly without any unexpected delays.

Movement outside catches your eyes, and you glance out through the window. You notice Ellie and Joel sitting on one of the benches outside, Jesse setting down Joel's breakfast as Ellie continues to talk to him. The two of them laugh at something Ellie is saying as Joel rolls his eyes and shakes his head in a playful and mock frustrated way.

There’s a waffle on Joel’s plate and he shakes his head, shooing Jesse away.

Your eyes find themselves involuntarily drawn to the back of Joel, the short brown hair that curls slightly at the ends and the few soft grays that are starting to sprinkle his head. The thick brown jacket he wears looks cozy and well-worn, a clear indication of years of use and comfort.

He hands Ellie his buttered toast and she shakes her head. He must say something because she sighs dramatically and takes the bread from him.

“Happy?” You can read her lips as she talks.

Joel nods.   

You look away, not wanting to be caught staring.

You’re dreaming. You have to be dreaming. A dream is the only reasonable explanation for the check in your hand.

Half a million dollars.

“There has to be some sort of mistake?”

“I can assure you, there’s no mistake here.” Maria assures you, setting her hands on her desk as she gestures to the check.

You're sitting across from Maria in her large office at the town hall. The light wood furniture in the space is sleek and simple in style, the minimalist design giving the office a clean and welcoming atmosphere. The room is filled with natural light thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her, the sunlight breaking through the gray clouds reflecting off of the wood furniture and making the room feel bright and airy.

A few photo frames sit proudly on her desk. There’s one on her wedding day, kissing her husband with a smile on his face. Then there’s one next to it, the two of them holding a new born baby in a hospital bed, smiling down like proud parents. 

Your eyes are frozen on the check though, the number staring back at you as you struggle to comprehend it. You're at a loss for words as your brain tries to wrap itself around the amount listed on the check, Maria's light chuckle drawing your attention.

She digs around in her draw momentarily before setting another note on the table.

“This is a lot to take in, I’m sure. This is a list of everything she did for the town. It’s rather long but if you want to pick up anything she did, you can. No one is expecting you to replace Rose, honestly I don’t think anyone could,” she slides over the list and your eyes widen more at the long list of jobs she did around town.

Farming of fruit Farming of vegetables Farming of flowers Raise cows, provide dairy products Raise Chickens, provide eggs Raise sheep, provide wool Beekeeper, provide honey Fishing, provide fresh fish Deep diving, cleaning ocean Volunteering at town events

You slowly look up at Maria with a raised eyebrow. “I can’t do all this, this is crazy.” You scoff as you look back down at the list.

She laughs at that, sighing and agreeing with you. “She was a very busy woman. But if you want to continue her farm or sell it, let me know. I’ll help you in any way I can. Rose was an outstanding member of our community. If you do decide to continue the farm, even just doing one of these, it’ll be a massive help.”

You let out a sigh, sinking into the chair as you read over the list again. Your grandmother sounds impressive and you wish you had known her, or at least remembered her.

Farming doesn’t sound too bad?

“Alright then, show me the farm. Let’s see what I’m dealing with.”

You stand before the front door to your grandmother's house, a place long forgotten and now abandoned. Cobwebs and critters are scattered all across the exterior of the house, the once meticulously maintained walls now covered in unkept vines that are slowly crawling their way up the structure. The exterior has an eerie and uninviting aura to it, as if the place has been left to become an echo of time lost to memories.

At the center of the front door hangs a small piece of paper, its edges frayed and fluttering in the breeze as the rusty nail it's held to struggles to keep it in place.

Heard someone was moving back in to Rose's place, if you need a hand rebuilding, let me know. Joel Miller ps. I used to work in construction, I know what I'm doing.

You rip the note off the front door and sigh as you look back over the farm, its beauty all but fallen apart since your grandmother's absence. The farm, once a beautiful and lively space, seems almost lifeless now. The plants are all unkempt and overgrown, most of them withered and dry while others are covered in a thick layer of weeds. It's a sad sight, one that reminds you of how much time has passed since she was last here.

How long it's been since you've been here.

“Who’s Joel Miller?” You ask as Maria follows you up the stairs to the front porch.

“That would be my brother in law, owns a sheep ranch down the road. Why?”

You hand her the note and huffs in surprise at the note. “That’s oddly nice of him. Guess he always had a soft spot for Rose. But don’t expect that from him, he can be a bit…” She trails off her sentence, her face scrunching up in thought.

“Rude?”

“Oh so you’ve met him then?” She laughs.

“I think so, took one look at me and muttered ‘fuckin’ tourist’” You try your best to impersonate his southern accent and Maria lights up at your attempt.

“Yep, that sounds just like Joel. But don’t take that personally, you’re not a fuckin’ tourist, you’re officially a Jackson resident.” She hands the keys to you and gestures towards the front door. “This is your home now.” 

The sound of the door unlocking sends a nervous feeling through your stomach, your nerves already on edge from the anticipation of moving into your new home. The door creaks as it opens, a stale and musty smell filling your nose and signaling that the house had been shut up and sealed away for far too long.

The house is beautiful.

Your eyes take in the large entry as you step into the house, your eyes drawn to the two hanging black chandeliers with fake candles. A large black wooden sliding door can be seen to your left, and a set of glass doors in front of you leads out to the back porch.

You ease the black doors open, entering the open-floor plan space with a slow and careful step. The modern and rustic wooden kitchen fills your vision, a large dining room sitting to the left as you step over and slide your palms across the white counter tops. The space has been empty for a while, a thick layer of dust on the counters.

“She took a lot of pride in her home.” Maria speaks up as she follows you into the room.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Would you like a tour?”

“I’d love one.”

You follow along as Maria opens a set of dark wooden doors to the right of the kitchen, the door leading into a small laundry room that connects to the back porch. The laundry room is small but spacious, and the view out to the back porch over a pond is quite peaceful.

To the right of the kitchen, a wooden dining table is situated next to the glass windows that lead into the small greenhouse, the space filled with dead and rotting plants.

To the left of the dining table, a small living room that includes a fireplace and wide wooden stairs that lead to the second floor is also visible. Both the fireplace and the stairs have seen better days, their condition clearly being a testament to the neglect the house has seen.

She leads you upstairs, and as you enter the room at the top of the stairs, your jaw falls wide open at the sight. The room is vast and spacious, with its floor-to-ceiling windows on one wall offering a magnificent view of the pond and farm. Built-in bookshelves line the other two of the walls, with couches built in under the windows, giving the space a cozy and welcoming vibe. The books on the shelves display a wide variety of topics, from classic works of fiction to non-fiction books on various scientific subjects.

“Joel helped her do this.” Maria points towards the bookshelves and couches and you nod in awe.

“Maybe I will take him up on the offer to help.” You chuckle as she leads you into a room across from the top of the stairs. The bathroom is fairly run down and rusted, but you can see what it used to be like in all its glory. A cracked tub sits in the middle of the room with an open shower to your left.

Maria leads you to the bedroom, the final room of the upstairs, which is located to the left of the stairs. The room is decently sized, with a big window that faces out towards the farm. The window lets in plenty of lighting and fresh air. To the left of the room, there is a narrow corridor that leads to a small balcony.

“Is the power and water turned on?” You inquire, following her back downstairs to the ground level of the house.

She gives you a quick nod, confirming that she had already planned to have everything ready for your arrival. Everything had been taken care of before your arrival, ensuring that the utilities would be fully functional for you to use as soon as you move into the house.

“Well, it’s been wonderful to meet you. Rose used to talk about you a lot, so it’s been nice to meet you. If you need anything,” She digs through her bag before handing you her card. “Call me, I’ll do whatever I can to help.” She offers before leaving you alone in your new home.

You find Joel’s offer again that night, folded on a table in the entry way while you’re snooping around and attempting to sort through your grandmothers house — or you guess your own house now.

You sigh at the number scribbled at the bottom of the note. Did you really want the help of someone who was so rude to you?

As you look down at the note in your hand once more, you can't help but exhale. 

“Fuck it,” you mutter as you enter his number into your phone before sending him a text.

Hey Joel, I just moved into Rose’s farm and found the note you left. Would love to take up your offer! - Fucking tourist

You smile to yourself as you send the text and hope to god that he remembers you from the cafe this morning.

Your phone vibrates as you get out of the shower that night.

Glad your not a tourist. We can grab coffee and discuss what needs doing. Tomorrow work for you? - Grumpy old man

You huff a laugh at his response, glad he has a sense of humor. You shake off the smile on your face, remembering how much of an asshole he was this morning. You text back agreeing to his offer and he sets a time for eight in the morning.

You drift off to sleep with a smile on your face, and you tell yourself that it’s not because of Joel but rather due to your own excitement and happiness about the move. He may be a rude asshole but he offered to help and from the looks of the house and farm, you’re going to need it.

And if Joel Miller wants to help, you’ll make him work.

Chapter 2 - comming soon

Notes

I am having way too much fun with this fic! So, our first look at Dina, Ellie, Jesse, Joel and Maria! I hope you like how i've incorporated them into the story! I’m having Dina and her sister run the inn (which is also a restaurant) Jesse work at the cafe (so far, there’s more he does too) and I cant wait until you find out what Ellie does, yall are going to LOVE her in this story. And then there’s Joel. Please excuse him, he’s just a grumpy old man that needs his coffee and hates tourists. But I really loved his interactions with Ellie.

Tags @jupiter-soups @anavatazes @ruthyalva96 @pastawench @littleblackcatinwonderland @joeldjarin @chiyo13 @readingiskeepingmegoing @northennlights @peachiestevie @brittmb115 @jiminstinypinky @xxrookexx

If you want to be tagged, please comment on the masterlist for this series and I will add you. If you want to be taken off, please DM so i don't miss your request.

Every comment, like and reblog means the world to me. please let me know your thoughts about this, i want to ramble about this story so much.

[loving-azerath]

just saw your recent post and: simon riley and sex pollen 🤭

him being like “no it’s immoral for me to do this” but his body’s saying otherwise teehee 🤭

No because LISTEN! Simon Daddy Ghost Riley would be SO CONCERNED ABOUT going too hard. He would be so desperate to fuck you but so worried about hurting you. He would be telling you to leave while holding you close to him.

Thank you to my sweet sweet Persia for talking with me about this one shot. <3

CW: DubCon (for obvious reasons), Degrading, praising, Female reader,

Normally when the guys come home from a mission there is a de-brief. Not an official one, it's you guys sitting in a circle and talking about it. Though this time you knew something was up. Price went straight to his office, locking the door. Soap and Gaz were cackling and laughing their asses off. No one informed you of what had happened. You knew though Ghost out of all would. He had a way of remaining scarily stoic during tense situation

That isn't exactly what happened though. You had knocked on his door and didn't get a response. Though you could hear the straining and the noises coming from the other side. The grunts and whines. Your cheeks flushed red at the realization of what you were hearing only it got worse when you heard your name whimpered out. That was when you knocked again. Harder. Louder. There was a more pained groan and then footsteps. Why did you do that? What did you have planned when he opened the door?

The door swings open. His balaclava still remained on his face, though he was shirtless and had the door blocking more than half of his body though you still saw the jeans. The band of his boxers.

"Gaz and Soap told me to come see you...that you could tell me what happened?" You asked

He sighed opening the door and basically pulling you inside. Your breathe hitched and your heart skipped a couple of vital beats.

"Sick of sense humor they have" He grinds out, you look up at him. The way his eyes glance over you, with what you heard brings a heat to your stomach you were used to. A flip here and a flop there with every flick of his eyes. Inhaling the scent of his room, the cologne and the wintergreen gum, the faint smell of tobacco that lingered on some of his clothes.

"What happened?" You asked softly

"Bastards were throwing vials at random. Airborne one got to Price and I" He grinds out his fingers twitches at his side. Fighting the urge to kiss you. To push you against this wall and make pretty noises come out your pretty mouth.

"Which one?" You ask, though by his reaction. By his demeanor you were sure you knew. He was less skilled at hiding the heavy lidded gaze under it. Though he was barely hiding it before.

"Sex Pollen. Bloody shit can give you a heart attack" He says sighing, you nod and blink up at him.

"Not if you....release" You struggle to say it because you know what it i insinuating and you can the tilt in his head. The slight arch of his right brow.

"You offering a hand darlin?" He asks narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. It has you gulping, tugging lightly on your bottom lip and backing up from him. The gaze seemingly controlling your actions.

"Maybe not just my hand" You say, he groans a little matching each one of your steps with one of his own until you were flush with the wall. Then with him.

"You really shouldn't have come here right now" He says his hand tracing the skin of your neck and then your shoulder. His thumb moving across your collar bone. Sending shivers down your body.

"I just wanted to know what happened" You say, it's true. Though now you found yourself wanting something so much more. "Wanted to know how you were feeling"

He chuckles softly his thumb reaching your chin and he holds it, pointing your gaze up at him.

"How I'm feeling? I am feeling like I want to fuck you against this wall until you I can't anymore. I am feeling like if you don't leave my barracks, right fuckin now. I might" He warns, yet you can't move. You aren't sure you even want to.

When you don't move his grabs onto you a little tighter, pressing against you, the warmth of his naked abdomen makes your brain short circuit. The hitched breath you pull in does the same to him.

"Darlin, last chance" He warns, yet all you do meet his eyes once again and put a hand on his chest. Not enough to push him away, more inviting than that. "Fucking hell"

The way he presses his hand to your neck, pressing you tight against the wall as he rips off his mask. Pure need and the pollen taking over every thought in his brain. His lips smashing into yours. Pulling a groan and a whimper from each of you. You practically melt against him. His heat, the heaviness of his hand on your throat. The way his other hand feels up your side and grips you tightly when he reaches your hips. It is all so dizzying. The way he presses his almost rock solid member into you.

"You knew exactly what you wanted didn't you? The moment I opened that bloody door I could practically see it written all over that beautiful fucking face" his whispered to you, his hand on your throat unmoving. His lips touching your jawline. The hand on your hip moving to the button of your jeans. His hand works like it has unbuttoned jeans by itself countless times. "Kick of your shoes. Now"

You listened and he watches you drop another inch or so. Your Combat boots always made you look taller and even when you weren't on mission you wore them with your day to day uniform. He smirks down at you. You take time to take in the features of his face before kissing you again. Slipping his tongue between your lips.

His hand moving to your waistband but you are already aiding him in removing the pants. Which causes a chuckle to vibrate lowly from his throat.

"You knew exactly...what you were fucking doing" He groans against your lips. His hand releasing from your throat. As you kick off the pants his hands slowly trace down to cup your ass. Gripping it tightly and kissing along your collar bone. Soft groans and moans escape his lips as your hands tug on his jeans. Opening the front of it up. He practically chokes on a gasp when your finger grazes his member from under his boxers.

"Fucking hell" He groans, it's like a sudden whoosh of air and then you were moved. Practically thrown on the bed watching as he moves on top of you. Kissing your lips roughly and trailing those adding in some nips at your skin as he lowers himself. "I need just a taste. I need it."

He devours you. He was indeed lying when he said he just needed a small taste because on the first touch of his tongue the moan that released from this man proved nothing but a new addiction for him. With that new addiction the man was devouring you. Fucking into his fist occasionally. The first orgasm snuck up on you, you hadn't been tensing or egging it on. It just washed over you. Your back arching and your hand moving to the nearest grip of blanket. White knuckling it as your sounds bounced off the walls.

"You sound so fucking good for me love" He groans "Need yo be in you. Can't wait any longer" He says with a growl getting onto his knees on the bed. Grabbing your hips and angling you to align with his cock. The first rut against your entrance has you both whimpering. You because you feel the head on his cock spreading you and it was the most delicious stretch you had ever had.

Him because you felt like a walking wet dream. You felt like everything he thought you would and the curses that leave his breath as she slowly pushed into you would have made a sailor retire. Not blush. Retire.

"Oh fuck you feel good" He moans, punctuating each word with a new rut as he pushes himself further. Finally sinking to to the hilt. "Fuck"

Each thrust is almost like a body slam, it leaves you slamming a hand over your mouth and moaning loudly into the palm of your hand. Looking up at the man, his veins on his arms standing out slightly, his hands gripping your hips. His face pulled into pleasure as he fucks into you.

"Gho-fuck" You tried to say his name. Though the slam of another thrusts makes you stutter.

"No no-Simon fuck darlin call me Simon" He grunts as he picks up his pace.

"Si-Simon" You moans through the stuttering of his hips and your brain. Your thought process. The moment the name leaves his thrusts get faster. Moving your leg, resting it against his body, your toes resting near his ear as he ruts into you.

His fingers move to your folds, sliding through the silky feel of them, sending jolts of pleasure to you which slowly meld into the pleasure of his thrusts. Though both unravelling you. The moans escaping your lips were almost as lewd as the sound of your bodies smacking together. The wetness from you getting all over both of your groins and thighs. Your moans turning more and more wanton has he continues to play with your already aching clit.

The ball of pleasure that has been wound so tight you could barely even think of anything else feels moments from bursting. He notices this, chuckling to himself once again.

"Oh fuck I can feel you're about to fucking cum. The way you fucking clench around me. Fucking... hell love. Fucking do it. I need to feel it." He urges you

"I want to last longer" You whined

"It won't be your last. Now fucking cum" He demands moving a hand to your throat. Tightening the grip enough to make you dizzy. The orgasm ripping through you at the same time. Strained moans an whines falling from your lips as you feel the entire wave of it crashing onto you. "Fuck oh fuck- Good fucking girl."

He didn't last too long after that. Though the thrusts turn more aggressive if that was possible. His hand snaking to your hair and pulling it to a point where he could adjust your face as he pleases.

"Look at me, I need to see those pretty fucked out eyes when I fucking cum" He groans you moaned at his words. Your face screwing into pleasure at his words alone. Every thrust was sending stars across your vision. Rising until another hard orgasm slams into you. His noises mixing with yours had you white knuckling the sheets some more. He topples over digging his fingertips so far into your hips you know there will be bruises. His body slams turning sloppy and he grinds into you further.

"Oh fuck...fucking take it" he moaned punctuation of the words followed by grinds. You could feel as he pumps inside of you. Your legs are shaking from the aftershock of the pleasure. Whimpers falling from your lips.

"Jesus Simon...your dick is fucking lethal" You deadpanned. He is panting and smirks

"Don't think I am done with you yet." He tells you

Fuck was he telling you the truth. He was far from done with you. Though he meant it in other ways than just for the night. You two fucked like this for hours. Until your body could not take anymore. you could barely move from the strain each orgasm had. Your eyelids heavy. Simon laying beside you stroking your hair with his fingers as you were falling asleep.

"Not how I wanted our first time to be." He admits, you smiled weakly at him. "Can't say I didn't enjoy it though love. Christ, you have kryptonite between your legs."

"I try" You breathe

You both had fallen asleep and chosen the next day to talk about what he meant. It was a strange beginning, but a beginning.

[biancadjarin]

🍸🍒Modern!Eddie x Waitress!Reader🍒🍺

Blurb featuring Modern!Bartender!Steve

It’s only a Thursday night but the bar is slammed. It’s your second day and the other waitress, your supposed “trainer”, is nowhere to be found. Probably out back smoking another cigarette. You’re juggling 6 tables and one particularly difficult woman just flagged you down.

“Is everything ok ma’am?” You ask politely. “No, this wine is way too sweet. I wanted something dry. Bring me the pinto grigio!” She says as she pushes the full glass towards you. You smile and turn, rolling your eyes as you approach Steve and Eddie at the bar. Eddie’s sitting on his usual stool, drinking a beer while he scrolls on his phone. You lean onto the sticky bar top and wait for Steve to finish shaking a martini to get his attention.

Eddie eyes your profile, your cute face looking overwhelmed and stressed. He’s never seen you before, he usually knows all the new waitresses here. Fuckin’ Harrington, he thinks, always tries to keep the cute ones for himself.

“Hey.” Eddie says over the loud music, leather covered shoulders angling towards you. His fingers tap around the neck of his beer bottle. You glance at him, one eye still on Steve.

“Hi. Look, I’m swamped, if you want another beer, you gotta ask your bartender.” “No, no, it’s not that. Just- are you ok? Do I need to grab a tray and help you out?” He asks jokingly. You crack a smile at that, and Eddie’s heart starts beating faster.

“Cause I’m serious, I’ll take over. Drinks probably won’t go to the right people and I’d end up spilling food but, hey, fuck it.” He says with a shrug as he gulps the last of his beer. You shake your head and laugh, “please, I think you’re better off right here. I’m fine…” your eyes stare into his for the first time and you swear you feel the ground get pulled out from under you. He’s criminally hot. Like sculpted by the gods hot. Long hair framing the perfect bone structure of his face, two dimples poked into his cheeks as he smiles back at you. His eyes are like warm cups of hot cocoa, sweet and comforting. His worn in Black Sabbath T shirt contradicts his new iPhone 14 shining back at him.

“I’m Eddie. I’m a friend of Steve’s.” He nods toward the floppy haired bartender. “Y/n.” You say as you reach out a hand to shake his. He grabs your hand but he doesn’t shake it. Instead, he just holds it for a second. His warm, guitar string scarred fingers encircling your soft, cold ones. You giggle nervously as the butterflies are shaken awake in your stomach.

Steve appears out of nowhere, “bruh these frat douchebags are going to be the death of me, I think my arm’s going to fall off if I shake another martini.” he says to you and Eddie. You smile your most saccharine smile, “hey Stevie. The woman on 22 doesn’t like this wine. Can I switch it out for a pinot?” He growls in annoyance, “that’s a 7 ounce pour, y/n. you think Tito is gonna be ok with me just pouring that down the drain?” He asks you, referring to the manager. He raises his eyebrows as he throws a towel over his shoulder.

You shrug, “I guess not…” you mumble. “It’s coming out of your tips. Go write it down on the spill sheet.” Steve snaps as he pours the pinot grigio. “Ok, I will. Sorry Steve.” You say as you take the wine and head back to your tables.

“What the hell, man? S’not her fault some bitch didn’t like the shitty wine in this place.” Eddie says as he tosses a peanut at Steve. “How else is she going to learn?” Steve says as he rests his palms on the bar top. “This isn’t a daycare, I’m not here to hold her hand through life.”

“She’s fucking new, Harrington, give her a break.” Eddie says. Steve opens his mouth to argue before being cut off by a guy in a polo. “‘Nother dirty martini, barkeep!” Steve nods at him before looking back at Eddie. “You want another beer?” Steve asks him before he goes back to deal with the group of Chad’s and Dylan’s. Eddie shakes his head as he throws a 20 on the bar, licking his lips and winking at Steve.

He looks around the bar to say goodbye to you but he doesn’t see you. Everyone seems content, drinking their overpriced cocktails, eating their greasy food. Even the woman with the wine seems happy. The other waitress is back but now you’re gone. He heads toward the back door to leave, passing the digital jukebox that the frat bros have taken over-trolling everyone with Nickelback on repeat, passing the bathrooms and the breakroom.

You come out of the breakroom wiping under your eyes, sparkles that were once in your inner corner now smeared down your cheeks. “Scuse me.” You say as you try to squeeze past Eddie. “Hey, hey.” He says, hand coming up to cradle your elbow. “You good?” His eyebrows crinkle in concern, eyes scanning your face. You nod and try to squeak out a “mhm.” but more tears are threatening to spill.

“Was it what Steve said? I told him he’s being too harsh on you. I’m gonna go tell him what a dick he is, making you cry.” He says as he starts to turn around. “No! Please, I appreciate it but it’ll just make it worse. I can’t mess up this job. I just need to do better.” You say, sniffling. “Really. It’s fine.”

Eddie sighs deeply, looking back over his shoulder before turning to face you again. “He needs to do better. You’re doing great.” Eddie says, fingers squeezing the exposed flesh of your arm. You smile, looking up at Eddie and admiring his features in the low light, an old beer neon sign casting shades of blue and red across his face. The tight hallway is made even tighter with boxes and extra chairs lining the walls. This close to Eddie you can smell the beer on his breath, the weed on his shirt and the Cherry Smoke by Tom Ford on his jacket. You smile, “Thanks..”

He nods softly, dimples returning as he matches your smile. His phone starts to vibrate, the opening notes of For Whom the Bell Tolls by Metallica ringing from it. He looks at it before silencing it and focusing back on you. “I gotta go but can I text you later? You can tell me all about why a sweet, beautiful girl like you needs a job at a shitty dive bar so bad.” He opens up a new iMessage and hands his phone to you. You type in your number and text “Eddie” to yourself.

He takes the phone back from you putting 🖤🍒 after your name. “If Harrington gives you anymore shit, you let me know, ok?” He says before leaning in to kiss your cheek. You smile and nod, all words leaving your brain. He laughs softly as he whispers how cute you are and he heads toward the door.

.

.

.

[tiny-sassy-aggressive]

I am living blogging my reaction to the second watch through of WDAPTEO 4 bc the first run through was so much

00:00- I screamed when I saw the notif. I was alone in the car. Just pulled up to my apt looked at my phone and screamed “ no way “ I still can’t believe we got it

00:01- hi, they are SO BEAUTIFUL I’m squealing. I cannot stop staring it’s embarassing

00:27 what’s going on here? “Nothing” my heart. The smiles

00:50 oh I am LOVING the feature wall. And fish tank reveal project??

01:00 how dare they throw THAT japhan photo up there like it’s just some example. Who the hell do they think they are- also I want that doomed hoodie :( he is snug as a bug in a rug

01:50 terror not even 2 minute in and crack

02:03 I’m sorry Dan asking Phil about TikTok stuff is precious

02:13(What is cba)

02:39 I CACKLED. Phil’s sarcastic ass omg

02:44 dans little pat

02:58 phivorce

03:05 I know the ft, they are friends of course. But seeing the messages really warms my heart. Like it’s so normal why am I emotional

03:52 of course Phil sends millions of memes

04:10 how in the fuck did Phil catch his phone what??? Ft dans face during the whole interaction.

Ad time —— 04:25. Im sorry Dan looks fucking amazing, his hair is so curled and pretty? And he looks so comfy cozy and soft??? My Dannie side is really coming out rn

04:59 handsome devil, damn straight. Love this man he’s too precious for this world

05:23 🍑

05:55 are the Brits okay??? Bone daddies?? I’m too American for this

06:30 perfectly encapsulated Dan and Phil energy

06:35 Dan saying dude scratches a weird itch in my brain

06:55 again! Totally normal to call a friend in a taxi. But this moment makes them so real in my mind like yes. Call that friend. In that taxi. Make it less awkward. Why did I like this moment so much

07:05 A PRETEND CONVO OF COURSE HE WOULD. He’s so real for that

07:34 “these are very dan and Phil”

07:42 I’m in pain. Koala content and ouch I can’t even put into words

08:44 three days without a text sounds exaggerated. Or lie. Like cmon. All those messages and convos and yall went 3 days without a word?? Sounds fake

08:58 asking what he should do for his nails!!? Again totally normal but UGH I love their friendship

09:01 also Phil coming in with a STELLAR idea, hope to see it happen

09:11 Phil’s a little shit OMG he hated the nails Dan got.

09:38: dans precious little selfies

09:44 also who tf is that that does not look like Dan

09:52 wtf do you mean that they had the same weird Swedish bakery???? 10 years apart???? WHAT THE HELL??????

10:35 fuckin nerds ft cute ft selfie

10:52 Dan in Phil’s glasses hi what the fuck? Precious. Phil loves to take photos of Dan sleeping.

11:02 jump. Scare.

11:28 PHIL CALLED HIS MOM. NURSE LESTER.

12:11 Dan stalking the ring doorbell is not something I expected?

12:20 glad to know Phil and I share that we can’t hear someone saw our name bc it’s too intimate

13:16 ordering a roast dinner is so cute idk why

13:35 jump. Scare.

14:26 I hate them :( i so long for what they have

15:04 they didn’t see death note the musical!! Haters!!!!

15:20 HOT

16:00 Phil papping Dan>>>>>>

16:20 I rewatched this part so many times. Thsi entire sequence. This whole. Dare i say SCENE. Disgustingly familiar. Disgustingly cute. I- karaoke game???? What??? It was for them

17:06 omatone :(

18:22 hot? Worrying? Hmm???

18:45 Phil is so dramatic I love him

19:01 genre to dinner? I don’t get them

19:10 DAAAAAN AHHHHH

19:20 SCRIPTS AH???????3@2/9/@/9@22929 more writer Dan

20:17 this is so familiar

20:50 this has “would you still love me if I was a worm” energy? Can’t explain

22:53 “we dan and phil-ed it” we have to steal that! Asap’

23:24 when Dan sits up he is soooo much taller than Phil but he constantly slumps down and looks up to Phil. It’s very cute to watch.

24:30 oh they are fully embracing the joint channel and slowly moving away from gaming and honestly. I’m alright with it. They look so happy

Guys this was too much. So I just started reading fanfic and these conversations were right out of what I’ve been reading which is very odd tbh? But we were fed. This was amazing content and I can’t wait to see what the writers do with this. Cheers

[ceilingfan5]

15 "Denim jacket with bleach-painted bone motif" & 11 "If they don’t smile at me today I’m going to eat an entire drum set" and taakitz 👀

“If he doesn’t smile at me today, I’m going to eat an entire drum set,” Taako rants, throwing his apron on the counter. He didn’t intend to get on this topic, and now the words won’t stop coming out of his mouth like a busted gumball machine shooting gumballs and quarters all over the floor. Watch out for some Looney Toons ass shenanigans, word listeners, because here comes a mess. “Like what the fuck? He’s too pretty to be allowed to live. He makes me want to hop in a peanut grinder and become Taako butter and live a better life between two slices of discount sliced bread, you know?”

“With jelly, or like-?” Ren grins at him, wiping down the counters, far too thorough. Taako’s got places to be. 

“Obviously with jelly, Ren, what the fuck do you take me for?” Taako grumps.

“Could be honey,” she shrugs pointedly, still looking very pleased with herself. “Maybe you two can become a sandwich together and ride off into a toaster sunset. Maybe you just need to say, hey, honey-”

“And just declare my intentions so boldly?” Taako puts a dramatic hand to his chest, scandalized as loudly as possible. “You can’t do this to me in the workplace, I’m calling HR.”

“Noooo, not again!” she giggles. “Seriously, though, Taako. If he’s cool enough to play in your band, and wear that sick jacket-”

“It’s got bleach-painted bones,” Taako moans, sliding down the counter and onto the floor. She daintly steps over him, and he briefly considers tugging on her apron strings. “And he plays the drums. And the bass guitar. And I think the cello?” Taako mimes playing a flute. “You know the one.”

“Yup,” Ren says, looking down at him as seriously as she can manage. “That one.” 

“And the guys–I can’t tell them. I shouldn’t even be telling you. No offense. I’m mysterious and private and I’m, I’m going to die alone, and,” he tips his head back, misjudges the distance, and hits the cabinet doors with a too-solid thunk that makes him yearn for the good old days, before stupid fucking phylum Chordata got any wise bone ideas. 

Now, wise bone ideas, he possesses a few. He snickers at his own head joke, and Ren gives him a generous half-smile. He sighs. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” he slides further onto the floor. She keeps cleaning, bless her. “I worry I’m not- I mean, obviously I am cool enough, natch,”

“Natch,” she repeats, not looking at him. He wipes an imaginary tear from his cheek while she can’t see. He’s trained her so well. 

“But what if we’re different flavors of cool and he isn’t into Taako butter? What if he’s, I dunno, fuckin- sriracha, or, or, or,” Taako gestures emptily. “Cubed cheese you have to get at an art exhibition.”

“You’re as cool as cubed cheese, Taako.” Ren sighs, giving up and half-laying on the counter. 

“I know that,” Taako snaps, warmed in the soul or something stupid like that. 

“And he’s a nerd who plays in a band and wants you to like his sick jacket. Just go, hey, sick jacket, and he’ll be like oh my god thank you for noticing, everybody thought I was too cool to come say hey sick jacket and I’ve been vibrating myself to pieces wanting to tell everybody the fine details of the bleach painting process, did you know that human bones are whack-ass shapes? Ulnas don’t look right. Ever.”

“Yeah, what is up with those guys, anyway?” Taako has to rotate his arm this way and that a couple of times, chewing her advice in his head. “I’m gonna fuck my drummer,” he decides, in perhaps not the same breath but certainly a consecutive one.

“Good, I’m glad. Can we close already? I hate to tell you this, but I do have a life outside my hero worship of you. I’m like, my own whole interesting guy.” Ren smiles, straightens up, and offers him a hand. 

“That can’t be right,” Taako muses, and he lets her pull him up. “You don’t even have a last name.”

“Do you?” She cocks an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“That’s debatable,” Taako says airily, and blows her a kiss. “You’re driving dessert tomorrow, bring your A-game. Your A+ game! No, your- uh-”

“I’ll bring my super diamond special reserve game!” she shouts, bouncing excitedly. “Thanks Taako! I hope your drummer wants you!” And before he can even counter that one, she’s off to lock the doors and flip the sign.

Taako’s going home and changing before band practice. Yep.  

[t0ast-ghost]

Started watching the original series of Star Trek and my thoughts so far:

- I was skeptical at first but then the talk between the doctor and Pike was soooo fucking good, they’re bringing out ALL the issues right away, so pretty strong beginning

- oh lord the sexism (they try to kind of address it?)

- first teleportation is iconic! (Why did aos even TRY and change it?)

- Spock SMILES?!?

- THE VOICE!!! She’s so iconic (talking about the lady who voices the computer in next generation)

- Pike don’t follow her!! Nooo! Pike! Oh well get him I guess

- interesting monsters… hmm.. it’s a fucking zoo isn’t it.

- “the creature will throw himself against the transparency” *bong**bionng* *bonnng*

- nevermind it isn’t a zoo

- neat transition effect when they put him in the mind games

- *roar* “if you attack while it’s not looking” THAT IS A NORMAL MAN

- falling is a bad guys worst enemy and a plot devices best friend

- “zoo specimens like me” OK SO KIND OF A ZOO

- BRO THEY YOINKED HER OUT OF EXISTENCE

- THEY SENT HIM TO HELL HOLY CRAP- oh wait he’s back it’s fine haha

- horsies! Pike is a horse girl

- these episodes are 51 minutes each

- “‘cause you either live life, bruises, skinned knees, and all, or you turn your back on it and start dying” Holy damn that’s a good moment

- So this is how Orions came to be huh. Thank god they made it to Tendi

- Alien: which one of these women do you want?Pike: When I fucking get you-

- Spock was gonna leave, love him for that, live laugh love sweetie <333 (wait is live long and prosper their version of live laugh love?)

- “you think we’re gonna take this? Well what if we blow ourselves up”

- THAT VEIN BLUGE THOUGH

- “‘get your fuckin dog bitch’ ‘it don’t bite’ ‘YES IT DO’” when Pike shows up with a bomb

- IS SHE GOOD? What? no take her with?!? What kind of fucking ending? “and I agreed with her reasons” the fuck, fuck off

- Number one is so done with his shit AND SHE’S RIGHT

- So uhhh when does Kirk come in? Or Bones (mostly bones)

- okay the next episode started and I just needed to have some patience cause they’re both here now

If you read all that, thank you? Might do this again or just add onto this post.

Edit: I did do it again! Here’s the second one

Here’s all the others

Another edit: First episode is called “The Cage”

[1343-40]

ok i'm insane in the brain thinking about rosie's place in the mota hockey au cuz. yk.

actually talked about this w @swifty-fox earlier tonight but i need this on my fuckass tumblr

i'm imagining that his career started pretty roughly--getting skipped over in the draft because he didn't hit his growth spurt at that point and his stats weren't good enough for teams to risk picking up a guy as small as him. he's doesn't have something as crazy as a 50 goal season with his USHL team or anything but he's a solid forward, yet all the teams see is him being 5'9" and way too light

he does get picked up in the third round, but it's by a team that already has a pretty good lineup, so he plays one or two games in the pre-season and gets sent down to the ahl affiliate for that entire first year. he's a pretty optimistic guy, so he's not particularly broken up about it--he makes friends with his teammates, he works on his game, he finally hits that growth spurt and puts on weight he was lacking to really afford to play in the NHL

eventually he does get called up in his second year, a couple times at that, but it's not nearly enough for him to get properly developed to play in the show. UNTIL the team gets so many injuries the management have no choice but to call him and a few other guys up to salvage the rest of that season. he kind of gets going on the third line, puts up a couple goals, puts up more than a couple assists, gains confidence, but it's clear there's no place in the lineup for him once the guys he's replacing go off LTIR--maybe he doesn't click with his lineys as smoothly as the front office hoped, maybe it's just harder for him to get used to the big boy league, especially thrown into the fray like that, but either way the management finds him lacking. at that point all the goodwill he's had is quickly running out and he is frustrated that they just won't let him play, won't even throw him a bone and put him on the fourth line

he gets placed on waivers and the expansion team (WHATEVER THE FUCK WE'RE CALLING THEM IN THIS AU. winnipeg fuckin jets) scoops him up bc their gm is smart like that and they see the potential in him, plus they need all the help they can get to fluff up the roster with solid guys. and he plays the second and third line at first, but then their coach (btw is it harding or?.. lol) mixes up the lines and rosie gets placed with buck and curt and boom it just fuckin clicks baby. it just fuckin works. he secures his place on first line that season

he's definitely putting up more assists than goals--he settles into his role of the playmaker and gets going, plus he seems like a total giver to me. like, his biggest issue is probably not shooting the damn puck enough. but he is where he needs to be for buck or curt or whoever it is that's wearing the right jersey to slam it home, and it's just good fuckin hockey

Also probably not a good chirper. he tries though. he tries. got into One fight in his entire career that he lost but boy he sure went down swinging. makes sure to keep contact with all his previous teammates he's befriended and goes out with them whenever the team comes to their city. nobody in the locker room lets him put on his music because he puts on shit like wes montgomery and herbie hancock

[traitorca]

My Iron Lung - The Walking Dead

Daryl Dixon x Grimes!Reader - 4

Masterlist

The past few days had gone by rather slowly. After your ‘outburst’, as Shane liked to call it, you had yet to speak to him face to face. He was an ass, sure, and you said something you shouldn’t have, but at the end of the day you were sick of how he treated you.

On a brighter note, the newer additions to your camp had made a prominent impression.

Merle, who was advised to stay the fuck away from Andrea, seemed to ignore that and challenge it instead.

Daryl, however, no one had successfully cracked, nor really tried.

Dale, bless his soul, made it a point to converse with all of your allies in camp. You’re sure you heard Daryl call him “Old Man” before, but, to your surprise it didn’t sound much like an insult.

That led you to now, as you awkwardly sat beside him in silence. You hadn’t talked since he came here, besides a small ‘hi’, ‘thank you’, or ‘goodnight’ whenever you happened to see eachother.

He was skinning a rabbit, knife slicing through its skin with ease, obvious that he had years of experience.

You, on the other hand, were monitoring the stew above the fire. You were sure even without the blaze beneath it, the Georgia heat was enough to cook it right off the bone.

“So. Have you always been good at that?”

You decided at that moment, you’d be the first to befriend Daryl.

He grunted, almost like he was asking you to further elaborate your question.

“Skinning animals- hunting, all that stuff.” You clarified, leaning with your chin in the palm of your hand.

“Guess so.” He didn’t seem like much of a talker.

You laughed to yourself, muttering something under your breath.

“Wha’ was that?” He looked at you, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Oh, nothing- just said, ‘people like you must have a field day with this kind of stuff’, but then I realized- I don’t think anyone could find this.. shit… fun.”

He scoffed, eyes rolling as he went to look back at the rabbit in his hands.

“…You’re much nicer than Merle lets on.” You suddenly spoke again, not finding any comfort in the silence.

“What’s tha’ supposed to mean?” He paused again, sounding more irritated than the last time.

“Oh, don’t take offense.” You raised your hands in defense. “I meant it in a nice way.”

“Well I ain’t nice, let’s get that righ’. I don’t need no fixin’ either.” He responded, throwing you a harsh look.

“Didn't say all that.” You smiled in response, realizing his rough exterior might just be a defensive mechanism.

It seemed like half an hour until conversation started again, sweat dripping down your temple as the sun got higher into the sky. This time, it wasn’t you who spoke first.

“…..Yer’ brother.” Daryl started. “…you two close?”

“…We….” You started, but stopped as quickly as it came to you. “…Rick was..”

Was? That felt odd to say out loud.

“He’s my older brother… he’s really important to me.” You smiled, fondly at the thought of him.

“…Hm. That other guy. The.. prick. He your boyfriend or somethin?” He must be talking about Shane.

“NO- no! Shane?! Fuck no-“ you giggled, a genuine laugh rising from your throat. “Fuckin’ gross. He’s more like an annoying older brother. He wished I gave him the time of day, but- narcissistic, sexist assholes aren’t my type.”

“I’ll make sure Merle gets that message.” He (almost) laughed at that, his lips perking up at the sides.

“I really appreciate that. That would be nice-“

And with that, the moment was cut short as your name was called across the camp. You gave Daryl a small smile before lifting yourself from your spot, sighing as you were bound to be face to face with the voice's owner.

Shane.

He called your name again, this time, walking towards you from camp.

“I’m coming!” You replied. “Jeez, I’m comin, I’m going..” You stopped in front of him, face to face. You were close enough that you could see the beads of sweat dripping from his forehead.

“What.” You gritted out of your teeth, eyes focused on his own.

“I think we need to talk.”

“…go for it.” You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m listening.”

“We. As in the both of us need to talk. A team effort.” He strained his voice on the word ‘team’. Shane was attempting to be sincere.

“Oh, so there’s a ‘we’ now? Where was the ‘team effort’ when you were making decisions for us all?” You pressed, voice rising an octave as you leaned with your hip, hand resting on it.

“You’re right-“ He sighed, hands raising in submission.

“Yeah, and that’s not even-“ you paused. You were right..?

“Oh.”

“I shouldn’t have let myself take control of everything, but you’ve got to understand where I was coming from. Where I AM coming from.” Shane replied to your perplexed response.

“….Go on.” You dropped your arm, straightening up.

“…I am doing everything I can to stay strong for you, Lori, and Carl- I know you’ve always been able to take care of yourself, but even a strong person can’t make it on their own.” He sighed, breath shaky. “I would know.”

“…Shane-“ You didn’t mean for him to get sentimental with you, but you could feel your soft spot fall weak to his words.

“Let me finish.” He cut you off. “I… You don’t know what I saw in there- I miss Rick too. He was like my brother. He WAS my brother- he meant everything to me. You mean everything to me. Lori, Carl, You-“ He placed his hands on your shoulders. “Rick would kill me if I didn’t prioritize you three first, above all else. If that means being the bad guy- I’d gladly do it, even if the consequence is pissin’ you off..” he laughed at that, smiling as your expression mirrored his own. “You made a good call. With the Hunter and his… questionable brother.” Merle. “We haven’t had to stress over food as much. I’m proud of you.”

For some reason, your chest felt warm. He was proud of you. He really was like a brother, even if he could never amount to Rick- you were glad he was there.

With that, you hugged him- a small laugh erupting from your throat as you felt tears pricking at your eyes. “You’re such an asshole-“

“Yeah, yeah- I know-“ His arms cradled you, chin resting on your head.

“…I really am sorry for what I said… about Rick.”

“Hm, no, it was deserved.”

“..Yeah, but that doesn’t make it right.”

“Rick would’ve said the same thing.”

“….Yeah.” You smiled.

You didn’t think much of that conversation with Shane afterwards, regarding it as water under the bridge. Funny, considering most bridges burn down.

With that being said, the two of you separated and departed from each other, you taking this moment to go back to sitting next to Daryl by the fire.

“I’m back.” You hummed, taking your spot on the chair beside his own. “What did I miss?” Absolutely nothing.

He rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, scoffing lightly as he cleaned his knife. He had finished skinning the rabbit, the meat brewing in the pot.

“Nothing, I guess. That’s alright.” You concluded, looking off towards the woods in your boredom. “Hey, random request, but I wanna go with you next time you go out. On a trip.”

“Ya can ‘wanna’ all you want, but the hell ya’ ain’t.” He responded fast, his movement around the knife staggering.

“Why not? I’m pretty sure I could help or- atleast learn a few things. I wanna know how to track.”

“sonabitch’” He muttered to himself, setting the knife aside. “I don’ need ya’ chasin away the game, yer’ the one who’s makin’ me feed everyone.”

“Well- it doesn’t have to be just you. That’s why I wanna learn.”

“I said no, bitch- final answer.”

“…Hm, I’ll ask later.” You smiled, standing up. “I’m gonna go find Carl, holler if ya need me.” With that, you left, unaware of the fact that the Hunter was indeed thinking about your proposal.

Unfortunately due to your inability to take no for an answer, you were exactly someone Daryl would typically avoid.

Key word, typically.

taglist:🏷️: @poubxlle @kovieky @fallenkitten @dixonsboy19 @gamingfeline

a short chapter today!! filler, filler, and more filler ig

[answrs]

This Is A “Give Arthur Kingsmen A Hecking Nap” Propaganda Post

for the @sleepsmackdown​ poll (link here)

spoilers for Mystery Skulls Animated (which is about 18 minutes long in total over 4 animated music videos (with a 5th coming out very soon!) - please watch it and join us in blorbo hell our small but lovely msa fandom)

let me tell you about Arthur Kingsmen. You may know him as “that twink the sexy skeleton guy was chasing back in 2016″. why was this ghost chasing him? Well!

A group of friends and their dog go to investigate a creepy cave. They split up, Lewis (tall, purple, and fluffy) and Arthur (orange beanpole extraordinaire) go to the left fork and wind up at the top of a cliff over a sea of sharp stalagmites.

Then Arthur gets posessed by a demon, who uses his arm to shove his best friend to his death-by-impalement as he visibly fights it for control. Then whoops! Turns out that dog I mentioned, that little terrier looking pup? He’s actually another demon/yokai that transforms and violently RIPS HIS FUCKIN ARM OFF.

Now because of trauma, Arthur cannot remember this, though he experiences severe PTSD whenever he sees Mystery (who is once again hiding as their pet dog). He doesn’t understand *why* though, and is pushing himself to interact normally with said not-really-a-dog

(notice the subconscious gripping of his prosthetic whenever he’s triggered by the sight of said pup for added fun :))

I mentioned Arthur didn’t remember the scene in the cave? Well he ALSO DOESN’T EVEN REALIZE HIS BEST FRIEND IS DEAD. He’s on a futile search for a man he thinks is missing and even worse? His other best friend, Vivi (the girl in blue) physically cannot remember anything about Lewis existing.

Anyway, Lewis, the guy that died? Didn’t realize Arthur was possessed and thinks Arthur murdered him. So he’s out for revenge on a man working himself to the bone trying to find a friend he doesn’t know is even dead. This includes building a murder mansion to chase him through, and when that doesn’t work, stealing a semi-truck and running their van off a cliff and face-first into a brick wall. Then he grabs him from the wreckage and throws him off the same cliff he himself was killed on.

THIS IS LITERALLY THE MOMENT HE REALIZES HIS FRIEND IS ACTUALLY D E A D.

so he gets thrown off the cliff as Lewis’ twisted form of karmic revenge

and only survives because a shotgun blast shorts out the ghost magic moments before impact

and oh yeah, remember that demon that caused all this mess in the first place? It’s been hopping around in Arthur’s severed arm the whole time. And guess what it finds as its next host?

MURDER MC FUCKING MYSTERY

so YEAH I THINK HE NEEDS A FUCKING NAP

in summary, tags courtesy of @nemesis-is-my-middle-name​:

#P L E A S E VOTE FOR MY MAN ARTHUR SLEEPIEST IN EXISTENCE #no amount of being a gifted kid or whatever assclassboy has going on is gonna compare to arties insane bullshit #HE LIVES IN A VAN WITH THE DIRECT SOURCE OF LIKE 50% OF HIS TRAUMA #even if he DID think about sleeping for more than five minutes it wouldnt take

[remyfire]

34, 35 and 12 caught my eye but I cannot decide who I want them for so ig whatever pairing (or poly group ) is giving u the biggest brain rot rn but bonus if it includes radar or trapper bc i am intrigued by how u write radar and i am slightly feral about the feelings trapper induces in me

Hi anon, you unlocked something in me when I read this ask, so I went for total broke and now there is radartraphawk. I really hope that's okay!! As a bonus, I have included Every Kiss. Also it's 3k and a bit angsty. I hope that's also okay. Okay no more stalling, here you go. Kiss Roulette (12) A kiss along the collar bone, (34) a kiss after a bite, (35) a kiss against a wall [AO3 crosspost]

It's certainly not the first time they've tussled and it absolutely won't be the last, but there is something particularly wild in Hawk today, and John has a feeling that it's got something to do with the wide-eyed company clerk perched anxiously on the edge of Hawkeye's cot. "Will you fuckin'—" When John's leg clips the stove and sends the empty coffee pot clanging across the floor, he grits his teeth and tightens his grip on Hawk's arms. "Will you settle the fuck down?"

"How 'bout you let me go first?" Hawkeye spits back. He'd started by straining to get free of John's hold but now he's gotten damn squirrelly, trying to turn the tide instead.

"How 'bout you stop being a little shit?"

They twist and squabble. Hawk's hip slams against the poker table. John almost goes tumbling and Radar throws his hands out just in time to push him back to his feet. It's like being in college again, surrounded by nothing but football players who didn't wanna admit they were sucking each other off in the locker room when all the lights went down and everybody else went home. He gets it. He played that game too for a hell of a lot longer than he should've. But why Hawkeye fucking Pierce is so pissed at him about what John just offered, he has no idea, because this guy's gotta be responsible for at least a million sexuality crises alone. He can barely keep his hand out of pants—any pants, his own or John's or a nurse's, probably everybody who's ever been on R&R in Seoul for the past year. Where the hell does he get off causing such a fuss?

"C-Captain." Radar's small voice comes from behind him. "I should probably just—"

John finally, finally slams Hawkeye against the locked door. He gets one moment of peace, both of them panting and glaring at each other with sweat gleaming on their foreheads, before Hawk starts up again.

"Would you sirs stop?!" Radar's louder now, piercing.

It's Boston instinct, really, that has John trying to get his forearm against Hawk's throat, and not even hard enough to do damage to his windpipe, but the moment Hawk's eyes bulge in shock, John pulls back just enough so there's no contact with his neck. "Sorry," he murmurs, chest burning with guilt. His forearm stings like he hit him with it. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, Hawk—"

Hawkeye then twists his neck and bites it.

"Fuck!" And then they're back at it again.

Metal strikes metal behind John louder than a gong and they freeze. When John looks over his shoulder, Radar's standing by the stove with the coffee pot in his hand. He wouldn't be surprised if it had a dent in it now, if he slammed them together that hard. It's rare to see Radar really properly steamed up, but there it is written all over his face from his jaw to his eyes to his brow.

"You're not listening to me," Radar mutters. "This whole thing happened 'cause of me and you're not even gonna listen when I say something?"

"Hey, look, I'm sorry, all right?" John doesn't mean to let his frustration bleed into the words, turn them into daggers, but there's no pulling them back either. "This ain't your fault, it's Hawkeye over here who—"

"You don't get to tell me what I can or can't do," Hawk snaps. "I don't care how many times your dick's been in my goddamn ass, you do not get to throw me around like a puppet when I wanna walk out that door, do you hear me?"

"Hawk, I'm not trying to tell you what to do, I'm not shoving you two together like dolls." John lets Hawkeye's shoulder go, immediately feels him starting to twist, but the second John's palm cups his cheek, Hawk freezes, jaw still tight but eyes staying on his. "I'm trying to figure out why the hell you're so spooked about saying you want something."

When Hawk finally flicks his gaze away, John lets him, just thumbs over his stubble and tries to figure out what the fuck is going on in his head. In a way, yeah, okay, he can understand something about it—the two of them weren't teasing Henry about robbing the cradle just to mess with him—but can't Hawk see that this is different? That Radar's different?

John drops his voice and leans in a little closer. He's not under the impression that Radar, of all people, won't be able to hear him, but he needs Hawk to see this, to know John's still trying to protect him no matter how much he wants to dump him in a snowbank right now. "Wasn't even a month ago you were telling me all about what he reminds you of." It's like a switch gets flipped. Hawkeye stops breathing. The air begins to heat as though a storm is ready to blow through. They both know what he means. That quiet night in the Swamp where Hawk had talked about the ways he fumbled through figuring out his own bent, the alleys and the bars and the backs of cars, how he'd taken his life in his hands over and over again just to have a taste of why looking at a man lit him on fire the way that it did. How sometimes he swears that Radar's toeing that exact same line—the curiosity that could drive him into danger made even worse by virtue of where the hell they are. That sometimes Hawkeye wishes he could just... That if he had a chance to...

John was thorough. He had to be. The same care that he took slipping through the back streets of Boston to loop his way around cops on their beats. He'd watched Hawk. He'd watched Radar. He'd seen the way they'd watch each other when they weren't being noticed themselves. The protectiveness in Hawkeye's body when he was around Radar, how he'd throw out joke after joke just to get him to smile. And within no time, John had a guarantee of what he already suspected. Yeah, sure, Hawk really had meant it when he'd finally admitted that he just wished he could make it a little easier, safer, and walk Radar through everything he was craving to know. But that wasn't the reason why Hawkeye would stare a second too long at Radar's ass when he'd strain to grab something from the back of the filing cabinet.

John's not an idiot. He's sure as hell able to overlook his own faults and fears and that's never gonna change, but he knows Hawk better than he knows his own name. And if Hawkeye wants something, then John wants him to have it, pure and simple.

"I got him here for you," John whispers. That was a whole other fucking story—overlapping his showers with Radar's over and over again until he finally caught Radar staring at his cock with dilated pupils and flushed cheeks, until John could lean over the partition and look him right in the eye and cut off the panicked stammering before it ever got started. "I got the scene set." A three-way poker game, the tent flaps dropped, the door latched, the shade pulled down, Frank cuddled up in Hot Lips's tent for the night. "I warmed him up too." Made damn sure Hawkeye was watching while John slid his fingers through Radar's hair and coaxed him in until their lips met. Made sure too that as Radar trembled with nerves, John had rubbed up and down his back until the fear fluttered away like it was never there.

And then Hawkeye had exploded. Because of course he did.

Now as Hawkeye meets John's gaze, he's slipped past anger—that rare, white-hot rage tinged with, of all things, the accusation that Trapper was taking advantage of Radar. The thing Hawk had never wondered about with any of the nurses John's bedded. Not even once.

Something's always been different about Radar.

"You know what could happen," Hawk mutters under his breath. "You know exactly what you're setting him up for."

"You'd rather it be with some stranger in the back of a Tokyo movie theater? Hawk, be fucking serious." John finally steps back, lets Hawkeye be completely free, but as he suspected, he makes no move to unlatch the door. "There's no advantage-taking goin' on here and we both know it. You wouldn't be caught dead looking at him if he weren't a grown man in your eyes, and that means he can tell you what he wants and how he wants it and you don't get to tell him he's wrong."

"Captain McIntyre?"

John stares Hawk down another moment more before he turns his attention to the cute little mouse who's found his way into their den. He's small but he's still got a few shards of broken glass in that sharp gaze of his. And he should. John's over here rattling on about how he's an adult, but did he stop what he was doing last time when Radar was demanding to be heard? With a sigh of frustration through his nose, John faces him fully. "Sorry. Don't mean to be keeping you on the outside." He'd promised himself he wouldn't. He's not so nervous of Radar's age as Hawk seems to be, but that doesn't mean he can just up and forget about how young and inexperienced he is in all this shit, not just the sex. "It wasn't supposed to go like this—"

"Captain McIntyre," Radar interrupts.

"Trapper." John almost doesn't realize that came out of him, not Hawkeye. Hawk's the one who will introduce him as Trapper, not...

"Trapper," Radar amends quietly. He comes closer, already holding out a hand with all the confidence he shows his personal petting zoo. "Sir, your arm."

A rush of lightning darts through John's veins when Radar takes his hand and rotates it to show him his forearm. Not the first time somebody's bitten down on it, but usually it's himself trying to keep quiet when Hawkeye's eating him out like he's his last meal. The teethmarks stand out quite vividly but he didn't break the skin. It'll just bruise over like it always does. "Oh, don't worry about it, Radar, s'nothing."

"It's not nothing." Radar scowls. "You got this 'cause of me, y'know."

"I got it 'cause I'm a jackass who wasn't gonna let Hawkeye storm his way into the O-Club when we..." John blinks as Radar lifts his arm. When Radar leaves a soft, gentle kiss right on the bite, John's stomach flip-flops. Fuck. He's just so...good. Every bit of him. He's not shy about doing that because he doesn't know he should be. He's standing here holding John's hand like they've been going steady for weeks rather than him stealing that first kiss tonight as a goad to his lover.

It's kind of amazing how smooth Radar's expression has gone by the time John glances back up at his face. He could be feeling nothing at all. "It's not your fault, Trapper. Really. I can tell you weren't fibbing just to play a joke or nothing, I promise." Even his words are perfectly steady. "H-He just doesn't want..."

Or not. John flicks his gaze to Hawk, but he's staring right at Radar with a furrowed brow.

"I mean, it's not a surprise or..."

John itches, doesn't think, just lets his other hand find Radar's back so he can rub it for him. It takes everything inside him to keep from pulling Radar into his arms and keeping him there until he smiles again.

Radar straightens up—like a soldier, John thinks with a boom of fury like a firework, there and gone in a flash—and clears his throat, letting go of John's hand. "Anyhow, it's not some big deal. So if it's okay with you sirs, I'm gonna, I-I'm just gonna go back and finish up some work."

The second Radar takes a step forward, Hawkeye stiffens, his arms shooting out to cover the full width of the door. Honestly, he looks shocked that he did it in the first place. But Radar peeks up at him, lips parted, and John does what he does best. He waits.

This isn't about John, except that it is, of course, because at least while they're here, Hawkeye belongs to him insomuch that John belongs to Hawkeye and neither one of them is ever going to admit it out loud. It's about John because his world revolves around Hawk's happy, his lust, his satisfaction, his rest, his everything, until one day when it won't anymore, which is a day John still refuses to let his mind focus on—it blurs over like he's nearsighted, and hell, maybe he is. It's about John because when he thinks about seeing Hawkeye and Radar tangle up naked in these scratchy green blankets, it's probably the most beautiful thing he could conceive of witnessing in the middle of their personal corner of Hell. So that's why he waits. Watches. Wonders if Hawk's finally going to let those muscles loosen until they're butter-smooth and melting from the heat.

When Hawkeye takes a long, deep breath, it's like a curtain getting pulled up to start a show he's been buzzing over for months. "You want this, Radar?"

Radar lifts his chin so he's looking Hawk right in the eye, a kind of steadiness that makes a thrum of heat flare up in John's gut. It's incredible. After all that effort to put on a brave face in the midst of rejection, all John's wanting to comfort him if he had to cry it out, he's far more confident in this decision than he'd given him credit for. "Yeah, Hawkeye," he murmurs.

"Tell me," Hawk says firmly, words like granite, like steel. "Tell me what you want."

Radar opens his mouth, closes it, then opens again. "I wanna learn what makes you feel good."

Hawk closes his eyes and bites his lips into a thin line.

"Wanna..." Radar approaches him until he stands directly in front of Hawk, just a few inches between them. John can't stop himself from visually tracing the lines of his neck, his shoulders, all so beautifully untouched by anyone. Then he can't stop himself from grazing his fingers slowly, slowly along Radar's trapezius, trying to feel him somehow through the jacket and shirts both. Radar shivers visibly, which makes John smirk, makes his mouth water, all the fascination that made him great at science before he was ever in medical school. "Wanna... I wanna touch you all over." He turns his head but doesn't fully peek over his shoulder before he snaps his gaze back on Hawk. "Both of you."

Both.

John can't actually say he's surprised, not really, not after the shower situation, but there's a jolt straight to his cock all the same. Hawk is so lithe. Beautiful. He's a goddamn perfect first try at fucking around with a man. John? He can sometimes sink into the background when he's near Hawkeye. He thinks he might be able to take advantage of that right now, but when John rests one hand on Radar's hip, he grins at the gasp he gets before he murmurs near his ear. "How 'bout we start you off with Hawk, see how you like it."

"Yeah," Radar whispers, then lets out a shivery groan.

"You want I should show you how to make him come?" John's words are husky, lush.

That makes Hawkeye and Radar whimper in tandem, a gorgeous little duet that John suddenly wants to hear every second he can. Radar tips his head back and stares up at him, and the longer he looks, the more red his cheeks turn. Another spark on the smoldering fire inside John. "I'll bet you're real good at it, aren't you, sir?" And there's a roughness to his tone just the same.

John's lips quirk as he takes one step closer, bringing his body flush against Radar's back, urging him to press against Hawk, to trap him there at the door. "Like you ain't ever heard him moaning for me with those ears'a yours."

"I wasn't snooping," Radar blurts exactly like a snooper would.

"Ah-huh." Hawkeye grins—his first since this whole damn thing started. As Hawk slides his hands into the valley of his soft waist, a sound as delicate as a snowflake comes out of Radar and draws a hum from Hawk in turn, one of those that John's used to hearing right against his ear when he's damn satisfied with what he just reduced John to. "Radar..." The moment Radar looks up at him, Hawk seems to hesitate, and John watches the goosebumps skitter down his throat. "...how d'you wanna kick us off, huh?"

Radar only waits another second before he comes up ever so slightly on his toes to brush his lips over Hawkeye's collarbone through his shirt. He steadies himself with a hand on Hawkeye's ribs, right where John knows he won't miss the way he's beginning to breathe too hard from this barest possible graze. "Can I see you, Hawkeye?" Radar asks with such sincerity and naked want that John instinctively reaches to give him exactly what he needs, gets a fist of Hawk's hem before he freezes.

John glances up. Waits for Hawkeye to look at him with that burning, dripping lust, hot enough to melt through the floor like lava. And then John touches Radar's other wrist and coaxes him to grab Hawkeye's shirt instead. "Go on. He wants it."

"You want it, Hawk?" Radar asks as though to be absolutely sure, and though John's certain that it's a legitimate question, somehow it's practically filth when it comes from him.

"Fuck..." Hawkeye nods. "Yeah, yeah, Radar, I do. I want you bad."

Radar shivers with a little laugh as he pushes Hawk's shirt up little by little, reaching high to pull it over his head. "Then I'll treat you real good."

The rush of arousal hardens John to the breaking point, makes him so hungry that he can't stop himself from pressing his cock into Radar's back as he leans in to kiss Hawkeye ruthlessly. Hawk whines against John's mouth and scrapes his nails across his scalp, shaking, shivering, and John takes one quick glance to make sure Radar's okay—he's kissing over Hawkeye's chest like he's never wanted to do something so bad in his whole life—before he finally gives in and lets every ounce of his desire bruise Hawk's lips.