#local hardwood flooring stores

[simplefloorspdx]

4 Benefits of Wood Flooring- Simplefloorspdx

For many homeowners, wood flooring is a preferred option.

Several advantages of wood flooring are listed below:

Natural beauty: Wood flooring may give any space a cosy, unique feel.

Ease of maintenance: Maintaining wood floors is not too difficult. They may survive for a long time with the right upkeep.

Value: Adding wood flooring to your property might increase its worth.

Wood flooring are incredibly resilient to wear and tear and can endure high traffic.

[ovaryacted]

Autumn Delight

Pairing: DI!Leon x fem!reader

Summary: As you cook to welcome the change in season, your daughter plays grocery shopping with her father.

WC: 2.1k

Notes: After reading @cinnarette write for girl dad!Leon, I wanted to add on to the hype and do some fluff because that man deserves it and I want him happy. Also I know I said Death Island Leon for this one, but I imagine him older. Anyways, enjoy, I had a lot of fun writing this one. Reblogs & comments are always appreciated.

The sun shined through the window as you hummed to yourself, the pot in front of you blowing off steam and filling the kitchen with the aroma of sweet tomatoes and fresh herbs. The scent felt nostalgic, like a soft weighted blanket that reminded you of what your mom would make for dinner after you came home from school.

The season was slowly transitioning into autumn now, a more prominent breeze shaking the leaves as they began to change color from their vibrant greens to shades of orange and dark red. Warm air now starting to cool down every passing day, tank tops and shorts exchanged for sweat pants and cotton crew necks. Soon enough, it’ll be time to go apple picking and welcome all things pumpkin, you mostly looked forward to having apple cider come back in stock at your local grocery store. 

A loaf of fresh sourdough bread rested in front of you, already knowing the cheese you needed for this meal was cooling in the fridge, ready to be melted to your heart’s delight. Grilled cheese and tomato soup were on the menu tonight, a nice hearty meal to welcome the first day of fall. You covered the pot of tomato soup, letting it simmer for a while longer. As you were ready to step to the side and tend to other tasks, you heard rambling on the upper floor of your townhouse, already knowing where the source of the noise was coming from.

Stepping out of the kitchen entirely, you went up the stairs, careful not to be too loud as your slippers moved over the hardwood steps. Walking down the hallway of the second floor, you continued until you were met with the white door to your left, wide open for you to take in the view inside.

Your husband was on his knees, surrounded by pastel green walls and soft carpet. Toys were all over the floor, a Barbie dollhouse in one corner of the room and a plastic play kitchen in the other. You leaned against the doorway and let out a snort, trying not to draw attention to the 3-year-old who walked around her bedroom with purpose. The man’s eyes were drawn to yours at the sound of your laughing, vibrant blues paired with soft wrinkles on the rounded corners of his gaze. A pearly white grin came your way, one that drew you to him all those years ago.

“You know, this place is quite small. Limited options”, Leon said, pushing a toy shopping cart that was comically small against him and skimming the shelf in front of him. He tilted his head to the side, finger on his chin as he thought heavily about what to grab next. Of course, he took this decision seriously, looking at the plastic toys resembling different foods from fake cereal boxes to ketchup bottles and eggs.

He reached forward and took a can of tuna, putting it in the cart and moving along. The cart was already full of a few things, plastic fruits and vegetables that were completely necessary. You watched him move around, going to the mini-kitchen that was set up on one side of the room.

“A drumstick in the sink? This is such a safety hazard for a grocery store”, Leon grumbled, knowing his daughter was right behind him, watching him diligently like a good sales associate. Her matching dirty blonde hair and blue eyes looked over him as he reached for the misplaced doll currently folded in the tiny microwave. He tried his hardest not to laugh, putting the doll back where he found it and gave you a glance.

Leon continued to shift around the room, finding plastic cookies on the floor and throwing them in the buggy with dramatic flare. He leaned down on the ground and found more toys littering around him. Grapes were underneath the toddler bed, toy crackers were in the hot tub in the dollhouse, and singular hot dog sausages were thrown in every nook and cranny imaginable.

Just looking at the room was stress-inducing, but the agent didn’t have the heart to be mad or irritated. If anything he was glad to have a mess like this to deal with in the first place. Had someone told him years ago he’d be happily married in a townhouse he bought with a three year old daughter that was his carbon copy, he’d laugh in their face. The image of having a loving family was a dream he had thrown away after the horrors he witnessed at 21. Being exposed to such monstrosities almost fully turned him away from ever thinking of having something more in his life besides fighting manmade monsters. He never thought he’d be able to have a life worth living outside of survival.

That was until miraculously, he bumped into you when he went to try a new cafe that opened in town. Years later having regained that dream he buried deep in his subconscious, he gets to be in a home full of love he never thought he’d get to experience. He has a reason to wake up every day, something and someone to fight for, and he wouldn’t take that for granted.

Leon shook his head and blinked at the sound of your voice, your eyes looking over him once or twice already knowing what happened. He zones out less as he gets older, but it still happens from time to time. Before, his memories used to haunt him, the traumas and burdens he carried would make his nervous system go haywire and put him in a constant state of paranoia. Now, he has moments where he’s reminiscing about his past and feels gratitude instead of self-hatred or fear. You didn’t mind, you accepted all parts of Leon with open arms, even the parts he couldn’t accept himself, and if it weren’t for your support lord knows where he’d be now.

“Hm?”, he hummed, giving you a look and silently admiring you like he often did, as if you were his guardian angel sent to ground him to this current reality.

“I asked if you could pick up some ice cream on your shopping trip”, you told him softly, your daughter now distracted and leaving her post at her fake cash register to collect all of the individual chip pieces she could find.

“Thanks for reminding me hun”, Leon said now returning to the present, shuffling to another part of the room to look for the ice cream pieces. He could only find the plastic waffle cone, not the strawberry ice cream scoop. With a shrug, he put it in the shopping cart as you held in your giggle with a bite of your lip.

Finally facing his daughter, he pushed the cart towards where she stood. Out of the kindness of his heart, he helped the toddler scan and swipe the toys, her small grabby hands reaching for whatever food item he gave her. It was moments like this you enjoyed the most, seeing just how much Leon loves the child you both created and how he treats her like the center of his universe. She’ll never fully understand just how much her dad cares for her, pure unconditional love if you ever saw it.

You couldn’t be more proud to see Leon become the father he never had, and the man he’s always wanted to be.

Leon now started to talk with his mini-twin, giving her sassy remarks as her tiny fingers threw the things she scanned back into his cart rather aimlessly.

“What? No bag? You’ve got to be kidding me”, he teased, playing the part of an angry customer all too well for your child to realize. She wagged a finger at him and pressed the button of the scanner towards his face, a beep sounding through the room as she did. She responded to him with an equal amount of sass, making you snicker under your breath and Leon had to bite his tongue so he didn’t follow you. Not only did your child inherit her father’s most noticeable features, she also got his corniness and attitude.

She continued to scan and beep all of the items until there was nothing left to pass, looking up at Leon with her hand out and demanding him to give the money for his groceries.

“Do you have change for a 20?”, Leon spoke, making you shake your head in disbelief at how dedicated he was in playing his role. He had a fake $20 bill he borrowed from the monopoly board sitting on the coffee table of your living room.

“Mine”, his daughter nodded with a bubbly giggle. She snatched the bill from Leon’s hand with enthusiasm, pressing some buttons on her cash register before the drawer opened with a ding. She pushed the bill inside and closed the drawer with no change in her hand. Leon only gave her a raised eyebrow.

“Wow. Is this how you treat your customers? You know what, I’m just going to go to Trader Joe’s down the block”, Leon playfully threw a hissy fit, making the 3-year-old laugh as she waved at her father and mumbled bye bye.

The blonde got up from his knees with a grunt, walking up towards you and pulling you in by the hips with a smile. Leaning down he kissed you on the cheek, then on the tip of your nose, and finally on your lips as you hummed against him, putting a hand on his chest and the other rubbing the back of his neck. It was an occurring routine of kissing he started years ago when you were still dating, all beginning the day he asked you to officially be his partner.

“You know our daughter is really starting to be more like you every time I see her. I’m getting scared, one of you is enough”, you taunted him, making him chuckle. You couldn’t help but stroke his stubbled cheek, loving the feel of the coarse hairs against your fingers.

“C’mon, you know you can’t get enough of me. I’m not that bad”, he grinned, offering you a corny wink that made you roll your eyes.

“Yeah yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night”

“I sleep just fine knowing you’re right next to me sweetheart”, he openly flirted with you, a sneaky hand coming towards your rear and giving you a playful tap. “You’re cooking aren’t you?”

“Mhm, grilled cheese and tomato soup, all from scratch”, you told him, noticing how his ears perked up at the sound of cooked food. You learned early on in your relationship that Leon was a foodie and preferred home-cooked dishes above anything else. So you made sure to get your clutches on him by making him some Tuscan chicken pasta, aka marry me pasta, on your 7th dinner date together. Safe to say, he hasn’t left since.

“God I love you”, he declared so frankly and so often that you knew he meant it. You never questioned his devotion to you, and you can tell from the way he says it as if it’ll be the last time that it’s always sincere. 

“I know, you would go hungry without me. I love you too”, giving him another kiss on his lips and letting him savor it.

You heard a tiny voice coming towards you both, something yanking on Leon’s jeans by the shin and forcing him to pull away from you for a minute. He looked down at the smaller blonde, cerulean eyes matching his own like a reflection of himself.

“Yeah sweet pea, what’s up?”, he turned towards her, reaching down to pick her up in his strong arms like he usually did. “You want some of mommy’s food too?”

“Yes! Sammi!”, it slipped out of her mouth, clapping to herself as she got excited at the mere idea of eating whatever was being made. She was always eager to eat, finding joy in the way she gripped her small spork and made a mess of herself with crumbs on her soft cheeks.

A passionate food lover, just like him.

“Hell yeah. Grilled cheese sammi and tomato soup. Let’s go help mommy cook”, Leon said, carrying his baby girl in his arms and marching down the stairs, allowing you to hear her laugh intertwining with his own. You followed them down the steps, watching your husband tickle your daughter’s tummy, beaming from ear to ear.

A warmth fluttered in your chest, silently watching the way they’d talk and interact with one another that would have anyone think they were the same person. You smiled again, going to the stove to stir the pot of tomato soup before you started on the grilled cheese sandwiches. 

You don’t know how you got here to have all that you did in your life, but you wouldn’t change an absolute thing.

©️ ovaryacted 2023. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

slippery when wet

pairing: post re8! chris x reader

cw: fingering, thigh grinding, thumb sucking, reader is frothing at the mouth (metaphorically)

summary: reader applies to babysit chris' child (he's rose's legal guardian in this one), and she's v into her boss. one day, she ends up in nothing but chris' shirt when her clothes are in the laundry.

a/n: title not inspired by the bon jovi album (doesn't really fit the vibe, despite having some bangers)

wc: 2.4k

“Jobs that don’t require a degree”. You type it into the search bar for the millionth time this week. Grocery store clerk, delivery driver, server, you’ve tried them all. And quit them all. You’re going to have to settle for working as a coal miner soon - and you’re a 21 year old girl who lives nowhere near a coal mine. 

Babysitter. You’ve done it before, when you were younger. In fact, as exhausting as the job was, you were actually pretty good at it. Maybe you could even get a referral from your neighbors. The job posting was on a local message board online. The pay looked like a sweet deal - top tier babysitter pay. Could probably hire a nice German or Spanish or Russian au pair and make your kid bilingual, but these parents chose to ask your town of American idiots to apply. Parent, singular - not even parent - you come to find. He’s her legal guardian, which probably means her parents are dead or in prison but you don’t think it’s appropriate to ask such invasive questions at your interview. Not if you want the job, at least. And you really want the job. 

The interview is surprisingly casual, which is good because it’s not like you own business attire. You expected this: a young woman with a tired - and very forced, almost pained - smile comes to the door holding the cranky child while the dad shakes your hand on the way out to spend the day with his buddies from college. Their attempt to quell their marriage problems by getting a sitter will not get them off their track to divorce.

But it doesn’t go like that at all. A man - older than you’d think a new father should be, but far from elderly - opens the door. (honestly, if he were elderly, then you’d be whatever the opposite of a cradle-robber is. A nursing home robber?). Mr. Legal Guardian tall, muscular, kind of intimidating, but also incredibly sexy. He could choke you out but you’d get wet if he tried. Actually, you’d probably soak his nice hardwood floors if he so much as touched you since all he’s done is shake your hand and you’ll probably need to change your panties when you get home. 

Either you’re good at hiding your feelings or he couldn’t care less about the fact that you’re trying very hard to keep eye-contact and avoid the overwhelming urge to look and see if you can tell what he’s packing through the pants he has on. 

“I’m Chris Redfield. Nice to meet you,” he says and you’re really hoping that you said your own name in response and not what you were thinking which was “Oh god, please fuck me, Mr. Redfield, I don’t care about the job anymore”. 

You’re pretty sure you kept that thought on the inside because he seems to think this situation is totally normal and ignores the obvious sexual tension - or maybe it’s just you and there’s no real tension. Maybe you need to buy one of those fancy Hitachi wands and fix the leaky faucet downstairs. You’d need money for that. Money… Oh, right, you can get a job! How convenient. 

You keep the conversation going because you want to hear him talk, you want to burn it onto a CD in your brain and play it on the car ride home. No, you’d crash if you did that. 

He tells you the baby girl’s name is Rosemary.

“That’s a pretty name. How did you decide on it?” Or did your wife choose it? Was the divorce bad? Or is she dead? 

“I didn’t. Her parents did. I don’t know if it was her mom or her dad’s choice,” he says, matter-of-factly. “I think it’s a good name, too,” he follows up with, “Mostly, everyone just calls her Rose, though.”

“It’s probably easier. I’d imagine it’d be hard for a baby to say ‘Rosemary’.” You realize you know very little about child development. “Can she talk?”

“Some. Only small sentences and she still pronounces half of what she’s trying to say wrong, but she usually gets the point across. She calls me ‘Dada’ because it’s easier to say than ‘Chris’.”

Is she gonna call me ‘Mama’? Does she need a stepmom… or whatever? Anyway, can you please, please have sex with me, Mr. Redfield? If you don’t get dick soon, they’ll have to institutionalize you.

You must’ve done way better than you thought because you got the job. You’re lucky that Rose is more well-behaved than most babies you’ve met. 

She does call you ‘Mama’, though. 

You bring a change of clothes to work every day because babies don’t know how to avoid making a mess of everything they get their little fingers on. Rose is pretty tidy for a kid her age, but her favorite food is ketchup, so half of your wardrobe is stained red by the second week of work. 

One day, she’s sitting in your lap holding a sippy cup of apple juice with a lid you were sure you’d closed, but as it turned out, it had not been screwed on right and the bottom of your shirt as well as your jeans end up soaked in apple juice. You only have yourself to blame. 

You brush off the issue to the kid because you don’t want to upset her, but you hate being sticky. She’s lucky she gets a bath. You don’t think Chris would appreciate finding you in his bathtub, playing with rubber duckies, unfortunately. 

Once Rose is in new, dry clothes, Chris walks in the door. Rose reaches out to him and he picks her up. He notices the wet patch on your jeans and you realize how it looks when he raises an eyebrow. 

“Did you piss yourself?” 

“No!” 

You’re about to explain the apple juice spill situation when Rose chimes in, repeating what Chris said, without any idea what she’s saying. 

The way he groans makes it seem like it’s not the first time she’s picked up bad language. “Those aren’t nice words. Don’t repeat them.” Chris tries to remain serious, but you’re both holding back laughter. 

“It’s just apple juice,” you clarify, “My fault, not hers.”

“Do you need new clothes?”

“In theory,” you say because you do, but you don’t want to impose. 

Rose yawns and Chris says, “How about you put her down and I will find something else for you to wear?”

“Okay,” you say because it’s shorter than, “No, no, you don’t have to do that.” Plus, he will inevitably insist that “Yes, yes, he has to do that.”

Rose is reluctant to go to bed without saying goodnight to ‘Dada’. Luckily, he joins the both of you in her bedroom, holding clothes for you. 

“Here,” he says, “I don’t have any pants that’ll fit you, but I think this shirt will probably go down to your knees.”

“Thanks,” you say, taking the shirt. 

“No problem,” he says, “Go change and bring me your clothes so I can wash them.”

You nod and walk into the hall bathroom. Chris is right - the shirt is about mid-thigh length, so as long as you don’t bend over, you’re covered. It was probably a bad day to wear a thong to work, though. Or maybe it was a great day to do just that. Glass half-full?

You find Chris in the hallway and you give him a slew of apologies and thank you’s because you feel bad that he’s doing your laundry. He dismisses them all kindly, but the look in his eye has changed - scrutinizing, yet amused. 

“Normally, I would say, ‘you’re free to go’, but -”

Am I getting punished? God, fuck, yes, please. 

“- You probably shouldn’t wear that out.”

You look down at your state of dress - or undress, depending on how you look at it. Yeah, you definitely shouldn’t go out like that.

“You can if you want,” he says, “but you’re welcome to stay at least until your clothes dry.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

You’re standing awkwardly in his living room when he says, “You know you can sit down, right?”

You sit down next to him on the couch - an appropriate distance away, of course. There’s an awkward silence while you try not to stare at him. 

“Why are you so nervous? You’re acting like you’ve never been here before,” he says.

“For one thing, I’m not wearing pants right now. And, two, I’ve never been here while you’re here. I’m always here alone with Rose.”

“Do I make you nervous?” His smile says he knows more than you think. 

“No, not really.”

“Not really?”

You smile and nod. 

“Rose told me something she heard you say while I was gone…” “Oh shit. Did I swear in front of her? I try not to do that.”

He shakes his head. “She said, ‘Dada is sexy’, and as you can imagine, I was curious as to where she heard that…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but his eyebrow is raised. He knows.

Your heart is beating out of your chest and you can feel your face flushing. 

“She must’ve heard that from someone else,” you lie. 

“Who else would’ve said it?”

“I bet most people think you’re sexy. I mean, look at you, it seems like the most obvious conclusion any normal person would come to.” You shrug, trying to play it off as if you didn’t just reveal yourself entirely. 

“So, you didn’t say anything about my attractiveness in front of Rose, but you do think I’m ‘sexy’? Am I correct?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“No, it’s a rhetorical question.”

You’d bolt out of the room if you had pants on, but now - wearing nothing but Chris’ t-shirt and a thong? It looks like you’ve already slept with him. 

You try to form a sentence, but much like Rose, all you can do is echo Chris’ words. “Do you think I’m sexy?” you ask. 

“Much more so than you were when I walked in - you know, with apple juice all over you.”

“So, you do feel the same way about me?”

“Correct.”

He looks like he’s thinking, considering next moves, but you’re already scooting closer to him on the couch. He hums in approval. He picks you up and puts you in his lap. 

“Do you wa-” He tries to say, but you cut him off with a kiss and he takes it in stride. One of his hands rests on the back of your head and the other is on your waist. His tongue is in your mouth and you think you can feel him getting hard, which makes you wetter than you already were, and now you’re really considering if this thong was of any use at all. Guess one more thing needs a wash. 

Chris reaches between your thighs like a psychic, though he acts surprised at how aroused you are. “Are you always this wet?”

“No, not always.” Liar.

“I’ll take it as a compliment then.”

As he should. 

His hands snake their way under your - his - t-shirt and find your tits. His fingertips brush your nipples and you absent-mindedly start to grind on him, longing for any friction you can get. You’ll ruin his pants at this point. Another load of laundry to do. 

He takes your hips and positions you on his thigh. 

“This should help,” he says. 

Out of embarrassment, you halt the movement of your hips. 

“What? It seemed like you wanted to get off and I’m not going to stop you.”

He acts nonchalant but it borders on teasing because you can see the amusement in his eyes. Maybe he’s not used to desperate little girls like you. 

You grip his shoulders to steady yourself - if you’re going to pathetically grind on this man’s thigh, you’re going to do it right - and you resume your back and forth pattern. You catch a glimpse of the smirk on his face and you let your head drop, not allowing yourself to look him in the eye. There’s no way you’d be able to continue like that. He lifts your chin, but it’s not to force your eyes back on him - he kisses you again, more passionately this time. Not romantic passion, the sexy, sloppy kind. You pull back first to catch your breath. Maybe it’s just nerves, but this whole thigh-riding activity is doing a number on you. Chris takes note of your struggle and puts his hands on your hips, taking on half of the work. Somehow, he does a better job than you, and if he’s this good at something so simple, you wonder about his other skills. 

“Suck,” he says simply, putting his thumb between your lips. 

In that moment, you discover your oral fixation - and Chris is observant enough to recognize it too. 

“Good girl,” he says, removing his thumb from your mouth and using it to rub your clit. He really didn’t need the lubrication and he must’ve known that. Admittedly, you’re a bit disappointed when he takes his thumb away from you. 

“It seemed like you were enjoying that,” he says, rubbing his other thumb over your bottom lip. You open your mouth and hope he won’t make you beg for it. “You’re lucky I have two hands.”

He flips you around so that you’re sitting in his lap with your back pressed against his chest. He returns his thumb to your mouth before you can grab it and shove it back in there yourself. You are lucky he has two hands, you come to fine, when he begins pumping two of his fingers in and out of you while rubbing your clit simultaneously. You moan around the finger in your mouth and he can tell you’re getting close. 

“Gonna cum for me?” he asks. 

You hum and nod frantically as your orgasm approaches quickly. Your inner walls clench and release as you gush around his fingers. When you come down from your high, you notice that you’ve left a considerable wet patch on the couch and on Chris’ pants.

“Don’t worry. We can do another load of laundry after this one’s finished,” he says. He checks the time and then says, “It looks like we have about 25 more minutes until the washing machine’s done. What do you want to do until then?”

“Depends? How much laundry detergent do you have left?”

[momotonescreaming]

I went digging through my fics, and found this. Absolutely no idea when I wrote this, or if I shared it already, but I can't stop thinking about it. Enjoy.

It’s the 1800’s, and Steve is the first born and only son of Richard Harrington, heir to the Harrington fortune. Expectations have been placed upon him since he was born, and it only got worse as he got older. He was too kind, liked flowers, and playing in the mud, and learning about horses and carriages and trains, and sitting with his mother while she put on make up and had her ladies maid do her hair. Then came the lessons from the private tutor (since the Harrington’s were too good for the local school) and Steve wasn’t as book smart as his father wanted him to be.

His father was mean and his mother was scared and so Steve spent a lot of time out in the fields as a young boy, wandering the land his father owned, picking up sticks and pretending to be a sheriff or an adventurer riding a fast horse into the sunset.

So he played until it got dark and Steve still didn’t go back home. Dad would yell and Mom would give him That Look and he didn’t want to change into his fancy dinner clothes. So Steve stays out late and wanders.

There are things living in the woods.

Things with teeth that hunt and kill and make people disappear. But no one tells poor little Steve this. He gets attacked by a wolf that isn’t quite a wolf, and screams so so loud.

Nobody hears him.

One of his father’s farmhands find him in the woods in the early morning. His clothes are ripped and he’s dirty and covered in blood but he doesn’t have any wounds, save for one single wolf bite. The man rushes him back to the Harrington Manor House, and someone calls the doctor. Steve is bathed, and fed, and checked over and the doctor tells his parents that he’s lucky it wasn’t worse. He gets better and goes back to his lessons.

Next month he gets a fever. Steve is sweaty and delirious, and hungry and itchy and restless and nothing quite helps. He blacks out one night and when he wakes up he’s curled up on the hardwood floor and all his furniture has been ripped apart. The servants whisper the word “werewolf” in the halls.

His parents fire half the servants, pay them off to keep their mouth shut, and hire someone who can help. A friendly woman named Mrs Henderson, whose dead ex-husband was a werewolf like Steve. She teaches him what she can while Richard Harrington hires men to build a stone basement underneath a small cottage at the very back of the Harrington Land. Where no one can see.

So Steve grows up, he falls in love, he finds out his sweetheart Nancy doesn’t love him, he befriends Dustin Henderson, and then Robin Buckley - a  dorky local girl who plays the trumpet and works at a store in town. And once a month, he takes himself down to the basement of the cottage, and turns into a werewolf. Mrs Henderson could only help so much, not being a Werewolf herself. His control is better than it was, but he still doesn’t trust himself. So chained in the basement it is.

Then there’s Eddie Munson, the poor son of an outlaw living with his uncle in a tiny house in the town of Hawkins. Grew up learning how to break the law with his father, how to live off the land, how to shoot and hunt and survive. He hated it, little Eddie wanted to learn to play the guitar and read and tell stories. But Pa didn’t give him much of a choice. Until Ma died and Pa spiralled and ended up getting caught and shipped off to prison. So he went to live with his uncle Wayne. And he made friends, and told stories, and started writing.

And then he watched a girl die and got blamed for her murder. So he’s on the run, and he knows how to survive but not when he doesn’t have any supplies. And not in a town where everyone knows his name and his face. So he runs. And he hides. First in his friend Rick's, who’s away in jail or on a job or something. Eddie's not sure and he really doesn't care right now. But he gets close to getting caught again. So he runs again until he finds a barn, semi abandoned in the middle of nowhere.

He’s close to the Harrington’s land, this he knows. But everyone knows they travel for business all the time, so it’s fine.

Except it’s not.

He’s tired and hungry and scared and it’s dark. There’s a light in the distance - lantern. He ducks down, waiting. Except it’s not the Sheriff, or Jason Carver (who took it upon himself to become a bounty hunter, to avenge the death of his sweetheart). It’s Steve Harrington. The semi-estranged, semi-reclusive Harrington heir, who looks grim and angry as he storms across the field. And he doesn’t see Eddie, doesn’t look at the barn, doesn’t even have a horse.

Steve goes into the cottage and Eddie doesn’t know whether to stay put until he leaves in the morning or make a run for it. Eddie is still paralysed with fear and indecision when he notices the full moon in the sky.

He hears a guttural scream, the snap of bone, a howling; and Eddie remembers the stories his Uncle Wayne would tell him of the things that live in the woods.

[fckeddiemunson]

Take Me Upstairs - Eddie Munson

take me upstairs - rockstar!eddie munson

Synopsis: You run the local record shop and one day Eddie invites you to a show and one thing leads to another. 

Warnings: 18+ only MDNI. some fluff, smidge of angst, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, oral f & m receiving, slight choking if you squint. 

 A/N: Please be nice, this is my first fic I’ve written since I was a teenager xx 

4.5k 

There was one record shop in Hawkins, tucked away off the main street. It belonged to your uncle, but he was more of a figurehead of the business in his old age, you were there most days, running the shop. It was a dream, you got to speak to people about music all day, play whatever you wanted and no one would complain that it was too loud. Before you started the shop had a dark, dingy feeling to it, dust collected on the shelves and the old hardwood floor had nails sticking up everywhere. You had brightened up the place with a bright lick of paint, pot plants everywhere and you kept the latest stuff in stock of all the up and coming hits.

Eddie Munson had been a regular since your uncle had been working there. He would rush in on a Friday morning when all the new music was released and put on the shelves. Sometimes he would line up ten minutes before it opened to grab the only metal record available, because it was such a small town you only kept a little of everything at once. It was a Friday afternoon when he first met you, he was running late for a new album, he was sweating, worried it had already sold. He had parked his van half sticking out to the road in front of the store, tripped up the stairs, called hello to Ray, your uncle and speed walked to the metal section. He was startled when he heard your sweet, soft voice call back to him. He awkwardly shuffled through the cds on the shelves. Eddie smiled gleefully when he saw the new release, he seized it and kissed the cover, “Was worried I was too late for you darlin’” he whispered and walked up to the counter where you were standing with the new Kerrang edition in your hands. Eddies breath hitched when you moved the magazine away to serve him, you were phenomenal, eyes that were bright and inviting and the warmest prettiest smile he had ever seen.“You’re not Ray” he stated and then cringed at you, wow what an opener, he thought and stuttered out trying to say something else. 

You chuckled and leant on the counter, “No, I’m not Ray, I’m Y/N. You’re Eddie right? My uncle warned me about our regular metalhead” You smiled at him and held  your hand outstretched to shake Eddies. 

“Uh, yes I am Eddie, it’s nice to meet you too” He took your hand, stressing that his hand was sweaty and shook yours. Edde wasn’t usually this giddy when he met a girl, plenty of girls showed up to Corroded Coffin gigs now that they had gained a bit of traction in surrounding bigger towns. 

“I put this record on this morning before you got here, you’re in for a treat” You gestured to the Iron Maiden record in his hand, he handed it over to you grinning. “Oh yeah? Well I’m glad to hear it sweetheart, first thing I’m doing after this is blasting it all the way home in the van” Eddie said excited, feeling himself relax and lean against the counter. 

You gasped at his answer, “Oh my no! Eddie, your first listen to an album has to be special, right atmosphere, good stereo, not shitty car speakers!” you were horrified at the mere thought, you liked the ritual of putting a new album on for the first time. 

“Guess I’m just too impatient with masterpieces” Eddie winked at you and immediately regretted it as he handed over a bill to you. Why was he so awkward sometimes?! He groaned mentally. 

“Next time you’re in I expect a full report.” You told him, deadly serious. 

“Absolutely sweetheart.” Eddie left, looking once more behind him as he left, seeing you smiling to yourself as you picked up the magazine again. 

Eddie knew from that moment he was fucked. Nobody at any shows would ever compare. The next day he sauntered back into the store, hoping you were working on a weekend, he was disappointed to know that your brother worked the weekend as you liked to attend as many gigs as you could on the weekend.

Eddie was back in the shop Monday morning, a grin on his face as he tumbled into the store. He called out your name and your head popped up from one of the rows near the back as he followed you down there. 

“Heya sweetheart” Eddie said, leaning against the shelf. 

“Hey yourself. What did you think of the album?” You asked excitedly, he thought you looked so cute all excited and chirpy 

“It was like a religious experience and i ain’t had many of them let me tell you” you giggled at him and began searching through the shelves again. 

“Let me show you something else, you don’t have to buy it, just borrow it for the day and see if you like it?” you picked out a few cds and handed them over. 

“Are you sure sweetheart?” He looked over them, not hearing of some of the bands before

“Yeah sure I’ll be glad to hear your thoughts.” Eddie got suddenly excited that you wanted him to come back, and that Eddie had to come back to see you thrilled him. 

“Hey, could watch the shop for a minute while i go grab a coffee and pastry?” Eddie heard your stomach growl and he chuckled 

“Nonsense, it’s on me, for the cds” You smiled at him and thanked him as he left for coffee. 

You bit into the delicious flaky pastry, a bit sticking to your mouth 

“Oh you’ve got a bit of-“ Eddie gestured to your cheek. You desperately tried to brush it off after several attempts Eddie reached towards you, his hand gently brushing it off. 

“There you go” Eddie whispered as he brushed it off and you both blushed. 

You two had become closer over the last few months. He would often spend up to an hour at closing time when it was quiet just helping you tidy up and then walking you to your car. And when he was in at opening he would bring you coffee and pastries fresh from the cafe down the road. You were getting attached to him, you didn’t want to admit it. Hawkins was the last place you thought you’d end up but after a bad run in Los Angeles as a bartender, you thought you needed a change and it all fell into place. At first you thought Eddie’s extensive amount of time in the shop was normal, your uncle had warned you he was there a lot. But Ray tended to exaggerate with these things. Eddie was always on your mind, as soon as you got to the shop and opened up. Your head would whip around to the door every time the little bell dinged as the door opened. He was sweet and funny and a little flirty which often made your cheeks heat up. You were hoping he’d make a move but it had been a few months now and Eddie would still just come in to talk to you.

Eddie waited in a cafe around the corner from the record store, grabbing you your regular latte and pastry. He had some CD’s of his own to give you this time and he was very excited about it. This new found hobby he had of obsessively listening to the CD’s you gave him and thinking about what to give you next was his favourite pastime. Eddie was thinking about asking you out on a date but outside of being on stage he was a bit shy and you were the first girl to mean something to him beyond a girl at a show. 

 He walked towards the record store, checking his hair in a nearby store window and walked into the shop. He noticed you weren’t at the counter so he wandered through checking out the new releases, he heard your sweet laugh trickle through the store and he also heard another man’s voice speaking to you as you giggled. Eddie didn’t know what it was about but he felt immediately annoyed, his eyebrow raised as he lurked around the shop finding you in the back corner. He saw you talking to a tall dark haired man also with tattoos on his arms. Inside him was pure turmoil - partially because he knew he was overreacting but part because he really didn’t want any suspicion of his to be right. 

“Eddie!” You shouted excited, too loud for the small space. 

“You have to meet Luke! He was a bartender with me in California!! He was passing through town.” You spoke with adoring eyes for Luke, or so Eddie thought. He also thought it was bullshit, no one passes through Hawkins. 

Eddie strained “Nice to meet you” before Luke gave you a quick hug and you two said your goodbyes. 

After he left Eddie awkwardly gave you the pastry and coffee, watching as you took a bite. 

“Is he ah, an ex?” Eddie found himself spilling out before he could stop. 

“Oh, ah no just a friend who helped me out when I was there. Bit weird he stopped by though.” You shrugged and the pit in Eddie’s stomach slowly got smaller, he felt ridiculous to feel such jealousy for you. 

“Okay sugar, I’ve got band prac so I’ve got to go but ah here’s some Cd’s i think you should hear. Let me know, yeah?” You smiled warmly at Eddie and his heart swelled in his heart and jeans. 

You blew him a kiss as he walked to the door and Eddie swore under his breath as he walked to his van. Oh yeah he was totally fucked. 

 You knew he had a band that was slowly gaining traction and getting out there. It was his dream and  you had passionately spoken about it with him. Watching him talk about the band and getting excited about getting out there more made you swoon. The way his smile lit up the entire shop, it was cheeky and earnest. And his eyes that were constantly on yours, his intense eye contact often made you lose  your breath but you loved his attention. You had even started stocking the EP they had released, and playing it in store to spark conversation with other customers so you could gush over him. 

Eddie rushed in one Friday morning a few weeks after running into Luke, you peaked through the window seeing the rest of his band in the van, looking packed in with gear. 

“Morning sugar” His usual charm on high volume, he was in an excellent mood. The band had gotten a  huge gig at a bar in a nearby town. It had a venue room that held about 500 people, and for them that was epic. Beyond huge, the biggest they had ever played somewhere, and away from home too! 

“Would you mind putting this up in the window? I want as many people to come tomorrow night as they can!” You looked over the poster, a smile crept onto your face as your eyes met Eddies and you bit your lip in excitement for him. 

“Of course Eddie. I’m so ecstatic for you! This is huge, your big break for sure. I will play nothing but Corroded Coffin all day!” You did a little hop skip of excitement around  the counter and punched his arm. 

“Seriously, super proud of you.” Eddie blushed at your words and looked at you once more before deciding to pull you into a crushing bear hug. You inhaled him, strong and musky, it made you warm inside. 

“You better be coming tonight sweetheart.” He winked at you before there was a honk from the van, his bandmates clearly getting impatient. He gave them the finger and looked back at you. 

“Seriously, I’ll put your name on the door, as you’re the only one in town who will stock the record.” 

“Eddie I am the  only record shop in town” you whined but he only smirked and gave your arm a quick squeeze before he ran out the door. 

You heard the boys in the van all “whoooo” at the same time and you saw Eddie go bright red as they drove away 

You stood in your room hours later, hair in rollers, stressing about which outfit to wear. This wasn’t a normal gig where you’d just throw on any old jeans and a ripped up old shirt. This was Eddie's big gig, you didn’t want to get lost in the crowd, you wanted him to know you were there supporting him. You settled on jeans anyway and an Iron Maiden shit, reminiscent of your first conversation. You tucked it in showing your stomach and went to the bathroom stressing about your hair and makeup. 

Once you got inside the venue, you were excited but got a little disheartened at all the stunning girls at the gig. You felt like you couldn’t compare to these bombshells. You shot another drink for good luck, nodding your head along to the opening band. The butterflies in your stomach only intensified as they finished and everyone started closing in for Eddie. You usually got keen for gigs but you felt extra giddy and bouncy as it was his band, he had your heart in chains and he didn’t even know it. You settled for a spot a few rows back from the stage, snug against a wall. There were too many girls crowding the front to get any closer. The lights dimmed and you were smiling at the stage, nerves flying off of you in static waves. 

Eddie came out on stage with his signature red guitar, tight black skinny jeans, a ripped up singlet that showed his biceps and tattoos and red boots. Eddie was also the vocalist and he sauntered up to the microphone, mouth close to it and welcomed and thanked the crowd for coming. There were a few cheers but mostly loud squeals from the few girls in the first couple of rows.

The first song played and the riff ripped through the venue, you were hooked. It was like ecstasy, his voice and playing sent you into a frenzy. You were headbanging in time with the guy next to you and shouting out the lyrics. A small mosh broke out and you pushed to be in the mosh, having the most fun you’d had at a show. Their presence was electrifying and the whole crowd could tell they were witnessing something special. 

Eddie was the most charismatic frontman. So much so that during one of their dirtier songs he lent down and started singing to her, eyes staring directly into the girl's soul, her hands were on his legs grabbing and touching. He did the same to a few other girls throughout the set. You felt like you had been punched in the gut. You sank to the back of the crowd. You knew it had to be part of the show and his presence but the way he sang to them hurt you more than you could admit. You suddenly didn’t feel special, Eddie had this way of making you feel like you were the queen in his kingdom. He was so charismatic and charming and on stage it was amplified. You slumped against the back wall of the venue, now replaying all the closing chats you had where you talked about your hopes, dreams and fears. Before the gig you were sure he likes you at least a little bit in the way your heart swelled at the mention of his name. Seeing him sing to the girls reminded you that he treated every girl the way he did with you and you tried to enjoy the end of the show without feeling sorry for yourself. 

After the gig ended you headed back out and lingered around the main bar for a while, nursing a gin and tonic deciding if you should go knock on the shared dressing room for the boys. Being on the list gave you certain advantages. Out of the corner of your eye you saw one of his bandmates, Gareth, gesturing for you to come over, he was headed back with a tray of drinks.Gareth had been in the store with Eddie a bunch of times. You drew a deep breath, scared to face Eddie feeling sad about unreturned feelings, but your feet started moving towards the backstage door. 

You followed through the door behind Gareth and were met with several girls in the dressing room, all giggling and one sitting very close to Eddie, hand on his arm who had his back to you on the couch. You awkwardly stood near the door as Gareth hustled to the table to set the drinks down. 

“Look who found her way here” Gareth nudged Eddie, who tore himself away from the girl on the couch, she looked at you intensely. 

Eddie grinned at you, you felt your heart twinge at the sight, beating faster with anxiety as he came closer to you. He handed you a beer and you skulled a few sips with him. You were loose tongued when you were tipsy and you were worried you may just pour your feelings out onto him and he would go back to the table of groupies. 

Instead you pulled yourself together, “That was one hell of a show Eddie '', he clinked his bottle against yours, biting his lip as you said that. You averted your eyes from his lip biting, knowing any kind  of light flirting would make you sad knowing if you didn’t walk in he would probably be making out with that girl. 

“I know right! I was worried you weren’t here, couldn’t see you in the crowd” he pouted at you and your heart strings pulled, heart filling with warmth for him against your wishes. You didn't want to be hurt. 

“I was in the mosh mostly, too far back to see me. That's why my hair is all messed up.” you gestured to your wavy poofy hair. 

“You have never looked more spectacular than you do right now. You’re gorgeous” 

Eddie reached up and tucked a bit of hair behind your ear, your heart hammering as he did. You both audibly heard the girl on the couch scoff. 

“Let's get some air?” Eddie suggested and you nodded. 

You found yourself in a cozy corner of the smokers area, falling into conversation easily with Eddie as he lit up a cigarette and another round of drinks had made its way to your table, perks of being the band playing. Your inhibitions were lowering and you were gaining confidence when you said, “do you usually fuck all those girls in your dressing room after shows?” 

Eddie was taken aback by the question. You had talked about your love lives before, exes and the like but never about something like this. Eddie looked at your face, he could tell you were annoyed by the girl he was speaking to before. Eddie hesitated

“I used to sleep with one or two, once our shows started getting a bit bigger. But I’m not really a one night stand person.” You considered, a little more annoyed than you originally thought. 

“Yeah but if I hadn’t showed up to distract you, you would’ve fucked that girl in there tonight” You acccused, taking a swig of your drink. 

“No I wouldn’t have! If anything, her conversation was a distraction. And what about your friend from Cali huh?” Eddie argued back. You blamed the alcohol for why you were feeling this way but you couldn’t stop now 

“He means nothing! Don’t turn this on me, Eddie. it’s almost shameful how intimate you are with those girls in the crowd.” You strained, you felt a lump in your chest, heaving with every word. 

“Sweetheart, that's just for the show, got to get everyone riled up!” You didn't say a word and he sighed, placing a hand on your knee and rubbing it. Eddie swallowed hard 

“You know I-.. I haven’t even thought about kissing anyone. Anyone at all except you darlin’. I don’t even think about other women like that, I only ever think about you” Eddie searched your face for some sign of reaction. His hand on your knee moved to lift your chin up to meet his eyes. 

“Eddie, you make me feel things I have never felt before. And- and I'm scared to get hurt.” You whispered out, looking into Eddie's warm brown eyes, breathless at your admission. Eddie placed his hand on your bar stool and dragged it as close as possible.  His knee nestled in between your legs, your thighs touching. Eddie cupped your cheek, letting his hand run down to your neck, thumb trailing along your jaw to your mouth. He had brought his face closer to yours, your hearts hammering together in sync.

He ran his thumb over your bottom lip and you kissed lightly. Eddie stared at you, his hand slithering to the back of your neck to pull you closer to him, your lips a mere inch apart. 

He cupped your neck and jaw again, before you lost your composure and lent in, brushing your lips against his plush ones. He exhaled sharply, bringing his other hand up to cup your jaw with both hands as he shifted close to you and entangled your lips again. You gasped as he sucked in your bottom lip, fiercely kissing you. Your hand fumbled for his shirt and collar, desperate to feel him. Eddie took a breath and before he could move, you kissed him again, licking his bottom lip as his tongue met yours and slid over your bottom lip into your mouth. You moaned against him, hand clutching and squeezing his thigh. Eddie stood up, pressing his body into yours. Eddie pulled back from the kiss  to look at you, your lips were swollen, lipstick smearing a bit onto his lips. 

“Look at you, shit, all fucked out and I haven’tt even gotten started” he whispered, hand behind your neck  pulling  you close as he nuzzled into your neck. He kissed your neck lightly, testing the waters as you gasped and let your hand disappear into his curly locks. Eddie kissed and nipped and sucked at your neck, you felt your pussy warm and clench everytime he would bite and suck, each time with more vigor and lust. You could feel Eddie’s dick against you. That alone made you whimper against him. 

“I have a room upstairs, we have a gig tomorrow so I figured why not-” You cut Eddie off with a bruising kiss, tangling your hands in his hair. 

“Yes, take me there” You whimpered out, completely under his control and absolutely soaking for him. 

He grabbed your arm, leading you back inside and up a stairway, you stumbled into his room, breathless.

Eddie pushed you against the wall and engulfed you in a kiss, fire exploded in your stomach as you sunk down to your knees, staring up at him, his eyes full of lust. 

“I have been wanting to do this for a long time” You whispered, fumbling with his belt on his pants. 

“Oh yeah? I’ve dreamed of seeing you on your knees for me” Eddie grabbed your chin and angled it to look up at him, satisfied at the already fucked out look you had on your face. You shimmed his jeans down a bit, stopping briefly, suddenly nervous to see him for the first time. Eddie instead took over, you looked down as he took his cock in his hand, stroking it up and down, groaning as he did. 

“Look at me sweetheart.” Eddie said down to you, a command, not a question. Your eyes slowly crept up, you let out a breath seeing his cock at eye level, much bigger and prettier than you were expecting. Eddie tapped it on your lips once before you took him in your mouth, licking the tip and then sucking in, until he hit the back of your throat. You breathed out harshly, refusing to let him slide out. 

Eddie groaned deeply above you, sending waves between your legs, you moaned against him as you continued to suck greedily. 

“Makin’ me feel so good baby, so good”  Eddie mumbled lustily above you, entangling his hand in your hair and forcing more of him into your mouth, you groaned at the sensation. Eddie moved your head back and forth on his dick, your jaw slack for him, his moans were sending you into a frenzy, you gagged on him once before he slid out of your mouth. 

“Dirty girl” he muttered, pulling you up and kissing you, tongue invading your mouth. His hands wrapped around you, his big hands grabbing your ass, he tested the waters by giving it a sharp slap and you gasped, convinced you’re dripping through your underwear. 

Eddie pushed you onto the nearby bed, his weight crushing as he undid your jeans and dragged them off you, pulling you to the edge of the bed as he did. His hands ran over your bare thighs, thumbs digging in at the apex of your thighs. He teased your underwear waistband, snapping it against your skin before dropping his head right between your thighs, strong hands spreading them for him, and only him. He thumbed the cloth, right against your clit and you let out a whine that turned into a moan as he  kissed your clit through the thin cloth. Eddie hooked his finger under the waistband and pulled them down slowly, spreading your legs once again. He slid his finger through your folds, you let out a whimper as he gathered your slick on his fingers and brought it to mouth, sucking it off. 

“Just as sweet as I’d thought you’d be baby” Eddie grinned before thumbing your clit slowly, your head rolled back on the bed as he drew slow teasing circles on you, occasionally teasing your tight hole. He sunk his teeth into your thigh, short sharp breaths coming from you as you almost fell apart over Eddies touches. 

“Please” You whimpered to him, Eddie’s wicked grin lighted his face. 

“Please what?” he teased, his hand abruptly stopping on your cunt. 

“Please… fuck me” you writhed on the bed, desperate for pleasure. 

“No, I'm not done with you yet.” Eddie growled and pinned your left thigh down and spread your folds, slipping two fingers inside of you, a high moan escaping your lips. 

Eddie’s fingers were long and found that sensitive spot inside you quickly as his fingers moved deliciously inside you, filthy noises escaping your mouth at the squelch of your wetness on his fingers. He thumbed your clit at the same time, you felt your build up quickly, but something felt different, more intense as his fingers relentlessly brought you higher and higher. 

“Eddie” his name left in a high pitched whine, your hips lifted off the bed as you felt your release flood through you, you shivered, lifting your hips off the bed. You felt extra wet as Eddie continued to fuck you with his fingers, you twitched beneath him, overstimulated. 

“Thats it good girl, good fucking girl.” He praised as his movements slowly came to a stop. 

You lay on the bed breathless, hair sticking to your neck, but Eddie wasn’t near done yet. 

“You squirted sweetheart, have you done that before or was it all for me?” Eddie crawled onto you, settling between your legs, tugging his hard cock as he did. 

“All for you, only for you” You replied, looking up at him. His chest lean, arms muscular and covered in tattoos, his face strained as he jerked himself off. Eddie suddenly grabbed your hips and pulled  you close to him, kissing you deeply as he slid in, a sharpness you weren’t expecting as he stilled inside you. 

“Come on sweet girl, you can take me.” Eddie peppered kisses onto your face as he moved slowly, long languid thrusts into your tight dripping pussy. 

Pleasure slowly took over you and you hooked your arms around his ass, pulling him tight against you, needing to feel him everywhere, the feeling of Eddie was addictive. 

Eddie brought his hand to your neck, running his thumb over your lip which you took into your mouth eagerly, earning a deep moan from Eddie above you. Eddie snapped his hips to yours, pressing your legs above your shoulders as his thrusts became faster and deeper. 

You were moaning loudly, not caring if the whole hotel heard you, your eyes shut tightly as he deepened the angle of his hips. You had never felt so full in your life, Eddie kept fucking you, his balls slapping on your leg. Eddie's hand found your clit, rubbing slowly again, you whimpered under his touch, unsure how much more you could take. Your breath was ragged, you were so close.

“Eddie I’m gonna-” Eddie chuckled and stopped his movements, you groaned loudly beneath him as he withdrew from you. 

“Nononono” you whined, jerking your hips up to nothing, as he moved to stand on the edge of the bed. He grabbed your ankles, yanking you to the edge and forced your head down into the mattress. 

You whined and shook your ass in front of him. 

“Eddie, please” you started playing with yourself in front of him, needing him. 

He tapped himself over your clit a few times, making you move your hand as he pushed your back down further into the bed while holding your hips up for him. Eddie slid back in, that familiar full feeling returning as he thrusted against you, his balls slapping your clit each thrust. 

“Fuck you feel so good from this angle, so good for me, so wet sweetheart” Eddie was losing it because of you, each thrust sent him closer and closer, he felt the familiar warming in his lower stomach. 

Eddie reached round and rubbed circles on your clit and you let out a loud moan, hips moving with his. You felt your stomach tighten as his cock continued to fill you up, each thrust sending you closer. 

“Eddie” you warned him, high pitched moans stringing out of your mouth. 

You crashed over the edge as Eddie fucked hard and deep into you, every word fell from your mouth as you moaned for him, he gave a final thrust before a deep gutteral moan left his lips, his hot come spilling into you. 

“Fuck sweetheart” His deep voice groaned as he collapsed next to you. 

You stayed there for a few moments staring at each other in the post hue of sex, he was smiling widely at you. 

“I suppose I better take you on a date now huh?” He said wiping his hair from his face and tying it into a bun 

“Yeah you better rockstar”

[periracha]

Waiting

 ☾ pairing: Dad!Chan x Mom!Reader  ☾ wc: 2k  ☾  genre: fluff, boring domesticity (gasp)  ☾ cw: Christmas themes, kids, suggestive jokes, me trying to be funny idk, language, chan being chan ☾ summary: the bangs get in the holiday spirit!   ☾ a/n: wanted to get a whole aesthetic and masterlist up for this blog before i posted anything but this little idea had my brain in a chokehold all day so,,,,enjoy ! also, let me know if I should continue writing this family so i can give them names, etc.  yes this piece is fluff but this blog is 18+, MDNI

Ripples start to splash against the inside of your mug as you set it down on the coffee table that has been pushed aside for the evening to allow enough room for you and your husband. 

“Clearing the living room floor the second both kids are down and out?” Chan asks with a wiggle of his eyebrow. 

“Bit risky but I can work with this” he says while straining his neck and pulling his left arm across his chest in a stretch in preparation. 

You look up at him when a scoff falls from your lips, “ha yeah you wish. Now get the wrapping paper from the closet” 

“Please” you add with a sarcastic smile and sweet like honey tone. 

He blinked at you silently for a split second before he huffed out a big sigh, “Oh thank god. I don’t think my back could handle these hardwood floors like it used to” he finishes as he makes his way to the hallway closet. 

“Mmm unfortunately the only action these floors have been getting lately is spilled juice and probably some dusty cheetos the kids kicked under the couch” you joke as Chan meets you on the floor with wrapping supplies and gifts. 

A quiet laugh in agreement leaves his lips. 

“She’s gonna love this” Chan says with a grin so wide it meets his eyes. 

He’s holding up a Bluey plushie that plays a few catchphrases from the show when its paw is squeezed. 

“She better…. I’m running out of reasons why she can’t buy it every time we go to the store” you say as you cut wrapping paper big enough to wrap the doll and hand it to him. 

Your daughter had wanted this little plushie for months now, always asking to stop by the toy section whenever you visit your local department store. You quickly learned that simply telling her the store didn’t have anymore wasn’t gonna fly with her. She always found a way to swindle you into the toy aisles, finding the plushie every time. Distracting her with books or other small toys could only get you so far; luckily Christmas was only a few days away and you both would soon see the joy on her face when she opened her gift. 

“How do you even wrap these things??” Chan huffed out with a bewildered look on his face; his brows drawn tight and his eyes wide open. The piece of wrapping paper you had given him was creased all over, and covered in way too many pieces of tape that didn’t actually do anything to keep the paper together. 

A giggle started in your chest but you choked it down with a fake cough. Chan was used to being good at almost anything he put his mind to. 

Dancing? Easy.

Singing? No Problem. 

Writing thousands of unique songs that differed in their own ways? Piece of cake. 

Sports? Absolutely. 

Wrapping a small gift for his three year old daughter? Not so much. 

Carefully, you took the small doll from his hand and replaced it with a box of bath toys for your son. 

“Here, let me handle this…and you wrap these” you said nonchalantly as soon as you made the switch; immediately working on your new task at hand. 

Chan gawked at you with a goofy smile on his face, “You don’t think I can do it?...you’re demoting me to only wrapping boxes?” he laughed while feigning offense. 

“No no no!”, you waved off, “you’re just soooo good! Better than me! The best actually!” you rushed out while trying to contain your laughter but ultimately failing. 

Chan looked at you with pointed eyes, but had a wide smile plastered on his face the entire time. He looked like he was going to say something in retaliation but decided against it, letting out a small chuckle and shaking his head instead while he got to work on the box. 

Many presents later you were both feeling the ache deep in your lower back from hunching over on the floor. 

“Okay that's enough for me, I’m tapping out,” Chan said stretching his back with a yawn. 

You yawned and simply shook your head up and down in agreement, thinking about how you were too tired to even keep your eyes open. 

You got up and gathered all your wrapping supplies to store away. 

“Oh! Can you take all those and put them under the tree?” you asked him while pointing to the group of gifts. 

He hummed a quick mhm and started gathering them in his arms. 

“Make sure to put Bluey on top of the one of the taller presents so they can’t get to it” you called out as you made your way to your room. 

“Yep, got it” Chan quickly responded before placing all the presents down and making his way to follow you to your bedroom. 

~

The next day went blissfully as usual; waking up way too early to cries before the sun is even fully out, only to finally get your son back down and you barely back in bed before your daughter barges in demanding French toast stat. 

Did you even have all the ingredients for french toast? 

You already got one kid handled, Chan could handle this one.

You lightly kicked him in the leg as he laid beside you to wake him up before you made yourself comfortable to fall back asleep. 

When you did wake up, you grabbed your son and met your husband and daughter in the living room, setting him down to crawl around the rug.

“Good morning love”, Chan greeted you with a kiss to your cheek and sliding his arms around your waist in a loose hug. 

You hummed a good morning back before resting your head against his chest. 

“My turn! My turn!” your daughter yelled entirely too close to your eardrum as she stood on the couch in an attempt to be as eye level as she could with you. 

“Coffee?” Chan asked with a smirk as he let you go and made his way to the kitchen. 

“Ohhh yeah” you answered before turning your attention fully on your daughter. 

She puckered her lips and stood on her tiptoes in an attempt to copy her dad’s previous actions. You bent down and she kissed your cheek, “Good morning, mommy!”, she giggled before flopping down on the couch. 

“Oh it is a good morning!” you smiled back to her before tickling her to get some hugs in. 

Chan met you back in the living room with your fresh cup of coffee as you both sat on the couch, watching your children play together in the early morning hours. 

Your son crawled towards the christmas tree and before you could get up to grab him he had already bumped into a few presents, causing one of them to go off. 

“Hello! Hehehe”  

The noise immediately caught your daughter's attention and her head snapped towards the tree before her eyes widened. You could see the wheels starting to turn in her head to try and make sense of what just happened when you looked over at Chan who was sporting a mortified look. Jaw hung open and downward, eyes widening and moving around the room at everyone’s faces. 

The damn Bluey doll had gone off and one of her most wanted presents was most likely spoiled now. 

“WHAT WAS THAT?” she rushed out, walking closer to the tree.

“Your brother!” Chan blurted out way too quickly before tightening his lip into a flat line, realizing what he just did. 

Your daughter stopped dead in her tracks and looked at the both of you. 

“What???” she asked again, her eyes darting between yours and Chan’s a few times. 

“He can talk??, “ she screamed, bewildered at the new information being thrown at her all too quickly, pointing at him and eyes wide as saucers.

You let out a huff of air and forced yourself to take a sip of your coffee, hoping to buy you some time, waiting for your brain to kick on. It was too early for this.

Chan looked at you waiting for you to come in and save the conversation but you had nothing. How were you supposed to convince a 3 year old that her 8 month old brother could now speak when he’s never done that before. 

You’re on your own here. You thought to yourself as your eyes met Chan’s again. His face still stuck in the same shocked expression. 

“Uhh…yeah..yeah…?” Chan tried to get out nonchalantly but it ended up coming out more like a question and high pitched tone, before clearing his throat. 

Your son had now crawled toward your daughter and started grabbing at her legs to get her attention. 

You needed a moment to think but your daughter would absolutely follow you wherever you went to…. Unless…?

You coughed into your arm dramatically, “ooooh mommy needs medicine, I will be right back” you said before quickly standing up and making your way to the hallway cabinets before she could stop you.

Even the possibility of being around cough medicine, seeing it with her own eyes, was enough to keep your daughter from following you. She was not about to risk having to take that, yucky grape stuff, as she likes to call it. 

Chan followed after you, staying in the open area to keep an eye on the two kids. 

“So our 8 month old is saying full words now is he?” you asked, raising your eyebrows when he got closer to you. 

“I panicked okay!”, he screamed in a hushed tone. 

“So you blame it on the baby?!” you asked in disbelief, a laugh starting in the bottom of your throat. You tightened your lips in an effort to stop the smile you knew was coming. 

“What else was I supposed to say it came from?” Chan asked with a strained laugh, “you were no help!” he accused, pointing his finger and narrowing his gaze. 

“I don’t know Chan! The TV? Your phone?” you huffed out off the top of your head and throwing your hands in the air.

“Hm. yeah that would’ve been good”, he said staring at the floor, realizing just how easy those would’ve been to explain away to a child. 

He stepped back from you to get a better look at your kids a few steps away. His brow furrowed so you stepped forward to see what he was looking at. 

Your daughter was sitting directly across from your son with a serious expression on her face, no more playing going on in sight. 

“What..what are you guys doing?” Chan asked loud enough for your kids to hear. 

Your daughter looked back at him, “Waiting,” she said matter of factly before refocusing her attention back on her brother. 

“Waiting foorrr?” Chan asked, raising his eyebrows as you both took a step toward them. 

“Him to talk again” she answered without bothering to even look at Chan this time, her serious gaze never leaving her brother's face. He was babbling and drooling while playing with the legs of her pajama pants. 

You both couldn’t contain the laughs that came from your mouths. Today was going to be a long day. 

You couldn’t wipe the smile from your face as you thought about your family’s antics. Never a boring day in the Bang household, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Hey Chan, what did you do with the matching talking Bingo we wrapped last night?” 

“Shit” 

©periracha, 2023.

[moodywyrm]

i just redid my room this week,, and it has me wondering what abby and readers room/apartment would look like !! and if they would have any pets or plants and things of those sorts !!

-🧸

you have just opened the floodgates. I fucking love home decor n decorating shit, I literally went Bonkers when I got to decorate my bedroom in my college apartment.

ok so I drew out a floor plan.

so this is gonna be. a big one. so. jerry spared literally no expense when he got abby her college apartment. sure its one bedroom one bath, but it's got a spacious living room that connects to the kitchen. there's a big ol island in the kitchen where abby got so many stools bc she wanted to fit all of her besties. thinks her washer n dryer are in the worst spot ever, but they're the stacked ones so it isn't as bad as it could be. that lil area next to the patio? her reading spot. she never really knew what to do with the space until she met you, and then it clicked. reading nook. one of your guys' favorite dates was hitting every thrift store you could to find a good coffee table and old armchairs. one green, one pink, one baby blue. she loves them to bits, they're absolutely moving into her next place with her. she literally Made a bookshelf to store all the books you gradually left at her house, and it's become your joint shelf now <3

the sofa is Huge and her dad bought it for her, it's black upholstery. her apartment doesn't have one particular style, just very Abby. I forgot to draw it in but there is absolutely a trophy case in the living room. her medals and old jerseys are on the wall, mixed with your band posters and art prints. her favorite parts are the framed photo graphs of her friends and family, including multiple of you. she specifically picked an apartment with great windows, and this came in so handy when you moved in because the both of you basically have a fucking Jungle of plants. Hanging plants, plant stands, plants on every surface. ur babies. the walls are a kinda neutral white color, nothing super special, but it really doesn't matter when it's covered in so much stuff! plus, you usually have colored lights on (like salt lamps, candles, bluetooth color shifting lightbulbs), that the walls are usually just whatever color you want them to be. the couch is covered in throw blankets, that you brought in. the main living area, bedroom, and closet are all dark oak hardwood-tile, with the softest rugs known to man, especially in the bedroom bc neither of you want to step on ice cold tile in the winter.

the bathroom is a different, simple white tile. the shower has glass sliding doors, that abby absolutely uses to look at u while u shower n vice versa <3 it has a built in tub that u make full use of. the bathroom counter is covered in candles, trinkets, skincare, hygiene products, but all very organized bc it makes abby stress less.

the bedroom. ok. her bed? godly. so fucking comfy. king sized, with the softest sheets ever and the plushest comforter and blankets. satin pillowcases you brought in <3 abby religiously washes her bedding, so it cycles from black to pink to blue every three weeks. the bedroom walls are also covered in art prints and wall hangings, but all of these were picked by the both of you. a lot of it is thrifted or bought from local artists, bc you absolutely drag abby to local craft fairs and the like <3 that chest at the end of the bed holds spare bedding and ,,,, other things ,,,, it is locked. on the wall between the doors to the bathroom and closet is a huge standing mirror, and underneath it is a small table and area for you to do your makeup. gives you top tier fit pics, it is also the mirror abby uses for ,,,, other things. it also! gives u a perfect look at abby while she's working at her desk. above her desk is a huge wall grid/corkboard that she hangs a bunch of shit on. I forgot to draw them in but she also has more bookshelves on the wall across from the bed, specifically four small-medium ones, separated by a dresser that holds a bunch of spare stuff and some of her workout gear that she uses often enough to keep out of the closet.

ok the fun stuff. books fucking Everywhere!!! and cool dishware that you thrifted when you moved in. the kitchen is so well loved and worn in, bc you two love cooking together. the couch is much the same way, well worn n comfortable as all hell, literally one of your favorite spots in the apartment. ur actual favorite spot? the patio. it's beautiful, covered in plants, always burning incense out there, comfortable seating, a beautiful view of the park across the street. u and abby spend your weekend mornings out there, usually bundled up into one big chair while abby dozes and you read, drinking coffee or tea or your preferred morning beverage. the apartment smells so good bc candles and incense and abby's rigorous cleaning. her apartment feels like home for the both of you, carefully curated to be a little sanctuary after long days of classes and practices and just general stress.

this is my magnum opus. I have a problem. I will probably speak more on this.

[asecretvice]

Hey. I just really want to thank you for “And This, Your Living Kiss”. I’m guessing you may be a bit tired hearing us talk about it, what, 4, 5 years after you published it? I just need to express some gratitude. Your poem “Perfect” was probably the first poem ever to make cry, and I still read it occasionally when I’m down. It’s honestly probably my favorite poem ever. For me it captures this delicate, still very anchored kind of happiness that just hits so deep. Kind of like the opposite of melancholia. I hope you get what I’m saying and that I’m not just talking out of my ass, and if I am, I was hoping you’d share some of your thoughts about this poem?

Also, this story is truly my favorite story ever. Has been for a very long time. A question I have for you is, is there any place where we can read more of your poetry? And if not, I was also wondering if you’d be willing to share with us some of your favorite poets/poems?

Firstly, thank you for your patience; sometimes it takes me a while to get to asks.

But mostly, thank you so much for these kind words. Do not ever doubt yourself when taking the time to extend your positivity to others; I—and I daresay the vast majority of people—do not get tired of receiving these small kindnesses. It’s a reminder that life can be full of connection, a reminder that when I send a little bit of my heart out into our raging, grief-filled world, there are those who accept and understand and, hopefully, keep passing that love forward. And thusly we make the world a better place. So please receive my gratitude for reaching out.

That you love “Perfection” means so much to me. It was the first piece of the fic I wrote, you know, and pretty much became the basis for who Dean is in the fic thereafter. I don’t feel you’re talking out of your ass at all. Dean is such a complex character, and I think that’s why so many of us relate to him; we see our own complexity and contradictions reflected back at us through him. There is of course happiness there among the rest—a boy/man who is at his happiest when with his family (blood or no). Underneath it all is that deep thread of love we (and Cas!) admire and strive toward within ourselves.

Unfortunately I don’t have poetry published anywhere else. Maybe someday.

Several of my fav poets/poems appear in the fic already, though they’re among many others. However because I’ve been thinking about her lately, I hope you’ll indulge me if I talk about Elizabeth Barrett Browning and her masterpiece Sonnets from the Portuguese.

In the modern day EBB’s words most often show up in the guise of “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.” It sounds a bit hokey, doesn’t it? I know I always thought so; especially to my teenage ear it was sickly sweet if not downright simpering. Spoiler: I was wrong. Context changes everything.

Do you believe that some books or stories come into your life at just the right time? Fast forward to when I’m 18 or 19. I’m in a town I’ve never been to before, visiting people I barely know. My host needs to work and offers to drop me off in the town center to explore. I agree because the weather’s fair and I’m desperate for a break from polite company, as it were. Happily it’s a pleasant area, full of green and not far from a large canal. After wandering along its edge for a while I aim back toward the local stores and window-shop up and down the streets. At last I stumble upon a used bookstore right next to a gelateria! Well you couldn’t have put two things together that more matched my taste if you tried. Naturally, I resolve to find a book and then go next door for some gelato and spend my time enjoying them both.

The bookstore is in an older building, for sure, with hardwood floors and the type of wainscoting that make me think it’s from the early 20th century at least. It’s split into multiple rooms and connected by open doorways; I wonder if it used to be a home. Many, though not all of the bookshelves are built into the walls and painted a pleasant white, stuffed to the gills with books in every color. The only other soul in the building is the man behind the front counter, and aside from a swift exchange of polite smiles I am left alone. I start by going to the left and poking around the shop and its little book-filled rooms counterclockwise, determined to choose at least one thing before I leave. What type, what genre? What length, what mood? I don’t know, but am sure I’ll know it when I see it. I’m free to choose whatever I like, you understand, because rarely had an English teacher in my past convinced me I couldn’t teach myself better, and I’d resolved never to take a class in the English department in college if I could help it (and for better or worse, I never did).

I take my time twisting in and out of the treasure-filled corners, no rush and no fuss. Yet no book sings to me. At length I near the back of the shop; on the far side beneath a window is a short, two-shelf bookcase. With waning hope I crouch in front of the shelf and begin reading spines. Aha! It’s filled with poetry. Perhaps there is some hope after all…then there it is: Sonnets from the Portuguese. Definitely faux-fancy binding, but still pretty. It looks like this:

I flip through, and every sonnet is accompanied by a different piece of silhouette art. It’s lovely, and it sings to me. A small pencil mark on the inside indicates it only costs a couple bucks, so I rummage in my wallet, stop by the front desk, and leave the store with the book clutched in my hands. With the rest of my cash I go to the gelateria next door and pick a couple of unusual flavors and again, alone, I choose a rickety metal table outside and sit with nothing but birds and sunshine for company. I skip the introduction and open the book immediately to the first sonnet:

I thought once how Theocritus had sung Of the sweet years, the dear and wished for years, Who each one in a gracious hand appears To bear a gift for mortals, old or young: And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me.  Straightway I was ’ware, So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair, And a voice said in mastery while I strove, . . 'Guess now who holds thee?'—'Death,' I said, But, there, The silver answer rang . . 'Not Death, but Love.'

What do you glean from the poem? It is slow and sad, a bright mythologized ideal set against a woman sunk deep in dark grief, a darkness that swiftly shifts into horror as a Shape appears behind her, physically pulls her from her weeping, and demands a response. She is so sure that her own death has at last come upon her, except what’s appeared…is love? Love, of all things? Love?

This is not at all what I am expecting to read. I fill up with another spoonful of gelato and eagerly turn the page.

And turn, and turn—Reader, I’m hooked. I’m strapped into a rollercoaster and freefalling down the first slope, on a wild ride built by a woman who’s been chronically ill since childhood, who’s lived through the death of her mother and beloved brother, whose father keeps her in his house and firmly under his thumb even long into her thirties, who still manages to write and get published and yet still lives lonely in her dark room…Sonnets from the Portuguese is an epic journey via the most astonishing set of 44 sonnets about how love completely changed her life, sonnets which her husband later touted to be the best in English since Shakespeare (and I agree). If you haven’t read the sonnets I encourage you to do so before reading on, link here, but if you’d rather I walk you through…

Even reading them again now I am in awe. How baldly and boldly she talks about how she and Robert, because of course it’s about her famous courtship with Robert Browning, are not meant to be. Not just her circumstances at home, not just her poor health, not just the fact that she thinks herself so below him and his worth, but also her grief. The darkness that lives in her! So many lines from these poems are woven into the tapestry of my life, like from sonnet V: Behold and see / What a great heap of grief lay hid in me. She warns that it could ruin him. Stand further off then! go! it ends.

And yet the next one (VI) begins: Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand / Henceforward in thy shadow. It is too late. She’s already been changed. The world and her perception of it are already shifting. Read how the beginning of VII illustrates this:

The face of all the world is changed, I think, Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink, Was caught up into love, and taught the whole Of life in a new rhythm.  The cup of dole God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink, And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.

She was sinking into oblivion, death her companion, until he stood between them and she was caught up into love, no longer to go through her days sitting simple and still in her room, content to wallow in the sorrow she’d been given. Yet…that still doesn’t matter, because how can she reciprocate? And, crucially, does it make her a bad person that she can’t?

am I cold, Ungrateful, that for these most manifold High gifts, I render nothing back at all? Not so; not cold,—but very poor instead. (VIII)

Have you ever been there? Found yourself wondering if you’re even capable of love and kindness toward others given all you’ve been through, and how horrible it feels to think that ability’s been stolen from you? Is what little you can eke out even worth anything in comparison? Beloved, I only love thee! let it pass. (IX)

But she continues turning the idea of love over in her mind. Could it be that love is fully worthy, no matter where it comes from? There’s nothing low / In love, she reasons, when love the lowest (X). Still it does not seem that she herself could be worthy—and if this is worthy love, anyway, would she have even known how to do it if she’d not first been shown by him?

And thus, I cannot speak Of love even, as a good thing of my own: Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak, And placed it by thee on a golden throne,— And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!) Is by thee only, whom I love alone. (XII)

It seems that Robert persists in his own love, because then an earnest plea: that he love her for love’s sake, because people change in time. She herself is changing now because of him! Do not even love her because he loves taking care of and comforting her, because his love could lessen her need for that comfort! (XIV)

Regardless she is not without feeling, as sad and calm as she outwardly seems. She’s just not like him. But…could his love and his will be strong enough to overcome all these obstacles? Why, conquering / May prove as lordly and complete a thing / In lifting upward, as in crushing low! With such success, she says, I at last record, / Here ends my strife. (XVI)

But of course, nothing can be quite so simple. Her first question is how she can be useful to him. This does not feel like a full partnership:

How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use? A hope, to sing by gladly? or a fine Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse? A shade, in which to sing—of palm or pine? A grave, on which to rest from singing?  Choose. (XVII)

That theme of death, too, is still ever-present. Even as the next couple of sonnets talk about how they’ve exchanged locks of hair she speaks of it. In XX a sea-change is further revealed, however, when she compares her life before Robert to the one after knowing him, how link by link, [I] Went counting all my chains but now, in contrast to VII’s cup of dole, she drinks from life’s great cup of wonder! She begs him to keep saying that he loves her (XXI), continuing the theme that his love will teach her, lift her, allay her many fears. But the next again ends with the death-hour rounding it.

Robert’s response? That her death would harm him. She admits to marveling at this revelation. If it is to be believed,

Then my soul, instead Of dreams of death, resumes life’s lower range. Then, love me, Love! look on me—breathe on me! As brighter ladies do not count it strange, For love, to give up acres and degree, I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange My near sweet view of heaven, for earth with thee! (XXIII)

So first we learn that it is Love, not Death that has grabbed her; then we know that she feels Robert’s soul has slipped between her and the brink of death and thus she begins to question her constant sorrow; she is changing by his love; she will stop worrying about her worthiness and be of use to him and bask in what love he is willing to give her; but only now, finally, does she give up death itself in order to live her life. She is choosing to live!

The next few sonnets double down on this, about how all her hope had become despair, about how for so long she only had visions for company, and didn’t know they were mere shades in comparison to a reality of actually living, how Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well. Also important? His saving kiss (XXVII).

We’ve come far, but progress isn’t an even trajectory. The rollercoaster dips again: now that she wishes to live, she wishes to live in his presence. She is both touch-starved and starved for company. Because their letters—one of, if not the most famous set of love letters in the English language—are to her all dead paper, mute and white! She speaks of how they fixed a day in spring / To come and touch my hand…a simple thing, / Yet I wept for it! (XXVIII) So we got the first mention in the last sonnet of his kissing her, and now a memory of when he first touched her hand. She goes on to write about how thinking of him is no longer enough; she needs to be near him. She then wonders, when he is gone, if she has embellished his feelings for her. Can you blame her? I certainly can’t. Her dark thoughts are now manifesting in these doubts about her perception, rather than her abilities.

But upon his next visit, she admits, I erred / In that last doubt! (XXXI). His presences reassures that all is real, not dream. And while she has always found it unlikely that their bond could have formed so fast (Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly loathe, XXXII), now that she knows him she knows it was wrong to think that of him. She then brings up her childhood and draws parallels between the bright happy love she felt then with the love she feels now…even though, given the life she’s lived, the love she feels really can’t be the same. Her thoughts are no longer that of a child’s, which can be lightly turned aside, but for him she can and will turn from her dark, lonely thoughts when called.

This all decided, that their love is deep and true and as real as the loves she used to feel, and that she wants to be with him, an important question remains: If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange / And be all to me? Simply reading the poems and knowing their time period (Victorian) it could be enough to assume that it’s a regular leaving of your childhood home to create your own. But remember what I said at the beginning? The control her father exerts over her? She knows he would never approve. Hell, it was difficult enough for her siblings to make lives for themselves within his shadow. Going with Robert would mean truly leaving everything. She knows it won’t be easy: For grief indeed is love and grief beside (XXXV).

This great fear invites more doubt. She admits she has grown stronger and more confident, but that doesn’t make her troubles disappear. She knows she does their love a disservice in so doubting and in so fearing, but she can’t help it. But then…she returns to the physical, to his presence. In XXXVIII she speaks of their first three kisses: the first on her hand, the second for her forehead, but half-landed on her hair, and the third upon my lips was folded down / In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed / I have been proud and said, “My love, my own.”

She goes on in the next sonnets to say how grateful she is that he truly sees her and knows her beyond all the layers of sorrow and sickness she labors under. It should also be noted that, uncommonly for their time, he at 33 or so was courting her at 39/40. And so she is grateful, too, that he thinks it soon when others cry “Too late.” (XL). She then thanks all who had ever loved or listened, but again thanks Robert for listening to her even when it was difficult. She doubles down, now, on her decision to live:

I seek no copy now of life’s first half: Leave here the pages with long musing curled, And write me new my future’s epigraph, New angel mine, unhoped for in the world! (XLII)

And then—only now, as the rollercoaster shoots us upward and onward in joy and hope for a good, loving future—does she begin sonnet XLIII with How do I love thee? She asks this, not as some young girl with no life experience about a boy she’s seen across the room (I mean, how else was I supposed to interpret it, given how it’s used in the modern age?). She asks this as a woman full four decades into her life, a life full of chronic illness, an authoritarian home, and familial grief. She asks this after months of courtship during which she fought for every inch of belief, and hope, and joy. Where she at last came to know her own strength of heart and of will. Because she does leave her home, dear Reader. She elopes with Robert Browning, gets married in France, and lives out the rest of her life in Italy, where death finally catches up to her at 55. Keep all this in mind, as you read the sonnet in full:

How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday’s Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

There is one more sonnet, where she brings back flowers, a motif I didn’t spend time on in this post, to talk about how their souls are intertwined down to their roots. I bring it up now not just because flowers end this glorious cycle of forty-four poems, but because I think of her grave.

A year or two after I fell in love with these poems I was lucky enough to be in Italy myself. Some friends and I were walking around Florence and I insisted we had to find the English cemetery. I remember it as being this island of a hill in the middle of some busy streets, all fenced in with a little building at the entrance. When we scurried across the street and inside, there was a nun there who greeted us warmly. I told her I was looking for Elizabeth Barrett Browning and she lit up. She motioned for us to follow as she told me that they do their best to take care of her grave, and have always done so (I don’t know if she means just those who work there or Italians in general, as EBB was loved by Florence in her time). But, she said, they did not look kindly upon Robert, because he spent all this money on a beautiful tomb but he never, ever came to visit. She said this with the authority of someone who had witnessed it herself, though of course that was impossible. This was clearly a story deemed important enough—or perhaps simply so full of strong feeling—to stand the test of time.

The tomb is indeed beautiful. The pictures when I did a quick lookup on the internet do not do it justice; forgive me for not having the energy now to dig up where I’ve saved the old files of the pictures I took myself. At the time it was absolutely surrounded by tall, enormous roses, deep red in color. After I had my fill the nun was kind enough to take us on a tour of the rest of the cemetery, which was lovely. But I’ve never been able to shake the memory of that story, the one where the nuns lived and died resentful of an absent Robert.

It wasn’t until about a year and a half ago, when I read Fiona Sampson’s recent biography Two-Way Mirror: The Life of Elizabeth Barrett Browning that it finally made sense. Robert often avoided grief in this way, it seems, afraid to travel back to England when family members were ailing until it was too late. Whether you agree with his actions or not, his absence we can at least hope is from his great love turned to great grief, rather than a lack of feeling on his part. He himself died in Venice; their only child died in Italy also. Robert is, however, still separated from Elizabeth in death: he is buried in Poet’s Corner, Westminster Abbey, London.

If you’re hoping for a neat bow on the end of this post, there isn’t. I think of her often not just because I love her poetry but, I suppose, because each year is slowly, inexorably bringing me closer to the age she was when she decided she would live her life again, and though I haven’t found a soul-shaking love like she has, I am trying, trying, trying to live, too.

[whatsnewalycat]

Just Dumb Enough to Try

Chapter 25: Pitch Dark

Word Count: 4.3k+

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Tags / CW: swearing, cheating/infidelity, domestic abuse, smoking, kidnapping, pregnancy, tension, cops, gore and violence, I don't really want to say anything else to prevent spoilers but I think if you've made it this far you'll be fine???

Chapter Summary: The search comes to an end.

Notes: Chapter title from "Pitch Dark" by Chelsea Jade. FYI: the playlist for this chapter is a banger. I'll post chapter 26 probably on Friday this week because I'm going to the WWWY festival in Vegas next weekend (pray for me I am very neurodivergent why am I doing this). I cannot belieeeeeeeeeve we're almost to the end of this story. I'm a proud mama. OK ANYWAY HERE YA GO!

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8734 177th Rd, Laredo, TX July 31, 1998

After you’re roused from sleep by creaking footsteps outside the closet door, and come out the other side of your subsequent full-body panic attack, Dan drags you out into the foyer again.

The foyer, with its dusty hardwood floors, and cobwebs, and fucking yellow wallpaper, and the woody ammonia mouse piss smell. Morning sun hits the other side of the house, making the vacant room all dim natural light and shadowy corners.

He deposits you in the same spot he did yesterday, his presence suspiciously neutral as he sits down facing you and takes the gag out of your mouth. You take a deep breath of air and choke on it, triggering a coughing fit. Fearing the metallic, rotten wad of fabric being stuffed in your mouth again, you gasp out, “Sorry- not- trying,” when your seizing lungs let you.

He pulls a chocolate chip granola bar out of his pants pocket and opens it, ignoring the coughing completely. You note that he’s in a clean set of clothes and is no longer covered in blood. On his skin and hair, though, faint red stains remain.

It reminds you of Halloween 1995, when you dressed up as a vampire. You bought a tube of fake blood for $1 at the local drug store to smear on your face for dramatic effect. The red dye was unforgiving and left your face tinged red for a week, no matter how hard you tried to scrub it off your skin.

Again, you wonder if it’s Javier’s blood. But unlike last night, the thought doesn’t make you spiral. Because something happened.

I hear you, cariño.

The words play on repeat in your head. In the midst of your good morning panic attack, you were praying to God or anybody, his voice cut through the fog, crystal clear. It perplexes you.

Dan pinches off a chunk of granola bar the size of a quarter and brings it to your lips. You open your mouth and grab it with your teeth, trying not to be too obvious about how hard you’re avoiding touching your lips to his fingers. Between bites, he tips a plastic water bottle to your lips and you take sips.

He gets up and retrieves something from behind you, then sits down, crossing his long legs in front of him as he sets a first aid kit on the floor between you. You flinch when his hands land on your shoulders. He doesn’t react to the involuntary movement, just murmurs, “I’m gonna remove the rope to clean your wounds. Don’t make me regret it.”

“Ok,” you exhale in a shaky breath and watch the wallpaper like you expect it to do something. He moves methodically, untying the knots around your ankles, then your wrists, then your shoulders. His blonde curtain bangs hang loosely in front of his face, swaying from side to side as he tends to you.

Steady hands crinkle the weak plastic of a disposable water bottle when he twists it open, then pours some water over the lacerations. He dabs them with paper towels in an attempt to clear the wounds of debris. The pop of a cap being pried open makes you flinch, then he advises gently, “This is going to sting,” before he pours rubbing alcohol on the wounds.

Sizzling, searing pain rips a howl from your hoarse throat, and, even though you try your damndest to sit still and work through the pain, your feet smack against the dusty hardwood floor with a mind of their own.

“I’m not trying,” you whimper when he stares at you with a clenched jaw, deep blue eyes drenched in annoyance at your outburst.

He shoulders soften as he sighs, “I know.”

The searing pain fizzles out to a faint sting. He applies goopy ointment, then wraps the wounds in gauze. Once the rope burns are cleaned and dressed, he moves you closer and has you face him so he can clean your split cheek. The first couple of times he reaches out to touch you, you flinch.

Eventually, though, the movements don’t seize your breath, and it feels... strangely intimate. He’s calm, face almost appearing sympathetic, when you whimper helplessly at the rubbing alcohol burn this time. It dawns on you that the man you’ve spent the last four years with is still there somewhere.

You try to make casual conversation like you have across the dining room table hundreds of times before, asking him, “How was softball?”

To your surprise, he responds to this with a shrug, “It was fine. Average, I guess. We played a scrimmage, went ‘n’ got some drinks at Cowboy Slim’s after.”

“How is your new glove working out for you?” your throat feels raw and bruised when you swallow hard, tiptoeing into the realm of non-violent interaction.

“Kinda sucks, not gonna lie,” he mutters as he tapes down the gauze on your face, “Still breaking it in. So pissed I lost my old one. That one was perfect, I had it for so long.”

“Yeah,” you nod, staring forward at the yellow-tinged wallpaper, “Sometimes you lose things and just… have to move on, you know? It’ll get better.”

He stops moving, and you can feel his eyes burning into your profile. Abruptly, he stands up, picking up the first aid kit, carrying it out of the room down the hallway.

You inhale sharply as you remember the unattended front door. As you saw when you were ushered into the foyer, you can’t be more than a dozen steps away from it. There are creaks at the back of the house as he rummages around for something.

He might not notice. How much of a head start could I get?

Before you can think twice, you clamor to your feet and turn around, taking a step towards the screen door. Your bare feet are silent as you take another quick step.

Then another. A few more. Each step gives you a fresh surge of adrenaline.

Two steps away.

One more. You’re so close.

When your fingers touch the door handle, a creak sounds from directly behind you, and you hear the metallic click of the safety being pulled back on a revolver. You freeze.

“If you move, I’ll shoot you right in the fuckin’ skull,” Dan growls from behind you, burying the barrel in your hair. The cold metal circle presses flush against your bruised scalp. Your heart thuds in your chest and your field of vision goes white with panic.

He speaks quiet and calm as he instructs you, “Put your hands up.”

You comply, extremities breaking out in tremors as you slowly raise both arms at your sides. One of his hands encloses your wrist.

“Unfucking believable,” he grunts as he puts the safety back on the handgun and the cold circle of death is pulled away from your head. He brings your hands down behind your back, securing them in place with a zip tie, making you wince as the plastic digs into your fresh bandages. You can’t decide if this is an upgrade from the rope or just a different kind of hell on earth.

“Do you have to use the bathroom?” he asks as he turns you around to face him. It was a mistake to try escaping. His features are shadowed again, steeped with fury.

You ponder his question briefly, taking inventory of bodily functions you’d been completely neglecting to monitor, then shake your head.

With this, he yanks on your arm, leading you back to the closet. When he opens the door, you step inside obediently. He closes it. Your legs shake when you try to squat down into a sitting position, and you end up toppling over backwards against the wall behind you.

With a groan, you shimmy your ass to the floor and accept this as your seat. You stare at the slit of light shining under the door. Thoughts bounce around your brain like it’s a pinball machine.

“Did you love him?”

You wonder whose blood was on Dan yesterday. The red stains on his skin and hair. Was it even blood?

“Well that was pretty fucking stupid, wasn’t it?”

You wonder if there’s anyone searching for you. If Claudia or your parents know you’ve been kidnapped. If your parents would even care.

Something tickles your face.

Probably a spider.

You wonder what the odds of surviving a black widow bite are.

A shudder runs down your spine as you remember the cold circle of a revolver pressed against your bruised scalp.

You wonder what the odds are of surviving a kidnapping are.

Probably about the same as a black widow bite.

Your thoughts take a sharp turn, and you remember that it’s Friday, then wonder when The X-Files will start airing on Friday nights again.

Will I ever find out what happened to Agent Fox Mulder’s sister? Will he and Scully ever kiss?

This summer, you wanted to see The X-Files movie, but it came out the same day as The Truman Show, which you wanted to see more.

What if, instead of spiraling into an existential crisis while teetering between tipsy and drunk from giant margaritas, you gabbed Javier’s ear off about the possibility of extraterrestrials?

He might not have witnessed you bearing your soul, spilling your guts across the table in front of him (I don’t want to have to gut you, too ) as you came to the realization that being with him was the first thing you did for yourself in a very long time. Would you have come to that conclusion if the two of you had seen a different movie?

In his car two weeks prior, he talked about how, back in 1993, he didn’t like to be around Michelle other than “the fucking, yeah. Not like you…“

“What do you mean not like me?”

“I like being around you.”

“I like being around you, too.”

And it’s clear to you then, that it doesn’t matter what movie you saw, or where you went, because it would have resulted in your breath on his, hot and pleading for him to fuck you. You could have done anything in life, and you would have ended up tangled together in bed, Javier playing with your hair as you write love notes onto his skin.

It’s kismet.

This thought brings you enough peace that the erratic pinball that is your stream of consciousness settles into a lull, and you close your eyes. Maybe just a little nap. It’s not like you have anything better to do.

—

The sound of the hardwood floor creaking outside the door wakes you.

You blink a few times before coming to grips with your surroundings, realizing you’re propped up in the corner of the closet, settling into the dust and spiderwebs. The door groans open, spilling sunshine into your enclosure, and you hum with relief as the (relatively) cool air hits your sweat-drenched skin. You’re groggy and delirious when Dan asks, “Do you have to use the bathroom?”

You take a bodily inventory and determine that: yes, for the first time in probably 24 hours, you have to pee.

When you nod, Dan hoists you up and folds you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, then starts carrying you down the hallway in a direction you haven’t been yet. Your head is spinning, dazed, like you’re in a dream.

He comes to a stop and lowers your feet to the ground. You think he does, anyway.

Your feet are numb phantoms, but you’re upright and semi-stable. The muscles you can feel scream in protest. You roll your head on your shoulders to squint and find Dan’s face, and when you do, he has a mask on again. Neutral as he guides you backwards through the threshold of a room, until the backs of your knees press up against cold porcelain.

He lowers you down onto a toilet seat, then pulls your shorts down until they meet the zip tie at your ankles. The big, shiny, red button gifted to you from the crows slips out of your pocket and clatters onto the ground.

You swear you can hear cawing.

Your face falls and you frown, voice coming out in croaks like your vocal chords are shards of glass, “Oh no, I didn’t feed the crows today.”

He says nothing.

You expect him to leave, or at least fucking turn around to give you some privacy, but he kneels down in front of you, one hand helping keep you steady as you weave back and forth, pulled by the weight of your spinning head. It’s not until your body releases a stream of piss you realize his other hand is in the toilet bowl.

He’s giving me a pregnancy test.

Not able to emote yourself properly in your delirium, you scrunch your face up and shake your head, asking with curiosity in a hoarse whisper, “Why?”

“You’re not fucking leaving here until I know whether or not you’ve been knocked up,” he growls.

That’s gonna be a problem.

—

Middle of Fucking Nowhere, Laredo, TX July 31, 1998

Someone broke the news of your disappearance to the media. Probably some fucking blabbermouth. Javier knows it’s bad when he finds himself pushing his way through throngs of people as they gather around the established perimeter.

As he reaches the blaring yellow crime scene tape, he scans the area for Detective Anderson. A petite blonde woman in a neat, fitted pantsuit widens her eyes as she spots him walking up beside her, then lays her hand on his forearm as she asks, “Excuse me, are you Javier Peña?”

This catches him by surprise.

He turns to face her and takes a step back, surveying her short stature as he answers, “Yes.”

He shouldn’t have answered.

“Do you have anything to say about the photos of you and the missing woman?” she questions, pulling a pen and a pocket notebook out of her smart navy blazer.

“No,” he snaps as he turns away to face the blocked off crime scene. He picks out Detective Anderson standing at the back of a cop car, hovering over a map, marking things off with a dull pencil as he talks to a few other law enforcement officials.

“Do you feel responsible for her abduction?” the woman questions next. Javi can feel the heat rising to his head.

The fucking balls on these people.

He steps over the crime scene tape and approaches Detective Anderson. Greg follows his lead, holding the list of empty properties under his damp armpit, while Claudia stays behind the barrier to shoot daggers at the blonde news reporter.

The Webb County Sheriff looks up from the map and nods at Javi. Anderson follows his gaze, then waves Javi and Greg over. They make room around the map for the newcomers.

“Sorry about the circus,” Anderson grumbles sideways to Javi, then clears his throat, “No blood in the car as far as we can tell, so we’re working under the assumption that she’s still alive. Organizing a search of these areas here,” he taps the eraser of his pencil to the areas circled on the map.

He starts dictating specifics about who he wants where, and the men nod as they listen along diligently.

Greg looks over the map, then flips through his papers, cross-examining the two documents. He prods the map in two specific areas with his sausage fingers, explaining, “We searched the empty properties here earlier today and didn’t find anything,” then points to two other spots, “These two haven’t been cleared yet, we can go check 'em out if y’all haven’t already.”

“Fine by me,” Anderson nods, which surprises Javier.

With this, Greg and Javi double back towards Greg’s truck. Anderson catches up with them, tapping Javi on the shoulder. Javi stops and turns to the detective, who instructs, “If you find anything, call right away and we’ll be there in a jiffy. Especially if you find the suspect. Don’t confront him. We don’t want any bloodshed.”

Javi’s mouth forms a flat line and he nods, “You got it.”

He doesn't mean it.

—

The two properties in question are on the same country road, about a mile away from each other and where Dan’s car was abandoned, forming an equilateral triangle on the map. Greg parks at the mid-point of the subject properties at Javier’s suggestion to approach with stealth, not come roaring down the driveway in a pickup truck. He wants to get you out alive. If you're not already dead.

“No blood in the car as far as we can tell, so we’re working under the assumption that she’s still alive.”

There’s hope. He’s been tortured by the unknown for the past 26 hours. The notion that he spent a decade avoiding serious relationships while in Columbia, only to come home, fall in love, and have her ripped away, is driving him fucking mad.

Javier’s hands shake as he lights a cigarette and their ragtag search party of 3 starts off towards the first house. The gravel road crunches and stirs dust up under their steps. He wipes beads of sweat off his forehead with back of his hand and grimaces at the sun that’s beating down on them.

Claudia glances to the cigarette clamped between Javi’s index and middle finger, “Can I have one?”

“I didn’t know you smoked,” he comments as he digs the pack out of his back pocket and holds it out to her. She plucks one out and presses it between her lips. Javi flicks his shiny silver butane lighter ablaze, holding fire to the end of the cigarette.

She inhales deeply, then exhales a plume of blue smoke, “I quit when I was pregnant with Michael, but my nerves are fucking shot. I need it.”

Javi nods in understanding, taking a drag, then tells Claudia, “I tried quitting a few years ago, but I couldn’t stick to it.”

“It’s fucking hard. If I didn’t have that motivation, I’d probably still be a pack-a-day smoker,” she scoffs.

“I think I’m going to try to quit again,” Javi announces.

“Yeah?”

“With the baby and all. I don’t want this shit around the kid,” he tilts his head and considers something he never had previously, “Plus, I should probably try to stick around for them as long as I can. Don’t want lung cancer to take me out at 50.”

A toothy grin spreads across Claudia’s face and she nods, “How are you feeling about it? Being a dad?”

The acid that was previously at a simmer in his stomach shoots up in his throat at a full boil. He clears his throat to lessen the feeling, then admits, “Fucking terrified. What if I’m not… I don’t know, good at it?”

“I’ll let you in on a secret: Nobody knows what the fuck they’re doing when they become a parent,” Claudia chuckles, taking a puff off the cigarette, “You’ll do great, I know it.”

Javier takes a drag off his cigarette. His eyebrows press together as he asks her, “How do you know?”

“Javi, look at what we’re doing right now. All you’ve done in the past day,” Claudia gives him a reassuring smile, “There’s nothing you won’t do to make sure your family is safe.”

Although he doesn’t point out that it was his own ignorance that put you in danger in the first place, he supposes she’s right. You’re part of his family, and he won’t find peace until you’re home with him.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and one corner of his mouth upturns.

—

The first house was a bust.

While they did find approximately 17 feral cats in the barn, there were no humans in sight. The search party is silent on their route to the second house. Claudia and Greg shoot concerned glances back and forth, eyeing Javi from behind as he blazes ahead of them.

Javier ignores the fatigue settling in his bones and the burning in his calves as he quickens his pace. There’s a decent chance you’re at this next place. He remembers what you looked like in his dream. Beaten to shit.

What if you’re not there? Or worse, what if he’s too late? Would he be able to live with that guilt?

When the 8734 mailbox comes into view, he goes from a brisk walk to a jog. The driveway is long, winding back from the road a quarter of a mile, Javi estimates. Claudia and Greg catch up to him when he stops and crouches down upon hearing crows cawing. He thinks he sees a pair of fat, black bird loitering in front of the run-down rambler.

“She’s here,” he tells them, squinting up at the home, once again cursing himself for not seeing a fucking optometrist.

Greg crouches down further, “Do you see them?”

“No,” answers Javier as he pulls out his pistol to verify it’s locked and loaded, “Crows.”

While Claudia nods knowingly, Greg tilts his head and furrows his brow, “Crows?”

“Just trust me,” Javi sighs, then looks between Claudia and Greg, “Ready?”

—

Dan pulls you to your feet and steadies you against the sink as he tugs your shorts up over your thighs, sticky with sweat and streaked with dirt. He doesn’t button them, just shimmies them up to your waist and then hoists your dead weight over his shoulder again, carrying you into the adjoining room.

Without warning, he tosses you onto the floor like a rag doll.

Your back hits the dusty hardwood floor and the wind is knocked out of you. The ceiling is spinning above you. You’re gulping for air like a fish out of water, only able to rock from side to side as you try to curl into a protective ball and suck in air at the same time.

Your clamp your eyes shut and spin in the darkness.

When you open them, he’s standing over you, head spiraling like you’re being flushed down a toilet drain. He pulls you up to your knees by the zip tie around your wrists, and you don’t even feel it cutting into your swollen hands. The spinning slows and you’re able to take a broken breath in, out, slowly, his face centers and stills in your vision.

“You fucking bitch. I would have given you everything ,” his eyes bore into you, darker by the second, and you meet his stare with your own, trying to muster the illusion of bravery. He holds his hands to your shoulders to ensure you don’t topple over.

Then they come up to your throat.

As you realize what he’s doing, you scream and try to get away, only falling backwards for a moment before he catches you, spindly fingers wrapping around your neck. He squeezes down and holds you suspended. You wheeze when you try to breathe around his grip. A smile creeps across his stone face and he clamps harder.

Panic.

Telling you he loved you in the park. Making out in the photo booth.

Can’t breathe.

Hand resting on your bare leg, fingers drawing sweet nothings onto your skin. Playing with your hair.

No noises, no airflow.

Kissing your knotted wrist that was once a gaping wound.

You try in vain to rip yourself away.

Can’t move.

His lips against yours. Silky dark hair your fingers comb through. The slope of his nose. Dimpled smile. Bedsheets that smell like the love of your life. Puppy dog eyes.

Buzzing in your ears.

“I hear you, cariño.”

Sizzling. Ringing. Popping.

In a tunnel, all you can see so far away, surrounded by black.

Flashes of people you love: Grandma, brothers, Claudia, Javier. Jellybean.

Energy drains from your body and you feel your eyes start to flutter shut, even though you can’t see anything anyway.

-BANG-

You fall onto the ground, collapsing in a heap, gasping for air. Choking. Coughing. Your arm is wet and sticky and scarlet.

It’s blood.

You search frantically for its source, then see Dan.

He’s laying the floor, staring at you. You’re gasping for air, heartbeat exploding in your chest, trying to kick yourself away from him and the impossibly dark red circle expanding around him.

His blonde hair is a gushing, black, viscous spring. A waterfall of it spills down across his face. Pooling the darkest red in his mouth, gaping wide. Streaming over his open, vacant eyes. Not vacant like they were before.

No, this time, they’re vacant as in dead.

You scream but it’s silent and sets your throat on fire.

Just the whistle-high pitch like a teakettle that’s almost ready to pour. Then there are hands on your body, pulling you away from the pool of blood. You buck away from the contact in a frenzy of confusion.

The grip anchors in your shoulders and shakes you.

Your whole body goes numb and your ears start ringing. Because you see him then.

He’s wearing a gray polo shirt, hair wild and flying in all different directions, just like the last time you saw him. It feels like a lifetime ago. Dashingly handsome, looking more terrified than you’ve ever seen him.

Javi. Holy shit it’s him.

Your ears come out of the tunnel and tune into earth, and you hear him saying your name, mumbling, “Baby it’s ok, I’m here, I’m here, I got you, it’s ok.”

Someone else cuts the zip ties on your wrists and ankles, and you throw your arms around him weakly. He pulls you in, burying his face in your neck, hugging around your chest so tight, you start to cough again.

“Fuck, sorry,” he gasps, then he lowers to the floor and pulls you onto his lap, stroking your dirty, blood-soaked hair. Your body wracks with sobs when it dawns on you that this is real.

It’s real. He’s here. He’s alive. You’re alive.

He cradles you in his arms and yells at Greg to call an ambulance. You inhale the musk of his sweat and curl into him as your body heaves. His lips on your forehead, promising, “You’re ok, you’re safe now.”

[ Next Chapter ]

[bimbofromtheblock]

✨ASÉ✨

My apartment will have an extra room for my beauty stuff and to do my esthetician work in.

My apartment will have a full tub-shower combo in the bathroom and its own separate linen closet.

My apartment will have a large, open floor plan for the living slash dining area.

My apartment will have a washer and dryer included, either in the kitchen or bathroom.

My apartment will have big, open windows for maximum serotonin.

My apartment will have bonus amenities for me to use at my leisure. (Gym, pool, sauna etc.)

My apartment will have all utilities included and a designated parking space.

My apartment will have strong wifi connection.

My apartment will have all hardwood floors, no carpet whatsoever.

My apartment will have more than enough counter space for me to ok and bake any foods I desire.

My apartment will have a dishwasher and a microwave included.

My apartment will have efficient appliances to help conserve energy and lower costs.

My apartment will have absolutely no bugs, no rodents, no pests of any kind.

My apartment will have high ceilings to help frame gorgeous sunlight from my big windows.

My apartment will have tons of built in storage and shelving.

My apartment will have the appropriate safety features and locks.

My apartment will have a full sized stove in the kitchen and a full sized fridge.

My apartment will have easy access to public transportation.

My apartment will have easy access to grocery stores and gas stations.

My apartment will have easy access to downtown and the highway.

My apartment will have the best location for UberEats, DoorDash etc.

My apartment will have a cozy and comfortable energy, and people will feel safe and at home when they visit.

My apartment will have chill, understanding and community-type neighbors.

My apartment will have a community garden in proximity.

My apartment will be very cost efficient for my pockets.

My apartment will have kind, responsive and helpful management staff.

My apartment will have matching aesthetics both inside and outside of the building.

My apartment will have simple to maneuver mail and package delivery.

My apartment will have a patio or balcony.

My apartment will not be smoking free.

My apartment will have reasonable pet rent and fees.

My apartment will have a locally owned bar or cafe within walking distance.

My apartment will have stabilized rent.

My apartment will be in a racially diverse neighborhood.

✨ASÉ✨

[simplefloorspdx]

5 Best Hardwood Flooring Stores In Portland

For people and companies wishing to install or replace their flooring, Portland is home to a number of hardwood flooring stores that provide a variety of alternatives. Numerous of these shops provide a large variety of exotic woods like Brazilian cherry and teak in addition to hardwoods like oak, maple, cherry, and walnut. They could also provide sustainable and eco-friendly solutions like bamboo or cork flooring. In order to assist consumers in making the best decision for their needs and budget, several businesses offer samples and consultations in addition to installation services in some cases.

[matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl]

Just The Two Of Us - Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Summary: Roger and the reader go on a little getaway to a cottage. that's it. Very fluffy. 

Warnings/content: minimal swearing, smut, mention of kinks/sexual experimenting(dom/sub, spanking, orgasm denial, etc - does not go into detail), vaginal sex, fluff, mention of insecurity

Word count: 3.1k

Roger was always the vacation type. He loved going to tropical places, or at least places that were sunnier than London. He would sometimes spend hours sunbathing. He once made the mistake of tanning in leather pants and you teased him ruthlessly until the tan line faded. He was a tourist at heart, even if he tried to act like a local. Luckily for him, his career allowed lots of travelling. 

Roger had declared that this vacation was going to be different. You weren't exactly sure in what aspect, but nevertheless, you were still over the moon. 

You rest your head against Rogers shoulder as he drove. You had been driving for hours, and by now you were in a forest and miles away from the nearest convenience store. He had you on map control, but you were still confused. “Are we there yet?” you ask like an impatient child. “Actually, yes,” Roger says with a laugh.

You hear as the pattern becomes different. The car shakes ever so slightly as Roger turns into a gravel road. “Ah ha!” he grins. “Knew we’d find it,” he hummed confidently. You sit up straight to get a better view of your surroundings. “And… what exactly is it?”

Roger slows down as he reaches a small house at the end of the road. “This,” he says proudly. You look out through the windshield and are greeted by a humble farmhouse-like cabin that was covered in flowers and vegetation. You always had a liking for older buildings like this. 

“Oh, Rog, I love it!” you smile and give him a kiss. “I knew you would,” he hums. 

The interior lived up to the outside, and maybe even topped it. Every room had exposed beams that were stained dark brown. The walls were a plaster substance, making the texture pop out as the natural sunlight hit it through the muntin windows. You were practically squealing with excitement as you toured through each room.

Roger joined you in the middle of the room you were currently in. The hardwood floor creaked slightly as he walked over. The little imperfection added to your love for the cabin.

“This is much better than a resort,” you say as Roger's hands wrap around your waist and your arms meet up around his neck. “I’d say,” he hums. “We’ve got the whole thing to ourselves, just the two of us. No other tourists, no workers. And, most importantly,” His hand slowly slides down to cup the curve of your bum, “No fans,” 

Roger loved the fans, of course, but his main focus was his number one fan, you.

“Oh shut up,” you laugh. You stretch up to meet his lips in a warm kiss. You feel his hands run up and down your right side and your back. His touch was insufferable. His arms wrap around your waist, squeezing you which rewards him with one of your heavenly laughs. 

Roger picks you up and spun you around, the creak becoming louder with both of your weights under it. You kick your legs as Roger peppers kisses onto the side of your face and neck. You giggle from the tickles of his lips. You were always so ticklish and Roger used that to his advantage every chance he got. 

You plead with him to stop as your chest tightens but he only replies with teases of “stop what?” and “I’m not doing anything!”

God, you hated him.

Roger eventually stopped the torture and you could finally gasp for some air. “I hate you!” you laugh breathily as your chest heaves. “I love you, too,” Roger grins in his cockiest voice before he gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

After you catch your breath, Roger suggests that you unpack your things. You neatly tuck away your clothes into a rustic dresser in the master bedroom. Roger had to keep bringing your back to reality after you got distracted by all the little details of the room. The bed was a king-size mattress, and Roger eyed you up as he lay sensually on the bed. 

“How about we break it in?” he asks with his right eyebrow cocked slightly. You giggle at his suggestion. “We could,” you say as you join him on the neatly made bed. You trace your finger along the embroidered comforter. Your fingertip trails further down the threads before you slowly entangle it into Rogers palm. 

“Is that a yes?” he asks as you gently massage his palm. You gaze down at him with a small smile. “It is a yes,” you say. With that quick confirmation, Roger's lips were against yours yet again. He never gave up a chance to be physical with you in any form. He loved to kiss you all over and hear you giggle. If he had to give up his career just to be able to hold you in his arms, he would. No questions asked.

You feel his hands reach up to your cheeks. The pads of his thumbs graze across the peach fuzz of your skin. You shiver from even the slightest contact. He was gentle. He was always so gentle. Unless you asked for him to be rough, then in that case he would seriously fuck you. That mostly happened when you were too horny to think. But you always came back to the meaningful lovemaking.

You slowly push Roger further down onto the bed, and he lies on his back rather than his side. You straddle his hips. He smiles against your lips and you feel his smirk immediately. You couldn't help but smile as well. 

“What's got you smiling?” you ask, and Roger lets out a hum-like laugh before he speaks. “Just like having you on top of me,” 

You laugh before shutting him up with a kiss. Your hips revert to their instinctive motion as they begin grinding against Rogers lap. You hear a soft grunt vibrate against your lips. Roger always got flustered by the simple movements of your hips. His hands trail down your sides to find your hips where he begins guiding you. 

Your mouths open in mutual agreeance. Your tongues slowly begin analyzing the insides of the suitor's mouth. The lewd sound of your mouths felt wrong but was so delightful in the strangest and most unexplainable way possible.

Rogers hands slip under your blouse. His rough and calloused fingers slide across the silk-like material. He migrates his hands to the front where he fumbles with the tiny buttons. He had a longing thirst for you, and these darn pearl buttons were in his way.

You could feel his frustration, so you slowly remove his hands from the hem of your shirt and unbutton it for him. “Fuck- thank you,” he laughs as he takes a moment to breathe. You laugh with him as you unbutton it. You let the silk shirt slide off your shoulders and it falls off the bed. 

Roger cups your breasts as they are still encased in your bralette. You always preferred wearing bralettes rather than push-up bras in the warmer months, and Roger wished you wore them all year round. He loved to squeeze and fondle your chest, and your bralettes allowed him to do that even without undressing you fully. 

Ultimately, his hands were already attempting to pull it off. He always preferred you in nothing. You tut at him as he gripped the clasp. “You've got me half naked and you're still fully clothed,” you point out, and he lets out a laugh. “Be my guest,” he hums. With his invitation, you pull off his light blue t-shirt and are met with his slightly toned chest. Oh, how you loved his physique. He had muscle, but not too much. He had a pair of strong, broad shoulders, along with a little tummy. And of course, you couldn't forget his cute bum.

You let your hands trace abstract lines down Rogers's chest as you meet his lips yet again for an open mouth kiss. He purred against your lips as chills sent through his body. “Baby…” he whispers longingly. “I need you…” 

Your hands reach the top of his jeans. You tug on his belt buckle slightly before carefully undoing it. He hears the familiar sound of his pants unzipping, and he becomes more passionate with the kiss. His cock was almost fully erect by now, you could feel he pushed up against your core each time your crotch ran over his jean-clad length. It was painfully pleasurable. 

As you manage to take off his skinny jeans, his hands are back on your bralette again, this time he successfully took it off without any teasing or protests. 

You hum as Roger kneads your breasts gently. He fondled and squeezed your chest in such a way that sent shivers all throughout your body. His thumbs teased your nipples, causing them to harden under his fingertip.

You open your eyes to give Roger a slightly confusing gaze as he parts from your lips, leaving them wet, swollen, and missing their partner. His lips wrap around your right nipple, causing you to inhale sharply from the sudden moisture. 

“Oh, Rog…” you whisper as your hand comes up to card through his unstyled blonde mop. The pleasure was so close, yet so far away at the same time. “Please, baby,” you beg softly as you gently claw at his boxers. 

Roger let out a small chuckle against your skin before he kissed up your chest and gave you a warm, affirming kiss. “Want you to ride me,” he hums as his hands run up and down your jean-covered thighs. Even if he always loved fucking you on top, or slowly making love with you, he could never get enough of the sight of you on top of him, bouncing over and over again desperate for some form of release. 

You loved the idea of riding him, but Roger could protest that he loved it more.

“Have to get rid of these first,” you quickly begin to unzip your own jeans and remove yourself from his lap to take them off fully. The only thing holding you back from complete delight was two layers of thin fabric. 

The scene was almost comedic. You were both only in your underwear like two virgins not knowing what to do past this point, but you knew what to do. You knew Roger's body so well, as he yours. You knew each and every vein you had to touch to make him moan in pleasure, and you knew every little place to kiss and caress to make him hard as a rock. 

Likewise, he knew just the right speed to lick your little pussy, and how to curve his fingers just right to make your orgasm all over his digits. 

Roger wastes no time as his thumb begins slowly rubbing over your clothed clit. A small wet spot was already appearing from your arousal. You whine against his lips as he pushes against your sensitive little clit. 

“Please…” you beg. A smirk tugs its way onto Roger's lips “What?” he laughs. You take his hand and bring it up to your mouth, placing gentle kisses along his knuckles. “I know you want this just as much as I do,” you squeeze your legs around him tighter, causing a slight groan from him. 

“It's so hard to resist you, Y/N,” 

“So don’t resist,” 

Your panties were now off. Roger snatched them before you could toss them onto the ground. He sniffs your arousal off the fabric and he groans from the heavenly smell like the sexual fanatic he was. A matching wet mark appeared on his boxers. You both knew he wasn't going to last too long. 

You quickly peel back his boxers and slip them down his legs and off his ankles. His cock was hard and ready for your entrance. Now, completely naked, Roger reaches up to kiss you hungrily. “Fuck- ride me, baby. I wanna watch you fuck yourself with my cock…” he growled into your ear. 

You whine at the phrase. You needed him. You needed him more than you needed anything. You grasp his cock, pumping him slowly as you lube his length with your own arousal. Lube wasn't needed, that's how wet you were. 

You hear Roger whimper from your wetness on his sensitive cock. “Fuck me, baby. Please…” he begged softly. He was so needy at times. You loved when he begged. You had experimented with submission and domination before. Roger loved having control over you, but of course, was always cautious. He loved it even more when you were in control of him.

Roger often read kinky magazines and brought a new idea up to you when he found one that interested him. He enjoyed spanking you, and sometimes he would tie you up. He never got too extreme out of fear of hurting you. He always made sure you knew your safe word.

Of course, he has had his fair share of being submissive, as well. You’ve put him in handcuffs before and tried a bit of orgasm denial. He always looked so cute with his big blue eyes staring back at you, begging for more. 

You always felt most connected when things were equal, but you both always end up begging the other for their body. 

You align his tip with your entrance, you feel as he gently pulsates against it. He lifts his hips slightly in the hope to enter you, and you reward him by slowly lowering your hips, meeting him halfway. 

Roger chokes out an airy groan as he enters you raw. “Oh, baby…” he whispers softly. 

You roll your hips against his pelvis, letting out a whine as he fills you completely. “So tight for me, baby girl…” he praises as his hands roam your hips, squeezing every bit of flesh they could grab onto. His head leans back onto the recently fluffed pillow. 

He could tell it was stuffed with feathers rather than cotton. Yet again another aspect he knew you would love and go on a little rant about once you noticed. 

Roger was engulfed in your heat. He groaned in delight with every subtle movement and flux of your inner walls around him. You were rising to the seventh heaven as you continued to ride Roger's cock. You let out a soft moan, causing Roger to jolt his hips upwards.

“That's it,” he praised softly. “Moan for me, petal…”

You gave him what he wanted, and you moaned once again. You moaned his name, and it was music to his ears. 

Roger let out a low moan as he gripped your hips, his knuckles on the verge of going white. “Don't stop, love,” and you don't. There was no way in hell you were stopping.

Your breasts naturally bounced up and down as you rode him. Your right nipple still glistened with Rogers saliva as the natural light hit it. You were at times insecure about your chest, but Roger was always there to comfort and reassure you that there was nothing to be ashamed about. 

He constantly gave you kisses and whispered compliments of how much he loved your body. He never gave up the chance to cop a feel, as well. As your relationship grew, you learned to love your body for how it was.

The sweet, sweet release of ecstasy was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn't reach it, like the hand of your lover ghosting your palm before it abruptly pulled away. A shot of pleasure gets sent through your body like IV fluid being fed into your veins. Your gaze moves down and you see Roger's thumb pressing up against your clit again, rubbing in steady circles.  

Your moans instantly increase in volume as Roger's cock continues to disappear inside of you faster and faster. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock…” 

Your hips shudder from the pleasure, and Roger keeps the pad of his thumb firmly on your clit. You moan in delight, both of you completely bewitched by the elevating pleasure. The bed beneath him ceases to exist as his body and mind swims in euphoria. 

The only thing you are able to feel is bliss as you indulge in the serenity and privilege of sexual pleasure. Your hips shake with anticipation as your orgasm grows closer and closer. 

Like a tidal wave rushing over the shore, your body transcends to another consciousness. Chills get sent through your bones, skin trembles as you experience your orgasm. You moan Roger's name and cry out for mercy.

Your inner walls flux tightly around Roger's length. “Oh fuck, Y/N!” he moans. Your come coats his cock, and the sight of your white arousal covering him had him done. His come shot inside of you, groaning like a starving animal as he fills you up entirely. 

You collapse onto Roger's chest. Your skin was tacky as you lay atop his sweaty chest. It was disgusting, but you wouldn't have it any other way. 

“You're amazing…” Roger quietly praised through heavy breaths. “You are, too,” you managed to get out. Roger shook his head with a smile. “You did all the work, petal,” he points out. You let out a small giggle. You suppose he was right.

You slowly lift your hips, releasing Roger from your heat as you both let out a hiss. “Cuddle with me, love,” he hums. You agree and roll over beside him once your breathing has returned to a steady pace. He drapes a quilt over your naked bodies, but the only thing you're able to focus on is Roger's scent. 

You always noticed the little things, but you suppose that's what everybody does when they're in love. You could smell his sweet sweat and the remaining cologne on his skin. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck to get a stronger smell, and while you're there you gently kiss his jaw. He always loved your tiny kisses in that area. 

Yes, the sex was amazing, but you always looked forward to the loving cuddles and kisses after. Especially after some rough play, Roger was the most loving and gentle man on the planet. 

Roger wraps two protective arms around you, holding you tight in a hug. “I love you, Y/N…” he whispers into your hair. 

You smile against his skin. “I love you, too, Roggie…” he blushes at the nickname. If anybody else in the world were to call him that name he would bash their head in, but when he heard it in your soft voice which he loved so dearly to hear, he melted right on the spot every time you said it. 

“These pillows are made of feathers,” you observe, and he laughs. “Yes, Y/N. Yes, they are,”

He knew you were going to love this vacation.

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[conniescove444]

FROM THE FIRES

Chapter 4: Rock & Roll

Pairing: Sam Kiszka × female!oc

Word Count (this chapter): 3044

Summary: Lana moved to the States a few months ago and has found herself in a small town in Michigan called Frankenmuth. After visiting a local bar on her first night, she begins talking to the bassist of the band that played and by the end of the night she's moved her things into his apartment. This was the last thing she was expecting to happen... but hey, what could go wrong?

(This story is set in 1971 rather than modern day so I've had to play around with some of the bands' story. I've been playing around with this concept for a while and thought it may be interesting considering their vibe is straight out of that era.)

WARNINGS: alcohol use, heavy drug use, tobacco use, sexual content (due to the themes this fic is 18+, please DNI if you are a minor- you will be blocked.)

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Lana scurried around the apartment in the early morning sunlight trying to get herself put together. It was her second shift at the record store and she was still feeling quite nervous. She'd never had a proper job before and while it was definitely an absolute dream compared to working at a grocery store or something like she'd expected, it was still intimidating. Her interview went really well and yesterday she had her first shift, however it was with the owner of the store so that she could be shown exactly what to do and be introduced to everything. Today she was gonna be working it by herself and she had the opening shift so she'd woken up quite early to make sure she was ready in time. She was trying her best not to wake Sam, he'd been up late rehearsing last night and was still fast asleep. On the days where Lana worked, she knew she wasn't gonna see him very much, by the time she would be home he would already be at the studio and once he got back she was getting ready to go to bed.

She was in the bathroom rummaging through one of the drawers to find her hairspray when Sam walked over and leant on the doorway.

"Morning Lanie," she turned around and saw him rubbing his eyes, clearly he'd just rolled out of bed. He had his hair in a messy bun and was only wearing a pair of pyjama bottoms.

"You're up early." she closed the drawer having found what she wanted and took the cap off, spraying it over her freshly curled hair.

Sam coughed lightly and waved his arm to get the fumes away from him, "God I don't know how you're not dying when you're practically spraying that in your face."

She laughed at his reaction, "I've gotta go Sammy, I'll see you tonight." she walked past him with a smile and made her way over to the front door, grabbing her bag on the way.

"Play some Crosby, Stills and Nash in the shop for me." he called after her, returning the smile. She turned around and nodded, giving him a small wave before stepping through the door.

After the short walk, Lana approached the door to the shop, it was a very small building that had been there a long time and looked quite unassuming from the outside. On the inside however were rows and rows of albums. It had a lot of new stock but there was also a section at the back where people could come in and exchange their old unwanted records. Those were the records the staff were allowed to play during their shift. The walls were covered in posters and the place was lit up by different lanterns hanging from the ceiling. There were also beautiful bohemian rugs covering the old hardwood floors. It had a really homely feel and Lana could understand why the group loved it so much.

As she stepped through the door she flipped the sign to open and put her bag on the desk. She then made her way to the back of the store and began flicking through the used albums. A few stood out to her as candidates to play which she picked up for later but she was hoping to come across some CSN like Sam had requested. In the last row of albums she found their debut record and smiled to herself at the sight. She brought her small stack over to the desk and loaded the album onto the turntable behind it.

The day was going by quite slowly, a few customers here and there but for the most part she had the time to herself. At one point she went out the back to light up a joint, it was one she'd made quite weak, mostly tobacco, so that she wasn't completely high on the job. As she was getting back inside she heard the small bell above the door chime, signalling someone had come in. She quickly made her way back to the desk ready to greet them but she was instead met by Lori.

"Can I smell weed?" she said with a fake shock on her face.

"Lori you scared me! The day's been really slow so I wanted a little pick me up." Lana leant on the desk, a little out of breath from trying to get inside so quickly.

"High on the job, so unprofessional," Lori shook her head, scolding her friend in a jokey way, "I would do the same, I'm only teasing... anyway, me and Jake were gonna head to the beach tomorrow but you haven't been yet so we were wondering if you wanted to tag along? I know you love nature 'n stuff so I thought it may be fun."

"I'd love that but I don't wanna third wheel if you guys wanted to spend some time together."

"You're not third wheeling, I invited Mary-Jane too but then Danny told her he was gonna take her out."

"Okay then, as long as you both don't mind me coming. I haven't been to a beach since I was in Cali." The album she was playing had just finished so she turned around to take the vinyl off the spinner as she spoke, "Got any requests for the next album?"

"Hmmm I don't know... lemme go find something." Lori walked over to the records and started looking through. She returned with Pet Sounds by the Beach Boys.

"Classic." Lana said as she took it from her and put it down ready to play. She cleaned off some of the dust before placing the needle down and turning back to her friend, "you fancy staying for a bit? I'm getting pretty lonely and we're getting a new shipment in at any minute- I heard the delivery driver's pretty cute."

"I was about to grab some lunch but you've got my attention now." they both giggled at Lori's response.

"Lunch sounds really nice right now, I haven't eaten all day." Lana took a seat at the stool behind the counter and rested her face in her hands.

"Yeah or you just want some munchies because of the grass."

"Well yeah that too," Lana rubbed her face as she spoke.

"Okay well what do you fancy? I'll go grab something for us."

"I don't mind, I could use some coffee though."

"I know a place, be back in ten." Lori turned and left the store again, walking quite quickly in an attempt to not miss the delivery.

She returned not long after with her arms full of food. The delivery van pulled up at the same time and a guy with long messy blonde hair stepped out.

"You want a hand with that doll?" he took off his sunglasses to look at her when he spoke. He seemed to be a bit older than the girls but one thing was for sure, he was certainly attractive.

"Yeah, thanks hun," she smiled, handed him one of the paper bags she was carrying and opened the door to the shop, the pair walking in and placing the food on the counter. Lana looked up from the magazine she'd begun to look through.

"I take it our delivery is here." she smirked at the blonde.

"Yeah, where'd you want me to put your order sweetheart?" he spoke with a raspy voice and looked the girl up and down.

"Just on the floor down here would be great, I'll give you a hand." Lana moved round from the back of the desk ready to help while Lori took a sip from her drink, eyeing the man carefully.

"No it's okay, don't want either of you to hurt yourselves carrying those heavy boxes." he gave them a wink before heading back out the store to open up the van.

Lori turned to Lana with a smile dancing on her lips, "Wow."

The pair just stood watching him as he walked back in with a box under each arm, setting them down where Lana instructed then brought in a few more. When he was done he went to make his way back out, "If you need any help with anything you have my number, should be in the staff notes." He then put his sunglasses back on and closed the door behind him

"Lana I swear to God if you don't make sure I'm here next time you get a delivery..."

"Hey watch it, what if I wanted to keep him to myself?"

"Tough luck, shouldn't have let me meet him then." the pair giggled a little before turning to the boxes and ripping them open and looking through.

They were putting away the last few albums when Lori turned to look at her friend, "You know, I'm really glad you're sticking around. It's nice having another girl in the group and the guys all love you."

Lana looked up from what she was doing with a small but genuine smile, "That means a lot, I was a bit worried at first, I wasn't sure how you'd all feel about me suddenly being involved in everything. I know you guys are all super close and stuff and then suddenly I was just there as well."

"Awe honey... why'd you think I asked you to join us that first night? You just have this vibe I dunno, me and Janey just knew when we saw you that we needed to talk to you."

"You're just inflating my ego now." Lana looked back down at the records, adding the last one into the row.

"No I mean it though! Seriously… Plus, I know Sam's really enjoying having you around- I've never seen him so happy."

Lana chuckled lightly, "Well that's good to hear considering I live with him."

"I still can't believe you moved in with him so quickly... I mean I'm glad you did but that was brave of you."

Lana walked over to the desk, getting her things together ready to close up, "well you know, I'd been hitchhiking with strangers for days at a time, nothing bad's happened so far."

After closing, the girls went their separate ways and Lana got home in just a few minutes. When she walked through the door she was expecting to be alone but Sam was sat on the sofa, doing seemingly nothing, with his bass in its case on the floor beside him.

"Sammy? I thought you were at the studio, what're you doing?" she put her keys down on the kitchen counter as it was next to the door.

"Yeah... well... I was waiting for you to get back. Don't take your coat off or anything." he picked up his bass and began walking over to the door.

"Huh?" Lana looked at him, confused.

"We want you to sit in on our session. Josh thinks we need a new set of ears." Sam grabbed Lana's keys from the counter and opened the door, grabbing her hand on his way out.

"Oh okay... why me though?"

"You play music, you'll be able to give us advice." he said it as it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I'm not very good. I play for fun, you guys are professional Sam."

"Doesn't matter, you have a good ear." he opened the car door for her. She was sceptical about the whole thing but was just going along with it. He'd stayed back to wait for her after all.

The drive there wasn't as long as Lana was expecting and on the way Sam explained what the band was struggling with. She wasn't sure how much help she would be but she was willing to try. The pair stopped on the way to grab some food and when they got into the studio the guys were all happy to be getting fed. They'd all already been there a few hours and from the smell of weed lingering in the room Lana could guess they hadn't got much work done. "Thanks for coming Lana, I know this isn't ideal for you but we really appreciate it." Josh said, going over to give her a hug.

"That's okay, not sure I'm gonna be much use though."

"I think you will, Sam told us you were a bit of a musician," Jake said, he was sprawled over the couch with a cigarette between his fingers.

"I'm not sure about that." She laughed as she spoke and took a seat next to him, opening up one of the pizza boxes they had brought and taking a slice- most of the guys then did the same. Sam however went into the recording room and sat down at his keyboard, pulling out a crumpled up sheet of paper and placing it down in front of him. He then began to play, completely consumed in what he was doing. Lana finished her pizza slice and lit a cigarette, standing up and walking over to the glass window that separated the rooms to get a better look at what he was doing. Josh then walked over to stand next to her, grabbing her cigarette and taking a drag before handing it back to her.

"He's been hung up on that song all week." Josh said to her quietly.

"It's really beautiful... what's it called?"

"Flower Power. We've been kicking it around for years."

"I really like it." her eyes were fixed on Sam as she spoke. He was so entranced in what he was doing but she could tell he was tired by his demeanour.

"I'm glad. Not sure why he's playing it though, it's not the song we wanted you to hear."

"I don't mind. I could listen to him playing all day, no matter the song."

Jake then walked over too, "Lori called, you're coming to the beach with us tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, I'm looking forward to it." she turned to look at him and gave him a brief smile before turning her attention back to Sam.

"He needs to hurry up, we have work to do." Jake seemed kind of frustrated by the fact his brother wasn't doing what they had planned and he just stood there, arms crossed, with a fed up look plastered on his face. Lana stepped away and walked into the recording room without saying a word. She put her cigarette out in the ashtray sat on top of Sam's keyboard and took a seat next to him on the stool.

"Hey Sammy." she leant her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arm around him to put her hand on his other shoulder. He continued to play when he spoke back, "Hi Lanie."

"That's beautiful. Is it what you were playing around with the other night at home?"

"Mhm."

"I really love it but I think everyone wants to get on. You wanted me to help you out with another song, right?" she spoke softly, just loud enough for him to hear.

"Yeah... sorry." he stopped playing and just looked at the keys.

"Come get some food and then we can get on. I wanna go home soon, I'm really tired."

He nodded and stood up, taking her hand and walking back to the rest of the band.

"It's okay Sam, take your time, we have all night." Jake said sarcastically.

"Oh fuck off Jake. You were all eating anyway, I wasn't doing any harm." Sam went over to his coat and pulled a joint out of his pocket, lighting it and taking a deep inhale.

Danny stood up from where he was sitting, he looked really tired. "Let's not fall out. We're all exhausted let's just get on with it."

"Yeah because you've all been working really hard all day getting high." Sam passed the joint to Lana as he spoke.

"We've been writing as well actually." Josh sounded a bit offended.

Sam just rolled his eyes, taking the blunt back and walking back into the recording room, everyone else following too.

Josh stood behind the microphone and spoke to Lana, "We'll play the song for you, when you want to talk to us press the button on that control board in front of you because we can't hear you in here."

She nodded and took a seat by the window.

By the end of the night they had got to the root of their issue, Lana had given a few suggestions and they seemed happy with it. On the drive home, Sam didn't really say much and it was beginning to really bother her.

"What's wrong with you today? You were fine this morning." she looked at him as he was driving but he just kept his eyes fixed on the road.

"I'm still fine."

"Sam."

He didn't respond.

"Have I done something wrong?"

"No it's not you."

"Then what's bothering you? You're not usually like this."

"I'm just fed up with everything. I want this to be perfect and it's just not."

She looked down at her hands, "Sometimes it's just like that. Bands always go back and forth before reaching a point they’re satisfied with. Nothing's ever perfect but I think you guys are pretty close. Just enjoy the ride, you don't need to put so much pressure on yourself."

"Yeah I guess." he briefly looked at her and gave a weak smile.

"I think I know how we can make you feel better when we get home."

"Oh yeah?"

"I think you need a release Sammy."

And with that he put his foot on the pedal even harder.

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A/N: I know a lot of these early chapters aren't the best (I'm ashamed to say I have a Literature qualification.) but I wrote the first ten over only a few days because I was tryna get ideas down. I promise they gradually get better tho so stick with me!!

ALSO all the chapters are named after songs so I'll link a playlist once I have more of this published <3

[trappedwriter]

Chapter 28

Content Warning, this is intended for people that are 18+ and this chapter includes ddlg themes (always forced age regression) abdl themes, mentions of killing, torture and cannibalism, fluff, lots of swearing.

Sebastian’s POV:

After putting the girls to bed, Chris and I spent the evening disposing of all the meat in our freezers. We couldn’t remember exactly who the girls ate but we must’ve had someone else for dinner. Our poor girls got sick and as much as it hurt us to get rid of our hard earned work, we couldn’t have our precious littles getting sick again. Instead of wasting it we decided to give it to Marc. I’m sure he would make good use out of it. He prefers killing and torturing over eating but he’s a firm believer in not leaving behind any evidence. Marc knew all about how evidence works, how forensic teams can find the tiniest bit of evidence and have your life ruined within a couple of days. It’s always good to have someone on the inside of the police force who is on our side.

———

I woke up to the sound of little pitter patters on the hardwood floor next to me. Without opening an eye, I swooshed open the blanket and felt her little body fall against my chest. I held her closely by the waist and flipped the both of us around so that we were facing Chris, that earned a little giggle from her. “Shh little one, dada is asleep.” I kissed the top of her head. “Otay” was the only response I got followed not long after by faint little snores that accompanied loud ones. I lay there for a time and just enjoyed. I snuggled in closer to Chris, gently smushing our little one between our bodies.

When I woke up for the second time, the bed was empty. My snuggle buddies had abandoned me. Probably for the best. Jessica’s diaper was already soggy when she came in this morning. Wouldn’t want a… I rolled over and immediately felt a huge wet patch on the bed. Great. I got up and stripped the sheets, showered, and joined my family in the kitchen.

“Good morning, babe, and little ones. How did we all sleep?” I asked as I walked over to the kitchen island and kissed Chris on the lips. I got a chorus of “great” from the little ones and a groan from Chris. Grabbing what I could from the fridge, I made myself a decent breakfast. A reminder that we had to go to the grocery store today. Chris and I had talked about it last night and we both agreed that Jessica would come to the store with me today. We trust her the most and plus she needs a little daddy daughter day.

After clearing up the mess the little ones made, I sat Jessica down and explained what was going to happen. “Honey, I want you to listen very, very carefully, okay?” “Otay” I smiled and continued “you and daddy are gonna go on a little date to the grocery store. If you are super-duper good then maybe we can get some new toys and ice cream, how does that sound?” I’ve seen Jessica excited before but never this excited. She bounced around on her little tiptoes, she wouldn’t even stop when she was getting ready. 20 mins later we were all packed up in the car, Jessica firmly strapped into her car seat happily looking out the window whilst I was a bundle of nerves. It was the first outing from the campsite, Jessica knew the rules but how well it would go would depend on her.

———

An hour later and we arrived at Edgewood, a small town with a population of only 204. The perfect place to stop for groceries. I parked the car outside the local grocery store and helped Jessica out of her car seat. “Remember the rules honey, misbehave and there will be no toys, no ice cream and much worse punishments to come.” No response, she just nodded her head. I took her hand in mine and grabbed a cart. Sadly, she wouldn’t fit in it so I had to trust that she wouldn’t run away.

I handed her the list and she proceeded to read out the items. She was so adorable trying to pronounce the words, we both knew she could, but she was playing her part. She’s definitely a good little actress. After picking out all the fruit and vegetables, we made our way to the cereal section. Jessica didn’t need to look down to read what we had to get, she knew exactly what we were getting. She looked up at me with begging eyes (god I loved when she did that) and I gave a silent nod. She took off squealing and ran towards the cheerio’s. I couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle.

A woman, a very beautiful one appeared next to me “she’s adorable.” I tried not to jump but she did surprise me. “Thank you.” I responded. I didn’t take my eyes off of Jessica. The woman continued “I wish my little girl was as well behaved as…” Picking up on why she stopped I interrupted “mine, she’s, my daughter.” Jessica returned to the cart carrying a very large family size package of cheerio’s, plopped them into the cart and slid her hand back into mine. Good girl.

The woman smiled and introduced herself “I’m Aliyah, but you can call me Ali.” With my other free hand, I reach out to shake her gorgeous hand “Brad and this is Riley.” Ali bent down “hi Riley it’s so nice to meet you, how old are you?” Jessica put up four fingers. “oh wow, you’re very tall for your age. You must have your daddy’s genes.” She straightens up and as she does, her eyes take in every inch of me. I chuckle “that she does.” I pull Jessica closer to me. Ali smiled at the loving affection “Are you new here?” I kept calm, can’t show any signs of stress. “No, we’re just visiting some family.” “Oh, that’s a shame, have you been here recently before? It’s just I recognise Riley, I dunno where from, maybe the park?” Shit. “Yeah, we have been here a couple of times, my aunt is sick, and Riley has been spending some time with her cousins, I dunno probably went to the park at some point.” I smiled, hoping that was a good answer.

It wasn’t. Ali looked at me questioning and angry “Wait, probably? Don’t you know where your little girl is at all times. What the fuck kind of parent doesn’t know where their child is. There are creeps out there, anyone could have taken her and your response is “I dunno probably at the park”, and here’s me thinking you’re hot I was gonna give you my number. You need to sort out your shit and take better care of her, ya hear me?”

At this point, lots of shoppers were looking down the aisle, wanting to look at all the commotion. Not what I wanted. I didn’t say a word but dragged Jessica down the bottom aisle and into the next one. People were giving me weird looks and were looking at Jessica. Not wanting to drag her around, I forced her into the child’s seat in the cart. She whined and a few tears fell but I quickly wiped them away, not wanting to add to the new attention. I grabbed random tins of food and went to checkout.

The cashier was too happy and bubbly and I didn’t have the energy to force myself to be nice to her. “Good morning, sir, were you able to find everything you were looking for today?” “Yes” I answered angrily. The woman clearly didn’t like my tone but continued to ramble on. “And would you like these bagged or…” “I’ll do it myself for fucks sake.” She didn’t like that at all “sir, please refrain from using that language around me and your child. It’s not tolerated.” She looked at Jessica and her eyes widened. Fuck. “Sir I’m gonna need to make a quick call, please stay here.” And off she popped, frantically walking to appears to be the staff room. I knew that look and without hesitation I threw the money on the counter and took off with Jessica.

I flung the food into the car and tried to get Jessica out of the cart. Fuck sake why did she have to be so big. I struggled but eventually got her out and buckled up. I abandoned the cart and sped off hoping that no one saw the license plates. I was full on panicking, the cashier knew Jessica but how. What are we gonna do. All these thoughts were racing in my head, meanwhile Jessica’s was crying in the back seat. I stopped the car and turned around to her “what the fuck is wrong? Would you stop crying.” She let out a shaky “ice cream toys.” “You’re not getting any now just shut up.” I yelled. I picked up my phone and texted Chris.

Code red: We have to go, NOW!

Chapter 29

[somediyprojects]

DIY Peg Wall by Christine Wisnieski:

When I moved into my studio fifteen months ago, I knew I wanted to create a feature wall near the entryway that felt curated, functional and peppered with color. It’s a place where I’d greet clients and a space to display my work and objects I’ve collected. While I would have loved to contract a carpenter to build out a drop-dead shelving system like this, it was simply not in my budget. So, out of necessity, I came up with a solution that was pocketbook friendly, doable with limited tools and offered flexibility.

The solution was inspired by the old pegboard system we were tasked with climbing in grade school physical education class, except this one would not require climbing. We used wood dowels and double-sided screws to create the pegs. The shelves we picked up at the local hardware store. Filled with some art and a few of my favorite objects, this project made a big step forward in shaping up our entryway. Not to mention, it created a perfect spot to drop your coat on your way in! To see more of the studio space, stop by my Instagram feed and say hello. –Christine Wisnieski

Here’s what you’ll need:

For Planning -stud finder -tape measure -level

For Shelf System

-1″ diameter hardwood dowel rods (cut into 7 1/2″ pegs) -shelves (four 8″ x 36″, one 8″ x 48″) -5/16″ x 2 1/2″ dowel screws (1 per peg)

General Supplies

-drill -saw -sandpaper -vice -pliers -drop-cloth -all-purpose paint brush -white paint (we used leftover latex paint from our walls) *lathe

Steps:

Determine your shelving plan

First, sketch out your shelving plan. My wall is 12′ tall x 14 1/2′ wide and features 24 pegs. Pegs are spaced 24″ horizontally (2′ in from the adjacent walls) and 20″ apart vertically (starting 4′ from the floor). For extra support, I placed pegs on studs.

Measure out design

Following your plan, use pencil, stud finder, tape measure and level to grid out your peg positions onto the wall. I found a laser level to be a helpful tool.

Trim down dowels

Using a saw, trim dowels into pegs 7 1/2″ long (…or ask the folks at your local hardware store to assist you with this). Sand any rough edges left from cutting.

Prep pegs

Next, drill a 1 1/4″ hole into the center of each peg to hold screw. The most accurate way to do this is by using a wood lathe. If that’s not an option, simply find the center of the 1″ dowel, secure rod in vice and drill a 1 1/4″ deep hole. Once holes are drilled, insert screw into dowel using pliers.

Paint pegs

Wipe each peg with a damp towel to remove any dust. Using an all-purpose brush, paint all sides white. Tip: For drying, we found it easiest to tie each peg up using a piece of string and hang from an extra dowel.

Install shelf system

Next, drill holes into marked wall to hold pegs. Once drilled, screw pegs into position by hand and arrange shelves into desired configuration.

Style

There are endless configuration options–objects can be placed on shelves, hung from shelves and shelves can even be stacked.